The Deathsinger: Book 1

Ch. 11: All for Nothing

Fog surged across the river. Slim, silver fingers stretched far from the body of mist, almost seeking in its nature. Standing silently on the stone bridge, I watched it move with sinuous grace, wishing I could escape what was to come by dropping into the river's cold depths.

Few came the way of the Low Bridge except peddlers and transients, and over the years, even they avoided the creaky relic unless forced. Overgrown with vines and grass, it was easy to find cover in case the Wardens patrolled here, but with the entire city hunting for the Reaper, I doubted they had thought to check here.

I assumed that's why the Reaper chose to meet here. He sat atop the bridge's railing, his cloak motionless. If not for the unnatural gold gleam in his eyes, he appeared normal as he slid a knife through a bright red fruit. Ten minutes had passed as I waited for him to speak, but I was afraid if I pressed him before he was ready, he might disappear again. And Joreen was running out of time.

Seeing me watching, he held out his hand, his black gloved fingers looking like thick veins against the crimson flesh. "Want a piece?"

"That's a blood apple."

Sliding a slice beneath the cowl covering the lower half of his face, he shrugged. "I asked if you wanted a piece. Not what kind of fruit it was."

"They're poisonous."

"Not to those touched by Death."

I sniffed and looked purposefully back at the water. "So you say."

The corners of his eyes raised, giving away his smile behind the mask. "Perhaps if you stopped resenting what you are, you might enjoy it a little."

The emotions caged beneath my breast swelled and broke free as I spun on him. "How could I enjoy it? It's a curse. Do you see what I do? When you touch someone, do you see how they will die? Do you feel it?"

He tossed the blood apple into the river and pocketed the knife. I wished I could see his face. His eyes gave nothing away as they held mine.

"No. I don't, and not every Deathsinger has the gift of Sight."

He almost sounded kind. I lifted my hood higher over my head to protect my face from the drizzle. Fairy lights buzzed to life, illuminating the surrounding space with an argent gleam. With any other person, this moment would feel cozy—the world soft and out of focus in the gloaming, but no amount of gentling his tone could make me forget what the person in front of me was. What I was.

"Can I stop it? Are the deaths I see fated?"

He stood beside me, resting his forearms on the bridge's railing. A lock of dark hair peeked out from under his hood. It was almost as dark as mine.

"By the time I came of age, most Deathsingers were dead or in hiding, but I overheard one once, talking to my father. She'd Seen his death, and she came to warn him. I can't imagine she would have bothered if there was no chance to change his fate."

I exhaled and closed my eyes. There was hope. When I opened my eyes again, the Reaper stared at me intently, causing a blush to rise on my face.

"Your father," I said, clearing my throat. "What happened to him?"

The golden ring around his irises flared. "He died exactly how she said."

No. The hope that had taken flight crashed, leaving me dazed. I gripped the railing.

"Now, we need to talk about the Banshee in the palace, and what I need from you."

The ringing in my ears turned his words to an incoherent buzz. What was I doing out here? He couldn't help me. I needed to get back to the palace and find Joreen. Tell her to run.