Chapter 15 The king is just barely alive when a swarm of Imperials comes to collect him for the ball. He is found, most unfortunately, still recovering on the floor of his study. A Healer is called to Kitt's side within a matter of moments, though he does little more than poke and prod at the protesting king. Mara finds the whole display quite comical, really. When unable to rely on their ability to miraculously heal, these avowed physicians are rendered utterly useless. On second thought, perhaps Death finds this cynically sad. Kitt all but commands every concerned face from the room and, with a quick glance at Mara, sets a steady pace toward the ballroom. Death considers his lingering gaze an invitation to accompany him, and who is she to deny the king? The entourage stops before the ballroom's looming doors, where a servant hands Kitt (His Majesty to her-unlike Mara, who is enviously on a first-name basis with the king) a black suit coat to shrug on over his tunic (dark enough to disguise the splotch of blood that summoned Death to his study). That twining crown is back upon his golden hair, gleaming in the dull light. He is undeniably handsome, Mara thinks, because it is a fact, and is she not allowed to simply state the truth? The king gestures for his throng of Imperials, and the paranoid Healer, to take a step back. Mara, for a reason unbeknownst to her, steps into the empty space beside him. With his gaze still pinned on the closed doors, Kitt murmurs beneath his breath, "We are waiting for Paedyn." Death, though no one can see her but the king, does not look at him either. "Your betrothed." He is quiet for a long moment. "I can't imagine what else you've heard around the castle." "Your Majesty?" the Healer inquires. "Did you say something?" "No, Eli." Kitt's voice is even but not unkind. "And be sure to keep your distance tonight. My brother will ask questions if you are following me around all evening." "Yes, Your Majesty." The silence resumes, only to be shattered by the distant tapping of heels. Paedyn Gray soon fills the space on Kitt's opposite side, draped in a sheet of silver. "You look lovely," he says to her steadily. Death does not know why this makes her stiffen. "Thank you, Kitt." Paedyn smiles at him. Another thing Death dislikes. "You look very handsome." The king nods, offering an arm to his betrothed. She accepts. The doors begin to swing open. "I see your ring made it back to the correct hand," Kitt murmurs. "Of course..." Death has heard enough. She doesn't care about their engagement. Truly. She is just bored. Stepping out onto the balcony, Mara decides to descend the staircase to her left (it's an arbitrary choice to make). She then wades into the sea of sound and color that laps against the ballroom's ornate walls. Bodies sway around the room, glittering in the setting sunlight that streams through a dozen windows. An orange glow warms the sky beyond, ominous yet beautiful. Death quite likes that description. In fact, she finds herself standing before a window, watching the sky light up like a vibrant soul. The king is now making a toast from the balcony above, but Death is far too occupied to notice. She weaves between each bejeweled being, beholding every bit of finery. But when the music resumes with an energetic melody, Mara takes her post against a pillar and observes the masses. They drink and gossip and dance, their souls swirling before Death's eyes like splotches of colorful ink. The king is quickly tugged in every direction by a swarm of women before his betrothed drags him onto the dance floor. Mara looks away. There are more interesting things to witness-that, she is sure of. She is quickly proven correct (per usual) when a flash of lilac hair draws her attention from across the ballroom. Even at this distance, Death can still make out a bickering Blair and Lenny. It is odd, though-not their constant quarreling, of course. For she had not expected the Tele to be released from her cage this evening. And apparently, neither had the bride-to-be. Paedyn lunges for Adena's killer in an impressive show of hatred. The gasping crowed closes in on the scene, obscuring Death's view of the entertainment she so craves. Though, mercifully, it seems that Mara does not miss much. The future queen is quick to stride from the scene she caused and guzzle a glass of champagne. Death, beginning to enjoy herself now, flicks her gaze over the souls she has taken a liking to. Lenny seems relieved despite the look of loathing