Page 56 of All Hallows Fate

She took Byron from me, drove him to secrecy and shame. Sabotaged every relationship I had. Murdered Honey and stole her face so she could pretend to be her.

I shook with it, teeth gnashing, jaw locked.

The full breadth of the cruelty she inflicted on my brother made my power thrash within me, pooling on the floor around me as I processed more and more memories. Virgil, not simply injected and transformed and imprisoned in a dank cell, but made into a murderer when his creature savaged a florist.

Memory after memory rose of the gods’ treachery, of their boundless torture, of their hunger to see everyone suffer. And when I’d uncovered every tainted, dark memory, I found a core of soft, golden memories beneath them. A childhood of privilege and travel, of education and laughter. There was loneliness too, and a sharp-edged longing, but I’d always known I was loved. Even when I was alone, desperate for company, I knew my parents loved me.

It was more than I’d dared to hope for since I’d been reborn. It was more than I’d ever dreamed of. A family who loved me. Husbands who’d gone to hell and back for me.

The rage crested, and ripped a scream from my mouth, so loud I swore it made the ground shake.

And when I’d caught my breath, I knelt before the new gates, panting, shaking. The tasks of the list bounced around my tender brain like a ping pong ball, bringing me back to a car on a lonely moor road over and over again.

“See,” Madde said to someone behind me. “Told you my lioness would be the deadliest out of all of us.”

He kissed the back of my neck, allowing me to put a cap on my fury before it destroyed me, before it robbed me of the ability to function.

Slowly, carefully, and aware of their eyes on me the whole time, I got my knees beneath me, then pushed up to my feet. My head resisted as I lifted it, a dread weight on my chest when I finally looked at Pain, my kind, brave, dorky bonded one. My powerful, loving, loyal husband.

I thought of that car on the moor road. Thought of the box in the boot of my car.

One last trick. One last headfuck from Cruelty. Because the lid of the box said Misery, but there was no ignoring the next item on my list.

A pained heart returned.

38

Pain

The three most blood-chilling, terror-inducing words known to man—both mortal and immortal—came from my wife’s lips, and I went still. My stomach compacted into a hard stone. I was going to be sick.

“Pain,” she said in a voice so rough, so raw, I couldn’t tell if she was angry, upset, or afraid. “Can we talk?”

“Sure,” I replied in a squeak. “Of course we can talk, darling woe. What do you want to talk about? The weather, I hope. Or the lovely new gates, perchance?”

“Pain,” she said in a soft breath that made my stomach flip.

“What beautiful fog we’re having,” I said with a strangled laugh. “It really… brings out your eyes.”

“Pain.” She caught my hands as they flailed. Her fingers threaded with mine and she pulled me aside, sitting on the wide steps up to Death’s castle. Swallowing, my mouth as dry as a birdcage, I sat beside her as she unfolded the list she consulted several times a day.

I littered the ground with tendrils of shadow, enough to know everyone was pretending not to watch us—all except Joanna, who stared with her head cocked in consideration.

“What’s up?” I asked, trying for a casual tone.1 “Need help weighing something?”

“Weighing…” A furrow tugged her brows together.

“Scales, Judgement, weighing, etcetera,” I explained. And then because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, I went on, “Not that I’m telling you how to do your job or anything. You’re doing a crazy good job of it so far. Nailing it in fact, way better than I ever did at first. I guess handing out pain comes with a lot more guilt than judgement. I bet judging the guilty must feel pretty—”

Her fingers pressed to my lips, stemming the flow of my panic. “Pain,” she repeated in that soft voice so full of love. Her pain was like a physical flow of energy into my chest, a deep and emotional wound. I swallowed hard, rubbing my hands on my knees, restless. “Alfie.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, claws of hurt and panic raking across my empty chest. I still operated just fine without a heart, anyway.

“You know,” I guessed.

“The next item on the list,” she murmured. “A pained heart returned. And there was—months ago, Nightmare left me a box with a heart inside. I thought it was Misery’s, but—”

“But,” I agreed with a bitter laugh. “I didn’t think anyone knew. I made sure no one knew. I couldn’t live with the shame.” I buried my head in my hands, and didn’t deserve the arms that wrapped around me, the head that rested on my shoulder. The lump in my throat grew two sizes.