Counting Shadows (Duplicity)

time.”
    “I didn’t go anywhere,” he replies. “I only disappeared from view.”
    My spine tingles, and I put one hand behind my back and clench it. My fingernails dig into my skin, and I focus on the pain, pushing away what the man is implying. That he’s been here the entire time. Watching.
    “Well,” I say briskly. “I’m glad you’re back.”
    “You shouldn’t be.”
    “I have questions for you,” I state.
    “That’s not what I’m here for.”
    “Then why are you here?”
    “I’m getting to that. Have patience.”
    “I already told you, I’m impatient.”
    “Then maybe I should tell you that I’m also not here to play games. And that I’ll leave for good if you try.”
    Somehow, this feels like a legitimate threat. I don’t know his name, his intentions, his species. But my stomach lurches at the thought of him leaving.
    “Now,” he says, not waiting for a reply. “We should get started.”
    “On what?”
    “I thought you were going to be patient.”
    I nod and purse my lips. Seconds pass, then the man sighs and puts his hand out. For a moment, I think he’s asking me to take his hand, and I reach forward. But the man clasps his hand gently, and a sword springs to life in his palm. Or at least I
think
that’s what it is. It’s shorter than any sword I’ve ever seen, and it’s made of something red that shimmers and glistens in the light.
    Fire. The sword is made of fire.
    He swings the blade a couple times, as if testing it. All the time, his head doesn’t move, and he faces straight forward. Somehow, I know he’s staring at me.
    “What’s your name?” I ask, my voice a whisper.
    “Impressive,” he says. “Eight seconds without you interrupting me. A new record.”
    “You weren’t talking. So I wasn’t interrupting.”
    His shoulders begin to shake. Up and down, as if he were… laughing. “True, I suppose. I’m Blaize.”
    He tacks his name on so casually, it’s almost like he expected me to already know it. I glance at the sword he’s holding, and then back to the black hole where his face should be. Blaize. It’s strangely fitting, despite his dark exterior.
    He clears his throat. “Before you try to take over the conversation again, I should tell you what I’m here for.”
    Blaize says nothing for a long moment, and I stay quiet. It’s a test. And, for some reason, my instincts tell me to be a good little pupil for once in my life and pass it.
    Blaize nods after a long minute. “Very good. I guess you
can
listen.”
    I take this as permission to speak. “What do you want?”
    “I want you to kill your father.”
    I stare at him. Blink. Stare again. And then wildly look around the room, checking that we’re alone. Just uttering those words will get Blaize killed. They’ll get
me
killed. But no one is in the room, and when I turn back to Blaize, his shoulders are lightly shaking again.
    “This is a… joke?” I step to the side and peer behind the mirror, half expecting to find Farren there laughing at my expression. This has to be some kind of prank. Someone is trying to get a good laugh out of this whole situation, or maybe they’re just trying to drive me insane.
    “No,” Blaize replies. His voice is way too light.
    “Then why are you laughing?”
    “Because you look so offended. All these months you’ve tracked Ashe’s murderer, and still you’re offended by the notion of killing.”
    My blood turns to ice crystals in my veins. Cold and sluggish and sharp, it prickles my skin.
    “You…?”
    “Of course I know about your little quest, princess. I know everything.”
    I clear my throat. “So…” I try again. “You are…”
    “Really, princess? First I couldn’t shut you up, and now you have nothing to say. Make up your mind.”
    “You’re a mercenary,” I say slowly. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? You’ve been hired to kill my father, and I’m a convenient way to get the job done.”
    The room chills until I can see my breaths, each one coming out in a little puff. Ice crystals cling to the sides of the mirror, obscuring the glass with fog, and I instinctively cross my arms against the cold.
    “You accuse me of being a mercenary?” Blaize growls, his voice deepening to a low rumble. He swings his sword in an arc, dispelling the crystals on the glass and making water droplets trickle down the mirror and onto my carpets. “No. This is personal. Strictly, utterly personal.”
    I force in a deep breath,