Yes, she thought bitterly,how sorry we all should all be.
A short rap at the door culled the tears. Ilys cupped Hanna’s face, tucking the child’s small features into her palm as she slipped the veil back from its makeshift duty as shelter. The fabric fell between them once more, a wall re-raised.
“Coming,” Ilys called, her voice level. The Ebon Choir attendant assigned to the Veilwalkers had already begun flitting on the outskirts of their existence. Gabriel, the man was called, seemed fatesbent on never leaving them to peace. All in one day’s work.
“Goodnight, my pet,” she bid, brushing a last touch across Hanna’s hair before stepping away.
“Goodnight, Ilys,” the girl called back. “I love you,” Hanna mumbled into her pillow.
Those fickle words lodged like iron nails in Ilys’s palms.
She slipped from the room without sparing Gabriel a glance. His towering frame loomed to her right, but she felt his needy presence without sight.
“Fates bless you, Gabriel,” she said, the words wry as she swept down the hallway.
“Veilwalker,” he replied, but did not follow.
Ilys’s mouth tightened. Of course—the King had set the Ebon Choir attendant to watch Hanna, not her. The knowledge sat sour in her chest. Gabriel meant no harm, she knew, but the thought of anyone hovering so near the child without her close by scraped against every instinct she had. She’d be gone within a day. Then who would guard Hanna?
Her mind turned to Elspeth. They were not intimates, but Ilys trusted her enough and she admired the quiet, maternal way the woman tended to Hanna. Ilys would speak with her before she left and make certain she understood to stay close to the girl. Keep her safe.
Ilys stepped back into her chamber, the door shutting softly behind her.
She would have to impress Hanna’s safety upon Gabriel as well. The Ebon Choir might answer to the King, but the King answered to Death. And soon, Death would answer to Ilys. It would be a simple thing to corner Gabriel and remind him just how thin the barrier to the veil could grow, making it clear which side he would find himself on if harm ever touched the girl. The thought coaxed a loitering, dangerous smile to her lips as she drew the veil from her face, the fabric pooling like shadow in her hands. There was a kind of lawlessness and pride in loving something small. A fierce, unyielding urge to protect it, one that bred a defiant contempt for every gray and measured action.
“And what has made you so pleased?” The voice, cool and unhurried, came from behind her.
She turned to find Death, mortal and lanky, lounging on her bed. She flipped to face him, face bare and heated.
“What are you doing here?” she barked.
He only smiled, coy, and pressed a finger to his lips.Hush,his gesture seemed to say. He crossed one leg lazily over the other, burrowing deeper into her sheets as though staking a claim.
“I arrived early,” he said with a shrug. “I thought I’d absorb the sights.” His gaze slid deliberately to the sheer nightdress draped over the chair—the one she had nearly stripped to put on.
Ilys unsheathed her dagger and stalked toward him. He did not wear his usual heavy robe, but a black tunic that hung loose against his frame, baring a long pale stretch of throat and a sliver of chest. He did not flinch at the flash of steel, only smiled wider.
“Angry Veilwalker,” he observed, as though naming a caricature.
She pressed the blade’s tip beneath his chin, forcing his head back. “What are you doing here?” she hissed.
He leaned into the knife until blood beaded, red against white. “I am here to see you.”
“To retrieve me?” Her head tilted, voice sharp. “The gate has served well enough every other time. Why my chambers?”
“To talk, Ilys.” His voice dropped soft. His long fingers closed gently around her wrist, easing the dagger aside. “Good girl,” he said when she let him.
She relented, not out of mercy but because confusion and curiosity stayed her hand. Killing him could wait. Stepping back, she drew a breath, willing the spice-scent of him to leave her senses. It had been two years since she’d stood this close. She lowered herself onto the chair draped with her nightdress, posture deceptively languid.
“By all means, let us natter,” she said, edged with saccharine elaboration.
He rose from the bed, gesturing lazily toward her sleeping quarters. “I meant to catch you off guard,” he admitted. “I imagined you’d try to kill me quickly on this journey, without the compromise we made the last time we met.”
Ilys glowered at his very correct assumption. He smiled wilder at her lack of denial, nodding and moving on.
“I have a new proposition. One I believe suits us both well.”
Ilys quirked an eyebrow, working very hard to decode every behavior. Death knelt before her just inches away and Ilys wriggled, sure she could feel his breath through her skirts.
