Assassin's Mask

by Everly Frost

  Everything depends on the connection I make now, on the memories I find. I need a memory strong enough to calm his power… but as I dive deeper, a cry grows inside my throat.

  I wasn’t prepared for this.

  His mind is filled with painful turmoil. Images swarm around me—hot, burning memories that cut me like razors.

  Go, Hunter. Don’t look back.

  You don’t deserve her.

  Nothing good happens when you’re near me.

  Is it possible that you’re my match?

  Not wings. Please not wings.

  What am I?

  Then rage. Pure rage.

  I force myself beneath the turmoil to the memory driving his anger—a memory so shattered that only shards remain, like the pieces of a broken mirror.

  Slade has tried to destroy what he remembers about his brother’s death with every kill, every powerful blow of fist on skin, every turn of a dagger, and every shot from a gun.

  The images settle and pull together, watery but perceptible.

  His brother stands in the middle of a kitchen, one fist clenched around a knife. He’s dressed in black, an arsenal of weapons strapped around his waist and chest. I know right away that it’s Slade’s home. The kitchen smells like cinnamon. Floral tea towels hang across the oven door and a child’s drawings decorate the front of the refrigerator. It’s dark outside the far window. The lights inside the room are dimmed.

  I’m looking at it from a child’s height through a crack in a door—through Slade’s eyes. His breathing is sharp, on edge. He should be asleep but voices woke him.

  His brother looks about eighteen. He has the same blue eyes as Slade, the same physique, but he’s beautiful in a way that Slade is not, as if he got all the perfect angles while Slade got all the harsh ones.

  His brother snaps, “Don’t deny our purpose!”

  The image swings to the woman pressed up against the sink. Tears streak down her cheeks. “We don’t want this for you. We left it behind to give you a better life.”

  “You can’t change what we are, Mom! This is what I was born to do. I will prove myself.”

  She propels herself off the sink. She moves so fast that I can hardly follow the movements. Her hand strikes out, twists, and within seconds she has disarmed him.

  He stumbles backward, but rights himself with an angry glare at her.

  She hisses, “What you’re up against is faster than I am, Foster.” She pitches the knife into the top of the kitchen table where it sticks and quivers. “You won’t survive. She will kill you. Please. Don’t do this.”

  His lips compress into an ugly line. “You can’t stop me.”

  He spins and strides from the room, leaving the knife where it is.

  “No, Foster!” She darts after him but then her gaze lands on the door. “Slade?” Her eyes widen. “No… Slade!”

  The image spins. Slade darts backward, taking me with him, and then he’s running. He’s fast at ten years of age. Faster than his Mom.

  “Slade!” Her voice fades into the background as the images blur and become tangled… the back door… grass… a fence he scales easily, chasing after his brother, running to catch the darkened figure who sprints like a panther through the streets, never tiring, never stopping.

  The images crack and shift, disjointed again, splitting and trying to pull apart. I fight to force them together so I can see what he saw…

  It’s an alley.

  Two figures struggle inside it—his brother and a woman. I try to see her face, but it’s too dark. She uses every available space to fight back but always remains in the shadows.

  Slade takes a step forward. A shout sticks in his throat. He wants to fight, to help his brother.

  The image wobbles as he darts along the alley toward them, but a dagger thuds into the wall in front of him, the gleaming blade right at his eye level. An inch to the left and he would have died. The breath stops in his lungs and my own burn with him.

  The woman screams, a sound of terrible pain. Her back arches. A flash of light brightens the alley and at the same time, her silhouette changes. Her wings shoot outward, glowing so brightly that Slade shields his eyes.

  Smoke fills my lungs, stinging like acid.

  The image cracks again. There are pieces missing. I search for them but Slade has ground them into dust, granules that scatter at the base of the next image.

  The woman is gone. His brother groans on the ground. Slade’s young voice tears at my heart. “Foster!”

  Blood bubbles up through his brother’s lips. Foster grabs Slade and pulls him closer, pressing something into Slade’s hand.

  The image splits again. Nothing is clear now, only a single feeling: the cold thing that Foster gave him slips out of Slade’s hand. He lets it fall. He doesn’t want it.

  His cry spirals into the night.

  I’ve seen all there is. Slade has obliterated the missing pieces, crushing them at every opportunity. I turn away from them, seeking the memory that will counter the darkness.

  I find one—a memory from a year before his brother’s death. It’s inside his family’s bakery, when Slade felt safe, sunlight streaming over freshly baked apple muffins, his brother laughing and eating them when he shouldn’t while his Mom shoos the boys away…

  Even with all his rage, Slade still smells like cinnamon.

  I draw out the warmth and comfort in that memory and use it to flood his mind now, pushing back against the need to kill. I know it’s working when Slade thumps the ground with his fist.

  I risk a glance. He has torn his hand against my wings, leaving a bloody smudge on them.

  He roars into the echoing space around us as parts of the ceiling continue to fall. “I didn’t want this power!”

  Some of the silver has disappeared from his eyes, but not all of it. He’s still in danger, but for the first time this morning, he actually sees me.

