Page 7 of Ringmaster (The Kingdom of Shadow & Bone #1)

Azrael

Mercy insisted on walking the last stretch home alone.

I relented, but only because I fully intended to follow her, cloaked in darkness, watching from afar to ensure her continued safety.

If her father caught us, well—I can only imagine the worst. As much as I wanted to deliver her to the door, this plan of deceit was for the best. For her safety.

And for her father’s. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

Deep down, I know it’s because I selfishly needed just a few more stolen moments with her.

I’ll take every last second I can get before we’re forced apart again.

Fate is cruel. The only person I’ve ever allowed to get close is dangling right here in front of me… but she isn’t mine to claim.

I crouch low behind a row of bushes, conveniently lending themselves to my spying.

Once she closes the door behind her, I memorize exactly where she lives so I can keep an eye on her.

I carefully retrace my steps, engraving the route as I go.

My thoughts are a scattered mess as I make my way to the looming striped tent in the distance.

Mercy is safe and sound—for now. But tonight was a close call.

What was she thinking going out all alone like that?

Why was the snatcher stalking her like prey?

The questions come in rapid succession, one after another, as I turn them over and over again in my head.

I’ll never forgive myself if I’ve put her in danger.

This is exactly why I told her we couldn’t be friends anymore.

Around me, my shadows swirl in a frenzy that matches my discontent.

The air crackles and sizzles as my magic threatens to break free, wreaking havoc on the sleepy little town.

How could I be so reckless? I’ve told her we can’t be around each other, and then did the opposite.

I encouraged her to sneak around, rewarding her with flowers and stolen moments together.

And now she’s gone beyond sneaking into the circus—she’s wandering the streets alone after dark like a lamb in a wolf’s den.

This is all my fault. Instead of keeping her safe, I’ve led her straight into danger.

I slink through the town, stuck in my distraught tangle of thoughts, while my magic pulsates with an immense desire to be set free.

A gray mist settles in the clouds above, mirroring my dark web.

Clenching my teeth together, I fight to regain control of my emotions.

What I really need is a distraction. As if the universe can hear my pleas, the vial hums in my pocket, reminding me of my original task.

Instinctively, I slip my hand into my pocket to ensure the small vial is still intact with the lid secure.

I don’t have much time to spare. Night is upon us, and a curfew is in effect.

If I’m caught out, there will surely be trouble.

The townspeople, as usual, are pointing fingers at the circus and blaming us for the recent surge in disappearances.

If only they understood how much—and what—we are protecting them from.

Maybe then they wouldn’t be so quick to hate us.

Happy to have a narrative to control the masses and evoke fear and oppression, the law has only further driven these false accusations.

Something I’m reminded of far more often than I’d like.

I’m not about to go asking for trouble or leaving an open invitation for anyone to come poking around the big top, so I walk faster.

There’s the more obvious reason I crave the false safety of the barrier.

I just left a corpse in the alley. Eventually, someone will notice.

Hopefully sooner rather than later, for the sake of the people living nearby.

Dead bodies tend to stink. This one reeked even before death claimed it.

I chuckle quietly, creeping along, slipping between houses and darting behind trees.

If they continue to zero in on Mercy, this will only be the first of many bodies.

A gust of wind blows the cool mist against my skin, answering my simmering rage at the thought of the Divine hunting her.

The circus stands ominously in front of me at the edge of town.

Familiarity prickles beneath my skin with each step I take, drawing me closer to the barrier.

As I step through the wrought-iron gates and over the property line, I immediately feel the cold tendrils of the dark magic snaking around in an embrace, binding to me.

The scent of tobacco mixed with emberleaf burns my nostrils as I shuffle through the dirt lot of the circus to the Ringmaster’s office.

Either the others are indulging in the tempting effects, or the Ringmaster is impatiently waiting for me.

In answer, trash blows across the emptiness and peanut shells rattle along beside them in the wind.

No voices can be heard anywhere. There’s no show tonight, giving the big top an eerie atmosphere.

The silence can only mean one thing as I approach the side door of our oversized mansion.

This entrance leads directly to the Ringmaster’s office. Rapping lightly on the door, I wait to be invited in by Malicor, the Ringmaster’s sinister assistant. Part shadow, part bone, he speaks only in an eerie whisper. On cue, he hisses, “Azrael, enter. Master has been expecting you.”

The door creaks open slowly, and Malicor’s presence fills the space before I even lay eyes on him.

I shudder as a chill creeps down my spine.

His black velvet robes flow to the floor, the hood surrounds his glowing ember eyes.

Despite being barely half my size, the small demonic creature is every bit as terrifying as any towering monster.

He’ll eat your soul if you look too closely into those deadly, ruby-stained orbs.

He’s the collector of debts, keeper of contracts—bound to our bloodline by the oath of the hellfire magically branded into the tethers of his soul.

“Come in,” the Ringmaster drawls, gesturing to the chair across from his desk. “You’ve kept me waiting.”

“For good reason,” I reply, cocking my head in a bit of a challenge.

He narrows his eyes into a glare that sends my smile fleeing. I clear my throat, reaching into my pockets to thumb the vial.

“Master,” Malicor screeches. “He has something for you.”

“Is that true?” the Ringmaster growls, leaning back in his chair and taking a long inhale from his pipe.

