Aris
ARIS HAD NEVER HAD A TASTE FOR MURDER. IT WAS, HE THOUGHT, too simple a
method for revenge. But the moment he laid eyes on Percy Hawthorne, Aris decided it was never too late to change one’s stance.
Death, however, was quicker, recognizing Percy and sweeping toward him. His shadows pinned the boy to the wall, and Percy’s cry was enough to peel the skin from bones.
Before the reaper, he cowered, pressing the back of his head against the wall and trying to turn away as if inches of distance might somehow save him. Poor, foolish bastard. There would be no saving Percy; if Death didn’t end his life, then Aris would.
Rage was a bitter poison festering in his veins, fueling the anger that sharpened his tongue and had him thinking through all the ways he might deliver Percy’s fate.
“This is who the tapestry belongs to.” With slow footsteps Aris pushed past his brother, clenching Percy’s jaw between one hand. “A blight upon the world.” Never had Aris blazed brighter, such a fearsome gold that Percy cried out as he slammed his eyes shut.
Good, Aris thought. Let them burn. He squeezed tighter, only this time it was not Percy’s face that he clenched, but his throat, stealing the boy’s breath until a voice came from behind him.
“Please,” it said, the softest whimper. He’d thrown his threads around
Blythe the moment he’d entered the room, sensing a threat, and they bound her like a cocoon. Knowing Blythe, she would have fought against them. Would have raged and screamed and demanded that he release her.
So why was it that her body lay slumped against the threads not as if they were ensnaring her but holding her?
“Please,” she repeated, and Aris realized then that it wasn’t emotion that had stolen her voice. It was pain. He could see it in her eyes, as glassy as a doll’s. In her fingertips, gray and trembling as they fumbled to grasp the threads around her.
This was his wife. His lover. The missing half of his soul that he’d searched the entire world to find and had been too foolish to realize was right there before him. She was the sun to his moon. The promise of warmth after an eternal winter. All of that, he knew with certainty. Just as he knew that, without help, this was to be her last night on earth.
“Don’t kill him.”
The words had barely passed Blythe’s lips before she slumped deeper into the threads that loosened their hold just in time for Aris to catch her.
“Blythe.” Her name was ambrosia that he offered to the night, praying it would let him keep her. “Blythe, you must wake up.”
The room held still, tense and waiting for someone to make a move. It was Death who stirred first, and Aris’s heart sank as his brother lowered the scythe of shadows. His despair was a frigid thing, seeping through the room with such force that Aris clutched his bride closer so that she might share his warmth.
“Why are you stopping?” Signa demanded. Her voice was strong despite the tears that rolled down her face. “He’s the reason she’s dying!”
Aris was certain his brother understood that as well as he did. And were it up to Aris, Percy would have long been dead. Yet Blythe’s plea would not stop ringing in his ears.
Don’t kill him.
When Death turned toward him, Aris felt the impact strike clean through his heart. He knew what Death was thinking; his brother had always been predictable. Kind and self-righteous, and so damned respectful that Aris had hated him. He’d abused Death because of it, taking advantage of his kindness by demanding he help defy Life’s wishes no matter the cost.
Once, Death had listened to him. He had been every bit as selfish as
Aris, and look at where it got them.
“I will not deny her again,” Death said, though the words held no bite.
Not when Aris had already known they were coming.
“We can’t stand here and do nothing!” Signa dipped a hand into her pocket, fishing out a handful of belladonna berries. Aris wished in that moment that he were a better man. Wished that he had the courage to stop Signa before those berries passed her lips, knowing that it was what his wife would want. But if Signa was willing to go against Blythe’s wishes when Aris could not… well, he wasn’t a good enough man to stop her from trying. His threads dove for her, but the attempt was half-hearted, reaching Signa only after she swallowed the belladonna.
The effect was instantaneous. She crumpled to the floor, swathed in Death’s shadows. Her chest rose and fell with hastened breaths before suddenly it stilled, and he watched as her reaper form rose to its feet, dark eyed and white haired, and craving the same blood as Aris.
“Signa—” Death warned, but she paid him no heed as she stalked toward Percy. Given his state, he must have been able to see her, for the coward spread placating hands before him.
“Please,” he whispered, every quivering word making Aris’s lips curl with displeasure. “You don’t want to do this.”
Signa’s laugh was a bitter thing, and Aris wondered how he had ever believed she could be Life, who valued souls too much to ever bring one’s ruin.
“Oh, I certainly do,” she spat, wasting no time before she lunged, grabbing hold of Percy’s wrist.
But he did not fall, and Aris had to shield his eyes from the intensity of a silver light that now shone from Percy.
