The world fell silent as the blood welled up, and all Signa could think about was how odd it was that one drop could change everything. One drop, and her life would be forever changed.
Yet change, it seemed, was not in her cards that day.
Signa fell to the floor, the wind knocked from her lungs and her blood smearing the wood as someone threw her aside. Blythe stood over her, wild-eyed as she looked not at Signa but at the tapestry in front of her. Blythe ripped it from the table, clutching it to her chest.
“Miss Hawthorne.” Fate did not speak loudly, but with a grave severity a thousand times more threatening as he took a step forward and told Blythe, “I need you to put that down.”
Never could Signa have imagined Blythe fearless enough to turn her simmering eyes toward Fate. “No.”
Signa fisted the switchblade tight, keeping it ready in case he dared to make a move against her cousin. Unlike Death, Fate was not made up of shadows but had a human body that needed to eat and breathe. Perhaps he would not be so immune to a blade as Death was.
“Put that down,” Fate repeated, spitting the words through his teeth. “There is an oath in place.”
“You don’t need to remind me of the oath, Aris. I was there when you made it.” Blythe didn’t look away from Fate as she ran her finger down the length of the tapestry’s threads. Fate froze midstep.
“Until the moment Signa pours her blood upon the tapestry and willingly binds herself to you, you will allow her not only to see Death, but to touch him without harm,” Blythe spoke the words slowly as she raised the tapestry to eye level. “You also promised to free my father the moment an oath is made and you have yourself a bride. Did I get it all right?”
“You did,” he agreed. “Now put the tapestry down and we’ll still have our deal.”
Signa knew she should move. Knew she should rip the tapestry from Blythe’s hands and spare her cousin from any more of Fate’s threats. Yet there was an electricity in the air that kept Signa rooted to the floor, clutching the knife. She whipped her head to Death, only to find that he was inching toward her, careful not to draw his brother’s attention.
Don’t move, he whispered, the words inside her mind.
Even Fate was hesitant with the steps he drew toward Blythe. For each one he took forward, she stepped back toward the roaring flames in the hearth.
“You used me,” Blythe began. “You made me believe the worst of my cousin. But I know the truth now, Aris, and I could never live with myself if I let her make this deal.”
“Miss Hawthorne,” Fate seethed, “if you take one more step—”
“Then you’ll what?” Blythe held the tapestry out, nearly letting the flames taste the fabric. “What will you do to me, Aris? As clever as you are, I expected more from you.”
Fate’s chest heaved with slow, measured breaths as he looked between her and the fire. It was clear he was debating making a dive for the tapestry. Anytime he drew a breath closer, however, Blythe lowered it toward the flames until Fate backed away, tearing his hands through his hair in frustration.
“Come now,” she urged, as merciless as Signa had ever seen. “Aren’t you going to ask me why I expected more?”
Exasperated as he was, Fate had no choice but to play along. “Why, Miss Hawthorne?” If words could kill, his would have severed her five times over. “Why did you expect more from me?”
Blythe gave no warning as she sliced her palm across the iron poker near the hearth and turned to stare Fate dead in the eyes. “Because you never specified who had to be your bride.”
Blythe smiled as she spilled her blood upon the tapestry’s golden threads.
FORTY-THREE
BLYTHE HAWTHORNE HAD BESTED FATE FOUR SEPARATE TIMES.
Signa allowed Death to grab hold of her, dragging her to the opposite side of the room as Fate clutched his left hand to his chest, a glowing band igniting upon his ring finger. Blythe wore a matching one that she paid little mind to as a thread shone bright between them, binding them.
“We have to help her,” Signa whispered as Fate crossed toward Blythe in three long strides, looking poised to wrap his hands around her throat. And yet Death held Signa tight.
He made an oath with you. Death’s voice was lighter than she’d heard in ages. For as long as he lives, he cannot bring harm upon Blythe Hawthorne.
Only then did Signa’s body ease, tears of relief spilling from her even as Fate closed the space between himself and Blythe.
“You have no idea what you’ve just done,” he snarled, poised to kill.