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Aric was still scraping dried blood from his clothes as he followed the group deeper into the valley. The adrenaline had long worn off, but instead of just feeling achy and tired, he also felt satisfied. It had been a while since he had taken on a handful of foes like that, knowing he needed to save his arrows, and he was pleased he hadn’t lost his touch. Despite his old injuries tingling from the strain, his ability to wield a knife—even one from a kitchen—had come back to him as naturally as walking. Part of him wondered how Henrik would have done, knowing firsthand how well his knife-throwing abilities were.
He eyed the lad, remembering the look he gave that girl while those two men pummeled him. Something in him had changed since then, his mood somber and not as playful as he used to be. Aric couldn’t blame him; he just hoped it wasn’t permanent.
The main road began to pull away from the valley, winding up against the cliffside and leaving the grass and trees behind. On one side was the rock wall, the other a sheer drop off overlooking the landscape. While it would have been smarter to rest before attempting the journey, even making camp and starting fresh the next morning, the group pushed on, led by a leader who wouldn’t take “No” as an answer.
There wasn’t much talking as they rode; Callan too lost in his own world, Henrik too melancholy, and Joss and Aric too caught up in their own thoughts to make small talk like they used to. It also didn’t help that no one had slept well the previous night, Aric the least since he tracked the patrol throughout the night. A few times he closed his eyes, only to open them and find they had covered more ground than he realized. Miraculously, he hadn’t fallen from the saddle, and he was glad he had a horse that was a follower and not a wanderer.
Placid, Aric’s body rocked in the saddle as he eyed Joss, noticing how she was looking out into the world as if she had never seen it before. The sun was setting now, splashing a fiery red and orange across the sky, and even Aric admired the view. Her horse fell a couple steps behind as she continued to gaze at the colorful display, the other two charging ahead without a second glance. The corner of Aric’s mouth lifted as he pushed his horse forward, taking the chance.
“So,” he spoke up, gaining her attention as he kept his horse in line with hers. “How did you know I wasn’t aiming at him?” He nodded in Callan’s direction, and noticed the prince’s head had turned, picking up on the question. Noting to himself that he was among a fellow eavesdropper, Aric turned back to Joss, meeting her gaze.
“I doubt assassins announce themselves before a kill,” she smirked, not wanting to admit it was because she had been intent on him, took in his actions, noticed his eyes and where they lingered.
Aric grinned, accepting the answer.
“That’s the second time he’s done that, announcing himself.”
All eyes fell on Callan, who, for the first time, halted his horse and turned it to face them. Relaxing the reins, he fixed his stare on Aric, who halted his own horse after the others followed suit.
“You announced yourself back at that courtyard,” Callan continued, pointing out his attempted execution.
“You did have a dead guard on you,” Aric reminded him. “That made for a terrible angle to work with.”
“You seem fixed on killing me, but you keep changing your mind,” Callan analyzed. “Why is that?”
“Why does it matter? You’re still alive, aren’t you?”
Callan moved his horse closer as if strolling up to him, looking him dead in the eyes. “From where I sit, who’s to say you won’t change your mind again?”
Aric stared at him but didn’t reply. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Henrik’s pony fidget while Joss sat rigid in her seat.
“After the two times I’ve met you, I would have thought that maybe she was the one stopping it.” Callan didn’t have to nod or look in Joss’s direction to emphasize his point. “But she told me about your first attempt on my life, how you didn’t follow through; how you were beaten by the ones who paid you that you are now supposedly tracking.”
Aric pressed his lips together, kind of wishing she had left that part out. But seeing the damage was done, he simply sighed, keeping his gaze fixed on the prince.
“So, what’s your motive?” Callan asked. “Why did you hesitate the first time?”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t hesitate because I’m a good person,” Aric smirked. “I hesitated because I didn’t want the attention after killing a Prince Royal. A man wants another man dead over a gambling debt? Understandable. A rich wife wants her husband gone so she can squander his wealth with her lover? So be it. But killing a royal, next in line for the throne? That’s not something I signed up for.”
Callan’s mouth formed a grim line, his eyes squinting in doubt. “And I’m supposed to believe all this?”
