Dead of Winter (28 page)

“You used jammers to block radio calls.” Aric cast him a look—was that the same grudging respect Jack had shown Death last night? “That's why you wouldn't radio ahead.”

“I wanted to control any communications from this camp. But now that we've got a hostage and a full army, we doan have to hide your involvement anymore. And we're about to inform the twins of our upcoming trade. Their father for Selena.”

Excitement filled me. A hostage exchange sounded workable!

Aric removed his helmet, stowing it on his saddle. “If we allow the carnates to live, they'll transfer all they experience to the source.”

“Too risky,” Jack said. “We end them.”

“Agreed, mortal. Are you going to tell your people the twins are fake?”

Jack seemed to consider it. “
Non
. It'd just be noise, clouding the victory.”

Aric nodded. “While you've got Milovníci, we might as well interrogate him for information about the twins, uncover their defenses and carnate numbers.”

Now Jack said, “Agreed.”

When we stopped and dismounted, Jack and I handed our reins over to a couple of soldiers, but Death just shook his head, leading Thanatos on.

The crowd parted ahead of us, revealing three unconscious forms, bound and gagged on the ground. The infamous Milovníci and his spawn. Or rather, his spawn's spawn.

Finally, I was going to see the man who'd brought so much misery to a world already drowning in it.

The former general's features were sharp, his nose beaklike. Though wiry and thin, he had a florid complexion. I could imagine his face growing even redder whenever he was angry.

His tan jacket read:
MILOVNÍCI ELITE SECURITY
. His face and clothes had copious amounts of spit on them—and boot prints.

This was the great General Milovníci? He looked harmless. And the twins? They were identical to the ones we'd encountered in the other camp, with the same distorted tableau.

“You should do the honors on the carnates, Reaper,” Jack said. “Folks need to see what the two of you are packing.”

Low-voiced, Aric said, “We're not circus acts.” To me, he added,
—All my life I've cloaked these gifts.—

“I'm just a figurehead, me. This army can create order, or just the opposite. The more order there is in the world, the safer Evie is. You either want that or you doan.”

More people closed in.

Exhaling with irritation, Aric removed his gauntlet. He crouched to place his bared icon hand over each clone's face. Black lines forked out.

Did Aric remember his parents every time his touch killed? I'd heard that he preferred to take out opponents like this. Maybe his Touch of
Death served the same purpose as his tattoos: reminders never to forget tragedies of the past.

Spectators gasped when the carnates' bodies seized.

Jack might be accustomed to attention, but Aric was uncomfortable with the stares. Had the coolly collected knight once been shy around others? The idea made me smile with affection—even as the replicants stopped breathing.

I heard murmurs in the crowd: “Good riddance.” “Rot in hell.” “They got off too easy. . . .”

Rodrigo cleared his throat. “Uh, sir, what do you want to do with Milovníci?”

“His name's Milo now,” Jack announced. “My neighbor had a coonhound named Milo. Went rabid. Got put down.” Nervous laughter broke out.

Death stood and slid on his gauntlet.
—That's shrewd. Strip the man of a name that people fear.—

On our first day out, Aric had studied Jack. Tonight, his attention had redoubled, as if he now found his foe
worthy
of investigation.

Aric had his hunger for knowledge;  Jack had his curiosity. Was there really a difference between those two things?

Jack told Rodrigo, “Take ole Milo here and the two bodies back to his tent. He and I are goan to have a chat.”

“Yes, sir.” Rodrigo could barely hide his glee. He ordered soldiers to carry the three, adding, “You might want to wear gloves.”

Jack said, “Death ain't contagious.”

Aric looked astonished.
—He
does
listen to me on occasion.—

“Oh, of course, sir,” Rodrigo said. “If you'll follow me.”

As we made our way through the crowd, Jack shook hands, accepting thanks. By the time we reached Milo's tent, the man had been already tied to a chair, prepped for interrogation. The carnates lay on the ground, atop a layer of extravagant sawdust.

