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.”
33
“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?