Chapter Four
Theodore
I take the long way back, winding through the garden and following the path to the edge of the property. It’s lined by lush oak trees and wild, untrimmed bushes that produce berries during the warmer months. A far cry from the neat front facade, this is one of my favorite places to hide. Most days after my run, I come here to lay underneath the shade of one of the tallest trees and listen to the wind above the usual chatter of people milling about on the property.
There’s no chatter now. I run my hand over each tree as I pass. Sap and bark stains my palm. If I had time, I would lie on my back and trace the clouds with my finger until the sky was dark. I would fall asleep to the sound of the wind through leaves and the occasional chirp of a cricket too stubborn to be felled by the approaching winter.
I could flee. I could dart through the trees and scale the fence. My muscles would never tire. I could run forever, but that would make me more of the person I am and less of the person I’m trying to be. Az would suffer for it. Marcella, too. Or would my mother target Elias? Does she know that I care for Anya? Or Liam? Who would be a worthy sacrifice for my freedom?
If there’s a line she’s unwilling to cross to ensure my compliance, I haven’t found it yet.
The sun has almost fully set when I step through the back door. Uriel and Az are engaged in a terse conversation in the foyer. Marcella lounges in her usual spot, legs splayed over the arm of the chaise, picking at her nails. They all look up when I enter.
“You’re late,” Uriel says with a sinister grin.
Despite the dread chilling my veins, I mold my lips into a similarly malicious smile. “You should’ve been more specific. People tell time in hours, not by the movements of the damn sun.”
His answering exhale is almost a laugh. He claps Az on the back hard enough to make Marcella flinch, eyes darting between Uriel’s smirk and Az’s slumped shoulders. “You’re too lenient with him,” Uriel says, ducking to meet Az’s downcast eyes. “I trust that you understand your orders.”
Az doesn’t reply.
“What orders?” I ask. Marcella’s face has paled. I keep my own carefully neutral.
Without looking at me, Marcella says into my mind, Find Vivienne. She’ll be expecting you.
I ignore her. “Az. What orders?”
Uriel releases Azmaveth and turns to me, cocking his head to the side. He wears a different face than he had this morning: a sharper jaw, wholly black eyes, and thin, sneering lips. “Come. You’ve delayed us for long enough.”
I ignore him, too. “Azmaveth.”
Finally, he raises his head to look at me. His eyes are half-lidded and defeated in a way that I’ve never seen. He opens his mouth to speak, but Uriel is faster, grabbing me by the throat and pulling me forward. I nearly lose my footing. The hand tightens. I smack my palms against his knuckles fruitlessly, desperate for air that I don’t need. Black spots sound in my vision.
“If Morrigan didn’t have use for you,” Uriel says with startling calm, “I’d tear out your pathetic heart and leave it on the floor for your humans to mop up.”
Somewhere far away, Marcella shoots to her feet but doesn’t dare move closer.
Uriel continues with a squeeze of my throat, “Alas, I’m bound by my duties just as you are bound by yours. A pity, truly. I bet that grotesque slab of muscle is a wonder.” He sighs and loosens his grip enough for me to suck in a desperate breath. “Maybe someday, but not today. Off we go.”
I blink until his face comes back into focus. I’m once again a child, a petty thief and a liar. I will die now as I died then, as I’ve died a thousand times: alone and weak and terribly, terribly afraid.
But I will not beg. Even with air in my lungs, I will not beg.
Uriel laughs again, an ear-splitting sound, and cool darkness wraps around us. As if he can hear my defiance, smell my terror, he croons, “You will kneel as we all have, but until you do, we will have so much fun.”
The light blinds me before the pain does. Sunlight, so we must’ve moved a great deal west. Then, a horrible prickling grows on the skin of my arms like tiny needles being driven further and further into my flesh. I dig my palms into the grass beneath me and rest my forehead on the dirt, breathing in through my nose and exhaling through my mouth to keep from groaning. The needles hit bone, and the smell of charred meat fills my nostrils. I don’t look up at the sneering man above me nor do I glance at the body I would find unmarred.
A chuckle, then the pain is gone. I heave, spitting on the grass without lifting my head. The reprieve is short-lived. A foot connects with my stomach, knocking the wind from me and flipping me onto my back.
“Pathetic,” Uriel sneers.
A cloud sneaks in front of the sun, casting a gray hue over the grassy field. I choke for breath, staring up at the sky and trying unsuccessfully to stamp out the fear that thuds within me like a heartbeat.
Uriel kneels beside me and leans forward. His horrible face is all I can see. Unforgiving eyes meet my own, pupils blown wide with centuries of resentment. “You are unworthy of her attention.”
“Then tell her,” I croak, “to leave me alone.”
