It was the look of contempt.
Hate.
Fear.
And it hurt all the worse that, this time, it came from Blythe.
“You killed it.” It wasn’t a question. It was a whispered chant she repeated over and over again as she cradled the dead foal closer. “Why, Signa? Why would you do that?” The moment that question passed Blythe’s lips, something within Signa shattered.
Perhaps she was never meant for this life. Never meant to have friends or living, breathing people who cared for her. Because at one point or another, they would always look at her as Blythe did now.
Would it be different, she wondered, if she leaned into her other powers? If she pushed aside the siren song of the reaper and instead leaned into Life’s burning magic? Could that make her happy, or would she be no different than the girl she had been last autumn, focused solely on pleasing everyone else?
“Bring him back.” Blythe’s words were like poison, lethal and so searing that Signa’s throat tightened. “Bring him back right now.”
“I can’t do that—”
“Now, Signa! I want him back now!”
Guilt swelled within her, and there was the heat again, stirring deep in her belly as she tried to give Blythe what she wanted. Tried to give her cousin a version of herself that was worthy of the love Blythe had to offer. It burned through her, so hot that Signa worried her skin would melt. She refused to shy away from it, though, curling her fingers into the foal’s mane even when the tears came and a scream tore through her throat.
It took seconds that felt like years of agony; like Signa herself was in the depths of hell, eaten alive by the flames. Distantly she heard Death calling to her, though she couldn’t make out the words. It hurt too much to listen. To focus. To do anything at all… until suddenly it didn’t.
All at once the heat disappeared, and beneath Signa’s hands the foal’s chest rose and fell, stronger this time. It pushed from Blythe’s grip, eyes clear of the fog that had been weighing it down since birth.
In and out its chest moved. Signa couldn’t pull her focus away, counting every breath.
One. She had done that…
Two. She had done that.
Three… Signa turned at once toward Death, but with the belladonna purged from her body and her heart racing once more, he’d disappeared from sight.
“I brought him back.” Signa stared at the foal. Her hands felt like they were on fire, and she had to touch her lips to confirm they hadn’t melted away. She nearly spun to Blythe, and though she wasn’t sure what she was expecting, it wasn’t to see Blythe push up onto shaky feet and back away as though Signa was the devil himself.
Because this was what she’d asked for.
This was what she’d wanted.
And yet, with words so vicious that each of them felt worse than death, Blythe choked, “I wasn’t talking about the horse.”
Ice flooded through Signa once more, removing all traces of the aching heat. For the first time she found no comfort in it. The girls watched each other, Blythe a predator and Signa the wounded prey.
“I can explain—” Signa began, but Blythe didn’t let her say another word.
“I need you to tell me one thing.” As quietly as Blythe spoke, her voice was the only sound in the world that Signa could hear right then. “I need you to tell me if my brother really left Thorn Grove the night of the fire.”
What Signa wouldn’t have done to have had these abilities earlier. If she’d had them a few months prior, she could have saved Blythe herself. She could have found a different way to deal with Percy.
Why now, of all possible times? Why now, when it was too late to go back?
She bowed her head, and though she knew it would doom her, said, “No.”
Blythe’s hand flew to her mouth, barely covering the sob that racked her body. Through it she forced out each word, “Is my brother alive?”
“Blythe—”
“It’s yes or no!” The sharpness in Blythe’s voice was intended not to wound but to kill. “Is Percy alive?”
Signa had known this question would come. All along she’d known that, one day, she’d have to admit the truth of what she had done to this family. She wished only that it hadn’t come so fast. That she’d had more time with Blythe before losing her forever.
But she had been warned that there was a price for toying with Fate and playing God, and it seemed her payment was finally due.
“No,” Signa whispered, knowing that every day for the rest of her existence she would wish to forget this moment. “No, he’s not.”