Page 122 of Between Life and Death

“We’d be alright if the wind were in our sails. We’d be alright if the wind were in our sails. And we’ll all hang on behind.” The elderly housemaid sang the unfamiliar sea shanty as she bumbled around my room. She dusted the tall dresser, wiggling her hips from side to side. Despite her age, she was surprisingly agile.

I had never seen this housemaid before.

I didn’t know if it was her age or the quirky way she conducted herself, but there was something about her that reminded me of Ezra. Perhaps it was the rat’s nest of gray hair piled on top of her head. I wondered if that was where the castle’s infestation problem had originated.

I watched her as she worked, imagining I was back at home at the cottage, watching Ezra make one of her tonics.

She put her duster down and walked over beside the bed, her arthritic fingers plucking the untouched tray from the night table.

She continued to sing as she took the tray over to her wooden cart. “Oh, another shot of whiskey wouldn’t do us any harm. Another shot of whiskey wouldn’t do us any harm. Another shot of bourbon wouldn’t do us any harm. And we’ll all hang on behind.”

I jerked up, my eyes flaring wide. “What did you just say?”

The right side of her lips twitched upwards, her gaze meeting mine as she sang the line in a questioning way. “Another shot of whiskey wouldn’t do us any harm?”

“Yes, and then you said bourbon,” I stated firmly.

“I don’t think I did, my dear,” she exclaimed in an exaggerated tone, shaking her head. “I don’t even know what that word means.” She continued over to the fire, throwing a few more logs in, her singing picking back up again.

I eyed her suspiciously.

After the fire was stoked, she went to the balcony doors, her hands grabbing hold of the handles as she carelessly tossed them open in time with the last note of her song, as if it were some big, grand ending. She stood there, peering out as if she were taking in her clapping audience, waiting for them to demand an encore.

As the cool night air blew through the open doors, I was reminded that we were on the cusp of winter. I nestled farther beneath my furs, wondering if she was attempting to freeze me to death—knowing that she worked for Arkyn, that sounded about right. Murder attempt number three: death by elderly housemaid.

Caught in the wind, the dusty rose curtains tugged to the sides of the balcony doors were suddenly brought to life. They reminded me of two cloth hands waving in an intricate, billowing dance, as if they were casting a spell.

“Can you close them? It’s quite cold outside tonight and a bit too windy to have the doors open,” I stated in my officialI’m not askingtone.

She turned to me, oblivious. “It’s a bit windy, yes—but us retired, sea-faring folk enjoy nights like this. They remind me of my younger days. Besides, can’t you feel it?”

My brow shot up. “Feel what?”

“The Goddess of Fate is at work.” She offered me a wink, her eyes a stormy gray-blue. She placed her hands on her hips and looked around with a satisfied “I just cleaned that” huff, and then waddled over to her cart, picking up the same sea shanty she had just sung from the top as she rolled the cart towards the door. “We’d be alright if the wind were in our sails. We’d be alright if the wind were in our sails.” And just before the door closed, I heard her sing, “And we’ll all hang on behind.”

I sighed, flopped back onto the bed, and stared at the balcony doors. I realized that because I was an immortal, Iwouldn’tfreeze to death. But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t freeze. I imagined myself as a Sage-sized ice cube. Huffing, I decided I would have to get up and close the doors . . . eventually.

My gaze shifted, returning to the vine carvings.

In a blur of gray and black, something shot through the balcony doors with the speed of a cannon ball. I jerked upright, eyes wide, wondering if we were under attack. Whatever it was collided against the wall, wings flapping hysterically as a poof of feathers blotted the air.

Wings? Feathers?

I peered over the side of the bed, looking at the large raven as it flapped on the ground—a spray of its feathers haloed around it.

Was it hurt?

It reminded me of the one I had seen on the day of Kaleb’s burial, the same one that had tried to attack me when I thought the forest was on fire.

When it stopped flapping, I wondered if it was dead.

But then its head lifted and it jumped onto its feet. It cocked its head to the side as it peered up, its small, black eye shifting, focusing . . . on me.

Its chest heaved up and down, beating wildly. For a moment, we just stared at one another. A sensation began to well in my stomach, something I could only describe as a gut feeling—a feeling that this raven and I . . . that we knew each other. And I knew it sounded insane, but lately, what in my world was logical?

A flash of blinding light burst from the raven and I was forced to cover my eyes with my hands.

I heard its wings flapping.

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