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He remembered the masks.
They had started as swirls of color around the eyeless sockets, all belonging to the masquerade that overtook the floor below. He remembered being perched in the shadows of the indoor balcony, staring down at the lot that was too intrigued by their own magnificence to notice him lurking above.
He loved court life. It had sunk into his bones. The intimacy of big crowds; the easiness of being anonymous while everyone around was trying to be someone else. He reveled in the splendor, the arrogance, the drama—the atmosphere so potent with superficial wealth and reckless intrigue that he could play anyone and they would adore him regardless.
Especially those who didn’t know any better.
“Aric Kayden.”
His name had triggered something in him, like becoming visible when all he knew was how to disappear. It was an uncomfortable feeling, and in his chest he had felt himself recoil against the threat.
That’s when the colorful display disappeared, tossing him back into darkness.
A dream, he thought. It was all a dream.
Dread crept up on him as he opened his eyes, realizing slowly that he could only see out of one. His mind became confused by what he saw, feeling like he was walking a thin line between dreams and reality.
“Are you going to say ‘no’ again?”
The voice had belonged to a shadowy figure that moved closer, the light flickering against his masked face. The mask itself had been plain with no colors or definitions; just a dull shade of gray that blended in with the scenery.
Aric’s one eye blinked a couple times, seeing that the light was coming from a nearby torch. This wasn’t the court or its inhabitants; it wasn’t even Aselian’s underground with its tunnels and sewage. Reality nudged at him, reminding him he was miles away from the court that enthralled him, miles from things he recognized and areas he could have hidden in.
Miles from help.
He stared at the shadows behind the man until they separated, molding into individual figures who were watching the scene with their own masks shielding their identities. The distortion had made his head swim, and that’s when everything began to hurt. When he tried to readjust himself to help ease the pain, he found his arms suspended overhead, holding him upright. Suddenly, it all came back to him: the village, the assassination attempt, the change of heart.
Despite everything that happened in that one night, the worst was that he had been caught. Others now knew who and what he was, something that wasn’t supposed to happen in his profession. Normal payers would leave him to his tactics, but this last one had kept a tab on him, one he hadn’t been able to slip by.
“You had one job,” the masked figure had said, unblinking eyes staring back at him.
“Make someone else do it,” Aric spat out, tasting blood in his mouth as he spoke.
“Oh, no.” The figure seemed to smile. “No, you’re going to fulfill what’s been asked of you. We don’t need new players in this game. So whatever this is—” the figure waved his finger around in Aric’s general direction “—you’re going to get over it. Or we’re going to come back and do this all over again until you get things right.”
“Then kill me!” Aric had growled, jerking slightly against his restraints.
“Why? That would be easy.” The mask chuckled, clearly amused. “Besides, it’ll be fun to see how long we can keep you alive each time we do this little dance.”
Aric couldn’t quite remember the rest. Whether they simply beat him into unconsciousness or someone took one good blow to his head, the only thing Aric did remember was the pain and sunlight. There had been a carriage and some random conversations, but nothing stuck in his memory long enough for him to completely recall. He did remember the ground hitting his back, the brush enclosing around him. The sudden discard threw him back into darkness, and he fought to regain consciousness with each forced breath and every blink of his one good eye.
That’s when he saw someone approach.
At first, he didn’t know the person was a woman. Her hair was dark and short, tied back like a man’s, and her attire hid her figure, the black shirt and vest blending in with black pants and long boots. But then she drew closer, and he saw the soft features of her face were undeniably feminine. While she was neither stunning nor simple, there was a certain comfort to her that made his breathing grow steady. Pain rippled into his muscles, seizing him fully at times, and it was her voice he listened for, her face he sought out, even when he realized she wasn’t alone.
“Can you tell me your name?” she asked, but he couldn’t bring himself to answer. He was used to people not knowing who he was, and those who did were those who employed him, only to avoid him until the next target. The pain muddled his thoughts so much he couldn’t even remember one of his countless aliases to fall back on.
To his relief, Aric heard the subject change to how the infirmaries were overcrowded. Part of him wanted to be taken there, to be lost in the crowds, to find solace among the sick and dying so he could disappear quietly without anyone ever knowing he was there. That was more comfortable to him than being left alone with a couple of strangers, becoming their focal point despite just trying to help.
Little bits of their conversation filtered into his consciousness as they moved him out of the bushes, the pain overlapping his concentration as he felt the sticks scrape against his back and limbs. When they used the blanket to move him, he found himself perplexed that she was able to help, taking equal part in the labor.
He only knew the women at court: the rich with their finery and delicacies, the only weight they lifted being their wine glasses; the servants and maids who’d leave the heavy lifting to the male employees; and the harlots, who would attempt to hold a man down, but only because the patron had paid her to do so. Even the country maidens and farmhands he observed were often left to the easier, mundane tasks. Physical labor like this was something he often didn’t see done by a woman, done so humbly and with such capability as if it were just another day hauling a grown man out of the woods.
As they transported him on the gurney to the wagon, he tried to focus on his confusion instead of how much his leg and shoulder stung or how much it hurt to breathe. She intrigued him and he clung to that viciously, using it to keep himself awake despite everything in him wanting to sleep.
