Page 92 of The Shadow Bride

Death knows it.

Strolling closer, he shakes his proffered arms at me. “Of course we have a relationship, Célie darling. You’re my Bride.” And something in hisvoice...

My heart plummets at the possibility that he could be—controllingall of this, somehow. The death and decay. The brokenbranches. Though he looks human now, we know next to nothing about his abilities in our realm. Perhaps he can—and will, my intuition warns—do much worse than burn me next time.

“This... isn’t just a dream, is it?” I ask him.

Death shakes his head slowly. “They never are.”

With that terrifying confirmation, the stench of the revenants finally overwhelms me, and I stumble back a step, nearly burning myself in another patch of sunlight. Though they keep out of sight, moving on unnaturally silent feet, I sense them just beyond the shadows, watching us. Waiting.Scoresof them. The pines shudder at their presence as those tendrils creep farther from Death, withering everything in their path.

Except me, I realize with a brutal twist of my stomach.

Except the revenants.

“But—” I shake my head, still clutching my cheek and ignoring the sharp, needlelike pricks of pain as it heals. “The Forest of Eyes ishundredsof miles away from Requiem—”

“The spirit realm cares little for such mundane things as physical distance.”

The spirit realm.My thoughts skitter wildly to falling through it outside Mathilde’s cottage, but—but Michal and I returned to our realm before I succumbed to sleep. His watchful gaze is the last I remember beyond vague, muddled fragments of my mother’s low voice, a warm cloth upon my face. It makes nosense. “How did Filippa—? Did she use theveilto bring me here?”

Death nods, heaving an impatient sigh when he realizes I’m not going to accept his arm. He seizes my elbow instead. “I’ve never heard anyonethinkas loudly as you do. Do you always scream your thoughts at unsuspecting onlookers?”

I open my mouth to answer—or to askhowFilippa used the veil to travel—but close it again just as quickly, dropping my hand from the freshly healed skin of my cheek. “Why am I here?” I ask instead, forcing myself to remain calm. “What do youwantwith me?”

“Ah. NowthatI’m glad you asked.” Death gestures to the hard-packed earth winding around our feet. My eyes narrow as I follow the path to what appears to be a... gate? Suspicion trickles half-formed through my thoughts. Because why would agatebe in the middle of the forest? “I’m afraid I need your help with a little experiment. Ignore them,” he adds when my gaze darts to a pale hand on the tree up ahead. It slithers out of sight in the next second.

“Easier said than done.”

“My revenants won’t attack unless you flee—and you aren’t going to do that, are you?” Death’s eyes glitter almost impishly as he frog-marches me along the path, wrapping his free arm around my shoulders. “No, you’re entirely too clever for such theatrics. This is an opportunity, after all, to uncover my diabolical plot, and anyway, you have no torch with which to incinerate anyone this time.Suchan inconvenience, I know.”

He punctuates the words with a squeeze, and I wince at his obvious strength. Worse still, if he’s insinuating what I think he is, he knows about the revenant Michal and I burned, but—but howcanhe? We would’ve scented him if he’d been hiding, would’ve scented another revenant too.

Though my unease deepens at that, I dare not pull away from him.Not yet.Because loath as I am to admit it, Death is right—we have no idea what he wants, only that he wantssomething, and thiscould be my only opportunity to discover it. I would be a fool not to take advantage, not to wring even a single answer from him before he does—well, whatever it is we’re about to do.

“How do you know about the loup garou?” To my surprise, my voice comes out even, and I thank every deity who might be listening for small mercies. “Did—didyousend him after us?” I ask shrewdly.

Death scoffs as we pass through the gate. “Don’t be ridiculous. Haven’t I just said no revenant will harm you unless provoked?”

“Then how—?”

“You aren’t the only one with spies, my sweet.”

I blink at him, praying I misheard, but—no. He said spies.Spies.The word hums strangely in my ears—soft at first, a whisper of warning—before rising to an unintelligible din and stinging me. Stinginghard. Because a spy is so much worse than Death crouching among ferns to eavesdrop; it’s worse than the revenants stalking our footsteps now. A spy is unknown. A spy isdangerous—especially if they know about Michal and his subterfuge.And they would, my subconscious hisses.If they saw the revenant burning, they saw Michal too.

My unease spikes to outright panic at the thought, but I force it down. This isn’t the time to lose my head. As Death pulls me forward—so much stronger than me, too strong to overpower—I grit my teeth and stumble along in his wake, pretending I follow of my own volition. And in a way, Ido. Death needs something from me—that much is clear—and if I can be clever, if I can manipulate that leverage, perhaps he’ll tell me everything I need to know.

Still, I drag my feet just enough to seem convincing. “Weneedn’t be enemies, you know. I didn’t particularly care for Frederic either, and my sister—well, I want her to be happy more than anyone. Have you ever considered simplyaskingfor my help rather than threatening me with”—I wave my hand toward the dying trees, the shadows moving through them—“all of this?”

“Oh?” Death arches a brow and smirks down at me, as if he knows exactly what I’m trying to do and finds it enormously entertaining. His silver eyes, however, glitter with intrigue. With anticipation. He promised Filippa he would exhaust every option before involving me, so whatever he wants, he must want it very badly. “And just what information will you give for the name of my spy?”

I lift a delicate shoulder beneath his hand, bracing myself for what is to come. “I suppose that depends on the information you give me.”

He barks a laugh at that, squeezing again in subtle warning as we round the bend and the first wooden cottage appears. With it, another scent joins those of the pine needles, the roses, the decay. Sharp, biting, and cruel, it nearly singes my nose when I inhale, but worse still is that I—I recognize it. My heart crashes to my feet.

Blood magic.

“I do love a good impasse,” Death says, winking at my horrified expression. “Let’s see which of us is the first to break, shall we?”

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