Foxglove (Belladonna, #2)(32)

Signa’s shoulders stiffened a little, and Death at once clarified, I loved her very much, Little Bird. But it was not romantic. The older we became, the more I began to realize that Life was not like me or Fate. Although he and I were ageless, lines creased her eyes and mouth. She began to tire, and there came a time when the new souls she could generate were few and far between.

One day, she pulled me aside to tell me that it was time for her to go. She told me that life was not meant to be infinite, and that she would return to us in a new form soon enough. For there is no life without experiencing death. She asked me to take her, but first, she wanted one more day with Fate. One more day to say goodbye.

Of course Fate realized what was happening, Death continued, each word seeming to stick to his teeth like gristle. He demanded that I refuse her request. He made it clear that if I didn’t, he would never speak to me again. He couldn’t see that I was mourning, too, and in that mourning… I was susceptible.

When Life came to me the next day, I refused her, and it was the most selfish thing I have ever done. For Life was stronger than any of us, and she knew it was her time to go. She would reincarnate, but none of us knew where or what form she would assume—nor did we know how long it would take for her to find us again. We’d spent a great deal of our existence without her already, and neither Fate nor I wanted to risk that again. But it’s as I said already—one way or another, it was her time.

The more I resisted it, the worse the situation became. Signa kept still, hardly breathing as she clung to his every word. I heard the call of her death. I knew it was time. Still, I resisted until it was pent up inside me and burst, and I gave her the worst imaginable death possible.

The plague, Signa. The Black Death. I was trying so selfishly to keep her alive until I couldn’t manage any longer. She was the first victim, and then it spread and spread—and, God, how it spread. Do you know how many people died because of my selfishness? Do you know how many innocent lives were taken because of my mistake?

She wished that he was there beside her. That she could take his hand and hold him while he shared this story that was so much worse than she’d expected.

Twenty-five million, he said at last, and Signa felt the severity of such a number like a blow to her stomach. In four years, I claimed twenty-five million innocent lives. All because I was unwilling to let her go.

You loved her, Signa told him, hating that they could speak only through this strange bond that existed between them. We all do ridiculous things for the ones we love. It was why she’d protected Blythe. Why she’d made this deal with Fate, just to have the chance to speak with Death.

It was more than ridiculous, Signa. It was selfish and cruel. I have not seen Life since, and neither has my brother. Perhaps this is our punishment, or perhaps she doesn’t remember us. It’s hard to be certain of anything, but I haven’t been able to find Life since the day I watched her die.

Signa wanted to tell Death everything Fate had told her. She wanted him to laugh and agree that it was absurd to believe that she could be the woman they’d spent so long searching for. But the words clotted in her throat, for she was terrified of what he might think.

If it was true that she was someone else—if there was even a small chance that she was Life, the woman he had killed and the one whom his brother had loved so deeply—would he feel differently about her?

Now it’s my turn to ask a question. Was your visit with my brother eventful?

Signa homed in on each syllable Death spoke, scouring his voice for any sense of just how angry he might be. It was unnervingly difficult to tell.

The ball was pointless. She curled her fingers into the carriage seat. I feel no closer to stopping Fate or discovering Lord Wakefield’s murderer than I did last week. I’m worried about Elijah. And Blythe, too, if we can’t find a way to clear his name. Can’t you get into the constable’s head and convince him of Elijah’s innocence, as you did with Thorn Grove’s staff when Percy disappeared?

Death’s silence weighed on her for a long while as he considered her request. If I did that, Fate would only retaliate with something worse. He won’t let us disappear this.

At this point, Signa deserved an award for resisting the mounting urge to throw her head back and scream. Sensing her worry, Death said in a voice as smooth as silk, Do not lose faith. We already have a list of suspects in everyone who was at Thorn Grove the night of the murder.

That wasn’t nearly as reassuring as he seemed to think. Half of the town was at Thorn Grove that night.

Perhaps, but this is a start, which is more than you had the last time you solved a murder.

Signa supposed it was true, given that she hadn’t known a single soul when she’d first come to Thorn Grove. Still, she’d known Blythe’s would-be murderer would have had frequent access to Thorn Grove, which… wasn’t much more to go on than she had for Lord Wakefield’s killer.

Why does it feel so much harder this time? She wanted to sound confident; to believe that she would solve this case. But she couldn’t manage the facade. Not with Death.

My brother wasn’t breathing down your neck last time, out for revenge and making light of the situation. And you didn’t love the Hawthornes as you do now. Not at first.

She did love them, immensely so. Which was why she needed to get her head on straight and figure this out. Death was right; even if it wasn’t a great lead, she had someone to start with—Byron.