The Reaper's Curse #1 - Complete

The Raven's Mask

The Raven is the mask she wears as she slips through the shadows in the west. Her crimson scarf covers half her face and the weight of her pa's gun is familiar on her hip.

The apartment had been empty when she got there, Oliver's and her things left where the soldiers had dumped them. He hadn't gone back there and Alicia knows he'd gone after her the moment she was taken.

That crimson scarf had found its way into her hands and she realised something harrowing in that moment and it had broken apart her chest and poured molten steel into it.

She's willing to be whatever she needs to be to save Oliver.

It's easy to pretend she doesn't need redemption, easy to pretend the events that left her weeping and broken four years ago didn't happen. It's easy to forget the sounds of the innocents screaming because of what she did. Easy, because like the grand duke, she has nothing left to lose apart from Oliver Narovich.

The knife draws a bead of blood from the man before her, black in the darkness of the alley as it trickles along the edge of her knife. "Where are they keeping him?" she demands in her low mumble.

"You dumb bitch—"

Tired of games, Alicia pulls the blade from his neck and lowers it, pressing it between his legs. "I'll carve your balls from you body. Consider your next words carefully."

Sweat slides down his temple as he meets her gaze, trying to see if she's bluffing.

Alicia tilts her head. "I've done worse for less." Any other day she would have been ashamed to admit such a thing.

"The cellar by the machine factory. That's where they're keeping him."

Alicia pulls away without another word and slips away before he can shout. She tucks the blade back into the waistband of her trousers and jogs towards the warehouse she knows too well.

Once, during her many odd jobs for the travellers, they were in a silent war with the Ronavics. Back then, Alicia rarely bothered to choose sides in any conflict, but the Ronavics were an evil she happily sided against. She's never been more grateful for that war than she is now, because she's already once broken into the very same cellar Oliver is being kept in.

The afternoon light is shielded behind the western wall, giving Alicia the darkness she needs to approach the warehouse. So few people are there that Alicia wonders if this truly is the place. But knowing about the mess that the duke has dragged the Ronavics into, she understands they might be slightly short-staffed.

Beside the brick of the building, Alicia kneels in the short grass. She takes her blade out again, wedges it into the frame of a window, cracks it, then opens the window and slips inside. Her boots make a dull thud on the concrete flooring and she crouches, her breath fluttering the fabric over her nose and mouth.

Alicia uses the many boxes and crates and barrels as cover as she moves through the space, the ceiling low, but the room long, stretching far into the distance. And in that distance, Alicia sees figures.

The sound of knuckles on flesh and low grunts reaches her, causing her to flinch, but she inches her way forward. She gets close enough to see the faces of the men in the room as she kneels behind a pile of crates, statues stuffed in straw within.

"I don't really care if you don't talk, Oliver," comes a voice. "I'm enjoying myself whether you talk or not." He punctuates those words by sending his fist into Oliver's side. Something cracks and Oliver curls over, heaving in breath, blood dripping from his lips and onto his already stained shirt.

The man steps away and Alicia finally recognises him as he pushes back his black, sweat-dampened hair. Ivan Ronavic, one of the three siblings. At least, there was once three but the eldest was found in his bar with a bullet lodged in his skull.

"You know," he says, plucking a rag from a barrel to wipe his bloody hands and the brass knuckles that wrap around them, "I wasn't going to touch your lovely sister when we thought you were dead. But now..."

Oliver spits blood and looks up at Ivan. "I'll take your fucking hands before you touch her."

"You're not in a position to threaten me, Oliver," he snarls, tossing down the rag. Before Ivan can strike again, footsteps sound behind them. Alicia ducks further behind the crate to avoid the person that runs through the room.

"Ivan," he gasps. "You need to come quick."

"What's going on?"

"Our men, they're being arrested. The duke..." He doesn't get a chance to finish before Ivan is jogging past him, curses spilling from his lips. They disappear, leaving Alicia alone with Oliver and the guard watching him.

Alicia palms her gun and stands, approaching the guard. Oliver's gaze is quick to find her and just as quick to settle on the guard who shifts at the slight scuff of her boots on the concrete.

"You. How much are the Ronavics paying you?" Oliver demands and the guard turns to face him fully.

"What's it to you?"

"I'll pay you more to get me out of this place." As he talks, Alicia approaches the guard and raises the gun to use as a club.

The guard barks out a laugh. "They're paying me more than a dead man can match."

Alicia strikes, the handle of the gun cracking into his skull. He stumbles forward with a cry but doesn't go down. Alicia swings again and catches his temple, splitting it in a spray of blood. The man thuds onto the concrete and Alicia holsters her weapon, pulls her scarf down around her neck, and meets Oliver pained gaze.

"We don't have much time," she tells him, unable to look closely at his bruised and swollen face lest she break down in tears. There's time for that later. She rounds the chair he's tied to and cuts away the rope chafing against his skin. Alicia helps him stand and he wraps his arm around her waist. It hurts, every bruise flaring up, but the warmth thaws some part of her that has been frozen since she rested her head against her brother's still chest. She drags him to the window she entered through, both of them limping and letting out grunt of pain. Using a crate to stand him on, Alicia pushes him through and follows.

Outside, Oliver lets out wheezing breaths as he lay on his back in the grass, his hands pressed to the side. "Fucking Ivan, he always goes for the ribs."

"Come on," she says and grabs his arm. He lets out a hiss and Alicia pulls her hand away. It comes away covered in blood. "You've been shot."

"Yeah, I know," he grumbles, staggering to his feet.

Alicia shakes her head but decides she needs to focus on one thing at a time. "I know a safe place. Let's just get there."