Keres Bedisa, King of Araphel and rumored god of Death, held court in a building that amounted to little more than a crumbling stone tower. His throne was a wooden, ladder-backed chair with broken rungs and obvious rot. The crown upon his head was fashioned out of grapevines, seashells, and obsidian, and the black hair it sat upon had lost much of its luster. Deep hollows were carved into his cheeks, and full lips, once so ready to smile, flattened into a thin line.

Cethin spoke true. This was not the elf I remembered.

I entered the room slowly, wishing Remiel could be at my side. Cethin had decided against allowing him to accompany me, too worried that it would set the king off. After all, the Reapers had been his personal soldiers, and he had abandoned them in the battle of the Vesper. It didn't matter that Remiel was not old enough to have fought in the war. My father saw it as one of his many failures.

"Come closer," Keres called out.

His right elbow rested on the arm of his chair, and he propped his face up on two slender fingers. Eyes a pale lavender like my own watched me with feigned disinterest. I might have truly believed him to be indifferent, if not for the way his body tensed the moment I entered.

"You are young, Deathsinger." He straightened, then leaned forward. The chair groaned beneath him. "How many sun cycles are you?"

Licking my lips, I worked moisture into my mouth before answering with a rasp, "I have seen twenty-two sun cycles, my king." Father. "My twenty-third is nearing."

"That is not possible."

Keres stood. As Keres stood, he pulled the sword belt tight to the last hole around his hips. Despite his efforts, it was still too loose and threatened to slide down as he walked toward me. His black cloak, made of the same shifting material as Remiel's, made looking at him difficult as he flashed in and out of the shadows with every step.

"I assure you. It is true."

"You would have been a child when Araphel fell."

"Twelve, in fact."

Arms folded across his chest, he circled me. Death magic washed over me in waves that threatened to drown me or drag me to my knees. No matter his outward appearance, it was clear his power remained.

"When Cethin told me of your arrival, she did not mention your age, and now I know why."

"Oh."

My heart clattered against my ribs. Did he recognize me? I hadn't realized until just now how badly I wanted that to happen. To feel his joy and be embraced.

Instead, he grabbed my arm and jerked me toward him. "Deathsinger births are carefully recorded. The children are tested. Every child of your age is accounted for, which means either you are lying, or—"

"A mistake was made," I finished, forcing my fingers beneath his where they painfully dug into my skin. Using the Puca magic I'd stolen, I made them bigger and strong enough to pry him off. Father or not, I could not abide being grabbed like that. Not after the things I had suffered.

He shook out his hand, suspicion creeping into his expression. I touched the spot beneath my ear where white hair grew and prayed it was not visible. As unhinged as Cethin made him out to be, I didn't want to imagine what he might do to me if suspected me of being a Banshee.

"You have to feel it," I said in a rush before he could speak again. "You can sense the power I carry."

I loosened the grip on my Death magic, letting it rise to the surface. My senses sharpened and stretched out. There, in the forest beyond the stone walls, I could hear the stuttering heartbeats of a wounded animal. Once. Twice. Three times it fluttered before ceasing, and then the sweetest release. It didn't have a soul–not the way elves did–but there was a unique essence that escaped when it drew its last breath.

That wasn't the end of it. Death surrounded us. I could feel it in the soil beneath my feet. In the bits of bones mixed with decaying plants, and there on the hill behind this tower was a cemetery. At least a dozen souls were caged there, held in place by Song. Held in place because they had nowhere to go until the portals were relit.

Swaying, I fought against that call. There was so much power in those souls. Deathsingers, all of them. If other magic was so intoxicating, what would it be like to consume magic like my own?

"How is this possible?" Keres muttered, eyes glowing as he met my magic with his own. "Not only are you a Deathsinger, but I have not felt power like this...not since—"

He staggered, then grabbed his head. The ground rumbled when he fell to his knees, and the stone floor cracked beneath him. A crash sounded behind me as Remiel burst through the door, Cethin not far behind him.

"What is happening?" Remiel shouted, amber eyes blazing with panic that only disappeared after he ran his hands over my face and arms.

"The entire island is quaking," Cethin informed us. She covered her head as debris rained down from the ceiling.

"I don't know!" I shouted, coughing as dust choked me. "One minute, he was fine, and then the next, he collapsed."

Keres threw back his head and screamed. I gasped in horror as he dragged his nails down his cheeks, creating deep gouges that welled up with blood. Shaking off Remiel, I went to my father's side and pulled his hands away. A Song rose unbidden to my lips, and I spun the notes without hesitation.

He froze on the first note, and by the third, he went limp in my arms. The rapid rise and fall of his chest slowed, and he raised his head slowly, blinking at me as if to clear his vision. When the echo of the last note faded away, he lifted a shaking hand and cupped my face.

"My little Death goddess," he whispered. "Morananthia."

I offered him a quivering smile. "Papa."

Allowing me to help him up, I held onto him as he limped back to his chair. Remiel followed closely, his hands clenching and unclenching as he watched us. Keres might be his king and general, but I knew then that my Reaper would slit his throat if it meant protecting me.

"King Keres, I can send for the healers."

"No."

"But–"

She bit off her words when he raised his hand. His other hand he kept wrapped around mine.

"Did you know who this was when you approached me?"

Cethin dropped her eyes to the ground and nodded. "I did, but I was afraid to speak her name. The last time someone mentioned your family, you..."

"I lost control, which resulted in the deaths of two Deathsingers," he finished. He looked so very tired.

"Yes. And since I did not know what you knew of her fate, I did not want to risk it."

Keres squeezed my hand. "Do you mean you didn't know if I was aware of whether she lived?"

I looked at our joined hands, tears pricking my eyes. Tears I refused to shed right now. Not without knowing the truth.

"Did you?" I asked in a whisper. He turned to look at me. "Did you know I lived?"

"I did, though I do not believe your mother wished for me to know the truth. Unfortunately for her, she knew she could not lie. I feel every soul when it departs its shell, even if I do not know who it belongs to; however, I would never miss one of my own."

Every soul? I tried to imagine how overwhelming that must be. Not a moment passed in this realm that someone or something didn't die. Where did such power come from? No other elf bloodline had magic such as his, and the few memories I possessed of my father shed no light on his background. No wonder elves spread rumors that he was the god of Death.

"I still don't understand. Why would she want to make you believe I was dead? Why would you announce to everyone that I was dead?" I pulled my hand out of his and stepped backward into Remiel, who put his hands on my shoulders. "You sent me away?"

My father stared at the hand I'd abandoned and then placed it on his chest. His breathing grew labored, and with every exhale, a rattling wheeze escaped him. Cethin muttered the word healer under her breath before turning on her heel and sprinting toward the door.

"Papa." His eyes drifted closed. I shook him. "Papa! Remiel, what is wrong with him?"

"I don't know. There's something not right. Don't you feel it?"

"It's his magic. It's just uncomfortable for you."

"No. Look beneath it."

Searching through the dense magic clinging to my father, I finally found what Remiel meant. There was a strangeness about him. Something was missing. I gasped and recoiled.

"Remy."

"What is it?"

"He doesn't have a soul."