Rodrigo said, “Sir, there are about thirty mercenaries who are loyal
to him. They fought back before we overpowered them. What do you want to do with them? Firing squad?”

I frowned. “Like Milo used to do?”

“
Non
. But they got to be punished.”

Aric leaned against Milo's desk. “And how will you do it, mortal? Will your leadership be callous? Or merciful?” He sounded fascinated with this subject. Of course, his favorite book was
The Prince
. “If you plan to be a leader, then the actions you take now could resonate for your entire life.”

“You think I doan know that?” Jack turned to Rodrigo. “Exile them fifty miles from camp with no shoes, shirts, or coats. Give them each a map that leads to five packs filled with gear.”

“I'll organize that right away, sir.” And off he went.

The corners of Aric's lips curved, his eyes lively. “Most will kill or be killed long before they reach their destination. And I don't suppose there will actually
be
packs.”

Jack opened his mouth to answer, then seemed to think better of it. “That's army business, and you ain't army.”

I surveyed the tent. The lavish area was spotless, except for around Milovníci's desk. Books, pens, and papers had been swept to the ground. A framed picture of his weird children lay with broken glass. He must've been sitting there when he passed out. “Do you think Milov—I mean,
Milo
will give up information on his kids?”

Jack moved to stand in front of the man, hatred stamped on every line of his body. “He's about to give up everything. I'll make the twins' torture look like love taps.”

I blinked at Jack. So ruthless. So unyielding. A million miles away from the drunken boy who'd cared about nothing after the Flash.

Selena had told me that Jack had changed. Yeah. That.

He backhanded Milo. “Wake up, you
fils de putain
.” Not a twitch . . .

While we waited, Aric knelt, lifting a weighty black book from the ground. He brushed sawdust from it, then laid it on the desk.

I drew in. “What is it?”

He didn't answer, just turned to the first page. Handwritten text covered the weathered paper. I couldn't determine the language.

Aric's radiant eyes illuminated the page. “Gods in heavens.”

“What is it?”

“Chronicles.” He turned that brilliant gaze to me. “The Lovers' chronicles.”

“What is this?”
Milo demanded, spittle flying into the air. Finally, he'd come to.

Jack stopped mid swing, lowering his hand. “Look who's up.”

Milo's pale blue eyes widened with shock. “I know you! The notorious hunter! What do you want from me?”

“Your children,” Jack answered. “The real ones. You're goan to give them to us.”

When the sounds of the outside celebrations filtered into the tent, Milo's shock deepened. “This isn't possible—my soldiers are loyal!” His lips drew back from stained teeth. “They will retake control.” His hands twisted against his bonds, his fingers tipped with long yellow nails. “And when they do—”

“Your loyalists are as good as dead. Just like your twins.” Jack nodded to indicate the carnates. “Or their placeholders, anyway.”

“That's Death's mark.” Milo whipped his head around with confusion, settling on Aric.

He sat at the man's desk, leaning back in the chair, steepling his fingers. The book lay open in front of him.

Milo glanced at it, then studiously away. Did he hope we wouldn't figure out what we possessed?

For once, we'd had a turn of fortune. The book hadn't been in Milo's safe or hidden away.

Because he was the Lovers' chronicler.

At the time a canister rolled into his tent, he'd been recording an entry. The last written word trailed across a page.

The bad news? The language was ancient Romanian.

The good news? Aric said he could translate it in time.

Milo snapped, “Death wasn't part of the deal!”

“The one your kids already welshed on?” I pointed out.

“You!” As I'd suspected, Milo's face grew even redder. I'd never been looked at with such contempt. “All my life I've known who to blame for generations of this family's misfortunes—the Empress. Here she stands.”

“I understand your blaming me for the last game. But all the following centuries? That's a stretch.”

He gazed at the circlet of roses on my head, making a face of revulsion. “Without your treachery, the Duke and Duchess Most Perverse would have won, becoming royalty. No, becoming immortal gods! They could have watched over and enriched this family eternally. Each generation knows how you robbed us. Our line is forged from vengeance!”

