River of Shadows (Underworld Gods #1)

He seems to ponder that over. “Anything else?”

“That she thought it was powered by love. Love for my father,” I quickly add.

He removes his hand from me, raises his head slightly. “How do you feel?”

“What do you mean?”

“Right now. How do you feel?”

I frown, trying to think. How do I feel? How do I even order those emotions into words?

“What’s the problem?” he goes on. “No one ever asks you how you feel back in your world?”

Quite frankly, no. I mean I get the “how are ya?” from friends, or bartenders, or people at work. But no one asks me how I feel. About anything.

“Does anyone ask you how you feel?” I throw it back at him.

“No. Why would they? All they have to do is look outside.” He gestures to a stained glass window at the end of the hall.

He has a point there.

“So, how do you feel? Right now. Be honest. I can tell when you’re not.”

I sigh loudly and close my eyes. “Right now? Annoyed that I have to answer this question.”

“And?”

“And…confused. Because I don’t know what any of this means. Curious, because I want to find out more.”

“Think deeper,” he tells me, his voice hushed. “Do you feel like you belong here?”

“No,” I say immediately.

“You didn’t think. You didn’t feel. You only said what you wanted to hear. Do you feel like you belong here?”

“I don’t want to belong here,” I practically whisper.

“That’s not what I asked you.” He pauses, his breath raspy, smelling of mint. “Do you feel powerful?”

I swallow and find myself nodding.

“Do you feel alive?”

Again, I nod.

Because I do feel strangely alive here. I see it when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I feel it in my cells, like they’re glowing. And despite the feelings of hopelessness I have over my situation, I do feel powerful. Maybe not to defeat Death, but even so.

“And compared to back in your old life?” he asks. “How did you feel there? Did you feel powerful? Did you feel alive? Did you feel as if you belonged?”

I shake my head, surprised at the ache in my heart. Was I just sleepwalking in my life before? Just aimlessly checking off the boxes, making sure I had everything that life expected of me without any real thought of what I truly wanted? I had spent my teenage years trying to be beautiful, trying to be the best, trying to win over the attention of my mother, for whom I was never good enough, and even though I left that behind and started anew in LA, even though I found the power I craved in capoeira, was it really enough?

Death puts his hand at the small of my back and we start going down the stairs.

“I don’t know what it all means, little bird,” he says to me. “But it’s no accident that your father is a shaman and it’s no accident that you’re here. It’s something I’m very aware of, and I think you are too.”

We pause outside my room and Death gestures to the door.

“I’m leaving it unlocked,” he says. “Your prison just got bigger.”

I raise my brow. “So I can go anywhere?”

“You can try,” he amends. “But if I were you, I’d keep the door locked from the inside. There are some in this castle you shouldn’t trust.”

“Does that include you?”

“What do you think?”

I swallow, finding that boldness returning. “I think I might keep the door unlocked tonight.”

There’s no way he’s missing my meaning.

I hear him swallow.

“Alright,” he says thickly.

Then he nods and walks off down the hall, disappearing around the corner, his robe flowing behind him.

I can’t help but smile to myself, feeling a kick of power. He doesn’t realize it, but I have agency now. A midnight tryst is no longer his idea.

It’s mine.





Chapter 16





The Night Visit





With Death giving me access to the castle, I spend the rest of the day roaming the halls, peeking in all the rooms that are available to me. I don’t see Death, nor anyone else I recognize. There are only Deadhands marching around in unison, one arm swinging, the other gripping their swords. They don’t even turn their heads when they pass me by, but since they don’t have eyeballs in their skull sockets, they might be watching me all the same.

The more time I spend exploring the hallowed walls of Shadow’s End, the more creepy and beautiful it becomes, both sides complementing each other, yin and yang. A castle of iron and bone filled with chilling and intricate details, furnishings that are both lush and stark. It’s like being trapped in a macabre fairy-tale, where bone soldiers and servants haunt the keep. I see grand rooms for sitting and drinking, and great halls for dining, smaller libraries, some studies, a few guest rooms. There are kitchens, pantries, garrison quarters—all with various views of either the mountains or the sea.

I even find Stargaze Tower, where I’m supposed to chuck Bell into the sea when the moon is full. The raging sea is right below, the tower rising up from it like a cliff. The room itself is a marvel, all gold and silver, with star maps and astrological drawings all over the stone walls, books of galaxies and planets strewn across sturdy wood tables. Two telescopes stand at the large windows, pointed at the clouds. Both windows open and when I test one, cold salty sea air flows into the room, invigorating me.

Finally, there is the lowest level, into the sprawling wine cellars, chain-riddled dungeons that looked primed for torture, and oubliettes that make me shudder, fathomless holes that I’m sure many have been thrown down to be forgotten about. They all seem to lead along the damp path to a black iron door with flickering candles outside. The door has strange symbols written over it. It’s locked, and there’s a dark, ominous hush to the area, which makes me think that the notorious crypt is inside there.

I don’t stay there trying to figure it out—the place gives me the creeps. And considering I’m a prisoner of Shadow’s End, that’s saying a lot.

I have to say, after being given that freedom, I’m happy to be back in my room. Dare I say I’m growing to appreciate it. When Raila comes by later to attend to my needs, I request not only a warm bath with that smooth skin scrub, but a bottle of wine as well.

By the time night rolls around, the snowstorm turns to darkening mist—I’m nervous but feeling pretty limber thanks to the bottle of wine, and that nervousness gives way to strange bouts of excitement. Bell keeps trying to give me tips and pointers for my meeting with Death, but eventually I have to put the towel over her tank, shutting her up like you would a parrot. She gets the hint.

I’m about to put on the white nightgown he picked out for me (I’ve been sleeping in the black one), then remember his instructions for last time. I may have initiated this round, but I still want to comply when I can.

So I let myself be naked and go over to the bed, lying down on my stomach. I don’t even know if he will come by, he never actually said he would, and while I feel a bit of relief at the thought, I also feel a hit of rejection.

Which is weird. Because I shouldn’t be looking forward to this, not even a little. I mean, he’s essentially my captor and, while I walked into this bargain, it doesn’t mean that I have to like it. I shouldn’t like it. I should hate every moment of it.

And yet…and yet…

I’m curious.

I can still hate this and yet want it to happen, purely because I want to know what Death has planned for me.

I want to know what he’s like.

What he feels like.

The noises he’ll make.

The fact that he’ll come undone. and there has to be power in that.

It’s my power to give.

Make him want you, make him want to keep you, make him love you.

Then fly.

I think I must fall asleep because suddenly I hear the door open, flickering light briefly slicing into the room, and then it closes.

The room is dark now, the candles having been blown out, and yet I’m tempted to turn around, to see him approach.