Chapter 30 The trees murmur as he passes beneath them, their mossy branches caressing his cloaked shoulders. Kitt does not hear his mother's voice among them, for he knows not what to listen for. Her voice is a memory, so distant and delicate that he would much prefer it stays within the confines of his mind. There, it is safe from the Mors. The ground softens beneath his boots, giving way to mud as the spindly trunks begin to thin. Kitt passes, flippantly, a fellow king who tears madly at the chalky bark of a tree. It once riled him, the thought of an eternity of disregard from the father who despised him. But he has learned to enjoy the solitude of his role in the Mors-for he weaves unnoticed among the wailing souls. Now he finds his own peace in admiring the deranged man that was once his everything. For Kitt has watched-since the beginning of this eternity-his father futilely attempt to free Iris Moyra from her peace. Even now, blood trickles from the cracked fingernails of a once fearsome Edric Azer as he claws at the trunk of an unassuming tree. He seems rather confident that his wife lies within this one, Kitt observes. (Though, in the end, they will never know. Kitt cannot tell his mother or little sister from any other peaceful soul embedded into the fabric of the Mors-for his power is limited. But, selfishly, he is grateful to not know where his loved ones rest. You see, Kitt Azer is embarrassed. He does not wish for them to see what has become of him.) The ever-gray sky hangs low above Kitt's blond head, dull without a gilded crown adorning it. A sharp tug in his chest has his pace quickening-his afterlife is quite demanding. In fact, he has spent most of his eternity (so far) contemplating how it might have turned out differently. Perhaps, then, if he had offered Mara the companionship she so craved, he would not be a slave to the Mors now. Or perhaps this was Death's plan all along-only, she wished to have him and his affections. But Kitt has no love left to give. (Did she not understand that he was nearly incapable of the feeling?) Even still, she punishes him for such unrequited sentiment. And despite all Kitt now knows of the Plague and its truth, he remains at a loss for how it all came to be. Or rather, how it all began with Mara. "Go watch her," Death says upon Kitt's arrival to their usual meeting place. It is a particularly precarious patch of cracked earth they now stand opposite on. Mara keeps her distance, cold and indifferent. Kitt keeps his composure, foolishly hopeful for a friendship in the next lifetime, if he is lucky (and it is quite clear that he is not). "Any specific reason?" he asks, knowing Mara may not deign to answer. Surprisingly, she does. "It's her birthday. I want to know what she is up to." Kitt does not question her further. Instead, he simply nods and shuts his eyes in concentration. "Remember what I taught you," Death adds despite herself. Because, buried somewhere deep within that frigid heart of hers, she still cares for the Azer. "Lose control to it." Focusing on that kernel of shifting power within him, Kitt does as Death instructs. Yes, he awakens the drowsy formidability curled up between his ribs. And now he does not fight it. He understands it. He melts from one plane to the next before his feet sink into plush carpet. It has gotten easier, the sickening sensation and the rushing of power. Though, he is but a fraction of Death herself-such an endeavor as this thoroughly drains him. But Kitt, who hates admitting such a thing, does not mind doing Mara's bidding. It makes him feel something he rarely did when living-needed. Panting, Kitt looks around, taking in what once was his home. The castle looks different, warmer than it had the last time Death ordered him to Ilya. He wonders, distantly, just how much time has passed since he drew his last breath in the study down the hall. He sets a quick pace toward the girl's room, fearing whomever it is that has piqued Death's interest. He knows very little of this mysterious being-only vague details from the clipped conversations Mara allows. But Kitt was wrong to be fearless in the face of Death the first time, for it is fear that would have kept him alive. The hallway curls around a corner, and Kitt follows before he finds himself faltering to a stop. There, clutching a carton of plump blueberries, stands the only person Kitt Azer ever truly learned to love. "... Kitty?" Kai's gaze widens on the ghost of his brother, welling with tears. He trembles slightly, in a way the Enforcer rarely did when Kitt was alive. But he is a king now, and perhaps, strangely, that gives him the power to feel more freely. "Is that really you?" Kai chokes, nearly laughing. Kitt notices, distantly, that time has taken its toll on only one of them. Stubble now shadows Kai's strong jaw beneath the eyes creased with years of laughter. And not for the first time, Kitt feels cheated. It was he who was meant to grow old alongside his brother. "You..." The servant of the Mors struggles to swallow the emotion clogging his throat. "You can see me?" Tears fall swiftly from Kai's gray eyes. "Of course I can see you, Kitt-but I'm not sure why because I..." In this moment, Kitt cares not for his death or life or what might have been. No, all that matters is what Kai thinks of him-in this life and the next. But even after all these years, Kai still sees his brother, not the monster he has become. "It wasn't your fault," the dead brother reassures. "I could have saved you. You were sick but-" "I was already dying, Brother," Kitt murmurs, his voice breaking. "Death was the one who drove that poker into my chest, not you." Kai runs a hand through his hair, displaying the strands beginning to gray at his temples. "Death? I don't understand." He almost laughs. "Am I going mad?" "No, Brother." Kitt remembers how to smile for him. "But I do wonder how you can see me." "I see you everywhere, Kitt. In every smile, every ripple of water, every blade that I can't bear to raise." Kai steps forward, slowly. "And now you're actually here-" "I'm not here." Tears stream down Kitt's cheeks when he squeezes those green eyes shut (the ones that got him into this mess in the first place). "Not really." "Are you-shit, this is ridiculous-some kind of ghost?" The dead king looks up at the living one before him. "I am much worse." Kai reaches for a brother that evades his touch. "Let me help you, Kitt. Please-" "There is no help for me in the Mors." The words are dull. "I am Death-not in its entirety, but enough to make me useful. And it is all my doing." Kitt shakes his head. "I gambled with power, and it took control." The king stares unblinkingly at this Kitt before him, oddly familiar yet entirely unknown. "The Plague," he murmurs. "Is that what did this to you?" The sliver of Death does not answer. He too has become rather cryptic-an occupational hazard, it seems. The king's voice grows stern. "What is the Plague, Kitt?" "You do not wish to know." Kai rubs at his tired eyes. "I don't understand." "You are not meant to." "And you are Death?" The words are drenched in disbelief before a rush of realization swiftly washes them away. "Am I going to die, Kitt? Is that why I can see you?" The brothers behold each other for a moment that has even eternity shying away. For this bond is infinite. "Not yet, Brother." And then Kitt is gone, tugged from that physical plane by his master. He stumbles back into the Mors, where Mara awaits. She does not look at him. "How is my prodigy?" Kitt hardly hears the lie he spews. For his mind is far away, in the land of the living, where his heart ceased beating years ago. Death seems pleased by his answer nonetheless. "Good. We have much work to do." Her lips curl into that cruel smile. Then they form the mocking title she has bestowed upon him. "Welcome home, King of the Mors." 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...