“I can’t promise to know everything about how it works.” Fate’s voice was smoother than ever and far more sincere than she’d been prepared for, each word echoed by the beat of the music Signa was trying to pry from her head. “I only know what you used to tell me—”
“I never used to tell you anything,” she sniped. If he was looking for her to waver or to see what he might be able to get away with, she wouldn’t allow him to find it so easily.
“Life told me.” He plucked a withered rose from a vase on the tea table. “Unless you plan to argue with me through the evening, close your eyes and envision what you want this flower to turn into. Grow the vision like a seed in your mind, and then set your hand upon the stem.”
She shut her eyes, opened one to confirm that he wasn’t trying anything scandalous, then shut it again and filled her mind’s eye with the image of a rose, its red petals plump and its thorns piercing enough to draw blood. She envisioned healthy green leaves and an unbendable stem. Once she was certain that the vision she wanted was at the forefront of her mind, she reached her hand out and let Fate press the rose into her palm. A thorn pressed against her skin, though it bent and flaked off without the slightest prick, not one drop of blood spilled.
Fate inhaled so sharply at their touch that for a moment Signa’s vision splintered, though she gathered herself once more and curled her fingers around the rose. She waited. And waited. And waited until she could no longer take it and cracked one eye open.
“Nothing happened.” Fate scratched at his jaw with one hand as he used the other to lift the rose up to investigate. “It hasn’t grown one bit.”
“I can see it just as well as you can.” Signa opened her eyes fully. “If you weren’t so noisy, perhaps I could have kept my concentration.”
“Noisy? Explain to me how I could have possibly been noisy when all I did was hand you this emaciated rose. Why do you even have dead flowers in your home?”
“Do forgive me. I apologize that my mind has been preoccupied by the imminent death of my uncle when I should have instead been clipping fresh flowers in preparation of your arrival.”
His scoff had enough force to carry through the room. Even the hearth’s flames shuddered in his rage. “It’s no wonder you and Miss Hawthorne were close. You’re both barbaric. I cannot control my breathing, Miss Farrow, if that’s what annoyed you. I may be immortal, but my body is still that of a living man’s. I’m sorry to disappoint, but I am not like your precious Death.”
Each of Signa’s words was a blunt strike she knew she’d regret even before they were out of her mouth. “That is a disappointment. My night would be going so much better if you were.”
“Oh? Then why don’t you have him come and help you? He seems so useful, sulking in the corner.”
Signa bristled. She should have known better than to ask Fate for his help. “If he knew, then I’m sure he’d teach me. Assuming you hadn’t taken away our ability to speak, that is.”
Fate’s laughter was as cutting as Death’s scythe as he bobbed his head, nodding along to her scorn. “Oh yes, I’m the villain. Tell me, Miss Farrow, do you not think it odd that you can only see him when you’re nearly dead? Don’t you find something inhumane about that? Your body is smart enough to know the danger, considering you’re sick every time you touch him. Your hair is turning silver, for God’s sake.”
“Only because you decided to get involved in my love life!” She ignored the urge to tuck her silver strands out of sight. “How foolish I was to think you’d help me. Only someone truly horrible could create such a fate for Death and me. If you can control whether we can speak to each other, then surely you can also determine whether he and I see each other. If you truly cared about my happiness, then you would let me be with him. But you are a selfish man.” This last part Signa spoke not with rage, but with defeat as she plucked the rose stem from his hand and brought it to her lap. In the quiet that spanned between them, Fate kept seated, drawing long breaths until he settled enough to speak.
“I will not deny such claims,” he admitted, “nor do I have shame in them. I have waited far too long for the things I want; I will not pretend to be sorry when I take them.” He was cracking like the finest china, and Signa wasn’t sure whether to fear or pity the fire in his words.
“Do you know why I asked you here?” She looked at his hands as they folded and unfolded in his lap, seeking something to do. “I do not wish to learn these powers for me. I would be happy to live the rest of my life without ever using them, for the pain they cause is that severe. I brought you here because I am out of options. I wish to help Elijah, but I cannot be at Thorn Grove right now to find Lord Wakefield’s murderer. The best thing I can do is be there if Elijah is hanged and learn how to bring him back from the grave.”
Fate was not the only one to startle at this plan. Foxglove grew so cold that the hearth snuffed out entirely, and Gundry whined from his position curled near it. Fate glanced to the corner where Death stood, and for once it seemed it was not to fight him.
“Just as you cannot cheat Fate, you cannot steal from Death, Miss Farrow,” he said. “Especially not those he has already claimed.”
“But I will.” It was not a threat so much as it was a promise. “Should Elijah be taken from me, I don’t care what it takes. I’ve used Life’s powers before, and I’ll figure out how to do it again. If I cannot be at Thorn Grove—”
“What does it matter if you cannot be at Thorn Grove?” Fate waved a hand as he stood, and once again the flames of the hearth roared to life, if only to silence Gundry’s protests. “You were barred from a place, not from its people. If that is the single obstacle you must overcome to keep yourself from doing something so remarkably foolish, then bring those people to you! A horse is one thing, but there will be repercussions beyond your wildest imagination should you bring a human life back from the grave.”
“You’ve no idea how rampant my imagination can be.”
His laugh was not one of humor, but one that had him throwing his hands into the air and spinning again to where Death stood. Only this time as Signa followed his stare, she could see shadows writhing on the floor. Faintly at first, then darker, until she followed those shadows up to the frown that pulled Death’s lips and the severity that lingered in his stare.
“Talk to her,” Fate warned before he spun back to Signa. “I will not teach you to use your gifts if this is what you intend to use them for, you ridiculous girl. Unless you wish to bring Chaos upon us all, then learn the rules. They exist for a reason. I have no desire to see Elijah Hawthorne die, but if you plan to save him, you’ll need to find another way.”
“If you don’t wish for him to die, then prove it,” Signa challenged, and for a moment Fate stood still as if processing those words. “If you walk out of here now, I promise I will hate you forever. You said that you care for me, and if that’s true, then help me. I cannot lose Elijah.”
The man looked at war with himself, veins pulsing in his forearms as he clenched his hands. Eventually, he turned to Signa. “If you want my help, then throw a party.” It was far from the response she expected, and Signa recoiled when Fate stepped so close that she could feel the warmth of his body press against her skin. “Do as I say and get everyone in the same room, Miss Farrow, and you will get your answers. Just don’t be angry at me when they’re not the ones you wished for.”
Fate did not allow Signa time to ask the thousands of questions that burned her lips but turned on his heel and saw himself out of Foxglove.
“Do you think he’s being sincere?” she asked Death instead, taking hold of his arm as he approached. She curled her fingers into him to steady herself, already finding that her breaths came easier simply because he was there beside her.