Death was upon Signa in the same second, and Aris believed it was to avoid Percy’s retaliation before a wicked laugh reverberated across the room.
“Hello, darlings.” Chaos sang her words as she bounded toward them, buzzing from the thrill. “Don’t any of you know the rules?”
Death stepped forward, trying to veil Signa from view. “Do not patronize me, Chaos. I am the one responsible for all those dead or dying.”
Solanine hummed under her breath as she flicked a finger toward Percy. “I hate to be the one to inform you of the obvious, but that man is neither.
He has Life’s blessing. Not even you can take that away.”
“That girl stole from Death,” Solanine said gleefully, pointing to Blythe, weak in Aris’s arms. “She brought back a soul that has been in the ground rotting for a year—a soul, mind you, whose death was the only reason she was able to live.
“Her life is the sacrifice,” Solanine continued. “She will pay for that boy’s life with her own.”
“You can have the boy,” Aris demanded. Gently he laid Blythe upon the ground, carefully setting down her head before he rose to his feet and crossed toward the others. “Bringing him back was a mistake. If he’s who you want, take him.”
“It doesn’t work like that. When Life gives her blessing, she extends someone’s time on earth. They’ll live out an entire lifetime without threat of being taken early.”
“It was the same with the horse,” Signa whispered. “That’s why we couldn’t kill it.”
Aris hadn’t a clue what horse she was referring to, but he cared little for the panic in Signa’s voice or the way Solanine’s eyes narrowed as she leaned to get a better view of who spoke.
Death fought her off at every turn, but Chaos was fast. She slipped around him until she was close enough to reach for Signa, her hand halted by Death’s shadows a mere inch from Signa’s face.
“You.” Her shock was evident as she strained against Death’s shadows, scrutinizing Signa, from her peculiar eyes to the set of her determined lips. “Dear God, you’re the spitting imagine of Rima.”
It was impossible to say whether Signa felt the terror Solanine’s magic could bring, but she did not waver beneath Chaos. She held her chin high, challenge in her eyes, and spat at the deity’s feet.
“Get my mother’s name off your filthy tongue.”
Solanine reeled back, as surprised as Aris had ever known her. Yet the shock was short-lived before her head fell back with a mighty laugh.
“Oh, I like you. You’ve got her fire.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Signa seethed. “I’ve never met her.”
Solanine looked more amused than she had any right to be. “I claim no responsibility for your mother’s choices, little Farrow. I was merely there to enjoy the show.”
Shadows danced at Signa’s feet, flickering and irate. The room was cooling so fast that Aris tensed when Blythe winced from behind him. As much as he would have loved to see whether anyone could knock Solanine on her ass, there was no time.
Aris stepped forward. “We’ll find someone to give you. If not Percy, then another in his place.”
Annoyed as she was to have her attention spun to him, Solanine scoffed. “I owe your wife nothing. If you want history to repeat itself, then try and save her, Aris. Put on a good show. Because that girl is not mortal, and a single human life will not be enough to exchange for hers.”
Aris’s nails dug into his palms as he realized it truly had all been a game to Solanine. Blythe had never stood a chance at surviving.
Dread made his feet heavy and his body hollow as he stared at the smile on Chaos’s lips, wondering how it could exist when the woman he loved would soon disappear from him.
There was a quiet scraping against the ground as Blythe stirred behind him, and Aris nearly stumbled as he turned to face her. In one shaky step he was beside her, seated on the ground and pulling her against him. He balanced her head gingerly on his lap, and as he combed his fingers through her hair—more like straw by the minute—her eyes fluttered, struggling to open. In that moment, there on his knees as he cradled her body, nothing else mattered. He didn’t care that they had an audience. Didn’t care that Chaos had descended on them, or who was watching him lose himself as he bent to kiss her, tasting salt from the tears that dampened her skin.
Oh, how he wished to memorize the way she felt in his arms. The way the seam of her lips parted for him and how sweet she tasted.
He would have spent an eternity with her, gladly. Would have spent a lifetime exploring the world beside her.
“Even now you are a thorn in my side, Sweetbrier,” he whispered, smoothing her hair away from her clammy skin. “I don’t know how you expect me to exist without you again.”
Aris did not care as Chaos cleared her throat. He did not care for the weight of his brother’s sorrow as it pressed against him, or for the boy he wished would keel over and die so that this nightmare might come to an end. For now he cared only for Blythe, imagining that the two of them were alone beneath the wisteria tree.
“So you know the truth,” she whispered with a laugh so bittersweet that Aris felt his heart shatter. “I had hoped you wouldn’t figure it out.”
“I know,” he admitted. “But I loved you even before I did.”
