The sun gleamed through a window, making Azrael groan and cover his eyes with a pillow. The last thing he remembered was the pretty blonde with warm brown eyes and a chair crashing into his back.
He sat up and winced, looking around the sparsely decorated living room. An intricately carved wooden table separated him from two tan overstuffed chairs, similar to the ones at Amycus’s. A mantle hung over a fireplace, covered with little pots containing what he assumed were herbs. He ran his hand over the bright swatches of color in a quilt covering his legs.
Azrael inhaled the vanilla and cinnamon smell wafting from down the hall. He tried to stand and hissed, a blinding pain stabbing him in the back of his head.
That would be from the bottle some coward hit him with. He winced when he felt the bump.
He dropped his head into his hands. Even though he drank too much and his body hurt, he no longer felt like he was going to explode. Hand-to-hand combat, especially against four at the same time, had released the week of suppressed magic and anger.
Azrael sensed another presence in the room and looked up slowly. A boy around the age of ten stared at him, his green eyes narrowed. He was tall, with black wavy hair that touched the top of his shoulders. The two appraised each other until the silence became uncomfortable.
“Hello,” Azrael said.
“Mom! He’s awake!” the boy yelled, never taking his eyes off him. Azrael moaned and dropped his head back in his hands.
“Sorry about that,” a pleasant voice said.
A beautiful woman with long red hair and sky-blue eyes smiled from the hallway. Azrael’s mouth dropped open.
“Easy there, that’s my wife you’re gaping at,” Kord said, walking out of the kitchen with a pastry and mug in hand.
“Your wife?” Azrael asked.
Kord chuckled, wrapping an arm around the woman. “Yes, this is Tillie and my son, Maleous. Haring family, this is, um . . .”
“You don’t know his name?” Tillie said, tapping her toe.
“Yes, I know his name, or should I say names.” Kord raised his eyebrows at Azrael.
“Az,” Azrael said, rubbing his temples and frowning at his bare feet.
“Nice to meet you, Az.” Tillie turned to Kord, kissing him on the cheek. “Maleous and I have to get to the bakery, so we’ll see you later.” Maleous waved as he walked out the front door. Azrael leaned around Kord to get a better look.
“Stop gawking,” Kord said, smacking Azrael on his head; the sudden pain made him gasp. “You look dreadful, by the way.” He placed the mug and pastry on the table and sat across from him.
“I feel dreadful,” Azrael said, massaging the back of his neck.
Kord laughed, causing Azrael to wince again and drop his head into his hands. A bitter sweetness tickled his nose.
Azrael looked up, a sudden idea bursting through his clouded brain. “Could you take care of my headache? You know, with your magic?”
“I could.” Kord smiled. “But I won’t. These are the consequences of overindulging and being stupid. One doesn’t learn if one doesn’t suffer through the pain.”
“One shouldn’t give life lessons this early in the morning,” Azrael mumbled, eyeing the steaming mug of black liquid.
Kord chuckled. “It’s mid-morning. We let you sleep in.”
“Let me?” Azrael frowned. No one let him do anything. He was second in command to the most lethal force in the land. Or had been. His position, title, and reputation were destroyed thanks to Drexus and Bronn. He had been a member of the Watch Guard for thirteen years—that was all he had known. Who was he now that he wasn’t one of them, one of the feared Hunters?
Azrael took a tentative sip of the brew, sighing as a jolt of energy ran through his system. He bit into the pastry, uncomfortably aware of Kord’s scrutiny. He moaned, the delicacy melting in his mouth.
“This is really good,” Azrael said, shoving in another bite.
“I’ll be sure to tell Tillie you enjoyed her pastries.” When Azrael raised his brows, Kord continued. “She works at the bakery down the road—has made quite a name for herself.”
“Beautiful and talented,” Azrael said, a smile tugging at his lips.
Kord shook his head. “Come on. Amycus wants to see you. There’s a change of clothes in the washroom down the hall. Clean up first, you stink.”
In the village, a hive of people buzzed around the town square. Vendors in colorful stalls sold their wares and mothers conversed, keeping a watchful eye on their children who played in a nearby fountain. Azrael inhaled the smells of spices, fruits, and roasting meat drifting through the autumn air.
Kord stopped at a booth that sold chairs and tables similar to the ones in his house. He talked with the man behind the counter while Azrael leaned against a post, his eyes scanning for any threats.
“You got another order for a bookcase and they want Kenz to do the scrollwork,” the man said.
Azrael observed the Healer out of the corner of his eye. Kord never mentioned that he and his sister worked in the carpentry trade. But why would he?
A talented family.
Kord finished up his business and continued toward Amycus’s.
“So, you and your sister are carpenters?”
