Chapter 17
Killian
The door to their left opened, and a young man emerged. He shivered as he crossed the threshold, shaking his loose blond hair.
No, not blond—yellow. The tall, slender man had hair the color of dandelions. It looked ridiculous with his sallow, too-serious face, and his bright green, undeniably expensive suit.
“Ah, Mr. Vaneer,” Julian greeted him, all enthusiasm vanishing from his voice. “Killian, meet your opponent, Mr. Thomes Vaneer.”
Killian extended his hand, but Thomes only scowled.
“I use the word ‘opponent’ generously,” Julian added. “Mr. Vaneer has been attending these games for the last six years, squandering his daddy’s artifacts, and he has never once been a contender.”
“Dead Man’s Bluff is a children’s game,” Thomes sneered back. “Give me a game with real stakes and I’ll wipe the floor with everyone.”
Thomes slumped into the nearest chair, leaving Killian to suppress an eye roll. Dead Man’s Bluff was a game of deception and cunning, and if the Blade of Hanael was any indication, the stakes were high.
“Yes, well,” Julian drawled, “you are the only child in attendance.”
Thomes was about to retort with something undoubtedly witty when a commotion interrupted.
“I should have known you would be here.”
“Of course. I can’t go anywhere without you tailing me.”
Killian whirled toward the opposite wall. Two men, both with dark skin and bald heads, stood in separate doorways with their fingers pointed at one another. They looked so alike, they might have been arguing with a mirror.
“Oh good, the twins have arrived,” Julian muttered.
“I told you I’d poison you the next time I saw you,” one of the men shouted.
“And I told you I’d burn down your house if you ever came near me again,” the other shouted back.
Simultaneously, they grabbed one another by the collar. They growled and huffed as they grappled in the most pathetic display of fighting Killian had ever seen.
“Gentlemen,” Julian sighed. “Do behave, would you?”
The two men let go of one another and dropped their hands to their sides. “I’ll behave as long as he does,” scoffed the one on the left.
“Me? You’re the one who started it.”
“You started it eight years ago when you stole my phoenix replica.”
“I told you, I never—”
“Gentlemen,” Julian said again, more forcefully this time. “Have a seat at the table before I disinvite both of you.”
The one on the right smoothed his shirtfront as he strutted past his brother, making a grand display out of being the bigger person. The other one waited a moment before following, as if the air his brother had walked through was tainted.
They both proceeded to take in the room and its occupants. Their gazes flitted on Killian for a moment before landing on something behind him.
“Hello, Elyse,” one called. “I didn’t see you behind that behemoth.”
Killian frowned, realizing he was the “behemoth.”
“I heard you were on the run,” the other continued. “Wanted in regard to King Cyril’s murder.” He posed it as a question, lifting his brows.
Elyse lunged forward with a menacing growl. The twins recoiled, their chairs scraping across the floor as they flinched backward.
Elyse cackled as she tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Good to see you, too, Nathaniel,” she crooned, nodding at the man on the left. “And you, Novick,” she addressed the other.
Nathaniel leaned his forearms on the table. “Is everyone here?”
“We’re missing one,” Killian answered. He’d already assessed the room: six chairs, six sides to the table. There were six of them there, but Elyse wasn’t accounted for as a player. That meant one guest was still missing.
“Mr. Southwick is correct,” Julian said, sounding mildly impressed. “Our final player prefers to make a… dramatic entrance.”
As if on cue, the last door opened. All heads turned toward it, eager to see their opponent. A lithe, cloaked figure swooped through the doorway. A familiar chill passed over Killian as pale hands reached from beneath the cloak to pull back the hood.
Rich, scarlet hair spilled free, framing a pale, grave face. Killian knew he had seen her before, but he couldn’t grasp where, even as his mind screamed at him to remember.
“Lady Death,” Elyse purred. “We meet again.”
Killian and the other players went rigid at her words.
Thomes looked like he was about to lose his dinner.
Only Julian smiled, apparently proud of himself for having landed such a dignified guest. Death incarnate stood before them, ready to play them in a game of cards.
She was stunning—ethereal even, despite the wards that dampened their magic.
Her smile was entrancing, like a tragedy unfolding before them.
“Elyse Crenshaw,” Death answered. “Not covered in blood this time,” she added, giving Elyse a swift once-over.
“Not at this moment.”
Death gave her a smirk of appreciation.
Killian realized his heart was pounding. It rammed against his ribcage, fast and hard, as if trying to get his attention. It wasn’t fear that had him so on edge, though; it was excitement.
