Chapter 10 Thump. Thump. Thump. The ball Lenny consistently bounces against the wall has deflated slightly. Even it has grown tired of his games. Occasionally, the Imperial stops to stare longingly out the row of windows. Above, the moon glares back, glowing brightly against the blackened sky. That streaming, pale light pools in the concern carved on Lenny's freckled brow. And for the better part of an hour, Death has occupied herself by watching that worry only deepen. This is hardly the most interesting part of her day-no, that would have been when she entered the king's study as Mara and left as Death. And she is not entirely sure what to do with that. No soul has ever met Death and lived to tell the tale. Perhaps, then, Mara should take advantage of this rarity. Blair turns a page of her book (shockingly) from where she lounges in bed. "You are suspiciously quiet." "Well..." Lenny doesn't turn to face her flaunting of comfort and instead continues to sit stiffly on the floor, leaning against her bedpost. "Since you want to crush my windpipe every time I speak, I figured it was safer if I didn't." "Maybe you aren't as dumb as you look," she says, rather sincerely. The Imperial shakes his head and returns to his boredom. Thump. Thump. Thump. Blair clears her throat. "Have the festivities started?" Mara gets the sense that this Tele is unsure what to do with a melancholy Lenny. He appeases her with a dull "Yup. They are happily drinking and gossiping." The party is taking place on the other side of the castle. This Hyper ability is fascinating, Death admits. "She's going to be fine," Blair huffs reluctantly. Slowly, Lenny turns to peer at his assignment over the bed. That is when those brown eyes drag over Death yet again. If she had a heartbeat, it might have stumbled. "Wow." The Hyper rests his chin on the quilt, looking up at Blair. He is completely oblivious to the spiral he's sent Mara into. "Are you complimenting Paedyn's strength and skill to survive this Trial?" The Tele scowls at him. "No. I'm simply stating that somehow, she always ends up getting what she wants." "Come on, Blair." Lenny returns a dull look. "Her father died. She was forced to survive on the streets." "Exactly," she says a bit quickly. "She was free. She got to do whatever she pleased. And then one day, she made it into the same Purging Trials that some of us have prepared for our whole lives. But not just that." She laughs, and the sound is bitter. "No, she managed to get away with the fact that she is an Ordinary. Excelled in the Trials. Toyed with both princes. Then she was discovered as a traitor, killed the king, and fled." The words gush out of her, as though a dam has broken free behind her tongue. "And just like everyone else," Blair continues with a humorless laugh, "I thought she wouldn't get away with it. But here we are. Paedyn Gray is now engaged to a king." Yes, Death really must meet this woman. "Is that why you've always hated her?" Lenny murmurs carefully. Blair sighs. "I envy her, okay? She is free." The words are hollow. "Besides, she is precisely who my mother wishes I was-without the Ordinary bit, obviously." "That is..." The Imperial shakes his head at her. "Very human of you." Lenny then steals a moment to simply look at the woman before him. Mara watches him take in the simple blouse she wears, the fitted pants beneath, and the intimidating expression above. Death can see it on his face-the slow realization that there might be a softness smothered beneath. Suddenly aware of her sincerity, Blair morphs back into that unfeeling shell of herself. "Shut up, gingersnap." "Such kindness you exude," Lenny says warmly. Reverting back to their usual bickering, he leans over the bed to tap the spine of her book. "Hey, what is it that you're always reading?" Death would like to know as well. It seems she will have to find her own copy to discover what awaits on the next page. "None of your business," Blair snaps. "Interesting title." "That's it." She snaps the book shut-dramatic, since she wasn't actually trying to read it. "I'm leaving." Lenny watches her stand from the bed's warm embrace. "Where do you think you're going?" "Loot," she informs. "I'm sick of this room. And you." Death follows curiously, leaning over Blair's shoulder when she stops before the fireplace. It's rather unassuming, this stone hearth, though it lies empty and cold. The Tele fixes her attention on a slab of smooth stone that stretches behind the fireplace. It groans when she mentally swings it open, revealing a dark shaft behind. Lenny gapes at the shadowed passageway. "Holy shit," he murmurs. "So this how you escaped?" Death shifts closer. The cramped space can hardly fit the small, spiraling staircase that descends into total darkness. Lenny sticks his head through the open doorway to peer down the stairs, and the look on Blair's face suggests she is contemplating pushing him. "Yes," the Tele admits begrudgingly. "The stairs lead to the tunnels beneath the castle. These hidden passageways were built into most of the larger rooms and were used as an escape route-back when Ilya was weak and on the verge of being conquered," she educates flippantly. "Now they are hardly used, just like the tunnels." Lenny nods slowly. "So, how does it-?" Blair sighs as though she doesn't love proving that she's smarter than him. "This is the flue." She points to the hidden shaft. "It is quite large to accommodate the many fireplaces littered throughout the castle. Adjacent rooms also have access to this stairwell, and it's completely enclosed until dropping into a tunnel." The Imperial pulls his head from the fireplace. "Despite your condescending tone," he mutters, "that was actually very informative. Thank you." It was. Death quite enjoyed the lesson. She is always looking for something to learn, even in her old age (which a lady would never