Page 27 of Mystique of the Fallen
“How is that not correct?” Justice asked. “It is in a tree.”
Death followed her sisters through a canopy of branches and immediately had the answer to Fate’s question. The treehouse in question was high above the ground, but it was crafted of floating pink clouds. It suited a woman who preferred to sail away from any problem with her unreasonable faith that the future would handle everything, so she need not intervene.
Hope’s desire to keep herself far removed from any complicated situation was why Death had long ago washed her hands of her sister. Nobody’s life lacked obstacles, and Hope’s inability to deal with reality grated on Death’s nerves. But Grant needed his hope restored, and Roman deserved his mate to be whole.
“It’s a bunch of clouds floating around a tree,” Death remarked. “I’m with Fate. This is no treehouse.”
“What would you call it then?” Courage asked.
“Ridiculous,” Death retorted.
“Oh, look, visitors,” a voice called out.
“Who is she talking to?” Fate whispered.
“Herself, no doubt,” Death muttered.
A woman emerged from behind a few clouds with hair the same pale pink as the fluffy orbs that made up her home. Except for a thick chunk hanging over her gray eyes, her tresses were pinned back by soft lavender flowers. She lifted an arm to wave, and Death wondered if her sister was aware that one of her sleeves was drooping because her dress had slipped off her shoulder.
Knowing Hope, she’d yet to notice. The woman was oblivious to almost everything.
“Death,” Hope shouted as she hopped in place. Her light purple frock glittered in the abundant light she’d filled her sanctuary with. “How long has it been since we last spoke?”
“Not long enough,” Death murmured under her breath and earned an elbow jab from Eternity.
Hope didn’t walk. She glided toward them, and her dimples flashed as she smiled. “Can you stay for tea and cakes?”
“Sadly, no,” Death said. She didn’t care what her sisters thought…there was no way in any realm she was sitting down for a meal she didn’t need to eat and spending hours with Hope. None of them required food or drink, but Hope had always enjoyed leisurely repasts that lasted forever. Death was an active goddess with too many duties to indulge in indolence. “We need your help. Can you come to theebirlloba?”
“Of course, dear. Give me a moment.”
“Where is she going?” Fate asked, as if anyone knew why Hope had shimmered away.
Seconds later, Hope reappeared with a large basket. “I thought to enjoy my picnic in theebirlloba. I’ve enough for everyone to join me.”
Death growled and pinned each of her sisters with a murderous glare. If the past was anything to go by, it’d take days to pry Hope out of her castle. If someone else had brought her there to tend to Grant, Death could have avoided her and made her home so unwelcoming that no one would linger.
“A fine idea,” Fate said, beaming at Hope. “I’m sure we’ll have a marvelous time.”
Hope floated past Death, allowing the goddess of the afterlife to narrow her eyes at Fate. She lifted a hand and made a slashing motion across her neck. Fate would be punished for encouraging Hope to bring her damn basket. The realm of the dead was beautiful thanks to its inhabitants, but that didn’t mean Death wanted goddesses lounging in her realm, eating food they didn’t need. What Death wanted was solitude and only those who’d recently grown dear to her in her home. Hope was not on that list.
“We can have a quick picnic,” Justice stated unequivocally. “Death has responsibilities and must attend to them. It would be poor manners for her to leave guests unattended in her castle, so if anyone wishes to extend their meal, they should return here to Hope’s treehouse.”
Death was so pleased she blew her sister an air kiss.
“An excellent notion,” Courage added.
“Of course, everyone is always welcome here,” Hope said. “I so rarely get visitors.”
“I can’t imagine why,” Death grumbled.
“Behave,” Eternity admonished softly as they followed a chattering Hope toward theebirlloba. Death wasn’t pleased that she’d have to sit through tea and cakes, but she would sacrifice whatever was necessary to ensure the best among her souls had what they needed. Roman and Grant deserved a fair shot at their matebond. Death had to trust—dare she say, havehope—that Fate had paired them correctly.
Even if Fate was wrong, Grant would make a damn fine fallen knight. Death would see to it, and she refused to fail.
Chapter 11
Roman sipped on his beer and wondered how he’d managed to fit so many people into his condo.
