Page 1 of Touch of Death
1
Death
Iquickly move through the dark halls of my palace, the heavy heels of my boots thundering in my ears as they echo against the obsidian floor. My home is nothing but an empty abyss, broken beyond repair without her presence here to warm it.
I have to force myself not to pause as I pass each of the paintings she hung throughout the halls. There is no time to waste if I am to find Hazel’s soul before it fully crosses over and is lost to me forever.
Still, returning to my bedchamber, I cannot help but hesitate as I clench my jaw at the sight of Hazel’s body lying lifeless on my bed. Even in death, she is the most beautiful creature I have ever known.
“I will not forsake you, little one,” I murmur, leaning down to tenderly brush a stray hair from her face.
Though the color has drained from her lips and cheeks, heat still lingers on her skin. It makes my heart ache and my skin burn, only further serving to remind me of the life that I have stolen from her … thatIam the one who brought this upon her.
Straightening, I swallow back the rising hatred I feel toward myself and force myself to look away.
To focus.
I have sworn to save her soul and that is exactly what I intend to do.
Throwing open my wardrobe, I run my eyes over the garments within. This quest will require more than most, and I must be prepared for whatever andwhoevermay rise up to meet me.
I do not presume to think the Underworld will simply surrender Hazel to me. In fact, I expect nothing less than to sacrifice a great deal for her return. I would be foolish to think otherwise.
However, that also means I must make sure I carry more to bargain with.
Walking to the back of my wardrobe, I kneel to unlock a gold-trimmed chest. Inside are some of my most valuable possessions, including a full set of shadowsilk and a bag of gold obols.
Removing the inky garments, I rise and undress to change into them. Only, as I do, Hazel’s small book, wrapped in wax paper and tied off with a red ribbon, falls from my pocket, hitting the floor with a soft thud.
I flinch, staring down at it as I am reminded of my failure to return it to her. This realization only serves to harden my resolve.
I will not fail her again.
Picking up the book, I set it aside with the bag of coins before changing into the shadowsilk. I savor the chill of the silken fabric against my skin, thankful that they should help stave off some of the Underworld’s heat.
Turning away from the chest, I select several sturdier items from where they hang, slipping them on over my inner layers.
My base complete, I pull on a pair of leather bracers, boots, a chest piece, and gloves. I finish off my outfit by adding a heavy set of black chains draped over my shoulders and chest, as well as a thick, hooded cloak.
Satisfied with my choices, I grab the pouch of obols as well as the small book and tuck them both into my pockets.
As I bend to close the chest, my eyes catch on an obsidian dagger sheathed in black leather, and I hesitate for only a second before adding it to my gear. The Underworld is an unforgiving place, and the gods only know what else I will face down there, or what I will have to do for Hazel.
Exiting the wardrobe, I walk over to a walls of hanging masks to look them over, my gaze catching on one in particular.
The bone mask I wore the first time Hazel stumbled upon me that fateful night in the forest.
Taking it down from its hook, I turn it over in my hand as I snort softly to myself. It seems only fitting that I wear the mask she met me in; perhaps it will help bring us together once again.
With my preparations complete, I turn to leave the room, pausing briefly to look at Hazel’s lifeless form once more. My heart twists painfully in my chest, and I am overcome with the urge to touch her one last time, but I do not allow myself to.
Placing the mask over my face, I pull the hood of my cloak up around it as I sweep from the room.
The halls echo around me once again as I make my way toward the Valley of Death, and Knax. As soon as I cross the mists, I let out a sharp whistle across the field, searching the horizon for signs of the white stallion.
It only takes a moment before I hear a whinny and then the thunder of hooves as he gallops over a ridge, making his way toward me. Knax's coat gleams in the early morning light, his mane and tail flowing behind him, and I cannot help but smile at the sight.
“Good boy,” I say, patting him as he slows to a stop before me and shakes his mane out with a snort. “Come, let us go save the little one together.”
