Page 34 of Love and Death
“What’s wrong?”
“That … that is Death’s soul blade,” she whispers, her voice catching in her throat.
“What?” My hand trembles at the thought. “When did he give this to you?”
“Before he left the city last.”
“But why? Why would he ask you to give this to me?”
“I do not know why.” Florence trains her eyes on the floor as if refusing to acknowledge the weapon’sexistence. “I-I did not even know what the gift was until this very moment. If I had known, I daresay I never would have accepted the task.”
“Why?” Her eyes lift to meet mine, and I am startled by the sheer terror I see within them. “Florence?”
“Until now, that blade has only ever existed in nightmares and whispered stories,” she murmurs, a far-off look haunting her features. “It is said to be imbued with the very essence of Death himself, and it is the only blade believed to be able to take down an immortal … severing them, soul and body, for all eternity.”
“This can kill an immortal? Any immortal?”
“So the stories say.”
Understanding, as dreadful as it is beautiful, dawns within me—Death has gifted me the power to end gods.
My mouth goes dry at this, a weighty pit settling in my stomach.
“He had this the whole time,” I say, more to myself than Florence. “Why, then, didn’t he use it on Hades when he had the chance?”
“I do not know, sweet one, but knowing him, he must have had a very good reason not to.”
I cannot begin to imagine what reason that might be, nor do I wish to, as another thought suddenly springs to mind.
“Florence, this could be our means of escape! If this dagger is as feared as you say it is, then surely all we have to do is threaten to use it against anyone who dares stand in our way.”
“And if they refuse to stand down?”
“We … we use it,” I answer, despite the very idea churning my stomach.
“A bold plan, if a bit reckless,” she says gently. “If the stories are true, without Death here to re-imbue the blade with his power, you will have but one chance to use it. Perhaps that is the very reason he chose not to wield it himself.”
My gaze returns to the dagger, her words taking within me, and my lip trembles as I finally accept what it is I’m holding in the palm of my hand; Death’s last wish, his last safeguard to protect me from a fate I would not choose…
Tears sting the backs of my eyes, my knuckles whitening as my grip tightens around the handle. I inhale sharply, my eyes widening in shock as adrenaline surges through my veins. My mind clears, even as inky tendrils creep into the edges of my vision, until only one thing remains ...
A desire.
No, a need ... ahungerto touch dagger to skin.
To break bone.
To shatter fate itself.
I gasp, dropping the weapon to the ground and stumbling back a step as it releases me from its power. Grabbing the leather sheath, I hasten to return the dagger to it and bind it away in cloth once again.
“Wait, do not bind it,” Florence says, eyeing the weapon warily, as if it might choose to kill her of its own volition. “As much as I hate to say this, you must keep it close and at the ready.”
“I do not have the strength to wield it.”
“Then let us pray you never have to.” Her tone is sharp and careful, grounding me even as it wills me to listen. “But, should you have to, do not waiver. Strike hard and true ... and for the love of all things good, donotlet this fall into the wrong hands.”
Still, the distress edging her voice is not lost on me, and I take her warning to heart.
