That was the problem—when it came to those Signa loved, she often wasn’t thinking at all. She leaned back, cupping his face.
“You’re the fool,” she told him. “When I made that deal, it’s because I wanted you, not your ridiculous brother. Why are you so afraid of him?”
Death set his hands atop hers, and though he offered a smile for Signa’s benefit, it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s not him I’m afraid of, Signa.”
“Who, then?” she pressed, searching his eyes, which hardened as he looked at her. “Who are you afraid of?”
There was no reading his stare. No deciphering the tension in his jaw as he stepped back and extended a hand to her. “Come,” he whispered, and Signa wished she could disappear into that honeyed tone. “I’ll show you.”
Wisteria Gardens was almost unrecognizable as Death led Signa through its once-illustrious courtyard. If not for the marble fountain and the thriving wisteria draped over them from the canopy above, she wouldn’t have had the faintest idea where he’d taken her. As it was, she hesitated as they approached a palace that looked nothing like the one she’d ventured into only a few nights prior.
“We’ll need to be quick,” Death said. “There’s no saying when Fate will return.” He held Signa’s hand as they cut across the lawn to the dilapidated stone building. It was the very same one she’d glimpsed in the moment that Fate’s powers had slipped during his soiree. Able to see it fully in the glow of the setting sun, Signa took in the ancient gray stones that looked one door slam away from crumbling. If not for the fact that she was in her reaper form, Signa might not have dared approach it for fear of it toppling upon her.
“Why does it look like this?” She frowned at the withering grass beneath her feet, missing the verdant green fields from the days prior. There were no animals, either, she noticed. No bleating sheep or hoofbeats to fill the air. The palace was eerily silent—a resting dreamworld awaiting the return of its dreamer.
“My brother created this home ages ago.” Death cast a look around them before he pulled Signa through the front wall. “It is a part of him and has always reflected who he is and what he’s feeling internally.”
Where there was once a grand entryway and a gorgeous parlor with a roaring hearth, now the entry coughed thick plumes of gray smoke from dying embers. The interior walls were every bit as bare and ruined as the palace’s exterior, and though much of the art was still on display, the colors had dulled to blend in with the gray stone. Gone was any hint of the extravagance Fate had made such a show of.
“It doesn’t even look like the same place,” Signa whispered, taking one step up the staircase. It was so rickety that she had no doubt the planks would have snapped beneath her feet were she not gliding across them.
“It used to be every bit as luxurious as you last saw it, forever changing with his whims or to suit wherever he traveled.” Death kept his shadows near Signa as they made their way toward the highest story.
“What happened to it?” She folded her hands and pressed them against her chest, resisting the urge to touch anything as she and Death made their way past the ballroom. Signa poked her head inside, her heart falling when she found that all the beautiful amber paneling had vanished.
Rather than answer right away, Death led her farther down the hall to the portrait where Signa had seen Blythe and Fate speaking. She hadn’t gotten a chance to look closely at it then but now saw that the woman depicted was the loveliest she’d ever seen, with hair as pale as bone and a softness she couldn’t look away from.
“That’s Life,” she whispered, somehow recognizing the woman. “Isn’t it?”
Sorrow plagued Death’s eyes. “Wisteria began to deteriorate the moment my brother lost her. I let myself believe that he’d get better with time, but this place is worse now than I’ve ever seen it.”
Life’s painting, Signa noticed, was the only thing in the palace that was still in full color. She had to stand several lengths away and tip her head back to see it fully, for it took up the length of an entire wall. She tilted her head, trying to catch a glimpse of the woman’s eyes as Death eased her away.
“You asked me who I was afraid of.” He stretched his hand out, brushing fingers across the portrait’s frame. “My brother may be a nuisance, but I do not fear him. I do, however, fear you, Signa. I fear that someday you will break my heart.”