“Yes,” Aric replied seriously. “My deeds are with ordinary people; less attention that way. Most of my jobs are forgotten within months. A prince’s death would have become legendary. It would take years for that kind of attention to pass, if not longer. And frankly, I wasn’t paid enough to hide under a rock for that long.”
“They already paid you?” The question came out hostile, insulted.
“Half before, half after. Standard procedure; though they did take the rest of that half back when they caught me.”
“So why make you? Why are these masked hooligans so keen on you killing me?”
Aric kept his gaze forward, despite feeling Joss’s stare on him. “That’s the exact question I’ve been asking.”
Callan eyed him hard. “You should have just admitted it was her stopping you. It would have been more believable.” He turned his horse then, continuing as if they had never stopped.
Aric's glare hardened as Henrik followed after Callan, someone needing to keep up with the prince. Joss held back with him though, and when he looked over at her, he found in her expression that it had finally resonated with her: how much he, too, was risking. With the prince alive, the Mask would always be after him and those he cared about; if the prince died, he’d be a highly wanted man for the rest of his life, always running. The prospect hadn’t been appealing until she came along, finding that being on the run with her would have been worth it.
Would have been, if she would only just agree.
Aric started to feel the edges of that rejection, and not wanting to indulge it, pushed his horse forward. Joss followed along after him but stayed back, reading his body language and sensing the change that words wouldn’t have been able to fix.
No one spoke again the rest of the way. The only interruption was the lamplighter who was making the rounds along the road, lighting the lamp posts that came into view, staggering on the edges of the cliff. His wagon creaked along as he made his way to the next post, his assistant holding a long pole with a wick at the end, a revolver perched on his other side. Light spilled onto the roadway in their wake, a practice they performed for the night patrols and weary travelers. It was a reminder of how primitive the next town still was, electricity unable to reach its stone walls, unlike Galmoor and the other towns. The four riders could see the roadway dotted by lights, moving against the cliffside that made it almost surreal the farther they were.
It was nightfall when they reached the town of Greywall, carved against a cliffside and named after the grey walls protecting the inhabitants from the dangerous terrain more than what lurked in and out of it. They rode under the portcullis which was raised, allowing entrance into the stone streets. Although it was night, the streets were well-lit by the lamps, passersby emerging here and there; some drunk, others tired. Aric slowed his horse down in order to ride next to Joss, knowing what kind of people frequented the place and not wanting her to be behind him in case something happened. He himself had visited plenty of times—even killed one of his old targets on a stairwell they passed—and while no one was paying them any mind, he didn’t want to take any chances. All he needed was one drunk to get brazen with her, and then he’d have to intervene, most likely kill the brute, and the rest of the evening would be spent back on the road. It was an exhausting thought, mixed with his annoyance of the prince who periodically looked back, keeping tabs on him.
It was as Aric exhaled his anger with a huff that he became aware of the ease of riding next to her, the silence as comfortable as if they were conversing. Or walking through a meadow, a basket of washed clothes between them, a memory he never thought he’d cherish so much. It was a familiarity they both noticed, Joss also picking up on the subtle way that just being around him was enough.
They trailed behind Callan and Henrik, who found what was supposed to be a barn. Renting out stalls for the horses, a quiet relief swept through the group, each of them looking forward to some proper food and water for the night.
Once the keeper was paid with some of the money Aric had on him, they walked across the street to where a tavern and inn waited. Henrik carried his saddlebag while Aric took the saddlebag from Joss, hushing her with a look when she tried to protest, seeing how heavy the crossbow looked on his shoulder now. Left with only her ax, she hid the covered blade under her arm like she had done before, following Callan as he entered the tavern.
Met with the typical clientele—half drunk and half lost in conversations—Callan led the group over to a table near a burning hearth, the seats becoming available by a clattering of singing drunks who decided to go take a stroll.
Settling down in their seats with the saddlebags and weapons stashed away under the table, Aric offered a round of ale to help lift their spirits, not only wanting the drink but needing to step away from the prince whose constant stares were getting on his nerves. The off-handed comment hadn’t sat well with him, and all the silence on the road had only fueled his agitation, leaving him alone in his disgust. Needing to be rid of it so he could think straight, he went to the bartender.
“Do you really trust him?” Callan’s tone was a harsh whisper, also still agitated that an assassin was among them.
