Ashes of Revenge

Chapter 22: The Night Before

Raven walked into her room and saw Death leaning against the fireplace. Balancing on the tip of his finger was her sword.

"What are yeh doin' with my sword?"

"Nothing, my dear." Death pushed himself off the fireplace, and his finger left the metal. However, the sword remained where it was, slightly bobbing up and down in the air. "Just waiting for you."

Raven unstrapped her overshirt and threw it on the ground.

"That reminds me!" he exclaimed. "Today at the Market, you were excellent, my dear."

Raven glared at Death as she began to remove her boots. She wasn't particularly happy she had allowed – at least she thought she had allowed – him to manipulate her into doing it.

"Don't look at me like that, my dear," Death said with a smile. "You were the one who decided to do it."

Raven remained silent, it would be easier to blame it on Death, but now she didn't know who had done it. If what Death was saying was true, then she hated the fact he had been able to coerce her so easily. Too easily. The real trick was figuring out who was right.

"Don't look so sad. It was a glorious sight."

Raven stood up from the bed and walked to her floating sword. Taking her pointer finger, she placed it on the tip of the blade. It stopped bobbing and balanced on her finger.

"What?" Death asked. "You don't like the idea of me not forcing you to do bad things?" He tilted his head to the side. "How many people have you killed with that sword? How much blood is on it?" Raven's eyes looked at it but refused to answer the question . . . she couldn't – she had lost count.

The tip suddenly sliced through her finger. Raven almost screamed in surprise at the sudden pain. Blood began to pool out of the deep slash, and she instinctively wrapped her other hand around it. She looked up at Death with an angry and annoyed expression.

Death leaned down until he was eye level with Raven, reaching down and grabbing her hand, separating it from the bleeding finger. Next, he wrapped his hand around the wound, and when he removed it, the cut was gone.

"What was that for?!" Raven exclaimed.

"I was adding your blood to the sword."

"How tha bloody hell does that work?!"

"As I said in the cave before: an eye for an eye." With a simple hand motion, the sword began to float again — the hilt on the bottom. Raven stared at the metal, mainly the tip of it where her blood leaked down the blade ever so slowly. The longer she stared at it, the more tired she grew.

Now, Raven wasn't sure if it was Death or herself that was the reason for her being tired, sick, agitated, and all around different. Much like at the Market, it could have been either. But she didn't like the idea of it being her.

She ripped her eyes away from the sword and made her way to the bed, sighing heavily as she sat.

"Come now, my dear, don't be like that."

"Then what do yeh want me to be like," Raven murmured with a slight edge in her voice.

"Excited!" he exclaimed. "Tomorrow is going to be an amazing day!"

Raven's hand brushed against her nose as she thought, just wanting to change the entire subject. "Why are yeh makin' me do this?"

Death was silent for a second, almost as if he had to think about his answer. Surprisingly though, he didn't smile. "Circumstances are sometimes cruel, my dear. In case you're curious, I never intended to pick you out, but that's what's happened." He shrugged, the smile returning. "But, you are persistent. You won't stop until they get what they want, and what you want is to murder one of the Five Kings." A small laugh escaped his throat, but it almost sounded forced. "You and I are very alike in that respect."