“Bethany,” snapped Henry. “Her name was Bethany, and she was twenty-three years old. Now because of me, she’ll never see twenty-four.”
“She never would have seen it anyway if she’d been the one.”
Fury rose up inside of him and threatened to bubble over, but when he looked at her and saw compassion in her eyes, his anger drained away.
“She should have passed,” he said tightly. “She should have lived. I thought—”
“We all did.”
Henry sank into a chair, and she was by his side in an instant, rubbing his back in a motherly gesture. He tangled his fingers in his hair, his shoulders hunched with the familiar weight of grief. How much more of this was he supposed to endure before they finally let him go?
“There’s still time.” The hope in her voice stabbed at him, more painful than anything else that had happened that morning. “We still have decades—”
“I’m done.”
His words rang through the room as she stood still next to him, her breathing suddenly ragged and uneven. In the several seconds it took for her to respond, he considered taking it back, promising he would try again as he’d done so many times before, but he couldn’t find it in himself to do so. Too many had already died, and she knew it. He’d stopped fighting after each death, his thirst for justice growing stronger with each soul he had to usher through the Underworld, but this time was different. This time he meant it.
“Henry, please,” she whispered. “There’s twenty years left. You can’t be done.”
“It won’t make a difference.”
She knelt in front of him and pulled his hands from his face, forcing him to look at her and see her fear. “You promised me a century, and you will give me a century, do you understand?”
“I won’t let another one die because of me.”
“And I won’t let you fade, not like this. Not if I have anything to say about it.”
He scowled. “And what will you do? Find another girl who’s willing? Bring another candidate to the manor every year until one passes? Until one makes it past Christmas?”
“If I have to.” She narrowed her eyes, determination radiating from her. “There is another option.”
He looked away. “I’ve already said no. We aren’t talking about it again.”
“And I’m not letting you go without a fight,” she said. “No one else could ever replace you no matter what the council says, and I love you too much to let you give up. You’re not leaving me any other choice.”
“You wouldn’t.”
She was silent.
Pushing the chair aside, Henry stood, wrenching his hand away from her. “You would do that to a child? Bring her into this world just to force her into this?” He pointed at the body on the bed. “You would do that?”
“If it means saving you, then yes.”
“She could die. Do you understand that?”
Her eyes flashed, and she stood to face him. “I understand that if she doesn’t do this, you will die.”
Henry turned away from her, struggling to hold himself together. “No great loss there.”
Diana spun him around to face her. “Don’t,” she hissed. “Don’t you dare give up.”
He blinked, startled by the intensity in her voice. When he opened his mouth to counter, she stopped him before he could speak.
“She will have a choice, you know that as well as I do, but no matter what happens, she will not become that, I promise you.” Diana gestured toward the body. “She will be young, but she will not be foolish.”
It took Henry a moment to think of something to counter her, and when he did, he knew he clung to false hope. “The council would never allow it.”
“I’ve already asked. As it falls within the time limit, they have given me permission.”
He clenched his jaw. “You asked without consulting me first?”
“Because I knew what you would say,” she said. “I can’t lose you. We can’t lose you. We’re all we have, and without you—please, Henry. Let me try.”
Henry closed his eyes, knowing that he couldn’t fight this now, not if the council agreed. He tried to picture what the girl might look like, but each time he tried to form an image, the memory of another face got in the way.
“I couldn’t love her.”
“You wouldn’t have to.” Diana pressed a kiss to his cheek. “But I think you will.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I know you,” she said, “and I know the mistakes I made before. I won’t repeat them again.”
He sighed, his resolve crumbling as she stared at him, silently pleading. It was only twenty years; he could make it until then if it meant not hurting her more than he already had. And this time, he thought, glancing at the body on the bed once more, he wouldn’t repeat the same mistakes, either.
“I’ll miss you while you’re gone,” he said, and her shoulders slumped with relief. “But this is the last one. If she fails, I’m done.”
“Okay,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Thank you, Henry.”
He nodded, and she let go. As she walked to the door, she too looked at the bed, and he swore to himself that this would never happen again. No matter what it took, pass or fail, this one would live.
“This isn’t your fault,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop himself. “What happened—I allowed it. You aren’t to blame.”