I love that people are loving Bryn. Safe to say I'm extremely attached to her and our dear Az. ^_^ Thank you to everyone who reviewed! And to those who follow and favorite too. I'm so grateful.
Chapter 3
"I brought you something." Azriel said, lowering himself to the ground and tucking his wings in.
Bryn pointed to herself; nerves sparking in her chest. Me?
She watched him unroll a pack of velvety fabric and begin to lay out the items hidden inside. First, there were sheets of beautifully woven paper. Two pens, both gilded in gold. A tray crafted of fruitwood. And finally, a small book bound in emerald green leather.
All the air in Bryn's lung left in a whoosh as her mind pieced it all together. Is this…? He can't mean…
She fought the itch to reach out and touch, needing the physical validation.
"I thought I could teach you to write," He said, his touch careful and precise as he assembled the tools on the wooden tray, nudging the pens here and there. Once he was satisfied he looked up and balked.
"What is it?" He asked, gently.
Bryn distracted by her own disbelief didn't hear him at first. She looked up, angling her head to the side as she took in the concern painted on his normally stoic features.
"You're, um," Azriel started bashfully, running a hand through his wind-tossed hair trying to find the right word. "Well, you're…"
Unable to, he lifted two fingers and touched them to the skin just under his eye. Bryn instinctively mimicked the action, lifting her hand to her own face, her skin going red when she felt a definite wetness just underneath. She hastily wiped it away, dark eyes dodging his gaze, so penetrating she could hardly string a coherent thought together.
No one has ever offered to teach me. She thought, lips parting in a frustrated huff as she tried to think up a way to gesture the words. She lifted her hands in the air, searching for someway to describe the depths of her gratitude, only to bring them down quickly when no solution came to mind.
She was desperate to speak, to tell him how much it meant to her. For years she had been unable to communicate. The curse was like a wall around her, invisible but impenetrable. Long ago, she was able to convince herself it didn't matter. That she didn't need to speak. . Living with the curse was better than the the alternative, after all.
There were days, however, when it was downright damning. She couldn't speak her mind or defend herself and there were times when she thought she would go mad from the rage it stirred up in her. She was trapped within herself and she had no means of escape. But even that was bearable. She had no friends, no one she really wanted to talk with or get to know. Until now.
Bryn dared to meet Azriel's gaze. She never dreamed she would meet someone like him. Late at night, while she spun fantasies in her heard she often wondered if she dreamed him up. Is seemed too good to be true. Had she really found someone patient enough to weather struggles with silence, someone who 'listened' to her despite it all?
Was it perhaps because he didn't know what had happened? Who had cursed her and why? She didn't want to to think on it.
But is does mean, She thought, that he's not doing this out of pity. Or even empathy.
Here he was. Offering he the world in the form of a tool she could use, one that would change her life. Even though she had nothing to offer him in return.
Overwhelmed, Bryn didn't think twice before lunging forward and wrapping her arms around his neck. His scent, tinged with citrus and traces of a wonderfully alien flower, enveloped her. His chest felt like a stone, cool and powerful. Bryn's lips parted and she sighed, holding tightly to him.
Azriel's wings unfurled, an instinctual reaction. His arms hovered at his sides, hesitant to touch her. She smelled of fresh soil and pine, he could feel her heart fluttering in her chest against his. Stunned but delirious, his eyes slipped shut as he moved to wrap his arms around her.
But she pulled back, the color in her cheeks even deeper than before. She touched her hand to her chest, right above her heart. Then lifted it and reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. A new gesture to add to their ever growing dictionary.
Azriel nodded in understanding, a fierce determination in his eyes. "You're welcome."
Bryn smiled, shoulders drooping in relief.
"Shall we get started?" He asked, picking up one of the pens.
Nodding excitedly, Bryn slid closer to him and planted her hands on the ground so she could lean over the tray. She watched with wide eyes as he guided the quill across the page. His scarred hand moved with practiced precision as he wrote out each symbol. Twenty-six total.
Although able to maintain a stolid mask, Azriel's skinned warmed where hers had pressed up against him. Shadows curled around his neck, silently tittering their own surprise. She had caught him off guard, something many a skilled enemy had been unable to accomplish.
"There are twenty-six letters," He explained, softly. "That make up all words."
