Sixty-nine

Judging by the adulation in his tone of voice, he's never seen it. I guess that's a privilege reserved for the members of the order.

When his eyes find mine, relief washes over me while a hint of horror settles on to his features as he stares at the gash on my cheek, his lips press together in a thin line and I see the question coming to life before he even voices it out.

" Who?" He rasps as he pushes himself on his elbows with his eyes glued to the wound.

" It's nothing. Don't worry about it. It was an accident" I try to brush him off, pull the sleeves of my tattered shirt over my hand and cover the wound, so he doesn't look at it anymore. I must look hideous but that's a problem for another day.

Pressing his lips together he pulls my hand away from my face, and studies the wound for a minute or so," We need stitches," He huffs with a tired sigh," And then you will tell me how this happened, " Leaning in he kisses my brow, and then pushes himself to stand up, and I follow after him.

I pull the the hilt of the sword out of the waistband of my trousers, to check how my powers are doing. A shield and means of subjugation. That's what Balthasar said the seals were.

I focus inwardly and channel all that I have into the hilt of the sword. Slowly a blade comes to life. Its obsidian colour detracts from the excitement for a brief second until little filaments of light begin to weave within the black blade, giving it a veiny facet. It is not the most clean look but its imperfection makes it look stunning. The way darkness and light merge in perfect harmony makes it poetic.

I look at Mason in wonderment and he offers me the most arrogant smirk I've ever seen.

" Zareen has chosen its champion well," Mason says proudly, and I preen at the fuzzy ball of pride expanding in my chest.

" Lead the way," He takes my free hand, while I stow away the blade in the waistband of my trousers. It sits at an awkward angle, so I pull it out and look at it hoping it would disappear, just like all the other things I've conjured up so far. It holds its shape and is as solid as a rock.

" Why won't it disappear?" I glare at it. Mason chuckles and takes the blade out of my hand to look at it.

" It's the gift you've been bestowed upon by the Whiteheart. You'll see," He says enigmatically and I can't help but frown up at him.

With the flick of his wrist, he swipes the blade through the air, and I can't help but think that he must've hit his head pretty badly when he fell.

The ensuing shock wave throws us back a few steps while the air begins to ripple, creating a rip in the fabric of reality. It does what it can, only with staggering precision. It enacts the will of its wielder. And that's why my brother moved heaven and earth to get his hands on it. With it, he can create and mould the world with a flick of his wrist.

" This is bad," I say as in front of us the kitchen in North materialises. Mason chuckles and steps forward through what looks like a sheer portion of the veil that holds the material world together.

With a deep breath, I follow through, after him and find ourselves in the middle of the kitchen in an empty house.

It hasn't been that long and might be a while before Enid and Marie come back. I doubt that they will. Not after what had transpired between us.

Mason begins to rummage through the drawers in the kitchen while I fill two glasses with water. My throat is drier than the dessert, but that's nothing a glass of water can't fix. The stinging pain in my cheek, makes me wince as my face creases when I open my mouth and try to drink.

Mason slides next to me, and empties his glass in one go with a satisfied sigh.

" Once you've had your fill, we need to get that stitched," He points at the chair, while I'm still struggling to swallow down the water.

He begins to arrange the tools of torture he will be using to stitch my face together, and by the time I empty the glass, everything is perfectly aligned waiting for me.

Knowing that it will hurt as I bitch, I briefly contemplate the fact that I rather just stick a plaster on it, and call it a day than suffer through what might be more than a dozen stitches.

When I hesitate, Mason grabs my shoulders and pushes me down onto the chair, slides me a glass of bluish amber liquid, and gives me an apologetic smile. I don't know what that is but I hope it's strong enough to numb the pain.

" Just get it done," I take a swig from the liquid, and I realise that it's industrial strength. If you spill it on iron, I'm pretty sure that it will dissolve just like my insides are the moment it hits my stomach.

Mason laughs at my grimace and pulls a chair to sit down in front of me.

While he pulls the thread through the needle, I take another swig, and I resolve to be satisfied that it doesn't burn as bad as the first time. Either that or the first mouthful I drank, has killed every single nerve ending on its way down.

" Stay still, and try not to breathe as much," Sure, I'll get right on that.

" Mase you're gonna poke me with a needle at least twenty-four times," I note with mild annoyance, glaring at him and he chuckles.

" You won't feel a thing in a minute," He pushes the glass up and nudges me to take another swig. The third one goes down like a charm. It doesn't burn, but the room kinda starts to spin and I feel a little bit oozy.

" Are you trying to get me drunk so you can get in my pants," I slur, while he smiles at me, his face warps a little but I blink and it comes back into focus.

" Maybe," He smirks," It's been a while, you see," He begins cautiously, and I feel the telltale prick of the needle when it pierces through my skin, but after that is like being poked with something blunt.

" My wife is mad at me, "He carries on as he threads the needle through the other side of the wound while I look at his face trying to stay still, awake, and most importantly present. I don't say anything, because he said to stay still, plus he is putting a needle through my face and I'd like to keep the damage to a minimum. Vain? Maybe.

" I did something that she didn't like. She got angry, " His tongue pokes out between his lips as his focus remains on poking me with the needle.

" I understand why, but it was her idea," He stops and tilts his head back and looks at the ceiling.

When he drops his head back his icy blue eyes find mine," Lying to you was one of the hardest things I've ever done. But I told myself that as long as it kept you safe and alive it was worth it. It paid off in the end...," He trails off for a moment, " I'm not saying that it was the right thing to do, but you have to believe me when I tell you that my intentions were pure," I'll be the first one to admit that I'm awful at reading people. That's a skill that comes from years of experience and I still have a lot to learn.

But I've learned to read Mason, and I can tell when he is being candid.