Page 35 of Mistress of Bones
The Emissary of the Lord Death shrugged. “You are easy to read; your plans lack any finesse or subterfuge. You pose no challenge.” He closed the few steps separating them and grasped her wrist.
Azul shook off his hold. Surprisingly, he let go. “You might find my mind lacking, but I can follow,” she bit off. “Lead.”
He smiled then, a cruel curve of his lips that let her know he was allowing her the last word because that was all she had left.
All Azul could do was grit her teeth, dig her nails in her palms, and follow.
He took her back to another room, its open window bringing in the scents of the queen’s blooms.
“You shall cease these attempts to use your foulness,” he told her.
“I will,” she assured him.
He cocked his head, her lie obvious to them both. “What you do has no place in this world. Why do you insist on doing it?”
Azul walked to the window, putting some space between them. The view into the patio had changed. The bushes and plants looked less dreary, standing strong against the darkness of the night, thanks to Luck and Wonder’s moonlight. If that wasn’t a sign meant to encourage her, Azul would eat her shirt. “People who needlessly die deserve the chance to be brought back to life.”
Enjul drew closer. “And who are you to decide these things? A mere human? A blight on the world nobody would miss if it was gone. Why this life and not another? Why Silvo Zenjiel and not a neighbor done in by their horse?”
She glanced at her hands, tinted golden by the lamp in the room. “Silvo Zenjiel died by my hand, and so it’s fair my hand brings him back.”
“If I am not mistaken, his death came at someone else’s hands a while back. They found a pistol ball among the remains.”
“But he was…” She waved her hand, frustration threatening to choke her. “He was alive again. And I—”
“How did you know?”
Azul turned enough to peek at Enjul. His proximity was unsettling, his presence close to asphyxiating. He fed her guilt for bringing Isadora to her death with every mocking twist of his mouth and the way he spoke, as if her fate were a done deal. Fear mingled with irritation that this man could take her away and nobody would put up a fight. “What?”
“How did you know he was a walking corpse? The description of your sister’s death was different from what happened in that room. This other malady’s results are somewhat different from yours, so how did you know?”
Did he think of Isadora and Zenjiel as dead flesh walking, with no soul or thought of their own? “How could you not tell?” she challenged. “Aren’t you Death’s emissary? Were Zenjiel simply a walking corpse, shouldn’t you have noticed?”
Enjul drew back the chair in the room and sat down. “Death is death. It all feels the same. Except for you.” The lamp’s position made it impossible to read his eyes under the frame of bone, but she sensed his stare nonetheless. “Answer my question, Del Arroyo. How did you know?”
Azul returned her attention to the patio. What she said next would mean the difference between going freely to Cienpuentes or having to attempt escape again. She didn’t need a great mind to know that from now on, it would be nearly impossible to get away. Even if by Luck’s grace she managed to escape this grand house, Enjul only had to wait for her at Cienpuentes’s ossuary.
“I could sense it. I’m sorry,” she added as he opened his mouth, “my mind is too simple to describe it any better.”
“And yet I must ask that you find the words.”
“No.”
He leaned back and linked his fingers on his lap. “I am in no hurry, but you seem to be. This house is comfortable, and I wouldn’t mind using it for an extended stay.”
It was Azul’s time to openly study him, taking care to blank her features and hide the fear, the anxiety. The hope. With relief, she found that none of those emotions made it into her words when she spoke—the emissary would latch on to those like a bloodthirsty hound. “I’m sure it is. And if I were to describe every detail of how I identified him, no doubt you’ll leave me to enjoy the house’s amenities while you attempt to find others like Sirese Zenjiel. I am obvious, Emissary Enjul, but not thoughtless. If you want to find more ‘walking corpses’—and you do, because you relish reminding me that death is all you are about—you will need me.”
“You finally show some sense,” he agreed. “I wonder how long it will last?”
Ah, the emissary was willing to play. She got her rising triumph under control but allowed a slight curve of her lips. “If Sirese Zenjielwere to be brought back, mayhap he could tell us who killed him, and who brought him back to life. They might be the same person; they might be different. It might be a conspiracy; it might be chance.”
Enjul shook his head as if disappointed her good sense had lasted so briefly. “I will never allow it.”
She stared straight into his eyes. Golden. Violet. Beautiful. Something told her if she didn’t take care, she might get lost in them. “But think about it,” she said almost gleefully. “Wouldn’t it make your investigation easier?”
He held her gaze, meeting her dare, returning her mocking smile until the thrill of anticipation hitched her breath. But of what? She wasn’t sure, and something told her she didn’t want to know.
“Explain what you do,” he said, ignoring her goading. “Did you control your sister’s body as if it were a doll?”