Kord nodded. “Yes. Well, I do most of the carpentry. She’s more into the detail work and runs the booth. Our parents used to own the business, but they died years ago, so Kenz and I took it upon ourselves to follow in their footsteps.”
“How did they die?”
Kord shoved his hands into his pockets, sadness filling his eyes. “They died fighting the Vastanes. Mom was a Water and Dad an Amp.”
Azrael thought about this as they continued through the marketplace. No wonder Kord and Kenz were so strong, with both parents having magic. They had been young when they lost their parents in the war, but at least they had each other.
Many villagers greeted Kord with smiles and friendly hellos while giving Azrael a cursory glance. They had no idea the Angel of Death lurked among them, but without his mask, swords, or armor, he appeared common. Normally, he felt powerful when people saw him—relied on it. Now he was overlooked, an insignificant leaf fluttering in the wind.
Part of Azrael relished the ambiguity—no responsibilities or expectations, no one knowing his hands dripped with blood. But a casual stroll through the marketplace couldn’t eradicate the death clinging to him.
Kord looked back and slowed, a frown replacing his usual smile. “There’s this dark cloud surrounding you. Can you feel it?” he asked, reaching out.
Azrael lurched back. “I prefer the shadows.”
Kord lowered his hand with a low chuckle. “Well, that’s dramatic.” He continued walking toward the blacksmith’s cottage, his broad shoulders quaking with laughter. Azrael glowered and trudged after him, the villagers unaware of the danger in their midst.
Inside the cottage, Kord sat and yawned and rested his feet on Amycus’s desk. Azrael’s hands relaxed at the sound of hammering and the familiar smell of hot steel. He walked down the hall to the forge, passing a bedroom overlooking a large courtyard.
Amycus beat an unfinished piece of metal into the beginnings of a sword, sparks flying while sweat dripped off his long nose. Well-loved tools organized into neat rows lined the walls next to sturdy worktables. The room reminded Azrael of the forge in Delmar where Braxium had taught Azrael the trade.
He picked up a sword, running his thumb along the dull blade. If his life hadn’t changed so drastically, Azrael could have seen himself as a blacksmith, creating instead of destroying.
“I’m almost finished,” Amycus said, dipping the sword into water and causing a cloud of vapor to form a misty barrier. His eyes darted from Azrael to the sword in his hand. “Make yourself at home in the other room.”
Azrael lowered the weapon and returned to the living room, taking in the minor details he overlooked yesterday. The late morning light shone through the curtains, illuminating floating dust motes while a welcoming fire danced in the hearth. Kord dozed, his soft snores filling the silence as Azrael examined the haphazardly stacked books and trinkets crammed into the bookcase. He studied Kord and Kenz’s handiwork, eyeing the intricate carvings along the wood, the attention to detail impressive. Azrael chewed the inside of his cheek. He could picture Kord crafting the pieces, but he had a hard time imagining Kord’s sister carving the unique designs. Kenz didn’t seem the delicate type.
He was scrutinizing a unique chunk of glass when Amycus walked in, wiping his face and hands with a rag.
“That’s what happens when wet sand meets extreme heat,” Amycus said, nodding toward the glass in Azrael’s hand. “We were testing out one of my student’s powers and got that as a bonus.”
Azrael’s grip tightened. “You have a Fire Spectral?”
“I had a Fire Spectral. Drexus killed her.” Amycus shoved Kord’s feet off his desk, and Kord snorted awake, mumbling an apology. Amycus sat in the chair from yesterday and poured himself some tea, offering the kettle to Azrael, who shook his head.
“Do you have any other Fires?”
Amycus frowned. “Yes.”
“Do any of them have black fire?” Azrael tried to relax his hands.
“No, why?”
Azrael put the strange-shaped glass on the bookshelf, unsure if he felt disappointed or relieved.
He tried to imagine Drexus and Amycus as friends—young men working together, experimenting with magic. The war had taken each boy down a different path. One wanted to control magic, while the other tried to protect it.
As Watch Guard soldiers, you are the only ones who can protect the Naturals—capture and restrain, or exterminate. That is your job, your mission. Drexus always gave that speech to the recruits, and Azrael had stood by his side, the vigilant soldier. But ever since experiencing the emotions from the Spectrals, Azrael had questioned the Watch Guard’s mission and Drexus’s belief that all Spectrals were evil. Currently, he was the evilest one in the room.
Kenz stormed in, the door slamming against the wall.
Was the evilest. Azrael laughed to himself.
“A bar fight? Really?” Kenz marched to where Kord sat and smacked her brother on the head. “And I heard you watched the whole thing.”
Kord pushed her away. “He needed to burn off some steam, and Terrell and his gang had it coming. Az was quite chivalrous.”