He laughs—laughs— and stands, offering me a hand. “You know better than to suggest we give her orders.”
I stare at the hand until it falls back to his side, then rise on my own. I sway only a little, dizzy from the blow and adrenaline. Uriel towers over me, muscles taut and prepared to grab me if I try to make a run for it. I’m not that stupid.
My fingers twitch into a fist, but I still my arm. I’m not that stupid, either.
He notes the small movement and raises an eyebrow. “Would it truly be so awful to accept your inheritance?”
“I’m not her heir.”
“I agree. You are an insolent child defending sentimentality over necessity.” He cocks his head. “Her patience is vast but not infinite. What then, Prince of Carrion? When it is her fist and not mine?”
My silence is answer enough. Uriel rubs his hands together. “Unwilling to fight back, unwilling to submit. If she had given you to me instead of that soft-hearted coward, we wouldn’t be caught in this mess.” He shakes his head, speaking mostly to himself. “And that girl. Unruly thing. I’d have you both sorted in eight days, not eight decades. He allows you both too much freedom.”
“So you’ve said.”
He brings his hand up faster than my eyes can track. The backs of his knuckles hit my cheek, sending me stumbling to the side. “No matter. Morrigan will correct his mistakes, and yours.” I raise two fingers against the reddened skin, glaring with more ferocity than I feel. “She is inevitable.” A gust of conjured wind pushes me backward, sending me scrambling as I hit the ground hard. Footsteps crush the grass before me. “As are you.”
I curl my fingers into the dirt and wait for the next blow. This is what I’m best at, after all: weathering violence with stubborn silence.
“Stop.”
Even the wind pauses at her command. The timber of her voice reverberates in my veins. Her presence beckons me in the way that ducklings are summoned to follow the first being they see when they hatch. As much as I try to resist, I sit up at the threat of Death’s approach and suck in a breath through my teeth.
Boots scuffle over the leaves beside me. “Come, little dove. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
I glance up, linger pain shooting down my spine with the movement. She looks exactly as she had the last time I saw her: lips painted ruby red and stretched into a kind smile, hair dark and falling lazily down her back, skin so pale that it’s almost translucent. Her hand is extended towards me.
The kindness is a ruse, one I’m familiar with. She’s meant to be my savior, gentle where her lackey had been cruel. I stare at her until my nausea wanes. She’s unfazed by my hesitation, entirely still except for the slightest narrowing of her pupils. Once I can swallow without heaving, I stand. Uriel is gone, probably back to the motel, waiting for his master to give him new orders.
And I’m pathetic? I almost laugh.
Morrigan scans me, bored, and begins walking towards the forest surrounding the field. “You look better than the last time I saw you.”
I take that as a command to follow. “Your cronies can’t punch for shit.” She was the one to beat me bloody last time.
She huffs a laugh. “You’re always a delight.”
She sounds so genuine that I find myself shuffling to catch up, falling into step beside her. “Why am I here?”
“Is it so hard to believe that I enjoy your company?”
“I know you’re a sadist,” I grumble, nearly tripping over a large rock, “but I didn’t peg you for a masochist as well.” She doesn’t reply, so I press, “I did what you asked. Why drag me back here?”
She narrows her eyes at my choice of words, then looks towards the sunlight filtering through the leaves above us. “Power is a lonely thing, dove. Fear is as useful a tactic as any, but I find myself gravitating towards those who refuse to kneel. You, especially.” She sighs. “You aren’t afraid of me.”
I’m very, very afraid of her, but I don’t dare admit that. Even now, I chew on the inside of my cheek as I consider where we’re heading and what awaits me when we arrive. Images from a lifetime ago racket through me: a war tent, hanging from chains cinched around my wrists, water pulsing in my lungs and up my throat as I try to scream and sob and beg—
“I find I enjoy being challenged,” she says.
“You enjoy beating those who challenge you into submission.”
She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t even acknowledge the accusation. “I’m not your enemy, Theodore.”
I can’t remember the last time she used my name. “Then let me go home.”
I don’t realize that we’ve stopped walking until she reaches a hand towards me to brush a strand of hair away from my face. I tense, forcing myself to meet her stare. Her eyes, the navy of the night sky, are death and rebirth, the collision of galaxies and black holes. I do not recoil. I will not give her the satisfaction.
“I have so much to teach you,” she murmurs, “if you’d let me.”
“I’d rather die.” Despite my best effort, my voice wavers just a bit at the closeness of her nails to my eyes and throat.
She hums in disappointment, turning away so quickly that her nails scratch my cheek, leaving them stinging but not drawing blood. When she speaks again, her voice is sharp. This is the voice I’m used to, the villain I know. “Come. We have work to do.”