Chapter 33
The children ran as quickly as they could through the palace doors, Raina and Thorn not far behind them.
Aziel saw both the terror and relief in their faces as they broke free from their prison.
Raven was the last of the children to leave, silver still gleaming in his eyes as he stepped over the threshold.
The altar and the God Stone that Everand had erected in the center of the foyer was cracked clean down the center.
His offerings were already being scooped up and thrown into a sack with the rest of the rubbish, his sigil erased from every corner of Thorn’s palace.
When Nymiria told Aziel that she believed Raven to be the next God of Purity, he hadn’t quite believed her. He thought Raven to be far too young and too inexperienced to know how to handle his godly powers. But Nymiria was keen on proving him wrong, even in her absence.
He’d done all he could to remain calm, but his patience was a frayed thread at this point.
The blood and viscera that coated the stairs and upper hall of Thorn’s palace was to show for that.
The dismembered corpses were all gone now, but before he’d dragged their bodies into the earth with those hungry roots of his, he’d enjoyed how each of those Mimics looked strewn all over the floor.
Aziel’s gloved hand lifted a smoking roll of tobacco to his lips.
He filled his lungs with it, let it do its work to soothe the adrenaline still pumping through his veins.
He turned towards the dungeon, patting one of Thorn’s men on the back as they lifted the altar and began carrying it towards the door.
His stride was slow and languid—graceful—as he glided down the staircase.
He flicked the roll of tobacco to some unseen location, eyes homing in on the creature that was unabashedly lounging on one of the cots within its cell.
Aziel reached for the dagger at his side, pulling it out and twirling it around in his fingers.
He’d found it amongst a trunk full of things that’d been confiscated from around the palace. This dagger, in particular, was one he would not mistake for another. He’d had it personally made—engraved with a saying he’d heard from Teigh so long ago.
“Life in her final form. Death will claim all.”
He ran Nymiria’s dagger along the bars of the cells, watching as the creature startled from its sleep.
Red eyes blinked in the low light, finally settling on Aziel as he made his slow approach.
“You intend to kill me now?” The Mimic’s voice was a terrible sound, deep and grumbly, like there were rocks in his vocal chords.
Aziel tilted his head to one side, his brow arched.
With each silent step forward, the creature’s unrest became more noticeable.
Even though the creature laughed in such a prideful way, Aziel could still smell the fear that radiated from him. “Say something!” The beast snarled.
He didn’t. Aziel prowled forward, slowly unlocking the cell and swinging the door open. The Mimic was all but plastering himself to the far wall, arms spread out and grappling at the stone as if he could find a way out.
“I’ll fight you!” The Mimic snapped, kicking over one of the wooden tables with enough force to snap the legs. He quickly picked up the broken piece of wood, wielding it like a weapon. Still, Aziel said nothing.
The Mimic lunged forward with the broken table leg, intent to stab.
And stab, he did. The jagged edge punctured through Aziel’s side, but the roots on his chest worked quickly.
He could feel them curling around the wound, sending waves of soothing heat to the wound to lessen the pain.
The Mimic, now wide-eyed and stammering, watched as Aziel moved closer.
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 his true self.
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. You were 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’s men 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 he ever be the kind of man that told her no.
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.”