Chapter 26 Svenn #3
The ground trembles beneath our feet. Great pieces of bone break from the gate and crash into the ash-sand. Shadows spill through the widening cracks, writhing across the sky as the entire structure begins to buckle.
Death sees it and curses.
“Fine! You win! Both of you!” he shouts and points at me. “You can return with her.”
For one suspended moment, I cannot react. Then relief surges through me so fiercely that my grip on Rhianelle tightens.
I keep my expression still, unwilling to give Death the satisfaction of seeing it.
Rhianelle cannot hide hers. Her heartbeat spikes beneath my hand with sudden hope.
Death raises one finger. “But there are conditions.”
It’s too good to be true. I fucking knew it.
“Conditions?” I ask warily.
Death’s expression changes. A slow, sinister smile spreads across his face, reminding me far too much of Blight whenever she is plotting something terrible.
“You will return as a Strigon, but you will no longer be truly immortal,” he says with a smirk. “If you return, your life will be bound to hers.”
“What does that mean?” Rhianelle asks.
“It means that when she dies, you die,” Death says, staring straight at me. There’s something almost smug in his voice now. “The moment her heart stops, yours stops.”
Rhianelle gasps and raises one hand to her mouth.
I blink once.
Then I laugh.
Death thinks this is a punishment. A clever clause that will make me reconsider. But he’s wrong.
“That’s perfect,” I say. “That’s more than I ever hoped for.”
Death blinks. “What?”
“I wouldn’t want to live without her anyway,” I explain. “If she dies, I want to die too. So your ‘condition’ is actually a gift. Thank you.”
Death stares at me, then at Rhianelle. He takes another look at the overflowing gate breaking apart behind him.
“I hate you both,” he mutters.
The Un waves one hand. The gray realm begins to shimmer, and warm golden light spreads across the lifeless sky. A dark passage opens through the brightness, its interior deeper than shadow.
Death points toward it. “Walk away from the light. The path home lies through the darkness.”
He is sending us back.
The fucker is actually sending us back.
Rhianelle lets go of me and runs to Death. She hugs him tightly.
Death freezes, his arms awkwardly at his sides. He looks completely bewildered.
She begins to pull away, then hesitates. “I need to ask you for one more favor.”
Death’s expression turns wary. “What is it?”
“Your list,” she says. “The names of those who are meant to die.”
The warmth gathering around us seems to dim.
“Why?”
“My uncle was poisoned with Nevrin. It usually kills within twenty-four hours.” Her fingers twist together. “I need to know whether Rainer dies tomorrow.”
Death studies her for a long moment. Then he lifts one hand, and a dark book appears within it. Its pages turn without being touched. Names flash across them too quickly for me to read.
Rhianelle holds her breath.
“Rainer Wiolant is not listed for tomorrow,” Death says.
Rhianelle’s shoulders sag with relief, but she does not look satisfied. “What about the day after?”
More pages turn. “No.”
“Next week?” she asks.
Death gives her a tired look, yet checks again. “He is not on my list for tomorrow or for any day in the coming week.”
A broken sound escapes her, half laugh, half sob. She presses one hand over her mouth as tears fill her eyes.
Rhianelle throws her arms around Death again. He makes an annoyed sound but does not push her away.
“Thank you,” Rhianelle says into his chest. “Thank you, my friend.”
“Go back and do your best to win the war,” Death says tiredly. “Save your people.”
She pulls back and smiles at him. “I’ll do my best.”
Rhianelle runs back to me, and I catch her hand.
Hand in hand, we walk slowly toward the dark passage. Golden light burns behind us, but the tunnel ahead is entirely black. Every instinct tells me we are walking in the wrong direction, yet warmth gathers around our joined hands with every step.
Rhianelle calls Death her friend. She certainly has some fucking strange acquaintances. A giant spider. A glowing creature from another world. And now this.
“Death is your friend?” I ask.
“Yes.” She nods, glancing back at the figure watching us leave. “That’s how he takes a person. Death doesn’t come as a stranger. He comes wearing someone they know. A friend, to make the crossing easier.”
Her gaze returns to me.
“That’s why he looks like you. A younger you.” She laughs softly and presses closer. “You’re my friend, and you’re the person I want holding me at the end.”
I tighten my arms around her. “Does he always take the form of someone dear to you?”
“Not always. When Death hates someone, he appears as the person they fear most.”
I fall quiet for a moment, turning that over in my mind.
“What about you?” she asks. “What did he look like to you?”
I look back one last time at Death. Dark hair frames a face sharpened by fury, his skin deathly pale. His eyes burn with a familiar, vengeful madness.
“Vlad,” I say quietly.
Vladimir Mircea Dr?culea.
My friend whom we locked inside a tomb after he went mad. I look again.
Death watches me through Vlad’s furious eyes, his expression promising vengeance from beyond the grave.
It’s fucking terrifying.