Exasperated as he was, Fate had no choice but to play along. “Why, Miss Hawthorne?” If words could kill, his would have severed her five times over. “Why did you expect more from me?”
Blythe gave no warning as she sliced her palm across the iron poker near the hearth and turned to stare Fate dead in the eyes. “Because you never specified who had to be your bride.”
Blythe smiled as she spilled her blood upon the tapestry’s golden threads.
FORTY-THREE
BLYTHE HAWTHORNE HAD BESTED FATE FOUR SEPARATE TIMES.
Signa allowed Death to grab hold of her, dragging her to the opposite side of the room as Fate clutched his left hand to his chest, a glowing band igniting upon his ring finger. Blythe wore a matching one that she paid little mind to as a thread shone bright between them, binding them.
“We have to help her,” Signa whispered as Fate crossed toward Blythe in three long strides, looking poised to wrap his hands around her throat. And yet Death held Signa tight.
He made an oath with you. Death’s voice was lighter than she’d heard in ages. For as long as he lives, he cannot bring harm upon Blythe Hawthorne.
Only then did Signa’s body ease, tears of relief spilling from her even as Fate closed the space between himself and Blythe.
“You have no idea what you’ve just done,” he snarled, poised to kill.
Blythe did not back away, but instead pressed against his chest as she tipped her head to sneer at him. “On the contrary, I believe I’ve just fulfilled an oath. Are you not proud of your wife’s cleverness?”
Fate’s nostrils flared. “You are not my wife.”
“I believe this says otherwise.” She held up her finger, wiggling it. Fate looked as though he were seeing red. He pushed from her and whirled toward Death and Signa. Death had his shadows around her in a second, shielding her, but there was no need. It wasn’t Signa that Fate looked to with murder in his eyes, but Death. Fate’s golden eyes glinted, the barely visible threads around him shifting. Whatever he tried, however, didn’t work. The golden band of light on his finger flared bright and he gasped, the vein in his neck bulging as he doubled over and clutched his hand tight.
Blythe’s footsteps were as light as a dancer’s as she closed the space between them and wound her fingers into his blond hair. She bent toward his ear, speaking the words as softly as a lover, “I want my father freed this afternoon.”
When Fate laughed, the sound was manic. “You’re going to regret this.” There was no masking his rage. His sorrow. Yet Signa could not pity him. He had laid this trap; he shouldn’t have been surprised to have ended up caught in it.
Just like during their game of croquet, he should have known better than to underestimate Blythe. They all should have.
“Don’t worry, darling.” Blythe laid a kiss upon his cheek, leaving a press of rouge. “You’ll have the rest of your life to make it up to me.”
Never had Signa seen such anger. Such a promise of destruction in one’s eyes as she did when Fate turned, storming into the threads of light that disappeared his body within seconds. To where, Signa didn’t care to know.
With only the three of them left, the parlor fell silent. Signa couldn’t say whether seconds or minutes passed before Blythe sighed and perched herself on the edge of a leather chair, inspecting the band around her finger.
“Is it horribly noticeable?”
Signa took her first breath in who knew how long. She hadn’t realized how tight her body had become, chest so constricted that it felt on the verge of collapsing. Peeling from Death’s grip, she moved toward Blythe for a closer inspection.
“No, actually.” Signa’s words were loosened with a breath. The band on Blythe’s finger was cleverly masked—little more than a dim shimmer one had to squint to see, like white ink on fair skin. It reminded Signa vaguely of a scar, and she clutched her chest when it became even tighter with guilt.
“I was going to take care of this, Blythe. You never should have gotten involved.”
Blythe dropped her hand, inspecting Signa now. “And yet I did.”
And yet she did.
Signa stared at her cousin, uncertain whether she was meant to shake her or hug her or tell her how much of a fool she’d been to make a bargain with someone as powerful as Fate. Though Blythe must have had some sense of the power he wielded, not even Signa knew the extent of it.
“He is Fate.” Signa kept her voice soft, desperate to know that her cousin understood the gravity of her situation. “You cannot break an oath with him.”
“Why not?” Blythe sat straighter, calm as she looked at Signa. “Have I not bested him before?”
Death and Signa shared a look as she wondered whether Blythe had any idea just how true that was.
“Regardless, I’m not certain I’d want to break it.” Blythe hopped down from the chair, and before Signa could ask what she meant, said, “There are no false pretenses between us. I may live my life however I’d like, and all pressure of courting will be gone. Everyone will even believe I’m a princess.” Blythe may have dazzled with her smile, yet the corners of it wavered. Still, she reached to take hold of Signa’s hand with the same softness she’d shown earlier.
“Don’t worry about me. I appreciate you being so willing to save my father, but I’ll take it from here.” Signa’s chest nearly broke when Blythe placed a gentle kiss on her hand.
“After all that I did,” Signa whispered, “why would you help me?”
“Because you were willing to help me.” The answer came too easily, in a voice that was too light. “You deserve to live, too, Signa. I may not understand everything, but I know Percy was the reason I was dying. I know that you saved me from him.”
The unexpected words brought immediate tears to Signa’s eyes and had her stomach so sick that she bowed at the waist. She hugged herself tight, trying to keep herself together.
“You were never supposed to find out.”
“I know,” Blythe whispered. “But I needed to. Now, leave it to me to take care of Byron and the others. It’s time that I go pack. I don’t want my father coming home to an empty house.”
Elijah, home. Never had there been words more magnificent.
“I’ll be on a train first thing tomorrow morning,” Signa said, only to stumble over herself as she realized her misstep. “I mean… if that’s all right with you.”
Blythe’s smile was like birdsong on a warm spring day. “It is,” she whispered, and Signa’s heart softened when Blythe squeezed her hand once more. “I’m sure my father would want you there, too.”
Death had given them some space after Fate had left, but he slowly drew back to Signa’s side. He pressed a kiss onto the top of her head, and Signa nearly wept when it didn’t steal her breath or still her heart. She eased into Death’s arms as Blythe started toward the door. At the threshold, however, Blythe turned to look back not at her cousin but at Death, whose shadows had slipped from him.
He didn’t notice at first because it was impossible. A fluke. And yet he stilled as Blythe continued to stare, observing his human form with narrowed interest.
“Take care of her.” Blythe’s words were not a kindness, but a threat. “My cousin seems to see the good in you, and I’ll trust her judgment. But if you so much as bring a single tear to her eye, I’ll have your head on a pike. Do you understand me?”
Both Signa and Death were at a loss for words as they stared at Blythe’s retreating figure. They listened to the soft clacking of her boots against the stairs before they turned to each other, and Signa could not help herself as her sob gave way to laughter.
They had won. They’d conquered Fate. They’d saved Elijah, her relationship with Blythe was on the mend, and now Signa could see Death. She could hold him.
“Blythe can see you.”