What am I?

I looked down at my hands. That was a good question. I may be a Royal by blood, but I had only been recognized as such three times in my life. I certainly wasn’t treated as one. My whole life had been focused on me becoming a… “An assassin?”

“A warrior,” he corrected.

“Bait?”

His expression was as bland as the leftover bread I’d managed to grab that morning from the kitchen. “You are not bait. You are a trap.”

And maybe I had become nothing more than a flesh-and-blood weapon.

What else could I be? What layers exist under that? I wondered as I toyed with the blindfold dangling around my throat. There was no time for hobbies or entertainment. No skill set developed beyond handling a dagger or a bow and how to live with grace. I considered no one a close confidant—not even Ezra or Sir Holland. Growing up, I had only been allowed a nursemaid. Not even a lady’s maid out of fear they would have some sort of terrible influence on me. Not that I needed a companion at all times. But the company would’ve been nice. All that I had that didn’t involve this was my lake, and I wasn’t sure if that really counted for anything since it was, well…a lake.

I blew out an aggravated breath. I didn’t like to think about this—any of this. I didn’t like to think at all, to be honest. Because when I did, it made me feel like I was a real person. And when I couldn’t stop the thoughts from coming, I dwelled on that small seedling of relief I’d felt when the Primal had rejected me. Then I drowned in that shame and selfishness. Those times, I made use of the sleeping drafts the Healers had brewed for my mother. Once, while Sir Holland had been dealing with something related to the Royal Guard and Ezra had been in the country visiting a friend, I’d slept for nearly two days. No one had even checked on me. And when I awakened, I had stared at the vial, thinking it would be all too easy to drink it all. My palms became clammy like they did any time I thought about that, and I wiped them on my tights. I didn’t like to think about that day either—about how that vial had become a different type of ghost than the ones that haunted the Dark Elms, refusing to enter the Shadowlands.

 “Come,” Sir Holland said, pulling me from my thoughts. “Put the blindfold back on and continue until you hit the target.”

Sighing, I reached for the cloth and tugged it back up. Sir Holland retied the binding so it stayed in place. I allowed my world to turn dark because what else did I have to do? Where did I have to be?

He turned me to the dummy, and then I sensed him step back. As I firmed my grip, I thought about what he’d said. A warrior. He could be right, but I was also one more thing.

A martyr.

Because whether the Primal came for me, regardless of if I succeeded if he did, the end result would be the same.

I wouldn’t survive.

Feeling a dull headache coming on, I entered the narrow stairwell after finishing with Sir Holland. Sunlight struggled to penetrate the darkness as I navigated the sometimes-slippery steps to the floor below. Crossing to Wayfair’s east wing, that hall was far dimmer. I walked to the last, little room at the end of the quiet hall. The door was ajar, and I pressed it open.

Candlelight flickered from a table by the narrow bed, casting a soft glow across the small form on the mattress. I tiptoed into the room and made my way to the stool beside the bed. I winced as the wood creaked under my weight, but the form on the bed didn’t stir.

Odetta had been sleeping a lot lately, each time seeming to slip deeper and deeper. She had already been aging when I came into this world, and now…now, her time was coming to a close. Sooner rather than later, she would leave this realm and pass into the Shadowlands, where she would spend eternity in the Vale.

A different kind of heaviness settled into me as my gaze touched the silvery strands of hair still so incredibly thick, and then moved to the bent, spotted hands resting atop a blanket that would’ve been too thick for anyone else given the warm breeze entering the window and stirring the blades of the ceiling fan. I fixed the edge of the blanket at her side.

When Odetta learned that the Primal hadn’t taken me, she had looked at me with rheumy eyes and said, “Death wants nothing to do with life. None of you can be surprised.”

I hadn’t exactly understood what she’d meant then. I hardly ever did, but her response hadn’t come as a shock. Odetta had never coddled me. She had never been particularly loving, either, but she was more of a mother than the one I had. And soon, she would be gone. Even now, she was so still.

Too still.

My breath caught as I stared at her frail chest. I couldn’t detect any movement. My heart hammered. Her skin was pale, but I didn’t think it had taken on that waxy sheen of death.

“Odetta?” My voice sounded rough to my ears.

There was no response. I rose, speaking her name once more as panic blossomed in my chest. Had she…had she passed?

I’m not ready.

I reached for her hand, stopping before my skin touched hers. I sucked in a shuddering breath. I wasn’t ready for her to be gone. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Heat rushed to my hand as my fingers hovered inches above hers—

“Don’t,” Odetta croaked. “Don’t you dare.”

My gaze flew to her face. Her eyes were open, just thin slits, but enough to see that the once-vibrant blue had dulled. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

“I may already have one foot in the Vale, but I haven’t lost my mind.” Her breath was faint and shallow. “Or my vision.”

I glanced down at my hand, hovering so close to her skin. I jerked it to my chest, my heart still pounding. “I think you’re seeing things, Odetta.”

A dry, cracked laugh parted her lips. “Seraphena,” she said, startling me. Only she ever used my full name. “Look at me.”

Shoving my hands between my knees, I looked at her, never knowing a time when her face was free of the heavy lines of age. “What?”

“Do not play coy with me, girl. I know what you were about,” she rasped. Denial rose, but she was having none of it. “What have I told you? All these years? Have you forgotten? What have I told you?” she repeated.

Feeling as if I were a small child perched on a stool, I shifted uncomfortably. “To never do that again.”

“And what do you think would’ve happened if you’d done that? You were lucky when you were a child, girl. You won’t get lucky again. You’d bring the wrath of the Primal onto yourself.”

I nodded, even though I had gotten lucky more than once since I was a child and had picked up Butters. Not once had my…gift captured the attention of the Primal of Death. And I…

I didn’t know what I had been about to do.

Shaken, I slid my hands from between my knees and looked at them. They looked normal now. Just like everything about me did. I exhaled raggedly. “I thought you were gone—”

“And I will be gone, Seraphena. Soon,” Odetta predicted, drawing my gaze once more to hers. Was it my imagination, or did she look even smaller under that blanket? Thinner. “I have lived long enough. I’m ready.”

I bit my lip as it started to tremble and nodded.

Those eyes might be dull, but they still held the power to hold mine.

“I know,” I said, clasping my hands and keeping them firmly in my lap.

She eyed me through half-open lids. “Is there a reason you’re in here, other than to disturb me?”

“I wanted to check on you.” And that was true, but I did have another reason. A question. One that had been preying on my mind for a while. “And I wanted to ask you something if you’re up for it.”

“I’m not doing anything but lying here, waiting for you to leave,” she groused.

I cracked a grin at that, but it quickly faded as my stomach started jumping and twisting. “You said something a long time ago, and I wanted to know what you meant—what it meant.” The breath I took was shallow. “You said I was touched by death and life. What does that mean? To be touched by both.”