Pulled into the wagon, he realized she was close by, fiddling with something. He remembered it, then, and said his real name before he could stop himself. When she directed her gaze at him again, he came to find he liked how his name sounded in her voice when she repeated it.
However, once she left and the wagon started moving, all the movements caused him to sink in and out of consciousness, the wheels’ uneven strides wreaking havoc on his beaten body. When he finally came to, the wagon had long stopped, and he heard a man close by bark an order that startled him. At first, he wondered if it were the masked group until two men appeared, bare-faced and clearly uninterested in him. Neither seemed to care about his wounds by how they grabbed at the gurney. It took everything in Aric not to scream in pain, a scream he was aware wouldn’t come out very manly. Instead, he seethed in his own misery, his ribs aching more now and at times causing him to hyperventilate.
While being carried across the yard, Aric moved his head enough to watch the woman turn her horse around to leave, looking back in his direction before she rode out of view. He wondered if that was a good sign, someone caring enough to look back. He had never been the kind to look back at anything.
Hauling him into a cottage, the two men were directed into a room off to the side. Aric couldn’t tell what was happening, only that somehow through a half-sliding, half-pulling maneuver, they moved him from the gurney to a single bed, every muscle in his body burning in pain. His bruised ribs made it hurt to breathe, and he laid there, wheezing and gasping as he tried to calm down.
He noticed the two men still in the room, one eyeing him while the other placed the gurney in some corner, out of the way. He could make out a third figure in the doorway, seeing blurrily that it was the woman’s companion, whose name he tried to recall but couldn’t. Normally he wouldn’t have cared unless the lad had been a target or a steppingstone to his next kill, but Aric was trying to focus on anything other than his agony, hoping to subside the panic of not knowing where he was and if he’d make it out alive.
“You could have been gentler,” the man in the doorway chastised.
“No sense keeping him alive,” the onlooker commented while his companion returned, nudging him on the shoulder as a reminder they needed to leave. He turned to the doorway, saying with annoyance, “Learn to say ‘thank you’ next time, Henrik.”
“I’ll say it when it’s owed,” Henrik replied coolly as he followed the two brutes out of the room. Not long after the front door closed, Aric heard rummaging in the next room, followed by the clinking of jars.
Resting his eye, Aric listened for the lad, hearing the sound of water running and a couple more clanking of things. Eventually, Henrik came back into the room, and Aric opened his eye again. He found Henrik bringing a cup to him, along with a jar and a few cloths he sat on the bedside table. He noticed the lad was dressed similarly to the woman, except he didn’t wear a vest over his shirt like she did.
Seeing he was awake, Henrik explained, “I need you to drink this. It’s medicine that will help you rest while I clean your wounds.”
On any other day Aric would have been skeptical, but given the state he was in, he wanted both the liquid and the rest. Without having to answer, Henrik helped lift Aric’s head, pressing the rim of the cup to his lips. Aric drank greedily, gulping down the contents that stung his dry throat. It hurt to swallow, but his body couldn’t stop, needing the water despite it tasting funny.
“Your nose is broken, so I’m going to need to reset it,” Henrik said as he sat the cup down next to the jar.
“Do what you have to do,” Aric whispered, knowing what that entailed.
With his gloves still on, Henrik worked effectively, popping his nose back into position with a crack that made Aric groan. At one point, he even felt his stomach shift, his ribs and lungs aching in response. Helping to lift his head back up, Henrik gave him more water, which Aric took, draining the cup.
Laying back against the pillow, Aric closed his eye, hoping the medicine would be quick. He listened as Henrik left the room again, only to return with what sounded like a washbowl he sat on the floor next to the bed.
“You’re rather lucky,” Henrik said as he worked, gently removing Aric’s clothes so he could clean the wounds without interference.
Lucky, Aric thought, recalling the last conversation with the masked man who had helped torture him.
“You’re a lucky man,” his captor had said, sitting across from Aric and the two men who kept him upright during the carriage ride. “I was given word this morning that your target is being transferred to Mortem Hall. Apparently, their original plans are set in motion, so your job just got a whole lot easier.”
“Who the hell are you, anyway?” Aric had breathed out, trying to cling to his wits, even though he swayed unevenly with the motion of the carriage.
“Just call me the Mask,” the figure had replied coyly.
Aric had eyed him, thinking the name ridiculous until he started to feel sick and decided to just let the man have his terrible name. “And what job... do I have to do?” he asked, the tormenting ride causing sharp pains that impeded his speech.
“All you have to do is make sure no one interferes. If anyone does, your job is to eliminate them. If anyone gets in the way, it will become your problem. And if you don’t handle the problem, then we’ll become your problem.”
“Has anyone ever told you,” Aric remembered asking, “how annoying your voice is?”
It wasn’t long after, he realized, he had been thrown from the carriage. For a split second, Aric wanted to laugh, finding the humor in it. Even though he was captured, at least he hadn’t cowered before them.
And while Henrik worked, he glanced at Aric’s face, realizing he had dozed off, leaving behind a small smile that curved the corner of his lips.