Death possessed Elyse’s soul, and now she was here.
If he could just talk to her, ask her for the soul, find a way to make her hand it over, then he could have his Elyse back.
For a moment, he didn’t give a damn about the game.
He didn’t care about Lazarus or the Blade or any of it.
He only wanted one thing: to look into Elyse’s eyes and see the woman he loved staring back at him.
As if sensing his thoughts, Elyse moved closer, putting herself between Killian and Death. She gave him a look that served as a reminder of her promise—to end those he loved if he didn’t leave this room with the Blade of Hanael.
“Madame Death.” Julian moved to stand before her and bowed, then placed a kiss on her hand. “Enchanting as ever.” He spoke as if he were addressing an heiress with whom he had tea regularly, not an all-powerful being who held the balance of life and destruction in her grip.
“You as well, Julian,” Death said in her smooth, smoky voice. She turned to face Killian, who tried his best to hold her gaze. “And you, Killian. I was hoping we would meet again.”
“Thank you, Lady Death,” he said with a reverent nod. “Though I can’t say the sentiment is mutual.”
At that, Death let out a velvety laugh. She strode to the far side of the table with a grace befitting of a dancer and selected the seat between the twins. Her eyes flickered between the identical men, one thin brow quirking as she asked, “Did the two of you coordinate your outfits?”
Both twins looked appalled, their gazes dropping to inspect their own attire, then the other’s.
“Please, we’re dressed nothing alike,” Nathaniel huffed.
“Yes, my tunic is made of the finest fabric in Otsuk while his is Sevhellian cotton,” Norvick added.
“And my buttons are hand-painted pearls while his are plain wooden toggles.”
“That’s quite enough of that,” Julian stated. He twisted to face Elyse. “Madame Crenshaw, it is time you departed. The festivities are about to begin.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Elyse replied. Her face had hardened—even more than before.
Julian gave her a simpering smile. “Unfortunately, only the players are allowed to remain.” He gestured toward the door where she and Killian had entered. “You may see yourself out now.”
Elyse didn’t budge. She squared her shoulders and said, “Then I’ll play.”
Killian kept his face neutral. Elyse likely couldn’t play for shit. This wasn’t about her staying to play; it was about a way to monitor him and ensure he didn’t mess up.
“Here’s my collateral,” she said coolly as she reached into her pocket. She pulled out a silver necklace with a large ruby pendant.
“Jewelry?” Julian asked in a skeptical tone.
“It wards against curses,” Elyse replied.
Julian touched the necklace, letting the chain slide between his fingers as he inspected it. “Pretty, but the other artifacts are priceless.” He let it drop so it dangled once again from Elyse’s hand. “This is exquisite, but not invaluable.”
Elyse’s outstretched hand remained steady, her face calm. “I’ll throw in a phoenix replica for one of those morons if they win,” she said, jerking her chin toward the twins.
“Done,” Norvick said at the same time Nathaniel shouted, “Let her play.”
Amusement glimmered in Julian’s eyes before he turned to face the rest of the players. “Is anyone opposed?”
Thomas reclined in his chair. “She’s no threat to me,” he said as he raked Elyse with his gaze. Killian fisted his hands, resisting the urge to punch him.
“The more the merrier,” Death purred.
Julian turned his attention to Killian. “And you, Mr. Southwick?”
Killian felt a power over Elyse like he never had before. He didn’t look at her, but he could feel her eyes burning through him as she waited for his agreement. Of course, it was a false sense of power. If he denied her, she would flay him as soon as he set foot back in Sevhella.
“It’s all right with me,” he said nonchalantly.
Julian’s eyes crinkled with delight. “Then allow me to present the remainder of the selection,” he said as he moved swiftly toward the second table, the one covered in a velvet cloth.
In a grand gesture, he whipped the cloth away and let it fall to the dusty floor, revealing a glass encasement. Through the glass, Killian spotted two books, an envelope, a tattered piece of parchment, and of course, a knife.
The Blade of Hanael was breathtaking. It was shaped almost like an eagle’s talon, with a slight curve and a sharply pointed end.
The blade itself was made of a pale, silvery metal, one that Killian couldn’t place.
The handle was a stormy gray etched with intricate designs that shimmered wildly, even in the dim light.
Killian yearned to touch it, to feel its weight for himself and test its edge.
He took a step closer, inspecting it for nicks or signs of use, but he found it immaculate.