When Blood Runs Cold - Chapter 273

“Now,” I say, rolling up my sleeves one by one. “If you have not lied to me, and are true to your word, I promise this will not hurt you. Though it might be a bit of a shock.”

I do not elaborate on my words this time. For if I had told her what I plan to do- look straight into her core memories and emotions, the ones in her heart, she would naturally have protested. Anyone with half a brain would have, for the process is not only painful, but extremely invasive. But considering I might just be about to save her life, that is the least of her concerns.

“What?” she sniffs, wiping her tears with the back of her sleeve, a clear tremble laced in her voice. Poor thing, too confused to be afraid. I certainly hope she was not lying to me. No wonder Azrael chose this assassin to be turned into a halfling, with so many emotions brewing like bubbling lava in her insides, she would be the perfect candidate to be turned. She is a mortal ticking time bomb.

With a snap from my fingers, black chaining coils twist up from the ground, spiralling their way around her ankles, her wrists, until she is entirely stuck in place. It is not a necessary precaution, but considering she is both an assassin, and changing halfling, and I have yet any full bodied reason to trust her, one might consider it as one.

Her breath freezes in her throat.

“No hard feelings, I just need to keep you still for a moment” I murmur with a shallow smile, before plunging my hand straight towards her heart.

As soon as my hand hits her chest, a rush of vision, emotions, and voices all spiral past my head, making my head spin nauseously. Unlike my brother’s powers, which enables him to see virtually everything in an individual’s head if he is powerful enough, my scope is much smaller, and much more precise. Any thing that lingers in their heart, any memory, desire, or want that has a strong emotional attachment is mine for the picking. Granted it is not as useful as my brothers stolen power, but it has its place for judging people’s intentions and characters. Hell’s judgement is its official name, but to ordinary Folk that sounds much too ominous, so I simply tell them I can read their hearts.

It is how I was able to see all of Serena’s desires the day she waltzed into my palace, and how I was able to see her lust for me when she blatantly denied every single ounce of it. It was such fun to play with her back then, when the only true worries I had were matters of the heart, and how to keep my palace from uncovering her little secret.

But what I am looking for now is far from the throes of lust, but another motivator that would keep the heart beating just as fast- a primal emotion, and so awfully common in mortals: fear.

Scenes flash past my eyes, her wants, her dreams, her desires. I see her family, her homeland in the far south of Faey where the icy landscapes last in eternal winter, and the places she longs to see once more. I catch the image of a boy, a childhood friend, and a group of weary but joyful looking individuals all piled into a wooden cabin, smiling. And then, amongst all those, I catch a glimpse of something else. Something dark.

Pushing further down onto her heart, I allow myself to draw in deeper, catching this memory between my fingers. There is a hazy field around it, lacking that clear quality that most memories of the heart are produced with, yet the scene itself is as vivid as anything. But occasionally, the scene flickers, distorted by some unknown source of magic. This memory has been tampered with- clearly it was not one she is meant to remember.

I let myself fall into it.

A room, crammed with Folk and thick with the smell of blood and rot. It is a nice place, for a prison. Long banquet tables of half touched food, lounging chairs and a nice rug spread over the cobble floor. There is even a rustic fireplace in the centre of one wall, providing enough heat just to stave off the chill of the room and frostbite from your fingers. The lingering smell of magic is a constant perfume to the air, as are the distant, muffled screams from deeper below.

Fear is her only emotion.

There are others in that room too, others like her who answered the call of a villain who promised them the world, but now lay pale and dishevelled, trying desperately to warm up their fingers at the fire. They had been told that their purpose would soon be apparent, that they would be living the life of luxury in only days to come. But no one here really thought whether to believe it.

Every now and then, one of them would leave the dungeon, but would return an hour later, dizzy and slightly confused, talking of how they feasted with the King himself, and if we waited a little longer, we would too.

And so we waited, waited to be taken up, only to return once more to this cell, stagnating in the half-light of the room.

Their motives she knew not of, but Azrael had promised her something in particular. He had taken her family in as hostages a month ago, working as guards for the underground dungeons where he kept his hoards of halflings. They came from a family of knights, so it was only natural that he assigned them such a task. But she had trained to be something different- an assassin, a warrior, so she was perfect for what he needed, and so he took her away. She never wanted to join him.

“But,” he had told her as he led her up the steps and out of the dungeons towards the surface of the world where mindless people roamed. “If you can kill this man, I will return them to you. You will never have to come here again.”

That is all I need.

When I jolt back into reality, the girl has taken to full out panicking. Lurching my hand away, I stumble back a bit, clutching my hand as the tingles of magic fade away over it and survey the scene. Hunched over like a cripple, she breathes quickly in and out, her heart- for however long it has to continue beating, pounding in her chest as if in these next seconds it might just come rocketing out. If I don’t stop her soon, I think it literally might.

“Hey,” I say, softly now, resting a hand on her back. She jumps a little, but continues to breathe quickly, her breath coming out in rasping shocks of air.

Holy hell, I think darkly to myself, clenching my arm from the sheer tension she exudes. If she doesn’t stop she is going to kill herself before the venom does.

“Hey,” I say more firmly now, shaking her slightly. She blinks a little, dazed. “Calm, okay? I am not going to let you die. I know you are telling the truth. I know that was a bit of a shock, but I need you to stay calm for me, okay darling? Now hold still,” I murmur, placing my hands in hers- a little reluctantly. There is something about holding another woman’s that  feels blasphemous, but for the sake of this girl’s sanity, I figure it is a need to be a must.

With my hands steading her, she seems to calm somewhat, which is a relief because I am not sure how long I would have lasted if she had a full out panic attack on me.

“How do you know,” she whispers, her hands quivering in my own as she draws herself up to me. It is only in that moment that I realise how impossibly cold it is in the room. Of course, with very little reception to the cold, I do not usually feel such hindrances, but from the way her breath spikes the air in frosty plumes, I am soon reminded of such. Hell is not a warm place, in fact, it is bitterly, bitterly cold.

Shedding my jacket, I bundle her up in it, tucking in any places where her body heat might escape. I can’t let her go freezing to death, not when she might just be the key to all my answers.

“Don’t worry about what I can do for now. The less you know about me, the better. Just focus on breathing, I really,  really don’t want you to die.”

A tight smile. Nestling in the crook of my arm, she whimpers like a puppy.. My, I think incredulously to myself, sighing in exasperation at this stick like girl. Must mortals be so fragile?