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The chapter house was nothing in size compared to the cathedral, and yet Joss was enamored by it. Or at least she would have been if the gun weren’t pointed at her.
While the masked figure removed the gun from Henrik’s temple, he now walked behind them, aiming at both. The three were stripped of their weapons, causing Joss to feel empty without her ax—and the revolver, for that matter—which was being carried by a masked figure who trailed behind them all.
Joss and Henrik were led behind Callan, who had the luxury of two masked goons escorting him, pistols aimed at his head. Obviously, they knew of his warrior reputation, taking no chance in leaving him alone with one guard. While his hands remained raised, Joss noted the tension in his shoulders, the way he strolled through the chapter house doors as if he owned the place. In retrospect, he did, but it was obvious it was more to show power against the men who held him captive, a future king to the very end.
Entering the building, Joss took in the ornate room with the beautiful wood chairs, the stained-glass windows splashing colors across the stone walls. In between the windows were bookshelves lined with all kinds of thick, leather-bound books. In any other circumstance, Joss would have loved to search through the collection. She didn’t know what kind of books they were, but given the gold lettering on the spines, they seemed old but important, ancient wisdom surrounding the meeting hall for the monks.
In the middle of the room, surrounded by a circle of chairs, they noticed a solid slab of stone with a crest of a rose on it. Brought to a stop in front of it, Joss noticed the rose was remarkably similar to the one in the stained glass.
There was a moment of silence, and looking over, Joss found one of the masked men walking over to a cast iron sconce, one of many lining the room. Each one was empty, the electrical lights above taking the place of the torch light that once was used. Pulling on it, the sconce shifted away from the wall like a lever. A crack in the floor echoed into the room, and to her amazement, the stone with the rose crest slid down before shifting to the side, revealing a hidden staircase.
Looking at Henrik, she found him equally baffled. Callan, however, continued to look angry, unmoved by the display.
Masked men pushing them forward, they were led down the spiraling stairs, coming into a room that was much smaller than the one above them. Lights were strung around the walls, enveloping the area in a dimness that made the impacted dirt walls look more stone-like. The dampen earth smell was overwhelming as they came to the end of the stairs, facing another hooded figure who was waiting for them.
“This way,” he instructed, and the three were moved along with him, following him into the arched tunnel. The string of lights followed them down, flickering occasionally and making Joss a little nervous, wondering if they were about to go out. When the tunnel turned, coming to a crossroads, Callan seemed confused.
Glancing over his shoulder at them, Joss noticed that something was wrong. “This is new,” he commented, only facing forward when one of the gunmen pushed him along to keep following.
Joss and Henrik stayed quiet as the newly developed tunnel threw them out into another room, bigger than the last. There, sitting in a chair with a masked figure standing on either side, was yet another masked individual, this one chuckling to himself.
“Ah, if it isn’t His Royal Highness.” The man seemed to smile behind his mask, rising as Callan, Joss, and Henrik were brought to stand before him. “You, sir, have been a very hard man to catch.”
“I’m a very hard man to keep as well,” Callan replied, trying to scoff off the comment, though the edge in his voice revealed his anger.
“Your wit knows no bounds,” the masked man chuckled as one of the other figures moved the chair to the corner of the room. The three watched as the men deposited their weapons on the chair, out of reach.
“So, who are you?” Callan demanded, not wanting to play into the man’s games.
“I usually go by as the Mask, like I told one of your friends,” the man remarked. “But you of all people should know who I really am.”
The Mask. Joss’s breath quickened, remembering Aric telling her about him. This was the man who had been after them, who beat Aric, the whole reason they met. She still remembered the way they found him, bruised and bleeding, wondering who could have inflicted so much damage on a person.
Glancing at Callan, she found to her dismay that he was staring at the man in confusion. He was more taken aback than all of them, which meant only one thing.
This wasn’t Davien.
“Oh, come now,” the Mask chided, standing in front of Callan. “Don’t tell me that you don’t remember me.”
Callan searched the man’s eyes and around the mask, trying to find any hints of resemblance. The mask’s eye sockets were narrower than most, making it hard to distinguish any skin color that might have peeked through.
“Disappointing,” the Mask confirmed, “but not surprising. You never were one to give me the time of day.”
The Mask moved on, coming to stand in front of both Joss and Henrik. “You two, however, are extremely surprising. An executioner by day, a healer by night,” he commented, looking right at Joss. “I admit, in your position, healing would be the last thing I’d be doing. And you—” he turned to Henrik “—I’m surprised you stayed in such conditions. As a street urchin once, you of all people could have left and survived.” He looked back at Joss. “Just like your brother, who seems to be doing quite well for himself.”
While her nerves twitched, Joss stood her ground. He knew all about them, even Oliver.
“So, what do you want?” Callan growled. “Or is your plan to talk us to death?”
The Mask genuinely laughed, remaining in front of Joss. “Oh, little prince, that temper of yours—” he shook his head “—is just like your father’s. Always so impatient.”
“You haven’t seen what my impatience can do,” Callan growled again, ignoring the Mask’s flippant comment.
Amused, the Mask moved slowly towards him, coming to stand in front of him again. “How about I show you mine instead?”
