And closer.
And closer.
So close that he could smell the remnants of wine on the Mimic’s breath. He brought up Nymiria’s dagger, watched as it glistened in the early morning light. “I have a very keen sense of smell.” Aziel started, his voice eerily calm. “And I smell something on you that I shouldn’t.”
“And what is that?” The Mimic’s features were shifting, switching from human to fae and then, finally, to the form Aziel believed to be histrueself. An elder fae male with red eyes and a deep blue skin tone stared back at him. He was small and round, mouth opening and closing like a fish desperate for water.
Aziel smiled. “Well,Grandall,” at the sound of his given name, the Mimic blanched. “I do believe you know her name.Youwere the one who made her bleed, afterall.” The dagger was poised at Grandall’s throat, mere centimeters from the skin. “I don’t need a confession. The way you’re looking at me says enough.”
“Please,” the Mimic begged. “I’ll do anything you ask. I-I can help you. I can tell you all that you need to know—his weaknesses, his strengths—I’ll tell you everything.”
“I don’t need that.”
“What do you need? Tell me and I’ll do it. I’ll devote myself to you right now. I’ll—”
“It’s too late for that, Grandall.” Aziel said, voice dripping with mock sadness. “This was something you should have thought about the moment before you took a blade to her skin. And you and I both know we can’t turn back time, so…” He clicked his tongue, using one gloved hand to press the Mimic against the wall. He lifted the dagger again, dragging it slowly down Grandall’s face. Blood spilled down his cheek, a red so dark that it was nearly black. The Mimic grimaced, tears pooling in his eyes. “I’m going to have my fun with you.”
It was then that Aziel plunged the dagger into the Mimic’s gut. He twisted the blade and jerked upwards, tearing through skin and muscle until the blade was sitting right at the creature’s sternum. He uncurled his hand from the handle and stepped back, letting Grandall fall to the floor.
Intestines hung from the man’s gut. Grandall tried desperately to grab at them, to shove them back inside himself—his movements frantic, but sluggish from blood loss and shock.
“You can live like this for roughly two hours.” Aziel said, the heel of his boot coming down upon the man’s small intestine as he moved forward to take the dagger from his chest. Grandall looked up at Aziel, the blue color of his skin now a shade of sickly green. “Let’s make it count, shall we?” He jerked the dagger free and slowly dragged the blade across the sleeve of his suit jacket, wiping it clean. Grandall let out a wet sob. Watching the man squirm around in his own blood and guts, Aziel lit a roll of tobacco and began.
He’d scrubbed the blood in the cell for hours. He worked well into the night, declining the meek offers of help from Thorn’smen whenever they came to check on him. There was so much blood. So much of it that it took washing himself four times before he felt clean enough to pull himself from the bath and re-dress.
Aziel donned his old Guard uniform that he had stuffed into the back of his armoire, complete with the silver chains and medallions he had earned during his service in Yaar. The purple and silver badge on his left breast pocket was one he hated most, but one he felt absolutely necessary to wear at a time like this. Dorid did not just hand those badges out to anyone. Only his most skilled killers wore them—the Executioners Badge.
He ran his thumb over the purple stone at the center, wincing when he saw it gleam in the dim light of his room. With a quick sigh, he brushed the midnight-colored locks of hair away from his face, the horns curling out from either side of his head matching his grim attire. He carefully removed the black stud from his nose, as well as the silver hoops along his ears, before finally plucking the teardrop-shaped earrings that dangled from either lobe. He placed them all in the amethyst dish on the vanity.
When he looked at himself again and saw the black veins under his eyes pulsing, Aziel’s jaw squared and he turned away from the image as quickly as he possibly could. He was prepared to finish his dealings for the day, his anxious thoughts making it hard to focus on anything else.
It was all a part of the plan, he tried reminding himself. But those words did very little to console the fear and rage that were like heavy stones in the pit of his stomach. Letting Nymiria go with Everand, knowing that she was now in Yaar, possibly in the hands of the man he detested most, was enough to make Aziel hate himself. He never should have agreed to it. But Aziel did not want to be, nor would heeverbe the kind of man that told herno.
He was prepared to tear the world to shreds—to kill any and every living thing that tried to stop him from delivering justice. Killing those Mimics brought him great satisfaction, but it was not nearly enough. He would not rest… would not close his eyes peacefully nor take a soothing breath until Dorid, Everand, and everyone who was in alliance with them drew their last.
Shadows swirled in his reflection, thrashing wildly about the room until it was almost entirely blanketed by darkness. Trio stumbled through the shadows, eyes wild with rage. “The Alvarian army is pushing Eadyn’s borders—and not in a way that would signify an alliance.” He drew in a ragged breath, hand pressed against his heaving chest. He looked on the verge of collapse, a thick gash running across his face. “They’ve brought weapons. And I have reason to believe that they are attempting a siege.”
“What happened to your face?” He demanded.
Trio shook his head, his jaw working back and forth. “Dorid’s men were with them. They attacked first.”
He didn’t say a word as he reached into his pocket and procured a small, nearly unusable piece of chalk. The blue of his eyes shone so bright that the runes he was drawing on the floor were entirely visible in the shadows of the room. Trio stepped forward.
“What are you doing? Are you—”
Aziel shook his head, slowly erecting himself and peering around at his work. “I can’t do it. But I have someone who owes me one hell of a favor.” He looked up at his friend.
“Aziel…”
It was as much of a warning as any, but Aziel was too furious to think clearly. Though it was not entirely against the rules that’d been laid out for him, it was still an interference with the natural order of the world.
“Do not interfere.”That voice repeated. Over and over and over again until he was sure that his ears would bleed.“Do not interfere.”
But Aziel was so tired. So full of rage, so exhausted from stifling it down and maintaining composure. He’d followed rules his whole life—he’d pretended from the moment he could talk.
“Do not interfere.”The voice warned again.
Aziel put a wall between himself and the voice that always seemingly lived in the recesses of his mind. Tiegh was a powerful force to ignore, even in his ascension. His loud, booming voice was nearly all-consuming, rattling his own thoughts. He appreciated the warning, knowing that Teigh was only trying to guide him down the right path, but Aziel’s level of care at the moment was at the lowest point it’d ever been.