  He lifts both his hands to cup my face. “Hunter… I didn’t want this.”

  I’m hesitant as I ask, “Slade?”

  “I need your help. I can’t control it.”

  It was my fault this happened. I made a choice, I gave him my feather, and then I didn’t stay with him to protect him from the consequences. I should have stayed… “You have me. Always.”

  Slowly, I test the strength of the memory from his childhood by removing my fingertips from his temple, but the second I disconnect, the power inside him surges and his eyes flood with silver again.

  “No!” I can’t let it take over again.

  I quickly press my fingers back to his temple, diving into his consciousness, but this time I need a stronger memory… one that will give him the power to overcome the darkness.

  I’m surprised when the whirl of images slows and pinpoints something I wasn’t expecting…

  We’re lying on a bed, him and I. He’s stroking my hair, his fingertips brushing my neck. His lips press gently against my forehead. It’s the briefest moment in time, but it’s enough that when I check his eyes again, they are clear blue, stronger than before, but filled with confusion and dread.

  He says, “I don’t know what I am now.”

  I leave my fingertips where they are, gently brushing his temple, not disconnecting, holding the memory at the forefront of his mind so that we can talk.

  I say, “You are Slade Baines, Master of the Legion. You are the man I bonded with.”

  He shifts his bleeding hand to stroke the hair from my face. “I thought that if I stayed away from you, I could control this power. I thought that being around you would make it worse. Even though… I wanted to be with you with every shred of my soul.”

  “Slade…” I dare to press my cheek to his, holding my breath in case he pulls away, but he doesn’t. His breathing is slow and even.

  I say, “You have Valkyrie power now, but you can control it. The same way I control it.”

  He nods against my cheek, a day’s growth of fine stubble grazing my skin. “I need you to
show me how.”

  I draw back a little, but not far. I need to show him all the things that Mom taught me from the day I was born: how to control my power, how to subdue it, when to use it, when not to use it.

  My voice falters. “I can teach you. But… learning control means trusting me. Can you do that?”

  I hold my breath. He can already blur like me, kill like me, hunt like me. If he chooses to, he could give in to the power’s seductive nature and then he would become a monster. Even though I can’t kill him, the Keres ring can. It would shatter what’s left of my heart to use it.

  His response is to very carefully, very slowly, cover my hand with his, pressing it closer to his temple. His palm is even more calloused than the last time he touched me. I picture him beating his open palms against wooden planks, trying to rid himself of the Valkyrie rage that has slowly taken over his mind.

  His assassin’s ring glows for a moment and I tense as a wash of colors spills across the air above us, as if what remains of the ceiling is descending and changing, the walls closing in and morphing into something else. At first I’m afraid that the building is finally collapsing but the sudden quiet says otherwise.

  My breath trembles between my lips. “What are you doing?”

  He says, “Please, don’t be afraid. I need a place without death in it.”

  A blue sky forms above us, cool and crisp. A warm beach takes shape. Pristine sand stretches in both directions, crystal clear water lapping gently a few paces away while the hush of the ocean fills my ears.

  I quickly carry out a visual check of our new surroundings. We’re still in a lying position. His back rests against my wings, which in turn are cushioned in sand. His dark hair is a charcoal smudge against the white grains.

  I gasp. “This is a Realm.”

  It’s not a sub-Realm, not a small creation, but an entire expanse stretching out in every direction, its peaceful calm washing over us. “How did you create this?”

  He says, “The Guardian gave me the most powerful assassin’s ring, formed from the feather of the Valkyrie Queen herself. According to the records, this ring was used to create the three Realms. Other assassins can create sub-realms within a Realm. But I can create a whole Realm from nothing.”

  The Guardian had offered me the ring that Slade now wears, telling me that I could accomplish magic never before seen. The power in that ring calls to me, a reflection of the Valkyrie Queen’s soul. I wish I knew what became of her—and all the other Valkyrie who perished before my time.

  Slade slips an arm around my lower back beneath my wings, but he isn’t trying to push me away this time. He leverages us onto our sides, careful to ensure that my fingertips never leave his temple, before he draws us upright without breaking the connection.

  I fold away my wings.

  His gaze is piercing. “I don’t want to become something I’m not. Please, tell me what to do.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I let out the breath I was holding. “I need you to close your eyes and see what I see, even if it hurts you to remember…”

  His arms remain around me, pulling me close. He shuts his eyes and I sense him relax, allowing me to immerse myself in his mind again.

  It’s the same process that I used when he was unconscious in the men’s shower room on our first night in the Realm. Mom did this for me over and over when I was a child, calming me whenever I was out of control. Now that I’m an adult, I can repeat the process for myself, just like Slade will be able to do once he knows how.

  I dive beneath the turmoil, past the greatest dark, steering clear of the memory of his brother’s death this time. I seek only the brightest memories… the bakery… the day he stroked my hair… and finally… the brightest and strongest…

  The first day at the Realm.