There was no warning when Henrik was suddenly yanked to the side, being dragged by two figures. Joss lunged for him but was caught around the waist. Something tripped her, and she was thrown sideways to the ground, her shoulder hitting the hard dirt. Suddenly, her arms were grabbed, and while she tried to fight them, her hands were nonetheless tied behind her back. Searching for Henrik, she found him near the far wall, face first to the ground while his own wrists were tied behind his back.
Callan, however, remained standing, and when Joss looked up at him, she found a masked figure with the end of his pistol aimed right at his face.
“Your fight is with me!” Callan was still demanding, despite the threat. “Let them go!”
“Or what?” the Mask chuckled, rising to his feet after finishing with Joss’s wrists. “Do they mean something to you?”
Callan didn’t reply, but Joss was too concerned with Henrik to pay attention to him. It wasn’t until someone kicked the lad in the stomach that she found her own voice. “Leave him alone! He hasn’t done anything to you!”
A boot obstructed her vision, and turning her head up, she found the Mask squatting down in front of her, shielding her from Henrik’s view. “Oh, but he has. Both of you have.”
Joss searched for Callan, finding that he was being moved off to the side. The gun once pointed at him was replaced by two masked men who held him back as a third was binding his hands behind him.
“You two,” the Mask continued, gaining back her attention, “were supposed to kill him, and you failed. And now, he’s here.” He pointed in Callan’s direction, which Joss didn’t bother following now that she knew where he was.
“This lesson is for you, deathsman.” The Mask stood up then, moving slowly away.
Joss was met with the curled version of Henrik, his head bowed, his sides heaving from the pain of being hit. Before she had a chance to call out to him, the Mask’s voice interrupted.
“I’ll give you one chance, Your Highness. I’ll let you go, I’ll let your friends here go, I’ll make sure your wife meets you unharmed. All you have to do is leave. Throw down your birthright and never return.”
Joss turned her head again, eyeing Callan. What she noticed wasn’t just silence; it was a subtle rebellion. He answered without having to say anything.
“Exactly,” the Mask answered. “You would sacrifice those who care about you for the crown.”
Callan opened his mouth but then shut it.
Joss heard the crunching of boots against the dirt as her vision was blocked again, and the Mask knelt in front of her. “That is the kind of man you saved,” he whispered.
“What did you expect?” she asked, her voice raw as she lay there.
The Mask tilted his head, curious.
“You’re asking an heir to the throne to turn away from a lifetime of conditioning,” Joss continued. “So of course that’s his answer. He doesn’t know any other way.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?” the Mask mused.
“I’m an executioner,” she reminded him. “I also have been conditioned not to feel in certain circumstances.”
“You sure?” the Mask asked, and something in the way he said it made Joss hesitate. “Everyone has a breaking point,” he continued, “even that assassin. I can see why you like him, though. Golden hair, green eyes—there’s a lot of competition for him, you know.”
Joss felt the heat in her cheeks. She hadn’t lied to herself that there was someone better for Aric, but just mentioning him in that way made her blush, something she wasn’t used to. His looks, his persona—the asshole in front of her wasn’t wrong.
Green eyes. Her mind suddenly coiled around the words, something not sitting right with her. Aric’s eyes weren’t both green.
Her breath caught then. If this were the Mask, the man who had tortured Aric, he would have known that. He would have known Aric’s eyes were different, one green and one grey, which meant...
“I’m curious, prince,” the Mask was saying, his attention fixed on Callan.
Fully bound, Callan stood his ground.
“What exactly was your plan in coming back?”
Joss held her breath, looking at Henrik. He had lifted his head up, resting his cheek against the dirt. As he stared back at her, confusion twisted itself into his expression.
For a man who had hired an assassin to kill them, the Mask was sure taking his time in killing them now.
He’s stalling. The thought woke her up, causing her to turn her head to see Callan. He glanced at her, and just as she was about to tell him, she found one of the masked men next to him eyeing her, causing her to stay silent.
“It doesn’t really matter now, does it?” Callan grumbled.
“Indulge me,” the Mask seemed to smile.
Joss’s stomach fluttered with anxiousness, needing Callan to know they weren’t dealing with the right man, when something vibrated into the air. There was an echo, loud and deep, that the underground muffled. Looking back at Henrik, she saw that he too had heard it.
The room suddenly went silent, everyone else listening in, noticing the faint sound. It wasn’t until the echo developed a rhythm that Joss knew what it was.
The cathedral bell.
A shadow filtered through the tunnel, a figure running towards them as a scuffle started behind, Callan bolting forward while the Mask’s henchmen held him back, eventually pushing him against the wall. He tried fighting them, even with his hands behind his back, which ended with a grunt as they pushed him down to the ground like they had with Joss and Henrik.
The figure emerged into the room, heading straight to the Mask. Soft words were exchanged, a hesitation, and then the Mask followed the messenger out of the room. Callan screamed into the dirt behind her, and Joss craned her neck to see him, finding bodies shuffling around him, his captors holding him down.
Henrik watched the scene wide-eyed as Joss allowed her head to rest against the dirt, her heart breaking for Callan.
Although soft, the exchange of words was loud enough for everyone to hear.
The king was dead.