“A chivalrous assassin? Oh, that’s rich.”
Azrael frowned as a shiver ran down his spine, not liking how his body kept reacting to Kenz, even when she was scowling, her green eyes flashing. Her black hair hung in a long braid and her cheeks were flushed. She wore a blue tunic and form-fitting pants. Azrael swallowed. Very form-fitting pants.
The siblings continued their argument while Amycus looked on with an amused expression.
“Do you ever suck the air out of their lungs just to shut them up?”
“It is tempting.” Amycus waved his hand. A gust of wind rushed through the room, silencing the two. As entertaining as this was, Azrael wanted answers before the headache pulsing behind his eyes turned into a migraine.
“You claim to know me. I’d like to know how.” Azrael crossed his ankle over his knee, tapping a finger on his thigh.
“Ah, yes. Well, for a time, I worked with Braxium in his forge in Delmar.”
“I don’t remember seeing you.”
“No, you wouldn’t have. I left when you were only a couple years old.” He paused, his fingers steepled under his chin, eyes sad. “I knew your family. My heart broke when I heard what happened to Lisia and your sister.”
Azrael maintained a blank expression, gripping the chair. Hearing his mother’s name unleashed a flood of feelings he didn’t want to confront, but no matter how far he shoved the memories down, his mother’s gray eyes and his sister’s screams continued to haunt him.
“I never heard what became of Barnet,” Amycus said, retrieving a satchel and placing it at Azrael’s feet.
“He’s dead.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be. I killed him.” Azrael focused on the hatred in his heart, blocking out the pain from the past. Kenz’s gauntlets sparked to life, her hand tightening on the hilt of her sword. Kord frowned and crossed his massive arms.
Good. They needed to remember who he is, what he’s capable of.
The logs crackled in the fireplace while Amycus studied Azrael, his mouth turned down. Azrael looked away from the penetrating gaze and to the canvas bag at his feet.
“Open it,” Amycus said, his voice wavering. “I helped Braxium develop that interlocking armor, you know.”
Azrael’s eyes widened. His black chest plate peeked out of the bag. “I thought the villagers took it when they captured me. You’ve had it this whole time?” He glared at the siblings.
“Did you think we’d actually give it to you?” Kenz said, shaking her head.
Azrael pulled the armor from the bag, brushing his fingers over the familiar metal. He had spent hours perfecting the design with Nigel at the Bastion. Bronn had often joked about Azrael’s strange relationship with his armor. He ran a hand along the spot where the arrow had pierced his back and shoulder; he could see through the metal where the sword had stabbed him. He gritted his teeth, pushing down the rage.
“I see you’ve made improvements to the original design,” Amycus said, staring at the intricate piece. “It’s very well done. Thought you’d like to repair it in my forge.”
“Thank you,” Azrael mumbled, his eyes darting from Kenz to Kord. “For retrieving it.”
“That hurt, didn’t it?” Kord chuckled, putting his feet back on Amycus’s desk.
Azrael started returning the armor to the bag and then stopped, noticing his mask lying on the bottom. He picked it up, tracing his finger over the white skull smiling at him.
“That thing is hideous, by the way,” Kenz said, leaning against the desk, her lips pursed.
“It’s supposed to be. After all, death smiles at everyone.” His eyes flicked around the room. “And my swords?”
Kenz snorted. “Yeah, right.”
Azrael scowled, wanting to strangle and kiss her at the same time. He shoved the items into the bag and stood. He had decided to believe Amycus; the pieces connected too conveniently, but the puzzle wasn’t complete. Yet.
“I believe you didn’t betray the king,” he said. “However, if I find out you lied, I will kill you.”
Amycus held his stare, the skin around his eyes tightening. Kord stood and walked behind Amycus’s chair. Kenz’s gauntlets glowed.
“I need to leave, so remove the cuffs.”
“Where will you go?” Amycus asked, relaxing into his chair.
“Back to Orilyon, to talk with Drexus. Plus, three Hunters have a destiny with me and my hideous mask.” Azrael sneered at Kenz.
“The Watch Guard is searching for you,” Amycus said.
“Another reason for me to leave. Kord mentioned the false trails, but eventually, the Hunters will cross the desert and find me. I’m sure you don’t want them raiding your peaceful little village.”
“We can protect the village,” Kenz said to Azrael, then she looked at Amycus. “We don’t need him. There are plenty of us that . . .”
Azrael’s head tilted as he slipped Kenz a curious glance.
Amycus held up his hand, regarding Azrael. “It would be in your best interest to stay.”
“Why?”
“Because there is so much you don’t know about your past. About your mother.”
“What about my mother?” Azrael growled, gripping the handle of the satchel.
“Your mother was a Spectral.”