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I felt the Council's sprite flit around me like a fly courting a corpse. Its voice scraped over my ears, and I supposed it demanded my execution. It mattered not--the Horseman's subdued rebuke had already brought me low. I kept my head bowed and waited for Chaoseater to take it.
"No," said the Horseman.
My breath caught, though I dared not to hope. Mercy was another of the Red Rider's weapons, after all.
His Watcher chuckled in delight. It outstretched its claws, and Charred magics snaked over the Horseman. What torture could tear that anguished groan from his throat, could bring him to his knees? Even at a distance, the shadowy fumes that leaped from his back drank the light from my soul and replaced it with the edged chill of the Abyss.
"Get up," the Watcher sneered. "Azrael lives until he stops being useful."
All at once I understood, but the understanding brought greater bewilderment. The Horseman could spare me only for as long as I could justify it. He had chosen to stake both of our lives on the swiftness of my thought.
I had just confessed to the crime that bound him to the sprite's will. Why trust me with this?
The Horseman struggled to his feet, clenching his fist as the Watcher vanished back into his gauntlet. He lingered a moment, then, before looking up at me. That glance struck me like the sword he refused to draw, and I dropped my gaze.
"Please . . ." I said. "Leave me."
As the heavy fall of his boots announced his departure, I knew that he had chosen wisely. I would open all ways, reveal Heaven's darkest secrets, and my own as well. I would play my role to stay the Watcher's wrath.
I owed him far more than that.