I scoffed before a small, sullen laugh left me. “You brought me back for that? Do it yourself. You are Death. You do not need me.”
“Oh, but I do. I need you all, actually. You see, I may be Death, but I cannot kill. I only take what passes, either naturally or unnaturally. Such is my burden.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, boo fucking hoo. An all-powerful being who can’t do his own dirty work. Send me back to Oblivion. I am not your weapon.”
Death was on the bed, picking at the sheets one minute and then before me the next. Bone-chilling hands gripped my chin, and pain shot through my body at the tightness of her frigid grasp. My skin ached as ice grew, careening toward my eye.
“You will do this because you do not grasp what is at stake or the power she wields. You need to be worried about things on a far larger scale. Do what I ask, and perhaps we can eradicate Nismera and her rot before any other beings turn their attention toward this realm, yes?”
I gripped the slender wrist, even as pain lacerated my every nerve. “You’ve got the wrong brother. Samkiel is the one you want to overthrow Nismera. Why would I turn on the only person who gave a shit about Isaiah and me?” I sneered.
Death tilted his cold, crooked head, examining me as if he were searching my soul. “Perhaps you’ll change your mind when you see the many lies she’s buried beneath the very stone of this prison she calls a palace.”
I blinked as Death released my face, the warmth flooding back into my body nearly as painful as the exposure to his touch. I gritted my teeth and asked, “What does that mean?”
Death smiled a cold, dead grin. “First, you need to ask Nismera about the medallion and why she needs the blood of the sons of Unir to open it. Then, ask her where she was on 47 DU.”
My eyes narrowed at the date he tossed at me, and I was about to question him further when the crying that had remained a whisper at the back of my mind grew louder. Death and I both looked at the floor.
“You also need to fix that.”
I looked up to ask what he meant, but was nearly smacked in the head by the flapping wings of a black raven. He swooped past me and flew out the window, the same one I swore I’d never opened.
The cries echoed as if amplified by some unknown force. First, I needed to make that godsdamned crying stop. I grabbed the robe off the chair near the door and tossed it over my shoulders, the long ends trailing behind me as I stormed from my room. The cries grew, taunting and pushing me. Guards came to attention, going silent mid-conversation when they saw me, but I didn’t even knock as I pushed open the doors. A small form wrapped in blankets jumped and sat up, her disheveled, pale hair a mess on her head.
“Must you make excessive noise? Some of us are trying to sleep,” I snapped. I inhaled deeply to continue berating her, but her scent hit me like a sword through my gut, stealing my ability to speak. She smelled of Dianna. It was faint, but it was there beneath her skin as if she had been around her so much that not even soap or scrubbing could erase it. That kernel of life stirred in me as if whatever tethered me to the waking world recognized and reached for it.
“S-sorry,” she said. Her voice broke on the word, and her tear-stained eyes blinked at me. The blanket she had pulled around her head slipped, and she covered the side of her face with her hand.
“What’s wrong?” I demanded.
Why did I ask that? I didn’t care. No, I just wanted her to shut up. I did not care about this girl. I didn’t. It had to be the effect of Dianna’s fucking scent. Or, perhaps my brain was still healing, and it was messing with my logical thinking.
She shook her head, but I saw the discoloration on the side of her face, the dark purple-black stark against her naturally pink skin. I strode over and ripped the hand from her face. It looked as if someone had backhanded her several times. The entire right side of her face was bruised, spreading from her jaw up to one bloodshot eye.
“A guard did this to you?”
She shook her head.
“Who?”
Her eyes met mine, fear and suspicion darkening their depths as if worried that if she told me, I would hurt her as well.
“Who?” I said, filling my tone with more ire.
Her lip trembled, and she winced as if it caused her pain. “Nismera. She wants me to make poisons. I told her I didn’t want to help her.”
“Ah,” was all I said.
I knew my sister to be cruel but never abusive, especially to children and those weaker. Nismera did not beat. She killed swiftly and brutally. But this? Death’s voice echoed in my head, reminding me of what he’d said about lies and half-truths. My mind shied away from all the things I’d overheard but never questioned. I hated that I’d allowed him even to put such thoughts in my head, but I hated more that after the realms opened, I’d started having doubts. Perhaps Death was right, and I didn’t know her at all.
“Why aren’t you healing?” The corner of my lip curled as I asked her.
She studied me for a moment, gathering her courage before she took a breath and said, “I need my herbs.”
My jaw clenched, and I turned, stalking past the guards outside her door without a word. They were exactly as I’d left them when I returned with a glass in hand. The girl was still sitting on the bed but had curled into a tighter ball, the covers tight around her. She looked so small and fragile. I offered her the glass of water, but she shook her head and scrambled away until her back hit the headboard.
“Take it,” I said, shoving it toward her.
