a liar.”
The mask swept to the man with the broken nose. “You! You who has spent years in the dark. Haven’t you already been given more than you dared dream? How would it feel to control your own life, a master instead of groveling at another’s feet?”
“And you,” his voice dropped an octave as the mask scowled at Alocar, “what else do you have to live for? I know you, deep down. You’re not meant for this retired life, rotting away in a manor while the rest of the world erases your existence. How would it feel again to be a leader? What would you do to banish those feelings of ineptitude and worthlessness? Would you take the chance?”
Angras threw his hands into the air and fell against his chair. “Admit it or not, my words are true. Each of you is deeply flawed, but I’m presenting you with the chance to embrace those flaws, to revel in them. All you have to do is reach out and grab it.”
“You’re insane,” Alocar said. “It’s a fool’s mission at best, life on the end of a torture rack at worst.”
“Think of me what you will. I am only a man doing what he must to protect those he has sworn watch over.”
The mask rose, firelight framing it, a hellion. “But this is reality, and reality always has a flip side. If you refuse to work for me, then you, Isaac Coel, will find yourself in a pit far beneath Whispers and I’ll ensure you live to a ripe old age. You, Crymson Mendora, will return to the Cao Fen, disgraced, a slave to the one who caused your fall. Alocar Leyton, you, though it pains me, will find your granddaughter’s head on your front lawn, your daughter-in-law’s mutilated corpse in bed, and your son buried alongside your wife. And finally, you, Slate Cecillee, will succumb to the nihilism rampant in your soul, for the poison my servant put in Teacher’s drink moments ago will cause his death long before your feet cease to walk this earth.”
Alocar and the man named Slate both stood, weapons drawn. Slate moved first, his knife pressed an inch from the eyehole in Angras’s mask. “What makes you think I won’t just kill you now?”
Angras’s voice didn’t alter in the slightest. “It’s a chance I’m willing to take. This is bigger than any one of us, bigger than us all, and if I have to sacrifice the freedom of a few to protect the many, then so be it. Without me, all the things I’ve just named will come to pass; they’ve been prearranged. Do as I say and not only will these consequences disappear, but so too will you have what I promised. Opportunity beckons.”
“What was in the cup?” Slate asked.
“Something I had my personal alchemist mix up. And much as it dismays me, he is now dead, its ingredients with him. So you see, you really only have two options: deny me and sacrifice your best friend, or follow me, live, and gain everything you’ve ever dreamed of. Your choice.”
Slate hesitated, eyes going to Teacher. He drew a fine white line down the mask with his knife. “Regardless of how this turns out, you’ll see me again.”
“I should hope so,” said Angras, who stood, shattering the moment. “The meeting is over. You have your options.
“What’s to say we won’t just turn you in?” Alocar asked.
A chuckle emanated from the mask and Angras said, “Be my guest. What will you tell them? That some masked man is plotting the downfall of the throne? You have no idea who I am or even where I live. You’ll be liars, maybe even co-conspirators. At best you’ll be turned away, but they may also imprison you, and then where will your family be?”
“Consider my words. You have the chance to do something beyond the confines of most mortals, and in doing so, reclaim parts that might make you whole. Not many are ever offered such an opportunity.”
And with that, he left the room, leaving the strangers to stare at one another, distrust written in permanent ink across their faces.
Crymson
Ever-shrinking shadows gyrated across the room as the fire whittled away the blackened wood. The old man – Alocar? – grabbed an iron poker sitting atop the dusty mantelpiece. He plunged it into the ashes and trapped embers flared, billowing smoke up the chimney. Nobody spoke, almost like the silences she’d experienced as an urchin in Dradenhurst, looking alone with envy