The Underworld (Rhyn Eternal) (11 page)

“Sort of, yes.”

“How can you enjoy the taste that way?”

“I’ve never seen the full process but it comes out good.” She shrugged, admitting silently it did sound strange. “I’m sure the dealers have food here somewhere.”

“It would be much easier if you’d just eat this hand.”

“I’m not going to eat a hand, Jared.”

They started up the stairs.

“How do we get to the armory?” he asked. “Where are these hidden tunnels?”

“Relax, demon. There will be one about halfway down the hallway.” She slowed as they approached the room where the guards had been. Blood was splashed into the hallway, a sign of how frenzied Jared had been when he claimed his meal.

He walked by the door without a glance.

She paused in the doorway to survey the mess, expecting to feel upset by the sight of the ravaged remains.

She didn’t. If anything, there was a small sense of satisfaction at knowing those who betrayed her and Gabriel had been served their justice by a demon.

As Death, she’d seen every kind of death possible, from the peaceful passing of a human in its sleep to the slaughter of genocide and the remains of a natural disaster.

This … this didn’t bother her. What bothered her: feeling as if it should. Wondering how long she had until she ended up torn into pieces like those in the room. Suspecting no one would mourn her, once she was gone.

“Cupcake!” Jared called.

Past-Death moved away from the doorway, uncertain how she was supposed to think about her world. “It’s on your right, Jared.”

He turned to face the wall and stared.

“Maybe you can’t see it because you’re a demon,” she explained.

“Very well. Open it.”

“Grab a torch.” She went to the door only she was able to see and tugged it open. Taking his arm, she led him into the narrow tunnel and closed the door behind them. “See?”

“Where does it go?” Jared asked, looking around.

“It used to go wherever I wanted it to. Hopefully it still does,” she replied. Releasing him, she rested a hand on the wall. “To the armory, please.”

The sound of stone shifting and grating reached them as the palace responded. Pleased to know she had some influence still, Past-Death smiled at the darkness before them and waited for the sounds to stop before starting forward. The small gesture did little to soothe the gnawing despair at her core, but it was something.

From the corner of her eye, she caught a spark of turquoise, like the glow of a tiny lamp, or the gem she’d seen in the ring in the dungeon.

“Come on,” Jared said when she lingered.

Nothing was there. Shaking her head, past-Death trailed him.

They walked in near darkness for close to ten minutes before light edging a doorway appeared ahead of them. They reached it and paused.

Jared handed her the torch and bag.

Past-Death stood back as he opened the door and leapt into the room, ready for a fight.

He straightened, looking around. “This is not the armory. This is … awful.”

She followed him into the room. Before she set foot into the bright space, the overwhelming scent of food reached her.

“Thank god!” she gasped, breathing in the scents of savory pies and sweets. “I guess I was more interested in food than the armory.” She shoved the torch and bag at him.

The massive kitchen took up half of one wing and was empty of cooks. Meat pies cooled on stone shelves while various kinds of pastries and dried fruit tarts rested on a long counter.

Jared scowled, his nose wrinkling. “You prefer this to blood?”

“Absolutely!” Past-Death hurried forward. Not caring what the demon thought, she stuffed a meat pie in her mouth and several more in her pockets before scooping up as many pastries and tarts as she could carry. The flaky, buttery crust of the pie hid tender meat and flavorful gravy, and she scarfed three of the palm-sized portions before letting out a deep sigh.

Her headache and anger receded, and she felt more solidly a part of the world, less like she was going to pass out.

“This is the best part of being human,” she said with a groan, taking a second bite of a fruit tart.

“Is our tunnel still there?” Jared asked impatiently.

A glance at the wall confirmed it was. With some regret, Past-Death dropped more food into a small sack and closed it, her stomach straining but her hunger still present.

“Okay. To the armory,” she said, striding forward. “Come on, demon.” Taking his arm again, she led him into the dark tunnel.

“Can you lift a sword?” he asked.

“No.”

“Ever used a dagger or knife?”

“No.”

“Axe?”

“I don’t know anything about weapons,” she snapped.

“How about a shield? Can you
not
get killed on your own, or do I need to stand in front of you?”

Past-Death ignored him and walked through the darkness, feeling more confident than she had in a long time, despite not knowing how to fight. The underworld had always been her home, and the fact it was helping her navigate the palace made her think things weren’t quite as bad as she thought.

“They’re much worse,” she muttered under her breath.

The outline of another door appeared, and they stopped before it once again.

“I’ll go first.” Jared shoved his food supply and torch at her.

She accepted both and stood back obediently.

He whipped the door open, and she trailed. The sounds of movement and talking in the armory ceased.

Past-Death peered around the corner and took in the fifty death dealers lined up to check out weapons. They were staring at Jared and her in surprise.

Jared, too, was frozen, staring back at them. Past-Death glanced from him to the dealers and back, waiting for the demon to do something.

“Go on, demon. Eat them,” she said, nudging Jared forward.

“I have a new plan, cupcake,” he whispered, taking a step back.

“What?”

Jared snatched her arm and dragged her back into the tunnel, sealing it closed. “Run. Now.” He started down the hallway.

“That’s your plan?” she demanded, surprised. “What happen to the demon who can handle anything?”

“Demons are not stupid, human. We know when to run.”

Someone slammed something against the door, and she jumped, dropping the torch. After a split second longer of hesitation, Past-Death turned and ran, following him into the darkness. They had to go somewhere safe, a hiding place only she knew about, and she racked her brain before deciding to trust the passageways to take them to safety.

