“But it wasn’t nearly as painful, I think, as this.” Death laughed softly as Glaive’s thigh exploded with agony. Glaive dropped to his knees, and Death crouched down to face him. “Are these the wounds of a man my mirror self would love?”
Glaive looked up at him, and Death kissed him, hard and punishing, biting his lower lip as he drew away. “I never said he would.”
“Because you know it. Nyx is dead.” Death grabbed Glaive’s hair, tugging it sharply. “You should bury him.”
“Glaive?” Fuck, that was Red’s voice. “Where are you? I can’t see a damn thing in this rain.”
Glaive pushed at Death’s chest, putting the barest distance between them. “Don’t do this. I can’t. Not anymore.”
“Because you found a mortal plaything?” Death’s smile didn’t waver. “Then I will return when you are done with him. Because you are mine, butcher. My glaive. That’s all you’ll ever be.”
Glaive closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he was kneeling alone in the muddy field, blood rolling down his thigh, Red bursting through the rain after him.
“Fucking shit.” Red grabbed Glaive’s arm, hauling him to his feet. “What happened to you?”
“Fell,” Glaive said. “Something caught at an old wound. It’s nothing. The rain’ll wash it off.”
But of course Red insisted on cleaning out the wound, which Death had left open and bleeding, and helped Glaive stitch it up in the warmth of their tent. The rain continued for hours, and Red kept glancing at him as Glaive struggled to get comfortable, Death’s words rattling around in his mind.
“You know,” Red said, when Glaive thought he was finally asleep. “I actually asked to be your apprentice.”
Glaive squinted at him. It was dark, now that they’d snuffed the lantern, but he could just make out Red’s face. “You don’t strike me as the kind of man who wants to use special tools in his assignments.”
“I’m not.” Red shrugged. “But you’re the best, and everyone said… well, they said you don’t hurt children.”
Glaive didn’t know what that had to do with anything. “Plenty of people don’t do that.”
“Less than you think,” Red said, voice bitter. “I heard their excuses. It’s all money, right? But everyone took it as a given that you don’t accept those jobs. I mean, look at what you did for that one boy. You could have just set him loose—more than most Misthotoi would have done—but you also gave him a weapon and most of our food. That’s when I knew I couldn’t quit.”
“That’s basic fucking decency, kid.” Glaive rolled to his side, favoring his injured leg, and heard Red scoff behind him.
“Takes decency to think that. That’s all I’m saying.”
Glaive didn’t argue. He just lay there, staring into the dark, until Red finally fell asleep and dawn came, sunlight breaking through the thunderclouds.
He let Red go a few weeks later.
“Can’t say you’re not one of us, now,” he said, looking away as Red stared at him in disbelief. “I figure you’ll be fine.”
“You’re sure?” Red practically dropped his bow when Glaive told him, and he fumbled to put away his arrows, ignoring the deer that ambled through the woods. “You know what this means, right?”
“It means you’re out of my hair,” Glaive said.
“It means I’m the first apprentice of yours to make it all the way.” Red was grinning when Glaive finally looked at him. “No one’s done that before. I’m… I’m grateful, sir, that you think I’m good enough—”
“Don’t start.” Glaive took the bow from him and started winding the string. “You’ll need a name, now. A proper one, something people will know you by.”
“I was thinking about that.” Red couldn’t stop grinning, it seemed. “Maybe Ranger? It’s like Red, but more martial, like how you’re Glaive.” He paused, his expression going soft. “But we can still hunt together, sometimes? You hear about Misthotoi joining up.”
“I don’t. And you shouldn’t depend on anyone too much, at first. Build up a reputation.” One that didn’t involve being close to Glaive, who trailed Death like a shadow. Red—Ranger, now—deserved better than that. He needed people who could keep him decent, grounded. People who were whole, not loose, rattling parts jumbled together in the shape of a person. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t take jobs involving special tools.”
“Or contracts on children,” Ranger said. “Or the poor. I think I’ll stick to punishing the wealthy, if I have to. Maybe do some rescue work.”
Glaive snorted. “You would.”
“Maybe you should try it with me.” Ranger grinned when Glaive gave him a warning look. “After I’ve built up my reputation a little. I know.”
“Maybe,” Glaive said. “We’ll see.”