Love. That was what he felt for her. What fear had made him avoid for so long. How foolish he’d been to avoid something as precious and fleeting as love. It was not something to be had in secret, or to be held close to his chest and shared only in the safest depths of his mind.
If Aris could go back, he would love her abundantly. Recklessly. He would hold on tight and never let go.
But that was the thing about lessons: They were always learned too late.
Even as Blythe strained to sit up, Aris wished that he could forever embrace her. That this nightmare would diffuse into a beautiful dream where only they remained. His heart stalled when she took his hand, knowing this would be the last time he would hold her.
“I want it to be peaceful this time,” she whispered. “I want you to lay me on a bed of wisteria or send me away in a river of stars, as you should have done before.”
“I will.” His fingers curled around her. “I promise that I will.”
Her smile was a withering, feeble thing. It wouldn’t be much longer now.
“Take care of my father, all right? Don’t let Percy—”
“Nothing will happen to your father, Blythe.” He kissed her again, hoping to steal those worries. To soothe her soul so that she might rest easy. “He will have my protection, always.”
Although Blythe kept her smile, its edges drooped. “You won’t have to search for me this time, Aris. One day, I promise that I will find you beneath the bend of a wisteria tree. Wait for me just a little longer.”
He would wait until every last star in the sky had faded from existence. He would have told her that, too, had Aris not felt his brother encroaching from behind.
“Aris,” Death warned softly, but he already knew.
Signa stepped between Death and her cousin, sinking to her knees to grab Blythe’s hand. “Please don’t go,” she whispered, holding tight. “You can fight this, Blythe. I know you can. We can find another way.”
“Silly Signa,” Blythe said by way of answer, tucking Signa’s hair behind her ear. “Remember what I said. You are the girl who cannot die, and I am
the one who will forever be reborn. Do not think you can escape me so easily.”
With Aris’s assistance, Blythe used the last dregs of her energy to sit up, attention turning toward her brother. He was still cowering against the wall. The front of his pants was soiled, and Aris’s body grew hot with disgust.
He was a worm. A vile, pathetic worm that Aris yearned to squash beneath his boot. He was proud when Blythe lifted her chin, so much braver, so much more powerful even while on the precipice of death.
“I do not forgive you,” she told the pathetic creature who did not so much as give Blythe the proper respect until Aris demanded it, his threads winding around Percy’s throat and forcing him to look her in the eye.
“You are not the brother I once knew,” she said. “You are not the one I will mourn. You are selfish, cruel, and entitled, and I’m glad that our father was wise enough never to give you what you wanted. I hope the life you’ve stolen from me gives you everything you deserve, Percy.”
Aris held her as Death drew nearer, leaving Percy to scramble toward the window. Signa almost sprang to her feet to stop him but hesitated at the low rattle in Blythe’s throat.
“Let him go,” Death commanded. “He doesn’t deserve to be here.”
“How long does she have left?” Aris asked, struggling to hold himself together as Death responded.
“Hours, if we’re lucky.”
It was a wonder how Death and Fate ever managed to get along. No matter how beautiful a soul or how brilliant a life Fate wove, Death always took them in the end.
For years, Aris had let himself be angry with Death, even knowing that he had been forced into this position. He hadn’t been able to face his brother, burdened by the knowledge that both his wife’s tragic death and his brother’s guilt were his own fault. Grief had nearly overwhelmed him, and he had turned that grief into rage, pinning it on someone. Yet, despite knowing the truth as well as Death did, here he was once again, begging his brother for rescue.
“All who live must one day die,” Death whispered. “You’ll find her again, Aris.”
“Or you can save her.” It was Signa who spoke, her words hardly
audible as she took hold of Aris’s arm.
“You are a deity,” she prodded. “Two birds with one stone, Aris. Do what needs to be done, and save her.”
This time, Death heard her. He swept forward with a hiss of reproach. “Signa,” he called, but the girl didn’t meet his stare. Her eyes bore into Fate’s, then flickered once, briefly, toward Chaos.
And he understood.
Aris stood, lifting Blythe with him, and set her in Death’s gloved arms. “Take her back to Wisteria.” He looked his brother hard in the eye.
“Watch over her, do you understand me?”
For ages they had fought, Aris masking his guilt as disdain. But in this moment, he needed his brother more than anyone, and as darkness clouded Death’s eyes, Aris knew that he understood.
“Do not be a fool,” Death warned, but Aris wasn’t listening.
“Go, brother,” he commanded. “I’ll be right behind you. And should Blythe die before I return, know that I will kill you all.” Aris straightened his gloves, expressionless as he strode past them toward Chaos. There was no inflection in his voice. No anger or grief. Only facts as he looked upon her.
“I will not be bested by you again,” he promised as he hurried her to the window. “Of that, I swear on my very life.”
