Manor of Decay (The Threadmender Chronicles #2)

Prologue

When dusk claimed the sky and the first smattering of stars dotted the purple expanse, a woman of great power and strong mind discovered a cavern.

Her name was Rebellyn. The cavern wasn’t much, just a small opening in the rock face a short distance away from the cottage her father had commandeered.

He’d brought her here in hopes that the ocean breeze would remedy the illness spreading through her chest, but Rebellyn knew that her weakened lungs didn’t give a damn about salt-tinged air.

They still rattled every time she inhaled.

She was only eighteen and already felt the shivers of death. She hated it, but didn’t fear it.

Perhaps that’s why she wasn’t afraid to enter the cavern alone.

She walked slowly over loose stone, her hands fumbling along the walls for purchase, until eventually the path widened into a massive opening.

Four separate rivers poured into the space, and they churned endlessly around an island made of black glass.

Tiny insects of luminous white shifted among the stalactites, and it was as if Rebellyn had stepped into a hidden part of the cosmos itself.

She didn’t notice when a lone figure appeared from the shadows at the center of the island.

So familiar with the icy presence of death, she didn’t heed the slight shift in temperature or the gooseflesh creeping down the back of her neck. Instead, she lingered.

Death watched her quietly for several moments.

Never had someone crossed into his domain without immediately fleeing.

The end of her life was near—he could sense it—and that’s why he’d been summoned to his birthplace.

It was here the first death in the realm ever occurred.

A small fish with bone-white scales and black eyes that lived only for a minute.

A fleeting moment that would reverberate through time for eternity.

Almost as fleeting as this woman’s life, a mere blip in Death’s immortal existence.

He tilted his head to the side and frowned.

Her lack of fear was peculiar to him. And then she turned; her gaze found his.

Her eyes were so pale they rivaled the beauty of the insects winking above his head, and her ashen blond hair fell over her shoulders in delicate wisps.

There was a gauntness to her face, and yet her expression was .

. . bold. Powerful even. She carried with her the presence of someone born to conquer, and had she not contracted the illness ravaging her insides, Death believed she would’ve brought the world to its knees with just that look alone.

She lifted her brow as her stare roved over him, head to toe.

“Do you know where you are, mortal?” Death asked. The ever-present rasp to his voice was a scratchy whisper that somehow carried across the gurgling rivers to meet her ears.

The woman blinked and, instead of answering his question, said, “I have a name.”

Death paused. He knew the hood of his cloak shadowed his hollowed-out face, but he wondered if she could see the shock plastered across his expression just the same. Finally, he asked, “What is your name?”

“Rebellyn.” She inched toward the bank of the water, eyeing the swirling current that separated her from him. “Do you live here?”

“I am not bound to any one place, but when someone with your . . . condition finds themselves here, I am summoned.” He waited to see if this news scared her.

Instead, she sighed. “You’re Death.”

“You’re perceptive.”

“It wasn’t hard to guess. A being cloaked in shadows, an ominous cave.” She gestured aimlessly around her. “And I am dying, which is blatantly obvious to anyone who dares to look at me for more than a minute.”

Death frowned. “Do they not look at you?” He couldn’t imagine. She was a fascination, a wonder, something deserving of study.

Rebellyn laughed. “I’m sick. The whole world would rather avert their eyes than look at the truth. At me.”

Death inhaled deeply, and with his intake of breath, he channeled her scent deep within his bones. She was a wildflower in the height of summer, but with rot eating away at her roots. Soon the latter would become the more overpowering aroma, and her body would crumble.

“You are early,” he murmured. “But not so early that I can’t take you away.”

He thrust his arms outward, and a gush of wind swirled through the cavern.

All at once the waters stilled. They became placid paths of onyx that seemed to glow with an unearthly light, and Rebellyn froze.

Magic was something all mortals knew about but rarely witnessed.

A thrill raced through her at the sight.

“I will give you the same opportunity as everyone who’s come before you: a path of your choosing.

” Pulsating power filled Death’s words with the frantic thrum of a dying heart fighting for its last beat.

Rebellyn’s eyes grew wide in response—and so did her smile.

