Cold dread swept over Signa as she thought to the ring of light Blythe had showed her, upon the finger of an unblemished hand.
“Death,” Signa spoke his name slowly, testing each word before allowing it into existence. “Amity once asked me whether there was a constant to Life’s magic. Something present whenever I used it.” From the vines in Elijah’s study, to the foal in the stables, and again with Eliza… Blythe had been a constant. “What if it’s not me who caused that glow?” She picked up the poker Blythe had slashed her hand on—uncomfortably warm from being near the hearth—only to find that there wasn’t a speck of blood upon it. Death took it from her, and the moment the iron fell upon his fingers he jolted back, dropping it with a clang.
He clutched his hand to his chest as the skin hissed and smoked, shadows swathing over it. Immediately Death crouched for a better look at the poker, and though there was a long moment in which he wore no expression, in the end his face broke into the most joyous laughter Signa had ever heard as tears rolled over his beaming cheeks.
“You found her.” He scooped up the poker once more, laughing as it sizzled against his palm. With his free hand he grabbed Signa, pulling her into his embrace. His tears were cold as they fell onto her shoulder, his voice soft as snowfall as he whispered, “After all these years, you truly found her. It would seem, Little Bird, that fate always has a way of working itself out in the end.”
Signa’s body numbed with disbelief, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. It couldn’t be true… and yet it was the only explanation that made sense.
Signa had seen Life’s memories, but every time they came to her, Blythe had been there. The realization brought such a great relief that Signa had no words.
This was why her body burned, and why she had such trouble accessing those powers. They’d never belonged to her, but to Blythe.
Blythe was the reincarnation of Life.
“Do we tell her?” Signa whispered as she stared at the poker, unsure what to feel. For as much as she could understand Fate, Signa hated him for what he’d tried to do. But if Fate were to find out who Blythe truly was…
“No.” There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in Death’s words. He squeezed Signa close, pressing a kiss against her temple with no care for the spirits who stirred uncomfortably behind them. “Let them figure it out on their own time. Theirs is a story in which we should not interfere.”
Signa wasn’t certain she agreed. Part of her wanted little more than to hurry up the stairs and tell Blythe then and there. But Death’s joy kept her in place, wound tight in his arms.
Perhaps she would tell Blythe soon. For now though, she would trust that Death knew what he was saying.
“They may try to kill each other,” Signa noted, though her voice held no argument.
“You once tried to kill me, and look where that got us.” Death’s eyes beamed brighter than ever as he rose to his feet and pulled her up alongside him.
“Now, Little Bird, why don’t you show me around this house of ours?” He offered his hand, and with a heart so full it could burst, Signa took it.
EPILOGUE
BLYTHE
EVERETT WAKEFIELD AND CHARLOTTE KILLINGER MARRIED TWO months later with the midsummer sun beaming down upon them.
It seemed that happiness was everywhere these days. Blythe watched it blossom between the bride and groom as he drew her in for a kiss. It was in the tender touch that Eliza pressed upon her swollen belly, and the way that Elijah laughed when she jolted from the baby’s kick. Eliza was only weeks away from meeting her child, and Elijah had welcomed her into the family without a second thought.
Signa, too, had unfurled like a flower, sighing as she threaded her fingers through Death’s as he embraced her.
Blythe supposed she should be happy, too, now that she had her father back and knew that neither Everett nor Charlotte was the duke’s killer. Even so, no matter how grateful Blythe was for the way things had turned out, there was no ridding herself of the deep unease that coiled like a spring within her.
Whatever Signa had done that night in the garden, it hadn’t just affected Eliza and the child. Blythe hadn’t told a soul of the things she’d seen, or how in the moment their lives were saved, Blythe had fallen into a sea of white light. The warmth of it had coaxed her, easing her worries and stealing her thoughts for seconds that’d felt like hours. And in that sea, she’d dreamed of velvet laughter. Of a faceless man who spun her in his arms, dancing to unfamiliar music that she somehow recognized. Music she knew every step to.