Chapter 37 #3
Is that really what he looks like? Or is it a generous rendering?
The moment we reach the palace doors, they open, just like the gates. An attendant is waiting for us.
The immortal’s posture is stiff. She looks like she exists in a perpetual state of terror.
“Welcome to House Rodin,” she says, bowing low. “It’s been—it’s been so long since we’ve had guests.”
I smile tightly, unease already sliding through me.
“Are you hungry? There will be a feast, of course, but—”
“Feast?” I ask.
She nods. “As is custom for Great Houses. All guests are welcomed with the best we have to offer. Feasts. Gifts. Our most ancient wines.”
It’s still the early hours. I shake my head. “Just a place to rest would be good,” I say. Raker is silent beside me.
“Of course. I—I will show you to the guest quarters.”
The attendant hurries up a set of onyx stairs, looking back at the door as if waiting for the lord of the house to suddenly appear.
He doesn’t, and she rushes to show us to our rooms, which are right next to each other.
I don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.
The moment she can, she scurries away again.
I turn to Raker, only to find him already striding down the hall, instead of going inside his room.
“Where are you going?” I snap. He doesn’t respond.
My eyes narrow on his back as I follow. “Are we back to this? You ignoring me?” Apparently, yes, because he doesn’t answer.
I sigh, following him. This castle is bathed in shadows. I find myself not rushing to be alone in my quarters. I watch as Raker tries door after door, peering inside, until he finally finds a room that holds his interest.
It’s a library. For how desolate and dark this house is, the library is full of art. Shelves of ancient books fill the generous space. Tapestries line the walls. They all feature the same subject—the God of Death. Unlike the statues, these have color.
The God of Death is silver-haired, tall, and facing a swarm of monstrous creatures.
His sword glows just as much as his hair does.
Every tapestry is the same. The great God of Death on top of a pile of bodies, or surrounded by severed heads, or sitting on a throne of bones.
A statue of him sits in the corner, towering and intimidating.
Is it life-sized? I study it carefully, turning my head. My lips purse.
“You know … he’s kind of hot,” I say.
Raker shoots me a scathing look.
I lift a shoulder. “What? He is.”
His hood is still down and I watch his eyes narrow. “Diamonds and death. That’s what gets you going. What a remarkable pairing.” He clearly finds me ridiculous.
I give him a sympathetic look. “Don’t be intimidated by a statue, Raker. It’s unbecoming.”
He glares at me.
I slowly walk over to him, eager to ruin his day as he has ruined mine. “Or … are you afraid? Is that it?” I take another step.
“I’m not afraid of anything,” he says.
I laugh. “You looked pretty terrified at the idea of kissing me.” I remember how his eyes widened when I gripped his face. When he realized what I was going to do.
His look could make an entire field of wildflowers wither. “I don’t kiss anyone.”
I raise a brow at him. “As a rule?” I say it as a joke, but he doesn’t reply. My smile fades. “You’re not kidding.” I frown. “You don’t … you’ve never bedded anyone?”
He looks at me as if I’m stupid. “Of course I have. But fucking and kissing are two different things.” He looks utterly revolted as he seems to imagine the act. “I would never let anyone get that close to me.”
The corners of my lips twitch. “You act like kissing is more intimate than having sex.”
“It is.”
“You make it sound repulsive.”
“Isn’t it?”
I smile fully now. “It isn’t so bad.” Not that I have much experience. I only kissed one boy, once, as a teenager. It was fine, but not good enough that I ever rushed to do it again.
Raker’s eyes narrow. He looks like he’s about to say something, then thinks better of it and turns around, toward the table.
“The map,” Raker says, clearly desperate to change the conversation. He points at a pile of parchment and pieces of charcoal. Still shaking my head in amusement, I begin to draw.
“We’re here,” I say, drawing the estate, then the desert, with the flaming city at the corner of it. City on Fire. Not far from a place that doesn’t have a name, only endless bolts of lightning.