reveal, of course). "So"-Lenny continues, folding his arms over that wrinkled uniform-"how did you find out about this? I knew there were all sorts of secret passages in the castle-everyone does-but no one really knows where half of them are anymore." "My father told me," Blair answers curtly. "As a general, he obviously knows what escape routes are in the castle." "So he told you how to sneak out?" Lenny smiles in that boyish way. Mara finds it rather adorable-then she supposes that the formidable Death shouldn't use such words. She has a reputation to uphold. "I didn't realize your pops was so easygoing." "He's not," the Tele corrects hotly. "But even he realized that I might need an escape every once in a while." That seems to mellow the Imperial. "From your mother?" Blair glares at him, teetering on that irreversible something, remember. She doesn't deign to say a word before grabbing a dusty lantern from the mantel. Then, with a smug smile that looks surprisingly difficult to summon, the Tele ducks into the dark passageway. "Blair!" Lenny scrambles after her. "You can't leave." Her patronizing response is a distant echo. "Try to stop me, gingersnap." Mara watches the Imperial tip his head toward the ceiling, as one might when praying for strength to whoever will listen. "Fine," he calls. "I'm coming with you." "Plagues help me," she mutters. "I heard that." "I know." Their voices fade into the darkness, leaving Death to her own devices. Though intrigued by this defiant adventure, Mara hardly feels the need to endure the journey there with them. She has already walked that long path once before, and if she weren't already dead, she might not have survived their incessant arguing. No, Death will simply meet them there. She is living (metaphorically speaking), breathing (again, not quite) power. Of course, outside the Mors, she is limited. But the simple willing of time and space to appear beside a bickering pair of souls is certainly doable. Now, with the time she will save not walking, Mara decides to join the festivities. Contrary to popular belief, Death is quite capable of having fun. She can regularly be found among a grove of trees within the Mors, swapping stories of the living for gossip about the souls. But tonight, Mara must be discreet. She never imagined there would come a time when she didn't wish to be seen. But the king now knows more about her than any other being-a horrifyingly invigorating thought. So, regrettably, Death believes it best to avoid him until she devises a better plan. How very mature of her. Upon entering the crowded ballroom, Mara becomes immediately aware of how underdressed she is for the occasion. Her dark cloak is plain and worn in the face of such finery. Of course, Death is not opposed to silk and frills-she is a woman who appreciates pretty things, after all-but her occupation demands a certain dullness. Souls would hardly take her seriously in a pretty pink. Hmm. Perhaps that is precisely why she should don such femineity. Mara already earns a wide array of disbelief and demeaning jokes from most men she drags to the Mors. But the eventual look of horror-usually following the acceptance that, holy shit, this really is Death-is well worth the wait. And a delicate ensemble would make that moment all the more delicious. It is a relief to be unseen by those in sparkling jewels and glittering gowns, as Mara would turn every head in her gloomy attire. Though, there is one within this throng of gossipers who could undoubtedly recognize the face of Death (again, how strangely exhilarating), and he sits stiffly upon a throne at the ballroom's opposite end. Kitt Azer is a creature of habit, Mara is beginning to realize. He may be king, but he much prefers his study to peacocking before a court. His face remains impressively blank-an oddity for one usually so expressive. But this is likely due to Death's impromptu visit. The king's mind must be reeling behind those green eyes. And Mara must avoid them for the evening. (She finds this objective oddly disappointing.) Mara slinks along the room's perimeter, clinging to the wall. Laughter echoes all around from those convinced this Paedyn Gray will fail tremendously. Though Death does not know this woman, she grows rather irked on her behalf. It is a rampant commonality, this feeling of being underestimated. So Mara waits. This woman seems worth it. And when the grand pair of doors swings open, every head turns to behold the belittled. Paedyn Gray strides into the room, bloody and triumphant. Several strands of her silver hair are stained scarlet. Cuts pepper her muddy skin, displayed beneath the torn clothing clinging to her. She places a broken crown atop her head. A queen to be. An underestimation to be reckoned with. Mara was wrong. She does indeed know this woman. In the Purging Trials-a stab wound to her abdomen. Death was there. In the Scorches-exhausted and on the brink of consciousness. Death was there. In a dark sewer-swelling with water and drowning out hope. Death was there. This soul is no stranger to ruin. Mara has been summoned to her side more times than she can remember. And yet, this woman always manages to live. It's astonishing, really. Death has begun to dread the day this soul finally loses her grip on the tightrope she has dangled from for so long. Now she has a name. Paedyn Gray-Death's most elusive soul. It glows a bright silver in her chest, shimmering like the hair above, now stained with blood. Pure. Fierce. Every soul tells a story, and hers is riddled with perseverance. Mara watches her stride toward the king. Yes, she looks forward to meeting Paedyn Gray again. In this life and the next. In a romance-themed observation show, several participants undergo a series of interactions and conflicts filled with love, misunderstandings, and power struggles. In the end, one couple rises to over...