Dead of Winter
Page 59

Back at the encampment, the Azey had been delighted to see their former leader trussed up in such a humiliating position. Well, except for the bound loyalists who’d been on their way out to endure their own set of difficulties.
The horse Jack had chosen for Milo was one of the finest the army had to offer. He planned for Selena to use it on the way back.
How confident Jack was that we could rescue her—that she’d be able to ride. Whenever my mind turned to what the twins might be doing to her, I had to shut those thoughts down. . . .
Aric took the chronicles from that waterproof sleeve. He sat near me, leaning against a wall. With a look of anticipation, he cracked open the pages.
“Thief!” Milo’s beaten face grew an alarming shade of red. “You’ve stolen what doesn’t belong to you! You have no right!”
Milo truly believed he was the innocent party. Aric was a thief; I was a treacherous bitch who’d wronged generations; Jack was an insurrectionist.
When the man got zero response from Aric, he said, “Save yourself the trouble—you’ll never read them.”
Aric flipped a page without looking up. “Won’t I?”
“It’s written in ancient Romanian.” Somehow Milo’s expression was both frenzied and smug.
“I speak ancient Hungarian, which shares roots with that language.” Another turned page.
Milo’s smugness faltered. “You want to know the contents? It’s a revenge contract from one generation to the next. We’ve renewed our hatred of the Empress over and over.”
“I look forward to a little light reading, then,” Aric said. “Know that I’ll translate every word of this scrawl eventually.”
“Eventually? You won’t live past tomorrow. My children will reclaim our chronicles off your corpse.”
Jack smirked. “So we are headed in the right direction then?”
“It doesn’t matter that I told you the Lovers’ location. You can’t breach it.”
“Popping open a bunker woan be as easy as, say, stealing your entire army from you. But we’ll figure it out. Tomorrow, we’re goan to eat good off your stores, and drink too. I already stole the whiskey from your desk.” He pulled a bottle from his bug-out bag, keeping it at the ready. “Twenty-five years old? Um, um, um.”
“Enjoy it, hunter! Tonight’s your last one on this earth.” Veins stuck out in the man’s forehead as he grew more frustrated. He was used to terrifying people; I think I’d yawned at him a couple of times in the last hour. “Tomorrow you die.”
“I’ve never heard that before,” Aric drawled. “And yet . . .”
Jack returned to his explosives inspection, eyeing a serious-looking detonator. “Seems you like to bluster, Milo. The weak ones always do.”
Aric glanced up. “I’ve seen that trait over and over throughout the years. I remember Philip the Second once wrote to the Spartans, saying, ‘If I enter Laconia, I will raze Sparta.’ Do you know what they wrote back? One word: If.”
Jack paused at that, cocking his head. I’d bet he was committing that story to memory.
“My children will reign over this world as immortal champions. Unlike you, Reaper!” Milo spat a mouthful of watery blood. “What did you do as champion of the Arcana?”
“Hmm.” Amusement. A flipped page. “What should I have done?”
“The entire world could have worshipped death. Cults of it, to pay homage to your deity.”
“Historically, Arcana who reveal their secret gifts fare ill. Even so, I haven’t done too shabbily. Everyone has heard of the Grim Reaper. And cults of death? People pray before tombs and crypts every day. Cemeteries are hallowed. Look outside these very doors. What’s left standing? Monuments to death.”
“You could have conquered so much more. Ruled over man as a god. Enriched your relatives’ line. You could have sown fear as my twins will sow destruction.”
“And in your imaginings, when your spawn win, what would mankind worship?”
“Love. It’s the most destructive force in the universe.”
Really getting sick of hearing that.
“They’ll make over the world in their image, populating it with carnates. Eventually my children will control everyone on the face of the earth. They’ll win game after game, never dying!”
“No. They won’t,” Aric said. “Because we’re on our way to introduce them to death. But I’ll be sure to update your chronicles for you.”
Face twisted, Milo sneered, “You’ve seen how my children love their innocent victims. Imagine what they have planned for the treacherous Empress, who tortured them.”
My last nerve said, “He’s on me!” I glanced around for a gag.
Milo turned to Jack. “They’ll love her far worse than they did your pretty sister, Clotile. The little French beggar.”
Jack lunged for Milo; before he could reach the man, Death had used his speed to yank the fiend up, shoving him toward the door.
“You’ll pay, Empress!” Milo screamed over his shoulder. “The creature loses its tail but retains its life. You’ll see! We are retribution!”
Jack stared after the man, his jaw clenched, his chest heaving.
“You okay?” I asked quietly.
He dragged his gaze from the doorway to me. “I will be.” He inhaled deeply. “Tomorrow, I will be.”
I parted my lips to ask him if he’d ever tell me what happened to Clotile—and to him—but he turned from me, heading to his bag, to that bottle.
He cracked it open and took a long slug, the wrath in his eyes easing a bit.
When Aric returned alone moments later, I said, “What’d you do with Milo?”
“Tied him beside Thanatos. In proximity to sharpened hooves.” He shook out his dampened hair. “I guarantee nothing.”
“We could’ve gagged him.”
“This is Milo’s first night out in the cold since the Flash. I’d like him to experience it.” In a wry tone, Aric added, “Plus, he was setting off your rose scent, which makes it impossible for me to relax.”
So now we were going to joke about our clashes in the past? Too soon?
When he headed for the chronicles, I asked him, “How long will it take to translate them?”
“I’ve read some already.” Book in hand, he crossed to sit beside me. “They know that your powers are collaborative, that a world without green or sun weakens you.”