Page 33 of Love and Death
I look up, my breath catching in my throat as I glimpse my reflection in the mirror. The fabric drapes over my curves like a satin waterfall, though not nearly as prettily as the dresses Death gave me, but it’s the mark on my neck that truly draws my attention.
Despite all of Florence’s hard work, and though it is little more than a few faint white lines against my pale skin, it’s all I can see. A constant reminder of what’s to come, of a bond I cannot truly escape.
I swallow hard, turning away from the mirror, unable to bear looking at my face in it any longer. I know I swore not to let self-pity overwhelm me, but I have to wonder at what my life has become.
WhatIhave become ...
My life was far from perfect back home, but at least there I stood a chance. Here, I am just a mortal trapped in a world of gods, forced to play by their rules. Forced to make impossible choices that will not only decide my fate, but the fate of gods and kingdoms alike.
And yet …
Slowly, it dawns on me how little of my life has been mine to decide. I frown, vivid memories of the night I fled filling my mind. Of blood-soaked dirt beneath my feet, of the terror in Cyprian’s eyes, of the terrible stillness of that moment.
Perhaps, death has always followed me.
Willalways follow me.
Maybe this new twist of fate is not so different from what I was always meant to face after all.
“I have something for you,” Florence says, dragging me away from the swirling chaos of my mind.
She takes a step back, and I turn to watch as she reaches into the folds of her skirts and pulls out an item about the length of my forearm, wrapped in cloth and bound in leather. I can’t help but note the slight shake in her hand and the split-second of hesitation before she offers it to me with outstretched hands.
“What is it?” I ask, eyeing the mysterious package warily.
“A gift,” she says, “from Death.”
9
HAZEL
“Agift from Death?” I repeat, hardly daring to believe it.
My heart skips a beat in my chest at the sound of his name, my mouth growing dry as I tentatively reach out to take the gift from Florence.
Shakily, I loosen one of the leather bindings and pull back a corner of the fabric to reveal a leather sheath.
Quickly removing the other bindings, I pull out a dagger unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It’s bitingly cold to the touch, but I refuse to let go as I turn it over to get a better look at it.
A dark, inky trail follows it through the air as I move, and I can’t help but gasp at the sight.
It’s made entirely of the purest obsidian … and shadow. I’d bet my life on it after walking the halls of Death’s palace. The blade itself is so dark, so otherworldly in shade, that it’s as if a void has opened up before me in its stead.
I can’t help but continue to marvel at the dagger’sperfection, at the cool weight of it in my palm. But, the longer I stare at it, the more it seems to call to me, to dare me to use it. To find out just what it can do.
The blade catches in the light as I turn it back over, its wicked edge glinting for a split second before returning to the abyss, and a chill runs down my spine.
This is no ordinary weapon.
An ethereal power flows through this blade, whispering to me ominously, though I know not how. I would not be surprised to learn that it could cleave the very fabric of time and space asunder.
I have to stifle a laugh as I realize the palace guards’ own obsidian swords—swords that once seemed so fearsome to me—are but poor imitations of the real thing.
Muted and weak in comparison.
This blade is power incarnate, as beautiful as it is terrifying, a fitting gift from Death himself ... Though, I cannot begin to imagine what or who he means for me to use it on.
Frowning at this, I finally manage to tear my eyes away from the weapon to glance back up at the succubus, only to notice that she’s taken several steps back.