Joss looked from Callan to Aric. A small part of her didn’t want to, still reeling from Aric's past actions. But he also could have blatantly killed them, several times, if he really wanted to. Him holding back was something she couldn’t ignore, especially since she understood the risks he was taking.
“For now, I do,” she admitted, leaving room for error as Aric approached, two mugs in each hand, brimming with ale.
He was just setting them down on the table when an attractive girl came up next to him, placing two plates down: one with bread and cheese, the other with some strips of meat. “On the house,” she said sweetly at Aric, who only smiled back.
“You make friends easily,” Henrik smirked, immediately grabbing some bread and meat, famished.
“Only when necessary,” Aric replied coyly. “When we’re ready, the bartender will show us to our room. I could only afford one, but that’s probably for the best. Splitting up wouldn’t be ideal in our situation.”
There was a round of thanks—even from Callan, though a little forced—followed by the grabbing and chewing of food.
“So, what’s next on the agenda?” Aric asked, sitting back as he ate and looking pointedly at Callan. He had already done a sweep of the place with his gaze, finding everyone was lost to their own conversations.
“Rest, then ride off at dawn. We have one more town standing between us and Aselian.”
“You’re just going to walk up and announce yourself at the gates?” Aric questioned, an eyebrow raised.
“We’ll assess the situation first,” Callan answered, annoyed, which Aric liked seeing.
“And what are your plans?” Henrik spoke up, finishing his ale in one gulp, which everyone at the table assumed was to drown his broken heart. The ale wasn’t that good to take in one gulp.
“I figured I’d follow you to Aselian, unless something else comes up.” He pulled a piece of meat off the plate, sandwiching it between two slices of cheese.
“You mean the masks,” Callan spoke up after taking a swig of his own mug.
“If they come from the same training as you, then they’re obviously from Aselian. I’ll follow along with you all until I can find a lead as to where they’re coming from. Hopefully, it’ll take me to their leader and I can cut off the head of the snake.”
Callan didn’t reply, though something in him stirred that kept him quiet.
“Well,” Henrik spoke up, “on that note, I’m going to bed. It’s been an exceptionally long day.”
Staring at what was left of his bruises, Aric grinned sympathetically. “They’ll take care of you,” he replied, nodding to the bar.
As Henrik got up with his saddlebag in hand, he looked at Joss, who was in mid-bite. “I’ll finish this and then I’ll be up,” she reassured him, to which he nodded in understanding.
Callan slowly got to his feet then. “I’ll follow you,” he told Henrik, and for the first time both Aric and Joss could see how tired his eyes looked.
Watching the two make their way to the bar, Aric turned back to find Joss still eating as she kept a watchful eye on Henrik.
“He’ll be okay,” he encouraged, to which she nodded, taking a sip of ale. “So, you’ve been awfully quiet lately,” he poked at her, glad they were the two who stayed behind.
“It’s been a long journey,” she replied, and as the silence lingered, she quietly asked, “Are you mad that I’m helping him?” She was hoping to see if there would be ulterior motives, some grudge she’d have to keep an eye out for. But despite wanting to hold back, deep down the hope in her wanted to be fed, to know that whatever spark had ignited between them hadn’t been completely snuffed out.
For Aric, it was a question that was as straightforward as the proposal he had given her. That past conversation echoed in his mind as he folded his hands on the table. He remembered how eager he was for her to run, needing her to so that maybe they could have what was clearly between them, even for just a little while.
“I’m... disappointed, but not surprised.” A slight smile curved his lip, a wink in his eye foretelling he wasn’t too sore about it, that what he found had been expected.
Joss grinned back, relieved for a reason she couldn’t pinpoint. She still remembered him at the outpost, how he said her name, no malice involved.
“I’m so sorry about the river.” He looked at her hard then, capturing her full attention. “I needed the men who were after me to be taken off your trail and I—” he shook his head, hating his past decision “—I thought I was saving you.”
Joss caught the sincerity in his face, the remorse in the way his body was hunched over, arms now resting on the table as he crossed and uncrossed his fingers. “I understand,” she replied simply, her hands in her lap, eyes moving to the table.
“I don’t think you do.”
Joss looked up to find Aric staring at her, his jaw set.
