Blythe did not back away, but instead pressed against his chest as she tipped her head to sneer at him. “On the contrary, I believe I’ve just fulfilled an oath. Are you not proud of your wife’s cleverness?”
Fate’s nostrils flared. “You are not my wife.”
“I believe this says otherwise.” She held up her finger, wiggling it. Fate looked as though he were seeing red. He pushed from her and whirled toward Death and Signa. Death had his shadows around her in a second, shielding her, but there was no need. It wasn’t Signa that Fate looked to with murder in his eyes, but Death. Fate’s golden eyes glinted, the barely visible threads around him shifting. Whatever he tried, however, didn’t work. The golden band of light on his finger flared bright and he gasped, the vein in his neck bulging as he doubled over and clutched his hand tight.
Blythe’s footsteps were as light as a dancer’s as she closed the space between them and wound her fingers into his blond hair. She bent toward his ear, speaking the words as softly as a lover, “I want my father freed this afternoon.”
When Fate laughed, the sound was manic. “You’re going to regret this.” There was no masking his rage. His sorrow. Yet Signa could not pity him. He had laid this trap; he shouldn’t have been surprised to have ended up caught in it.
Just like during their game of croquet, he should have known better than to underestimate Blythe. They all should have.
“Don’t worry, darling.” Blythe laid a kiss upon his cheek, leaving a press of rouge. “You’ll have the rest of your life to make it up to me.”
Never had Signa seen such anger. Such a promise of destruction in one’s eyes as she did when Fate turned, storming into the threads of light that disappeared his body within seconds. To where, Signa didn’t care to know.
With only the three of them left, the parlor fell silent. Signa couldn’t say whether seconds or minutes passed before Blythe sighed and perched herself on the edge of a leather chair, inspecting the band around her finger.
“Is it horribly noticeable?”
Signa took her first breath in who knew how long. She hadn’t realized how tight her body had become, chest so constricted that it felt on the verge of collapsing. Peeling from Death’s grip, she moved toward Blythe for a closer inspection.
“No, actually.” Signa’s words were loosened with a breath. The band on Blythe’s finger was cleverly masked—little more than a dim shimmer one had to squint to see, like white ink on fair skin. It reminded Signa vaguely of a scar, and she clutched her chest when it became even tighter with guilt.
“I was going to take care of this, Blythe. You never should have gotten involved.”
Blythe dropped her hand, inspecting Signa now. “And yet I did.”
And yet she did.
Signa stared at her cousin, uncertain whether she was meant to shake her or hug her or tell her how much of a fool she’d been to make a bargain with someone as powerful as Fate. Though Blythe must have had some sense of the power he wielded, not even Signa knew the extent of it.
“He is Fate.” Signa kept her voice soft, desperate to know that her cousin understood the gravity of her situation. “You cannot break an oath with him.”
“Why not?” Blythe sat straighter, calm as she looked at Signa. “Have I not bested him before?”
Death and Signa shared a look as she wondered whether Blythe had any idea just how true that was.
“Regardless, I’m not certain I’d want to break it.” Blythe hopped down from the chair, and before Signa could ask what she meant, said, “There are no false pretenses between us. I may live my life however I’d like, and all pressure of courting will be gone. Everyone will even believe I’m a princess.” Blythe may have dazzled with her smile, yet the corners of it wavered. Still, she reached to take hold of Signa’s hand with the same softness she’d shown earlier.
“Don’t worry about me. I appreciate you being so willing to save my father, but I’ll take it from here.” Signa’s chest nearly broke when Blythe placed a gentle kiss on her hand.
“After all that I did,” Signa whispered, “why would you help me?”
“Because you were willing to help me.” The answer came too easily, in a voice that was too light. “You deserve to live, too, Signa. I may not understand everything, but I know Percy was the reason I was dying. I know that you saved me from him.”
The unexpected words brought immediate tears to Signa’s eyes and had her stomach so sick that she bowed at the waist. She hugged herself tight, trying to keep herself together.