on his assignment's face. The Imperial then, assumedly, asks Blair to dance. Mara is quite certain that his offer is met with an array of condescension, but in the end, the unlikely pair is swaying. Impossibly, their souls are slowly growing closer. Threads of yellow and green begin to intertwine, burrowing into one another like barbs. And it hurts just as much, Death thinks, when two tied souls are torn apart. "You're still here." The king steps beside the pillar, slipping his hands into the pockets of dark pants. "I go where the entertainment is. And tonight, that is here," Mara states. Kitt's gaze traces the face of Death distantly. "Is it boring, your... existence?" Mara meets his stare. He likely wishes to keep his mind from the horrors he witnessed in the Mors. And Death, in an effort to disprove her monstrous reputation, indulges him. "Why else would I take interest in the mundane lives of humans?" The king finds this funny for some reason. He often unearths humor from the driest of Death's words. Perhaps her bluntness has been mistaken for humor. They watch couples spin around the dance floor. Drunk and drunker. Gingersnap and the bestower of such a title. Paedyn and a stranger. "Blair is here." This is more of a declaration from Mara than it is a question. Again, Kitt finds something about this comical. "Have you been watching them?" "As I said, entertainment." The king shakes his head. "I'm trying to acclimate the two of them. Paedyn needs to get used to being around Blair, despite how difficult." "Hmm. And should you not be dancing with your betrothed?" Mara asks earnestly. Kitt attempts a stiff shrug. "It's not every day you get to talk to Death. I figured I would take advantage." Mara certainly does not find this flattering. Not even in the slightest. "Is she part of your plan for this greater Ilya?" A curt nod from the king. "I see," Death says, because she does. This marriage has nothing to do with love. "Strangely, I hope to see you again," Kitt murmurs. He steps away from the pillar, retreating once again into his own mind. "You're the only person I can talk to about dying." Mara watches him melt into the chaos before her. She would see him again, Death decides. He is entertainment. Nothing more. Not nostalgia or meaning or a memory made man. Besides, she has no soul left to tie to another. Not even to the shadow of her past. "Can you believe she tried to attack me in front of the entire court?" This is the third time Blair has reiterated her disbelief. "Yes, actually, I can," Lenny says, just as he has the last two times since slipping from the ballroom. Death hears Blair trip over a stack of books behind her. It is quite dark in here, enough to have a human stumbling blindly. Not every creature feels so at home in the shadows. The Tele's frustrated growl is smothered by Lenny's hushed warning. "Keep your voice down. This is the last place you are supposed to be right now." "My voice is down," she snaps. "Everything is just loud when you have freakish hearing." Blair takes three more steps before adding, "This better be the right way, gingersnap." "I'm sorry," he mumbles sarcastically. "Would you like to lead us through this dark library with your Hyper vision? And"-he turns to see Blair glaring at a spot three feet to his right-"between the two of us, your hair color is way weirder than mine." Death ponders this. In fact, she thinks quite often on the unusual hair colors that pure power provided. But this Plague was picky-Death knows the feeling personally. Not all those in Ilya were fit for strength. And the silly humans never bothered to wonder why. More books are plowed over by a huffing Blair. "I can't see anything," she says in a falsely sweet tone. "I can't even tell if my loathing look is aimed at you." "Uh, turn your head to the left," Lenny directs. "Little more. Little-stop. Right there." "Just..." She makes a sound of disgust. "Guide me." Death perches on a stack of books, watching Blair stick her hand into the darkness. She wears a look of utter annoyance. Mara finds her expressions inspirational. Lenny shakes his head. Strides toward her. Slips his hand into hers. He wears a look of concern Blair can't see. Mara wonders (as she often does) if this is due to a lack of repulsion at her touch. The thought is fleeting, though. Death is hardly the romantic she used to be. The Imperial leads them between each towering bookcase, using that sharp vision of his to admire the intricate molding clinging to their corners. Mara