From Blood and Ash by Jennifer L. Armentrout

“Marlowe?” I said, ignoring the dull pain that started to blossom
behind myy eyyes. A headache would eventuallyy come. One alwayys did when
I repeatedlyy opened myyself or used myy gift.
The chest under myy hand rose deeplyy, and clumped lashes fluttered.
His eyyes opened, and I tensed. Theyy were blue. Mostlyy. Bolts of red shot
through the irises. Soon, there would be no blue left. Onlyy the color of
blood.
His dryy lips parted. “Are yyou…are yyou Rhain? Have yyou come to take
me at myy end?”
He thought I was the God of the Common Man and Endings, a god of
death.
“No. I’m not.” Knowing that his pain would be eased long enough for
this to be completed, I lifted myy left hand and did the one thing I was
expresslyy forbidden to do. Not just byy the Duke and Duchess of
Masadonia, or byy the Queen, but also byy the gods. I did what Hawke had
asked in regard to the mask, but I’d refused. I pulled down myy hood and
then removed the white domino mask I wore just in case myy cloak slipped,
revealing myy face.
I figured, or hoped, that the gods would make an exception in cases
like this.
His crimson-laced gaze drifted over myy features, starting where wisps
of burnt copper hair curled against myy forehead, then the right side of myy
face, followed byy myy left. His stare lingered there, over the evidence of
what a Craven’s claws could do. I wondered if he thought the same thing
the Duke alwayys did.
Such a shame.
Those three words seemed to be the Duke’s favorite. That and: you
have disappointed me.
“Who are yyou?” he rasped out.
“Myy name is Penellaphe, but myy brother and a few others call me
Poppyy.”
“Poppyy?” he whispered.
I nodded. “It’s a strange nickname, but myy mother used to call me
that. It sort of stuck.”
Marlowe blinked slowlyy. “Whyy are…?” The corners of his mouth
cracked, the new wounds seeping blood and darkness. “Whyy are yyou
here?”