I lay a hand on the woman’s forehead and close my eyes. My magic stirs, seeping from me into her and then back again as I play the images of her last memories in my mind. I can hear and feel her heartbeat, pounding quickly like a rabbit’s. Her breath is hard and fast, panicked. I see the alley, the sight bobbing as she runs. But she isn’t fast enough, and a hand grips her from behind. A scream wrenches from her throat, so vicious I taste blood. When the hand closes over her mouth and I feel her soul ripped away from her, I open my eyes.
Whoever her attacker was, she never saw his face. I pull my hand away, letting the remnants of her life fall away from me. The guards watch solemnly, armor clanking with each slight shift. “Make this your highest priority,” I say to the commanding officer as I rise. “Double patrols and report any suspicious Nephilim to me immediately.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the commanding officer says gruffly, bowing.
I leave the messenger and the guards behind to their work. I doubt they’ll find the culprit. Nephilim are clever creatures, able to disguise their bright, white wings if they don’t want to be recognized. Unless the Nephilim is a mad fool, he’ll look just like anyone else. I grit my teeth as I make my way back to the castle. First the Carrion House, and now the Moarte district. The Nephilim is only choosing locations with seedy reputations, places where an assault might go ignored or unnoticed. He’s clever.
By the time I arrive back in the castle, I’ve made up my mind to conduct my own investigation. If word of these attacks spreads too quickly without at least some results, the people won’t be pleased. Fear can make people do terrible, surprising things. Like rebel against Death. I push open the door to my office, resolving to interview known Nephilim. They’ll turn on each other in a moment’s notice if it means they live.
I pause, noticing a golden envelope on my desk. Only one person would insist on sending such an opulent letter. I groan, reaching for it. With a nail, I slit open the envelope and withdraw the letter. My lip curls as I read my mother’s flourishing handwriting. I drop the letter back on the desk and toss my head back with a sigh. I had hoped to keep news of Briar from her for as long as I could, and I suppose twenty years is an accomplishment. But now that she knows, she’ll be here within the week. And she’ll expect a celebration, a celebration that I rightfully should have already had for Briar.
I sag into my chair, legs splayed before me. I can’t stop my mother from entering my realm, though I wish I could. Rolling my neck to work out the kinks I sit forward and pull fresh paper towards me. I have work to do. It will do me no good to mull over my mother’s visit or Briar’s friendship with Willem. No, I think as I dive into my work, the Nephilim pose the greater threat than either of them.
Chapter 7
Briar
My room is awash in a rosy glow, courtesy of the ever-setting sun hanging low in the sky. I pace anxiously, eyes darting towards the door at the slightest sound. Kane has yet to come and berate me for striking him, and his absence is only making me more nervous as I imagine what kind of consequences he must be plotting. Up above, I heard stories of Death plunging traitors into vats of hot tar or drowning them only to revive them to do it all over again. I shudder. It’s difficult for me to envision Kane like that, but fear takes my imagination to wild, unpredictable places.
Suddenly, there’s a sharp rap at the door. I swallow hard and turn to face it. It’s better that it happens now instead of later. At least now, I won’t worry myself over it any longer. I take a deep breath to steel myself before opening the door. But it’s not Kane’s frame that fills the doorway. Willem waits in the hall, his wings tucked tightly against his back. I drag my eyes away from the feathers and to his eyes, expecting them to be hard and vicious.
“Briar, may I come in?” Willem asks, surprisingly polite.
My brows raise in surprise, but I stand aside mutely. He grins, sauntering inside. My stomach is a coil of knots as he turns in the space, taking it in. My few belongings are scattered across the desk or shoved haphazardly into the closet. I straighten my back, trying to appear brave as I wait for him to tell me what consequences Kane has in store for me.
“Stop that, you look like a child waiting for the switch,” he says, a grin pulling at his lips.
“That’s not far from the truth,” I admit, relaxing only slightly.
He crosses the room to the balcony, throwing the doors open wide. “You have nothing to worry about. Kane won’t be punishing you for defending yourself against him—he isn’t a complete idiot,” Willem teases. My lips pinch together at his brazen words. No one in Ryrn would ever dare to speak that way of my father. “Besides, he’ll have forgotten it by now.”
“So, you do know,” I say, picking nervously at a fingernail. “Did he send you here?”
“Kane?” Willem snorts. “No. I came because when I saw you in the hall, you looked upset.”
“Oh.” My voice falls flat as I hide the tremor of curiosity that flutters through my chest at his words.
He turns to me, pale blue eyes flashing with something like melancholy. "As a Reaper, I've seen many mortals upset, morose, even devastated. Usually it means nothing to me. Mortal tears are
