“And swing, you mean. Die.” He needed to hear the devil’s bargain spoken aloud and clearly.
“Why, yes.” The Conductor huffed a haughty breath as though the point had been belabored to death already. “You were never going to free them all. Does the soul of one woman trouble me? Nay enough to refuse a friendly bargain.”
The Conductor had always seen through to the heart of him. He couldn’t hide his love for Elloven, not from a creature like this.
But when had the Conductor last experienced love? Did it remember the joys of the quiet moments? The gutting agony of a misunderstanding they couldn’t find the words to remedy? Or was love just a concept to it, built upon centuries of games and aloof observations? Was the Conductor like the watcher of a play, as others lived out a life it could neither fathom nor remember? Had it reduced Jesstin to the shallow, simplistic, and predictable lover who could think, breathe, and act for nothing else?
He was that man. He’d become him. And if he actually believed the trickster would keep its word and let Elloven live, he’d play the part waiting for him upon the scaffold—no trailing thoughts, no hesitation.
But his hesitation had almost nothing to do with Elloven.
The Conductor was a connoisseur of games, but only those it was certain to win. Whether a single soul meant anything to it wasn’t the cornerstone of the argument. It cared nothing for who lived or died, but what if someone could become the centerpiece of a challenge?
Jesstin was certain of one thing and suspicious of another. If he stepped into her imaginary tableau, replaced the noose about his neck and let justice lead, his death would be real. He would be trapped in the Infinitum like all the others. Powerless.
Elloven’s fate, on the other hand, seemed tied to the creature’s capricious, ever-changing desires. A coin toss.
If he died, he’d surrender the singular advantage he had over the Conductor. It wasn’t playing with him just for fun; it needed to toy with him until he could tell neither up nor down, until his wits were so scrambled, no decision he made could be made with a right mind. He was prepared to die for Elloven, but kneeling to the architect of the netherworld would take her chances of surviving Infinita Mori from slim to zero.
“The morning unfolds. The time for you to decide is already upon us and soon behind us.” The Conductor made a ticking sound with its tongue.
“Where did you come from? In life?” Jesstin asked. He’d made his choice already, but if he didn’t have a plan, the choice wouldn’t matter.
“Nowhere,” it said cryptically, fluttering its spindly fingers. “Everywhere.”
“If you expect me to give up my life so you can have your way, you’ll tell me.”
“Tenestela,” it said, with an almost-bored glance to the east. It looked tired, though it couldn’t be. It required no more sleep than the other dead.
“Never heard of it,” Jesstin said. “So you’re the one who cursed this place?”
“Merely an opportunist, dear.” When it spoke again, it seemed almost reluctant. “It was her ancestors who closed the doors. And now they enjoy the result from the suffocating oasis of the Imperatum.”
“Then how did you come to be the master of this place?”
“Master? How quaint.” It chuckled, then tossed a nod behind him. “Elloven is on the scaffold. Her speech comes next. And after that? Remind me.”
“You know. I know. Why shouldn’t I spend these final moments getting some fucking answers finally?” Jesstin kept one eye on glimmering Mythgarde and Elloven’s movements. But the appearance of a man, one he knew, startled him. When their gazes connected, the other man’s mouth parted like he’d seen a ghost. He could see out, as well as Jesstin was seeing in.
It was Considine, but he was older, graying at the temples and a spattering on the top, lines upon lines scoring the corners of his eyes.
Unlike that day, when he’d been eager to watch Jesstin swing, swing, swing, he looked utterly terrified, and he seemed intent Jesstin see it.
Jesstin wondered if the Conductor knew Taven was there. He returned his focus to the conversation, but the creature hadn’t seemed to notice the interloper, and though he didn’t yet know why, that was important. He could use it.
“Had I the interest in unburdening myself, it would mean nothing to a man from a small world with limited possibilities,” the Conductor answered after a beat. “There are many worlds. Many magics. Yours are uninspiring in comparison. Look.” It pointed at the scaffold. “They’re verifying her claim now.”
Jesstin turned Taven’s direction instead. The older version of the man had a desperation in him that had turned his skin flush and his eyes so wide, they were near to splitting at the corners. Jesstin nodded once to show he understood, though he understood nothing except that Taven’s time magic had somehow brought him to that fractured moment, straddling past, present, and future.
Taven’s eyes shuttered in relief, then bolted open again. He mouthed the words “don’t do” and a third word Jesstin couldn’t make out, but he didn’t need to. Only one of those words was required.
Don’t.
Taven shot a startled glance the Conductor’s way and vanished into the crowd.
“Are you ready to save her, or will you kill her twice?” Impatience rattled its impish tone.
He wasn’t ready, but he had to be. His questions had proved unhelpful, save one. His advantages were marginal, but there were two things that had unnerved the unflappable demon.
