45
DAY 369 A.F.
Lark was asleep in her new room, looking so young, with her mammal sleep pile dozing in the bed all around her.
Two days ago, the medic had given her an air cast for her broken forearm, another for her snapped ankle, and a sling for her busted collarbone. Then he’d confined her to bed rest.
The wolves healed apace with her, presently laid out in front of the room’s fireplace. Since Cyclops couldn’t yet manage the stairs, he remained down here with his pack. Her on-the-mend falcon nested in a nearby laundry basket.
I was worried about leaving Lark behind when I departed. Somehow that little punk had become my friend.
Good, bad, good.
Weren’t we all? Jack, me, Aric.
He’d been avoiding me, as if it pained him to look at me. He didn’t even share meals with me. Despite my driving need to talk to Jack, I pined for Aric.
On my way back from yesterday’s visit with Lark, I’d run into him.
“How does Fauna fare?”
“She’s getting better.”
With a nod, he’d turned to walk away.
“That’s it?” I’d called. “How much longer are we going to do this? We have to talk about what happened.”
With a harsh laugh, he’d turned to me. “It’s very simple. I want you, you want another, and I’m owed a wife.” Struggling to regain his composure, he said in a rougher voice, “If our situation were reversed, you would never let me go either.”
I’d fallen silent, unable to deny that. Then I’d stared after him as he left me.
The strain in the manor was almost worse than when Ogen had been jonesing for offerings. Aric’s thoughts must be in utter turmoil, because his training had intensified more than ever before. The last time he’d been like this, I’d felt like I was watching a berserker. Now?
A bomb sequence ticking down.
—Empress!— Matthew called.
I’m here. I pulled Lark’s comforter up to her chin, then crossed to the fireplace to add a log for her and the animals. The temperatures continued to drop, the winds whipping. My turret would sway in the worst of them. But now’s not a good time, Matthew. Have a lot on my mind. Too much, and most of it centered on Aric.
—Please, Empress! PLEASE!—
I stilled at his panicked tone. What is it?
—They’ve taken him. Set a trap. Can’t see his future! Didn’t know. They have him.—
Slow down. Who has who?
—Duke and Duchess Most Perverse. JACK.—
My heart thudded with dread. The Lovers had Jack? A fate worse than Death.
—Cajun set traps against the army. Vincent was out scouting a new encampment, surprised him. Violet will join her brother. Once the Lovers reunite, Jack will be . . . hurt.—
How long do I have?
—Before they kill him, or before they break him beyond repair?—
I tasted vomit in my mouth. Can I reach him in time?!
—They camp within days of Death’s.—
Anything could delay me. Storms, militia, Bagmen. What about Selena? Can we send her in?
—She risked her life for him. Left for dead. Finn too.—
Send another Arcana to save him, promise anything! I will give ANYTHING!
—The Tower pledged his alliance to Empress. Rescue your mortal if you bring him Death’s head.—
What? Joules will free Jack, like a mercenary?
—Mercenary Tower!—
I’m not going to pay what he wants. Try to negotiate something else. Anything except that! I’ll let you know what I plan.
—Hurry, Empress!—
I wanted to think about this coolly, rationally. But fear for Jack had me shaking.
I stumbled down the stairs toward Aric’s rooms. As far as I could see, fate had left me two paths. Ask for Aric’s help, or . . . the impossible.
Why would Death ever help the boy who’d made love to his wife? I had no hope of getting him to assist me, but I had to try.
Without knocking, I slipped into his study. I found him lost in thought, lying on the couch. He was shirtless, wearing only low-slung leather pants. Staring at the ceiling, he had one arm behind his head, using his free hand to run his fingers over his chest. He traced different runes, as if he’d memorized their exact placement.
What was he thinking about as he touched those shapes?
“Aric, I need to speak with you.”
He rose with his unnatural speed, striding to me. “What’s happened?” He pinched my chin, turning my face side to side. “Why are you so pale?”
Trying for a steady tone, I said, “Jack has been captured by the Lovers.”
He dropped his hand. “Then right now he’s wishing I’d ended him in the mine.”
Struggling not to cry, I said, “I need your help to free him.”
“Take on an army for him? And why would I do that? I hate him more than I’ve ever hated anyone. Even you.” He turned away, heading straight for the vodka. He poured but didn’t drink. “Accept this: your mortal is doomed.”
“Please, Aric. I’m begging you!”
He whirled around, fury in his expression. “You refused—twice—to beg me for your own life, but you’d beg for his?”
I whispered, “Yes.”
With a calculating gleam in his eyes, he said, “This isn’t an impossible task you ask of me. I could call in ancient favors, contact old allies. They could be here in mere hours. We’d ride out as one.”
“T-truly?”
“On one condition: you’ll become my wife in truth, mine in every way. Beginning tonight. Comply, and I’ll take on an army for you.”
My lips parted with shock. “How can you do this to me?”
“Deveaux is lost to you in one way or another. He’ll either be slaughtered by the Lovers—or saved by my female, by her sacrifice.” He offered his hand. “Come with me, and begin this.”
“Don’t, Aric! Don’t destroy what I do feel for you.”
“I’ll take”—he seized my hand, yanking me close—“what I can get.”
Despite myself, I shivered from the contact, from his husky voice.
His hold on me was firm, proprietary. Because he believed I was about to become his. The red witch in me whispered, Death thinks he has you at his mercy. But the Empress doesn’t get collared or caged—or controlled. Take his head and pay the Tower.
Shut up! “Please, Aric. I’ll grow to hate you for this. I don’t want to feel that way about you. Never again. Don’t force me to do this.”
“Force?” Unmoved, he led me toward his bedroom. “I’m not forcing you to do anything. Just as you can’t force me to save your lover’s life. We each make sacrifices to get what we want.”
With my heart pounding, I crossed the threshold into his dark world. Black walls, black ceiling, black night beyond his windows. Yet outside I thought I saw . . . a single fluttering snowflake.
Like a sign.
“Come, sievā. I’ll wait no longer.”
As Death led me to his bed, to the promise of pleasure, I felt the rising heat of desire—and of . . .
Battle.