“I was planning to surprise you with the good news, but he forgot to hold his tongue.” Venom coats my words as I shoot Malicor a glare sharp enough to slice even his shadows lurking beneath the robe.

“Well, hand it over, boy.”

My fingers rub against the smooth glass, rolling it between them before pulling it out and laying it on the desk for him to inspect.

“Excellent,” the Ringmaster says, eyeing the vial as a crooked smile spreads across his lips.

“Excellent,” Malicor echoes in his annoying, raspy voice.

The silence stretches, unbearable, but I know better than to break it before the Ringmaster does.

“I will deliver this to the Underworld.” He snatches it from me, “This is what Lucifer asked for, I assume?”

Gulping, I stall in order to collect my thoughts. I’m not exactly eager to admit that it’s only a snatcher and not the hunter. “Hopefully, he’ll be pleased to know that even though it’s not the hunter, it is a snatcher.”

The Ringmaster sighs. “You failed. I’m disappointed.”

“I didn’t fail, Grandfather. I ran out of daylight. But tomorrow, I’ll find the hunter. I’m close. I could feel it.” Technically, it’s not a lie.

“Remember, it’s best not to disappoint me, Azrael—and even more important not to disappoint Lucifer. Need I remind you of your father’s traitorous actions?” he sneers.

I hang my head and bite back the words trying to claw their way out. Reminding him my father is his son will only make any punishment he decides on worse. The seconds tick by slowly as I wait for his verdict.

“It’s only been one day but tomorrow, you’ll not fail. Are we clear?” He blows a ring of smoke in my face.

“Yes, Sir.”

With that, he nodded towards another door. “Go wash up for supper. Off with you, then.”

I sulk off to wash without another word. He’s all business tonight, which is probably for the best. I’m in no mood to tell the story about Mercy.

Past his office lie the living quarters.

Our family home is lavish and ornate—bordering on obscene.

Luxurious touches are evident everywhere.

Every surface is dressed in wealth. The floors are inky black, exotic marble that gleams in the firelight.

The enormous fireplace threatens to swallow anyone who stares too long into its giant orange blaze.

It’s made from the same imported marble, giving the room an elegant aesthetic.

I stroll right past it, refusing to give one of the many gates to Hell so much as a glance.

Solemnly, I ascend the grand staircase, centered perfectly in the middle of the magnificent manor as if splitting it in two. My legs climb each step with a heaviness I feel all the way to my core. The guilt always knows how to get the best of me.

As I trudge upward, defeated, head hanging low, my thoughts turn back to Mercy.

Years ago, when I first suspected she could be the one to break the curse, I begged the Ringmaster to bring her here.

Over and over again, I asked him to rescue her.

I believed for a long time that not only was she the one, but we could keep her safe and protect her.

One day, the Ringmaster finally snapped and gave me his reason.

“She isn’t the one,” he said. The signs didn’t match.

The timing was off. She’s not ready. That was all he offered—and all it took.

I didn’t question him, not out loud. But something hollowed out inside me that day.

That was when I saw it clearly: the monster I lived with was worse than the one I once dreamed of saving her from.

That was the moment I let the idea go. Truthfully, it was the day I gave up on loving her.

After that, the Ringmaster pulled me in tighter—demanding I spend more time preparing to inherit the family legacy, less time with the people who’d never understand what I was. Piece by piece, my humanity slipped away. Eventually, I even suppressed the part of me that still loved Mercy.

It’s not fair, but if anything, all my suffering has taught me that fairness is never to be expected.

Life is meant to be difficult. I have to fight harder.

Still, I can’t resist the intense need to be near her.

Deep within my bones, there’s an aching.

It’s like my body knows she belongs to me, but I must keep these urges secret.

The Ringmaster must never detect them. He thinks I’ve given up on the idea of loving her altogether—and it’s best if he keeps believing it.

Especially now, when simply just being her friend could put Mercy at risk. Did put her at risk tonight.

At the top of the stairs, something tugs me from my thoughts.

I turn and continue toward my wing of the house.

The paintings and statues stand shining.

Neat, crisp, and familiar. At my bedroom door, I slip my boots off, wiggle my toes freely, then carry the boots inside and place them in their spot near the fireplace.

In the washroom, I peel off my blood-stained clothing and wave a hand over the oversized clawfoot tub.

Hot, soapy water sloshes and steams as it fills.

With a groan, I step in, easing down into the sting and the soothing heat. I get to work cleaning up.

My mind is still racing from what happened today.

Breaking the trance was dangerous and something I’ve never done before.

But losing control like that? It’s even more dangerous.

I need to speak to the Ringmaster about it.

Eventually, I need to tell him what happened.

This isn’t safe for her. I need to stay away.

But there’s that instinct again—deep and primal—urging me to protect her at all costs.

Musings for another time. Lucifer’s coming. I don’t dare to keep him waiting.

“Fuck,” I curse under my breath in frustration, then rise from the tub, patting myself dry. Annoyed, I slip on a black silk shirt, a pair of golden cuff links, and nice pants. I run my hands through my wet hair and settle my top hat in place.

Showtime. I wink at my reflection in the mirror before turning to leave with a sudden confidence in my step I’ll need to survive this encounter.