Page 9 of Jailer to the Death God
The death god’s robes vanished when he gave himself wings, and his bare chest is as smooth and perfect as if he is actually carved from jade. Hard muscle rolls beneath satin skin as he grabs my shoulders and steers me away from the Pit.
“Clumsy, foolish girl,” he says, low and angry. “Small wonder you need help. I’m guessing you’re some sort of ruler, yes?”
“A queen,” I hiss back.
“An incompetent queen who trips over her own feet into death.”
“You made me fall.”
“I didn’tmakeyou do anything. You perceived a threat, and you reacted foolishly.”
My nerves are strung tight—rage and grief screaming along them, howling in my brain. I want to shriek aloud and tear at him with my nails.
Instead I reach up and slap him hard across the face.
His head jerks aside with the force of the blow.
My chilled fingers are so numb I barely feel it when I hit him.
The emptiness of my hands registers suddenly, and I scan the black vines frantically, hunting for Aspen’s dagger. “Oh shit. Oh shit, oh no… no, no…”
I dropped it. I dropped it into that bottomless hole.
My chest is a ball of bloody, red-hot thread, swelling, ready to burst. I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying not to cry in front of the death god.
“Mortals.” His tone drips with derision.
“I just lost my dead brother’s knife, you asshole.” I turn my back on him and walk toward the treeline, where my guards and servants are waiting, their faces rigid with fear.
“It is done,” I tell them quietly. “The death god is here, and he is going to help us. You four will say nothing of this to anyone, do you understand?”
They nod mutely.
“We’ll push nine of the bodies into the Pit,” I continue. “There’s no point taking them back to the city—we’d just have to burn them anyway. But Rose comes with us. She’ll be buried with the highest honors—”
My voice gives out.
“We’ll take care of her, Your Majesty,” one of the guards assures me. Then his face changes, eyes bulging.
Without turning I know who’s behind me. The death god.
“Thank you,” I tell the guard. “You may begin the task now. I will deal withhim.”
The soldiers and servants hurry away, and I turn to face Arawn.
“Can you do anything about those?” I gesture to his black wings.
He folds them up a little, then flares them out again, ruffling the glossy feathers. “Why?”
“I doubt you want to walk all the way to the city. So you’ll need to fit into a carriage.”
“I’m not getting into a carriage. I’ll fly.”
“My people have been through enough this year without a horned, green-skinned monster swooping over the royal city,” I snap. “You’ll ride in a carriage, wings or not.”
His eyes narrow, but he makes a mock obeisance to me, arms spread, green eyes fixed on my face. “As Your Majesty wishes, of course. For now.”
The low tone of the last two words sends a thrill skittering along my spine. I suck in a breath, trying to conceal my amazement as his sooty wings vanish.