“We just have to make it through the desert. And hope the cavalry doesn’t find us before we reach the Land of the Gods.”
He nods. He doesn’t look worried at all.
“Vander said a beast lives there. One that will make us enemies of ourselves.”
He just looks at me. His gaze repeats, I’m not afraid of anything.
My glare says, Cocky bastard.
Then, I yawn. I didn’t sleep at all last night, and Vander was right. Portaling with the blade has sucked away my energy. “Fine. We’ll leave from the edge of these gardens first thing tomorrow,” I say, pushing off the edge of the table. “I’m going to get some rest.”
I lied.
The blacksmith in the Traveling City said one of the Great Houses has a forge, run by someone who might know which god my blade once belonged to.
Lord Rodin’s sword was freshly sharpened, evenly so, with precision, and limited scratch marks along the metal. By a grinding stone, I would guess.
A device found in a forge.
It’s still a theory. I could be wrong. But something tells me the ancient blacksmith is here.
I just need to find him.
The attendants aren’t helpful. The moment I spot a few and open my mouth, they scuttle away. You would think the God of Death himself roamed these halls, hanging anyone who dared look him in the eye.
Maybe he does, I think, as I creep down a set of stairs. A forge needs fire. So far, I haven’t been successful searching the top floors. Maybe he’s below.
For the first few flights, all I feel is endless chill. Then … the temperature changes. It becomes warm when it should be getting colder. I follow the mysterious heat, until I hear it—pounding metal. Like a melody.
“Pass me the iron, would you?”
I do. I’m only ten, and convincing Stellan to let me help him in his forge is the biggest accomplishment of my life.
He looks at me and shakes his head, frowning at my wide, curious eyes. “You’ll be bored in a week.”
I take not being bored as a personal challenge, especially when shadowing him becomes monotonous. I fill the silence between pounding metal with questions.
“Have you ever made a blade so big no one could hold it?”
“No.”
“Have you ever poured honey into the burning metal, just to see what would happen?”
“What? No.”
“Have you ever—”
“Here,” he says, handing me his tools. “Why don’t you keep yourself busy by trying all these ideas of yours?”
I blink down at them. My excitement turns to worry. “But what if I fail?” I ask. Would he let me back into the forge? Would he … would he put me out on the streets? I don’t have anywhere else to go … I try to return the tools. “Maybe I shouldn’t try.”
He doesn’t take them back. All he says is, “The only way you fail is if you don’t.”
I open an iron door, and a blacksmith turns his focus away from a blade to me. His brow furrows. Then his eyes light with that all-too-familiar terror. “Does he know you’re here?” he asks, looking around.
“Who?” I say, even though I’m almost sure I know.
“Lord Rodin.”
I think back to the man with the dark, oily hair. He didn’t seem that intimidating, though I only interacted with him for a few minutes.
“I’m a guest,” I say, but clearly that doesn’t cut it. He stands as if to close the door in my face, when a tiny voice sounds nearby.
“Who is it, Dad?” Before the man can speak, a small child with hair black as night darts forward. He looks at me and tilts his head in wonder. “I’ve never seen you before,” he says.
The man leans down and whispers words I can’t hear. The boy unhappily walks away. Then the blacksmith looks at me. His eyes are full of irritation … but also fear. He’s afraid for his son.
“You have to leave,” he says, looking around as if the walls have eyes and ears.
“But—”
“Come back at midnight.” His gaze lands on the sword over my shoulder, tucked in my new scabbard. His eyes sharpen, just at seeing the hilt.
I slowly ease it out of its sheath so he can see its metal. “Have you—have you seen my blade before?”
The immortal blacksmith’s jaw works. For a moment, I don’t think he’ll answer me. Then, as if the words will cost him, he says, “I have.”
Hope rises through my chest. I open my mouth.
“Tonight,” he barks, before slamming the door shut.