“I wanted that kiss,” he admitted. “I wanted you to run so we could have more moments like that.”
Joss swallowed hard when she realized her heart was pounding. “That would have been nice,” she whispered in agreement.
“But I’ve ruined it,” Aric said with anticipation, feeling the situation out. Hearing her speak in past tense wasn’t sitting well with him.
Joss opened her mouth to speak, but closed it when she realized she didn’t know what to say.
Aric thought he’d help her. “Is it because of what I did, or what I am?”
“Neither,” Joss replied, looking back at the table. “It’s because of what I am.”
“What, that you’re a deathsman and I’m not?” Aric smiled, trying to make light of it. He remembered the conversation back in the cottage, hearing how the executioner bloodlines had to stay bound in their ranks, which even now he found to be a shame.
“No, that I’m a deathsman and you’re a criminal.” Joss looked at him, and the lightheartedness faded from his face as he saw the fate laid out between them.
“That I am,” he murmured, looking at his hands. “You know, I am good at what I do. If I wasn’t, I would have been caught a long time ago—”
“I’m not questioning that,” Joss insisted.
“Then, what?” Aric questioned, more offended than he wanted to admit.
Joss tapped her fingers together in thought, admitting, “It’s because I’ve beheaded someone I loved before, and I can’t do it again.”
Loved. He felt that in his gut. It tightened as if someone had punched him, and he took in a shaky breath to remind himself these were just words, that she hadn’t actually hit him. It was more his physical reaction to her honesty that caught him off guard, and he sat back in order to compose himself, looking around to make sure they hadn’t sparked anyone’s attention.
This would have been the perfect time to explain about Celine, the one part of her past she hadn’t divulged to him. But after what happened with Henrik and then the patrols, Joss didn’t have the energy to tell him, to rake her memory back through the coals.
“You’ll probably never be caught,” she continued, staying on the current topic. She assumed she had insulted him by how he was acting—sitting back to gain distance, his eyes wandering in order to not look at her. “I’m just... afraid to take that chance.”
She was talking about her sister, he already knew that. You shouldn’t have had to, he thought, remembering back when the rainstorm was bellowing around outside the cottage and Henrik told him the story of how Joss had to execute the youngest in her family.
“No, I get it,” he reassured her, nodding as he rubbed his fingers against his lips, torn between respecting her and wanting her. It wasn’t until he caught her eyes move to his lips and look away that something tugged in his chest, causing him to lean forward again.
“Promise me something,” he said, pulling her attention to him by how sincere his tone was. “When you realize that you aren’t afraid to take that chance, tell me. Tell me so I can show you how much you won’t regret that decision.”
Joss blinked at him in surprise. “But won’t we be going our separate ways after all this?” she asked.
“You think you can get rid of me that easily?” he smiled coyly, causing her to smile in return. For a moment, he swore she looked grateful. “You and Henrik are remarkable healers. I’m sure I’ll need your help from time to time.”
Joss considered it, nodding in agreement. Her smile warmed against the idea that there wouldn’t be a goodbye between them after all. Not a permanent one. At least she’d have that.
They ate the rest of the food with some small talk about the place before Joss admitted that she too was getting tired. She grabbed her saddlebag and ax while Aric slung the quiver and crossbow back onto his shoulder, escorting her to the bartender, who gave instructions as to which room was theirs. Trailing after her to the stairwell, he explained he wanted some air and to scout the town for any problems before going to bed himself, despite the fact he felt the exhaustion all the way into his bones.
With her safely put away, Aric kept his smirk on as he moved back through the tavern, keeping his pace confident yet casual, in case someone was watching. But as he moved out the door and faced the cold front of the night, his smile finally faltered, his façade collapsing.
While he wasn’t the type of man to stay where he wasn’t wanted, he faced his own fate as he looked up into the night sky, knowing full well he’d always go back to her. It might be months at a time, but he wouldn’t stray far; she had already ruined him for any other woman, so there’d be no point in finding a replacement. Even if their companionship had limits, she would still be his in a way, still be someone he could go to and have these quiet moments with. At least he’d have that.
However, a part of him knew differently, fully aware that if he lived a life never being able to love her the way he wanted, he’d be totally and unbelievably fucked.