So the Milovnícis had grown more and more bitter about my betrayal? More twisted?

“My children will right this wrong. They are retribution. They will win this, so they can punish you in the next game and the next.” He bared yellowed teeth. “Enjoy your final days in this life, you treacherous bitch!”

Jack clocked him for that.

The man grunted in pain, taking long moments to focus his vision.

“Let's talk about those kids, Milo. We're goan to ring them up, inform them of our upcoming hostage swap.”

“They won't trade anyone for me.”

“For their chronicles, then?” Aric slid the tome into a waterproof sleeve he'd found.

Milo redlined on the crazy meter, spittle flying. “Thief! You have no right to those!”

“Stay on topic.” Jack backhanded him again, rocking the man's head to the side. “Your kids. Where are they?”

“I will
never
give them away!”

Jack just smiled. Though I knew Milo had earned the retribution he was about to receive, I didn't want to watch him tortured. Especially not by Jack.

Plus the red witch would probably view it as recreation and crave similar forms of entertainment.

I caught Jack's gaze.

“I got this, Evie. You want to wait outside?”

Aric rose, book in hand. “I'll take you.”

As we exited, Milo told Jack, “I remember your pretty sister. Vincent told me she liked to beg in French—”

His scream ripped through the night. Even as I flinched, the red witch found the sound as pleasurable as a petal's caress.

I took a seat on a bench not far from where the petrifying Thanatos waited, giving passersby the willies.

When Milo let loose another strangled scream, Death began to pace, his spurs clinking. “If the mortal can't control himself, this will not work. Torture isn't as simple as one would think.” Pacing, pacing. “Does Deveaux know how to torment his victim while leaving the man conscious? Will he avoid major arteries? It's not so easy a feat.”

“You want to go back in, don't you?”

“The sooner we retrieve Selena for Deveaux, the sooner you return home with me.”

I parted my lips to argue, then decided not to waste my breath. I waved him away. “Just go.”

“Don't leave this place,
sievā
, and keep your guard up. There could still be loyalists about.” He returned to the tent.

As I waited, Milo screamed intermittently. But I could also hear people talking about Jack, Aric, and me. A group of women gabbed
about the hunter's “hot-as-fire” Cajun accent and “steely” gray eyes. They found Aric “eerily gorgeous.”

Jealousy flared on
both
counts. I was used to feeling it over Jack and Selena, but not as often for Death. For kicks and giggles, I imagined Aric kissing someone else.

My claws budded.

And what did Azey North think of me? The men found me “unnerving” yet “definitely doable.” The women? “She's so creepy.” “Did you see that vine snaking around her head?”

Still, whenever people walked by me, I smiled in greeting. They nodded politely, but couldn't hide their nervousness.

I sighed. Just over a year ago, I'd been in high school, making friends with such ease.

Then I caught a fragment of conversation coming from the other side of the tent—about Jack. Was that Rodrigo?

Sidling closer, I eavesdropped as he told another soldier how the hunter had single-handedly ganked dozens of Baggers last night—with nothing but a tire iron.

After Jack had promised me not to take unnecessary risks?

The. Hell.

I strode over to the pair. “Rodrigo, can I talk to you for a second?” Something in my tone made the other guy scurry off.

Rodrigo swallowed. “Sure?”

“You were exaggerating about Jack. Right?”

“No, ma'am,” he said, relaxing a touch. “Some of the older guys didn't believe the rumors about Deveaux and Baggers, so they told him to nut up or shut up. I saw him charge into a horde with my own eyes. That guy's fearless.”

Jack had broken his promise to me—the same night he'd given it. “Thanks. Uh, carry on, soldier.”

When he wandered off with a bemused grin, I pulled that red ribbon out of my pocket.

Why did Jack feel he could risk himself like that? Maybe he did have a death wish.

By the time Aric and Jack emerged, I'd decided not to confront him. For now. We were too close to freeing Selena; nothing could get in the way of that. Not my anger, not his disregard. “Well?”