follows dutifully. They weave through the massive library until a wall of books blocks their path. "We are at the Elite records," Lenny informs his peeved assignment. "Also, why the hell are we at the Elite records?" "Because I am not convinced you are using all your power," Blair retorts dully. "Now find the Hyper records." Yes, Death is very pleased she tagged along on this endeavor. Since the Imperial first sensed her presence in that hall, Mara has puzzled over how such a feat was possible. And this is her chance to discover the truth. Lenny drags a finger across the worn spines. "Not using all my power?" He scoffs. "Look, I know you wanted to help make me stronger, or whatever, but I'm pretty sure I'd know how to use my ability." Death taps her foot against the worn floor. Elites so love to pretend they understand the power they are given. "Have you trained with it every day?" Blair interrogates. "Pushed yourself to the point of exhaustion? Found your limits?" The Imperial pulls a thin book from the shelf. "Well, no, but-" "Then you have no idea what you are capable of," she cuts in dismissively. "Your ability is like a muscle. If you want it to grow stronger you need to put in the work." "And out of the goodness of your heart," Lenny says skeptically, "you want to be my personal trainer?" The Tele glares up at where she assumes Lenny's face to be (which happens to be his chin). "You're hopeless, and I take pity on you." He shrugs. Sighs. "Good enough for me." "Just read the book, gingersnap." Blair then yanks her hand free from his, as though she only just remembered it was being held. Death has yet to determine her verdict on their souls. Perhaps they are not as hopeless as she had first thought. But Mara hates to be wrong, so she silently roots for their demise. Begrudgingly, Lenny flips open the crumbling, leather cover. The pages are yellowed, each one dedicated to the Hyper ability. A century's worth of records rests beneath his fingers. "Skip to the back," Blair orders. "There should be a section on the ability's development." "How do you know that?" the Imperial asks. "I didn't think anyone opened these records." "The sergeant," she huffs. "She made me read the Tele volume when I was eight." "Right," Lenny says slowly. His fingers fumble with a creased page. "So, what about your dad? You don't talk about him much." Her mouth forms a mocking sound. "There's not much to say. You wouldn't even believe he's the general when comparing him to my mother." She tears shamelessly at the skin on her palm, forgetting that the Imperial can see the anxious habit. "In his personal life, he's the one taking orders, not giving them. He just puts up with Mother better than I do." Lenny hums softly at her words. "Sometimes it's better to stay with someone maddening than to go mad with loneliness." Surprisingly, this is met with no condescending remark. "Maybe," Blair finally mutters. She clears her throat. "And your father?" "Never met him," Lenny answers distractedly. "And from what I've heard, he's not worth missing." The sound of rustling pages fills the dark corner. Death leans over the Imperial's shoulder, noting that most of the book is blank. Flipping to the final entry, Lenny utters a dull, "Wow. A Hyper's ability can develop a single sentence's worth." "Just read it," Blair orders. "Ahem." The Imperial shakes his head before reciting the scrawled words. " 'In some cases, Hypers who learn to open their minds have developed a sixth sense.' " Death has found her answer. "Interesting," Blair murmurs, voicing Mara's thoughts exactly. "Interesting?" The Imperial blinks at the vague string of words. "What the hell does that even mean?" If only he could tap into that sixth sense now. Death would be happy to explain. "Why are you asking me?" the Tele sneers. "Open up your mind and find out." "And how does one go about doing that?" "For starters, straighten your spine," she snaps. "I've never seen someone with such terrible posture. And, more obviously, don't stifle your power. Let it do as it pleases and see what happens." Lenny stares at her. "How strangely encouraging of you." "I'm encouraging you not to be pathetic," she clarifies with disgust. "Well, me and my unstifled power can hear how fast your heart is beating." Scowling, Blair lifts her middle finger into the darkness. "Saw that, too," the Imperial says cheerily. Yes, perhaps Death feels a bit guilty for praying for their downfall. 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...