Hours passed. Gabriel tried to leave the Lake several more times before giving up and lying back on a boulder to stare at the grey skies.

Mates-blood-fate. Darkyn had said this was all that mattered now, and he had been dwelling on the lessons he’d learned since becoming Death. He’d learned to track souls without the innate soul-radar granted to every death dealer brought on board. He’d discovered and healed most of the cracks allowing souls to escape to the human world. He’d found his mate, lost her, then found her again, met a couple of deities and learned too much about how little he was able to trust those he once viewed as colleagues.

The flexibility of Immortal Code, the need to respect the original three laws, decoding the ancient soul compasses, tracking demons in the mortal world …

He’d learned so much the hard way, the result of avoiding the first step he was supposed to take: placing his soul in the sacred room off Death’s bedchamber.

What if he’d done that first? How many of these trials might’ve been avoided? How many death dealers would’ve been saved going to trial for their rebellion?

“You’ve got my attention.” He spoke again to the Lake of Souls. “I understand your pain. I don’t know what to do about it.” He ignored any self-consciousness he experienced at the thought of talking to an inanimate object. He’d last swum through the lake to find the soul of the Ancient Andre, an expert demon tracker and half-brother to Rhyn, and resurrect him.

Shortly after, the underworld locked him out. Fate claimed it was for his own good. Gabriel hadn’t felt … whole since then. He’d struggled to figure out who he was supposed to be, and worse, doubted he was the right person for the job, once the troubles began.

“Just when I feel like I’m getting somewhere …” Gabriel sat back, suppressing the urge to lose his temper. “I guess technically, I never got anywhere, if I’m stuck here. I’m failing you, and I don’t know how to make things right. I thought cleaning up the souls on the human world was what I was supposed to do, especially after you locked me out.”

The Lake didn’t respond.

“Now, I think …” His gaze went to the grey heavens. “I don’t know anymore. Do you remember when the sky cracked open? That’s when she dropped you into my lap and told me to take care of you. It’s when I started failing at being who you need me to be, when I started to
feel
too much again.”

The trees and animals fell silent for the first time since he’d intermittently begun talking to the Lake hours before. Sensing they were listening, Gabriel reviewed what he’d just said to see if he could pinpoint what they were responding to. He sat up.

“I went to the human world to try to fix things, and you shut me out.”

The world began moving again.

“Okay. That wasn’t it.” He drew a calming breath. “Deidre would know what to do.”

Silence.

“So you’re … what? Interested in hearing about her? Sad she’s gone? As furious as I am with her?”

The animals and trees remained quiet.

“The heart of the underworld is broken. Because you miss her?” Gabriel rested his elbows on his knees, sensing he was close to whatever it was the Lake was waiting for. He shifted to peer into the water and gazed at his reflection, gazing back at him. He appeared worn and frustrated, the skin around his eyes tight, and sorrow in the depths of his gaze.

Souls glowed like tiny lanterns beneath the surface of the water, and he heard the sad song again from the trees and lake. They felt much like he did. As he watched, a scene began to play out on the surface of the Lake, one of the day where he’d felt pain after a lifetime without it.

The day Past-Death turned away from him. He watched himself storm off. She had seen him go. When she turned away, there were tears on her face, and he saw for the first time what he’d never known about the goddess who held his heart.

She’d loved him enough to be hurt, too. Deities were immune to emotions, sociopathic liars out to protect their domains. The traits were needed, because they never let anything else come between them and their duties.

“Except something did,” he whispered.
Shit.

For a long moment, he sat in the silence, allowing his thoughts to return to where he hadn’t wanted them to go: to the past he wanted to forget but couldn’t.

“Because I miss her,” he whispered. He racked his brain to recall when exactly the underworld had begun failing, before the demon invasion and the cracking of the sky that occurred before he was appointed as Death. “This started before Rhyn came to the underworld to find Katie and was followed by the demons. It began …”

The moment Death made me give up my soul and then dumped me.

Gabriel dwelt on the unpleasant memory of trading his soul to Past-Death in exchange for her allowing Rhyn the time he needed to save his mate. The only freelancer among the death dealers, he’d volunteered to stay with Past-Death for tens of thousands of years, after falling in love with her when he was a foolish seventeen year old mortal.

Shortly after demanding his soul, she banned him from her bed. He’d thought her callously uncaring at the time, but the vision replacing on the surface of the water told him otherwise.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” he murmured. “She was hurting, and the skies cracked. I’m hurting, and the Lake cracked. I am hurting, and so are you.”

Mates-blood-fate
. Pre-destined to become mates, he’d gotten close to breaking two of the three original laws governing the universe: one when he walked away from past-Death and the second when he refused Fate’s advice about accepting his Future.

Worse – his human emotions were out of control since he’d met her again as a human. They were wreaking havoc on the underworld. He wasn’t in control of his world, and he wasn’t in control of himself.

“In my defense, there are two of her, and there weren’t exactly instructions,” he said with a snort. “How does this help me fix all this? Or …” He fell quiet, not liking the solution drifting into his mind. “I help you by fixing
me
. How do you expect me to move on, after all the pain she’s caused? I don’t want to become what she was.” He shifted restlessly. “I don’t want to treat her the way she did me.”

The longer he thought, the more challenging the idea became. How did he cut the string tying him to the emotional baggage built up over tens of thousands of years? How did he heal wounds that had been opened so many times, they no longer healed?

How did he rein in emotion he hadn’t experienced since he entered the underworld as a teenage boy?