It was a brilliant thing, and it made something shift deep within Death’s bones.

He carried on nonetheless. “Successfully choose the correct path forward, and I will allow you to pass, turning my back to you and your kin. Choose incorrectly and walk with me now to your end.”

She asked a few questions in response and sat with his answers, sifting through their hidden meanings. Then she gave him a knowing look.

“Every path leads me back to you.”

The admiration already blooming in Death’s chest grew tenfold. He smiled. “Yes.”

“I see.” A flicker of mischief sparked in her pale gaze. “Then I’ll return tomorrow.” She turned on her heel without a second glance and left down the path she’d come. Death stared after her, perplexed, but with a strange sense of eagerness.

Tomorrow, then.

And so, he sat through the night, never bothering to leave.

His magic was omnipresent; so long as he existed in the realm, the cycle of life and death would continue.

He felt each life pass into nothing the moment something expired.

It was simply a brush of awareness, a soft breath on his neck that, unless he was intentionally focusing on it, he barely acknowledged.

With his mind so fixated on Rebellyn, he hardly noticed anything at all.

True to her word, she returned bright and early the next morning.

And when Death stilled the waters and asked her to choose a path, she instead braved a single step in his direction.

When her foot met the now solid surface of the water, she let out a tiny giggle that had Death utterly baffled.

Fearless as Rebellyn was, she practically ran across the river to stand before Death with a wide grin.

“I was hoping that would happen.” Her breathy exhale settled over Death like a summer sunset, and for the first time in his existence, he felt warm. It took him several moments to find his words.

“Which path do you pick?”

Rebellyn hummed to herself before sinking to the ground. “I’ll answer you yet, but first, let’s sit awhile.” She patted the space beside her. “Indulge a dying woman.”

Death obeyed. And such became their routine.

Rebellyn would spend her days with Death, recounting her youth and spilling her secrets, her hopes, and her dreams. If she had nothing to say at all, that was fine, too.

Death would sit and listen, and then when the day came to an end, she’d pick the same path as before, returning to her life with the promise to see him again.

If she were anyone else, Death wouldn’t have humored this game.

But as the days stretched into weeks, months, years, he became so enamored with Rebellyn that he often forgot to ask her to choose a path at all.

And because Death had been stayed, Rebellyn’s lungs continued to function.

While her father attributed it to the ocean air, she knew better.

She’d grown aware of Death’s lingering stares, the ones she could feel against her skin when she wasn’t meeting his hooded gaze.

The first time he’d called her his “little Rebel,” she’d known she’d won.

That type of affection was something she’d heard only among lovers, and just maybe, Death didn’t want to see her go.

She’d found a way around her circumstance, but she wasn’t done yet.

“You know, I’ve spent years sharing my mind with you,” she began one morning, her hand placed beside his. His skin was near translucent, his black veins as deep as the midnight sky. Their pinkies grazed with the barest of touches. “I think it’s high time you give me a bit more of yourself.”

Death grumbled, but he didn’t pull away from her touch. “What do I have to share? I’ve not lived the way you have.”

“I’ve hardly lived at all.” She shrugged. “So, since neither of us has been given the life we desired, why don’t you tell me what you would do if you could?”

“I suppose it’s not that I can’t do more,” he mused.

“This is just all I’ve known.” His cloak, which Rebellyn had learned was more like a swath of living, breathing shadows, flared around his frame, and the barest hint of decay filled the air.

The scent of his magic had initially repulsed her, but she’d learned to hide her reaction and, later, become accustomed to it.

“You could go anywhere, do anything,” Rebellyn said with an elongated exhale. “And yet you don’t.”

“What would you have me do, little Rebel?”

Her lips quirked. “Whatever you pleased. If I had power like yours, I’d never let anyone tell me how to live my life.

You don’t have to fear death.” She looked at him with a spark of wonder and hope like Death had never experienced.

And perhaps it was the way she inched closer to his body, or perhaps it was because he’d spent years beside this woman, learning to trust her, that Death did something entirely unexpected.

He reached into the folds of his shadowy cloak and pulled out a blade made of the same stone as the island.