The Deathsinger: Book 1

Ch. 10: Breaking Curfew

I touched the mask over my face to make sure it was still in place and drew the hood of the cloak over my head. Behind me, the safety of the palace beckoned, but since the Reaper had not come to me no matter how many times I called to him in my bedroom, I was forced to go against my nature and venture out into the city for him. If they caught me, I could hang, but if I did not try, then Joreen would surely die.

Torch light flickered along the cobbled stones, creating shadows that danced and flickered with the breeze whistling through the alley. I imagined Wardens hiding in every sliver of darkness until my heart pounded so furiously breathing became difficult. This was utter foolishness. Barely five minutes into my mission, and I was already so nervous, I feared I might faint.

"Reaper," I hissed, pressing my body against the buildings and keeping an eye out for Wardens or anyone else foolish enough to be out after curfew. No telling if they might risk their own necks to report me.

When he didn't materialize before me the way he usually did, I kept pressing further into the city, leaving the posh town homes and boutiques behind. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and an icy wind howled through the alleys, carrying fine droplets of mist that splattered my face and numbed the tip of my nose.

I quickened my pace, wishing I could trade seeing someone's death for controlling the weather, and debated turning back, but Joreen's life hung in the balance. And if she died without me trying to stop it, her accusations that I was a coward would haunt me forever.

I stopped abruptly as a figure passed in front of me, and a small gasp escaped. The woman didn't acknowledge the sound. She stepped off the sidewalk and into the illuminated street.

"Hat Lady Sal?"

It had been weeks since I last saw her on Market Street, and I had begun to suspect something terrible had happened to her. More vocal than many about Edresh's current state, she'd been in trouble with the Wardens more than a few times, and it didn't surprise me that she would break curfew.

"Sal, you should get back inside."

Nothing. She stood motionless, only her eyes moving as she swept them up and down the street, searching for something. Her lustrous green hair hung over her shoulder in an intricate braid, and of all things, she wore a wedding dress.

"Sal," I tried again, hunkering deeper into my cloak, my sense of self-preservation warring with the need to help an old friend. "Sal."

She blinked and rolled her shoulders. Confusion twisted her delicate features into something feral, and not a single drop of rain dampened her hair or her dress. None clung to her long lashes or rolled down her cheeks, and when she took a step, there was no wet footprint on the stone road.

I reached for her unknowingly, and an overwhelming sense of doom washed over me. I snatched my hand back—too late. Sal moved, and it passed through her bodice, igniting a thrumming note in my chest.

I staggered. Black streaked my fingers as I curled them into my palm and pressed them against my heart, hoping it would calm the storm brewing inside me, but already the vibrations moved upward, twisting and forming into something new. This would not be a single note but a song, and every fiber of my being ached to hear it, anticipating the ecstasy even as I knew singing it would herald doom.

Images burst through my mind. Moments in Sal's life. First steps and words. First looks and kisses. A proposal and wedding day. Tangled sheets in the moonlight. Tangled sheets soaked with sweat and sickness. Every single strand glowing, connecting to the next until the final one snapped and went dark.

"My Opo," she asked, her voice hollow. "My Opo will be all right?"

I grabbed my head and hit my knees. Her question sparked the same feeling of knowing I had when I sensed someone was about to die, but instead of a single vision of white, I saw all the future moments in Opo's life that connected him back to Sal.