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“The only thing I’ll ever need to win,” he says, taking a step back, hand over his heart. “The affections and faith of a beautiful woman.”
When I look up again, Thieran is watching me intently, and I grip the wall tighter. He finally tears his gaze away from mine when Nevon draws closer, sword at the ready.
They face off, Thieran’s eyes finding me every few seconds until Nevon makes his first move. If Railan is good, Nevon is better. Balanced, focused, and fast, he glides effortlessly from one position to another, relentlessly battering Thieran until the god has no choice but to focus solely on his opponent.
Nevon spins, his blade coming dangerously close to Thieran’s throat. I know neither of them can die, that whatever wounds they have will eventually heal as Railan’s cuts already have, but that doesn’t stop my heart from lodging itself in my throat every time their blades dance and sing.
If Thieran were seriously injured, the time it takes for him to heal might give me enough of a head start to escape the realm before he can track me down. But still, the thought of watching his blood spill isn’t as exciting as I want it to be.
“They can’t really die, you know.” Railan steps up beside me, but I refuse to meet his curious stare.
“I know that. What do I care if the God of Death is injured trying to show off?”
“That is the question, isn’t it?” Railan says softly, drawing my gaze.
“He’s my captor,” I remind us both. “His…incapacitation would be rather a bonus for me, I think.”
“Mmm,” Railan murmurs. “Then why do you look so concerned?”
“I—”
The distinct sound of a blade striking its target and a stream of muttered curses focuses my attention back on the men in front of me just in time to see Thieran ripping his tunic off over his head.
“By all the fucking gods, Nevon. Did you have to go so deep?”
There’s a large gash across Thieran’s chest from breast bone to armpit, and my heart punches into my throat for reasons I don’t want to examine. Before I can even reason out what I’m doing, I leap from the wall and run to the center of the ring, pushing onto my tiptoes to inspect the wound.
Does it need to be cleaned? Tended to? Wrapped in bandages? I press a finger to the edges of it, and Thieran grits his teeth, reaching for my hand and squeezing my fingers in his grip.
“Don’t make it worse, for fuck’s sake. The healing is bad enough.”
“You could charm the swords. So they don’t cut so deep.” I huff out a breath. “Or at all.”
“Don’t tell me you’re worried for me, little one.” He steps closer, crowding my personal space. “I’ve already told you, you can’t kill the God of Death.”
“I wasn’t worried,” I assure him, but his smile only grows bigger at whatever he sees on my face. “I’m only jealous it was Nevon drawing your blood and not me.”
“I’ve been wondering if you’re any good with that dagger you keep strapped to your thigh.” His eyes drift down to my hips, and my face heats.
“Good enough to protect myself and put food on the table.”
“So you say,” Thieran replies, his eyes never leaving mine. He takes another step closer, the heat from his body warming my skin. “One day I may make you actually prove it.”
I lift my chin, which only brings our lips closer together, and my eyes drop to his. “I’d be delighted,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
Someone clears their throat behind us, startling me out of whatever trance I’ve fallen into. I leap away from Thieran, eyes dropping to his chest and the unblemished skin there. There’s not even a speck of blood to be found, as if the wound drew it all back in before knitting itself together again.
“I interrupted your exercise,” I mumble, taking three more steps away. “I’ll let you get back to your afternoon.”
And with all the grace and calm I can muster, I turn away from the God of Death and the judges who watch us and flee.
Chapter Seventeen
There’s an eeriness to nighttime in the Shadow Realm. At nightfall, the usual twilight hue of the sky succumbs to inky black, bathing the landscape in total darkness. If the sky holds stars, they’re impossible to see. No sun, no moon. Nothing to rise and set and send you traveling sure-footed in the right direction.
I press the map I’ve only just completed this afternoon flat against the quilt on the bed. The edges are worried and threadbare from my nervous fingers, but the decision is made. I’m leaving tonight.
Thieran manipulated me too well with his story about offering redemption to souls in Meren and his healing power after we shifted. And I embarrassed myself with my antics in the training yard the other day. Worried for the God of Death, my captor. I snort.