  He is stripped nearly naked, cold, colder than he’s ever been before. Rain drips down his chest, washing away the pain and sweat as he holds that damn plank of wood above his shoulders. Pain strikes through him, wracking every inch of his arms and back. He wants to break the record but he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep holding it.

  In the present, I’m confused because I don’t understand how this is a source of light in his life. I was drawn to this memory by its brightness, its ability to banish the dark, but nothing I see here resembles happiness.

  Then his focus shifts inside the memory. I see what he saw.

  Me.

  I stand in the rain, my mahogany hair plastered across my shoulder, the heavy log gripped and elevated above my shoulders higher than the other Novices held it, my muscles straining, trembling. I refuse to let go. Refuse to show any pain as Master Gareth goads me, insulting me with his every breath.

  I stand upright, and no matter what Gareth says, his abuse washes off me with the raindrops.

  Slade’s voice is a husky whisper in the present. “You didn’t break.”

  I open my eyes to find him looking at me now with his own eyes. There is no silver light in them, no deadly power. It is all gone. He is completely in control.

  He sees me.

  He sees me now the same way he saw me on that first day.

  I search for any sign of Valkyrie power, opening my senses to detect any hint of an uncontrolled surge that might rise and overwhelm him again. I don’t want to lose him to that power. Never again. I won’t disconnect until I’m sure he can control it himself.

  I whisper as the ocean laps at the sand, “Do you feel that memory?”

  His response is hoarse. “Yes.”

  “You need to draw on that feeling whenever the Valkyrie power surges. The memory will calm the power so you can control it.”

  He waits for me to say more. “That’s it?”

  “That’s all you have to do. Try it.”

  I dive with him toward the brightness of that moment, the flood of calm that comes with it, the moment when I entered his life. Slowly, I draw away from it, leaving him submerged in the memory. I very carefully remove my fingertips from his face, giving him the chance to control it by himself.

  He remains calm. He opens his eyes again, focused on me.

  The sound of the waves lapping at the sand is all that breaks the silence.

  I say, “Remember that you are always in control. The power doesn’t control you. It can’t take over again. Not while you remember that moment. You are not a monster, Slade, and you never will be.”

  His lips press together. “The Furies called me an abomination. You know I could become something terrible, Hunter.”

  “So could I. Do you understand? But I won’t become that person and neither will you.” My voice breaks. “Promise me you believe me?”

  He doesn’t answer. Our bodies are pressed together, our chests and thighs smashed against each other. Now that the danger is over, I’m suddenly aware of how close we’re standing to each other. His arms remain around me. Not tight. I could pull away if I wanted to, but I… don’t… want to.

  His voice breaks. “You flew away.”

  I suck in a breath. He’s talking about the night on the mountain.

  I try to remain still. “You told me to go.”

  He searches my eyes. “You were afraid to stay.”

  I say, “I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to remind you of what you lost.”

  He doesn’t move away from me. “It hurt more when you left.”

  Neither of us moves.

  He says, “I need to ask you something.”

  My jaw clenches. I try to stop the fear striking through me, but I can’t stop how trapped I feel about telling him the truth. “You know I have to answer you.”

  He winces, a moment of pain strikes through his expression, but he asks, “I need to know… how old you are.”

  That’s all he wants to know?

  “I’m twenty years old. The same as you.”

  He exhales like he was holding his breath. His shoulders sink and his eyes close. Whatever I just said, it’s had a big impact
on him and I have no idea why.

  I say, “What does my age have to do with anything?”

  He replies, “Because it means you didn’t kill my brother.”

  “You thought what?” The shocked exclamation escapes my lips before I can stop it. Indignation rises fast inside me. I pull back but he doesn’t let me go, holding me tight now.

  I grip both his shoulders with a cry, “How could you think that I could look you in the eyes, sleep beside you, if I’d done that? I didn’t know anything about your brother until you told me.”

  His emotions rise to meet mine. He doesn’t try to justify his fears and I hate that I see the logic in them. Valkyrie women live longer than humans and we don’t lose our youthful appearance. If I was pretending to be the same age as him, then I could have killed his brother ten years ago and I could still appear to be twenty years old now.

  Sharp pain suddenly rips into my heart. If that’s what he was thinking when he told me to go… that it might have been me who tore his life apart…

  His response to my indignation is raw and painful but it’s not what I expect.

  He says, “How could you think I’d take the Keres ring and kill you?”

  Shock shoots through me. I’d offered the ring to him freely. I told him he could kill me with it. My intention was to make sure he knew he didn’t have to be afraid of me, but it was only when I did that, that the mask fell over his face. Not before. Not even when he thought I might have killed his brother.

  He says, “When you handed me that ring… you broke my heart.”

  I inhale sharply. My own heart is breaking all over again.

  The tension in his hand, the way he tugs me, pulling me closer, tells me he wants to ask me something else. He knows that I will have to answer truthfully but the storm of emotions in his eyes tells me he doesn’t want to know the answer.

  He asks, “Did you really think that I could kill you?”

  He holds his breath, waiting for me to confirm or deny my feelings.

  My fears.

  I can’t stop the truth. The single reply rips out of me. “Yes.”