He touched his pen to each one, naming them and sounding them out. Bryn listened, head spinning as she took it all in. The clearing seemed to melt away. There was only Azriel's voice, talking her through the alphabet.
As he spoke, her wolf-friend appeared from the shade of the trees. Stalking over to them slowly, it's eyes as per usual trained on Azriel; watching his every move. Azriel in turn, kept his gaze fixed on the creature, but Bryn didn't seem to notice. Her eyes were trained on the pages, watching Azriel drag the pen across the page as if hypnotized. The wolf huffed in a show of annoyance. Azriel didn't bother to hide his smirk. Bryn lifted a hand, feeling blindly in the air for the wolf's head, but didn't bother to look up. The creature snorted but pushed his head forward to meet her hand for a brief pat. He then dropped to the grassy floor, resting his head against Bryn's barefoot.
Azriel continued on, explaining the name and sound of each letter as he retraced them with his pen. Then he offered her the pen.
"Would you like to try?"
Bryn eyed it nervously, butterflies stirring in her stomach.
Azriel's writing is so lovely. She thought, thinking back. Only Roman and Lorens knew how to read and write. In comparison their lettering looked primitive and grossly simple; always smudged with mistakes.
I can't imagine mine would look any different. She thought, flushing with embarrassment.
Azriel, as if reading her mind said, "It took time...for me to learn."
Bryn looked up at him.
"It wasn't until I was much older that I was afforded the opportunity." He continued.
The shadows surrounding him pulsed ominously causing a chill to rake down Bryn's spine and pool in her gut. There was a story there, something in those eyes...a darkness that she recognized. One that she too had known. Intimately. She wanted to ask him about it; wanted to know if just maybe she had found someone who could understand the shadow in her heart.
But I'll never be able to if I don't learn how to write. She thought and plucked the pen from his hand. Her move pulled Azriel from whatever memory had consumed him. He guided a fresh piece of paper closer to her side of the tray. Bryn reached out for it, her question reflected in her eyes. Nodding, Azriel shifted it onto her lap.
"A" comes first," He said, shifting closer so that he could peer over her shoulder. Bryn nodded, holding the pen steady in her right hand. "And- yes, like that, good."
Bryn dragged the pen up and then down, trying to copy the flourished curl that Azriel had made. It was difficult to keep her hand steady.
"You should hold it like this," Azriel said, placing his hand over hers. Gently, but firmly, he moved her thumb over. Bryn started, looking over her shoulder. His face was so close, only a breath of space between them
If I just moved forward a little bit-
Her thoughts were interrupted by a large, chilly splash of water hitting her nose. She jolted backwards, eyes blinking rapidly. Azrie breathed a laugh, so quiet Bryn was certain she imagined it.
They both looked up. The sky had darkened and a bevy of raindrops began to fall from the sky.
Of course. Bryn thought, a tired sigh escaping her lips. She looked down at the paper. The droplets had smeared the ink, turning her practice page into an illegible mess. She loosed a small cry, running her hand over the page. Wet ink clung to her fingers and bled through the damp page. Azriel lifted her hand away.
"Shall we continue tomorrow?" He asked, releasing her hand.
Bryn smiled sadly and nodded. She watched with a heavy heart as Azriel gathered up the supplies he brought, wings unfurling. He tucked the pack under one arm and offered her his hand. Bryn took it and let him pull her to her feet.
They held fast to each other, eyes connecting unable to look away.
Tomorrow seemed too long to wait. For a split second she wondered what would happen if she asked him to take her with him.
"Goodbye," He said, interrupting the reverie. His hand fell away.
Bryn waved until he had breached the trees and disappeared from sight.
Rarely did Azriel find himself plagued with nerves. His time spent in darkness had stripped him of trivial fears; had made him what he was. A Shadowsinger. Spymaster to the greatest of the High Lords. An indispensable warrior and advisor, one that had survived two wars and helped assure victory in both. So at first, he didn't recognize the signs. The elevated heart rate, the snakes churning angrily in his stomach, the lack of appetite. It wasn't until he found himself unable to sleep, shadows trembling restlessly around him, catching specks of starlight that filtered through his window, did he realize that something was wrong.
He hadn't felt this way since...since he had found Mor on that fateful day, hundreds of years ago. He had buried that memory in shadow. Banished it along with the rest of them. But here it was again, searing into his head. Hotter than any burn. He had felt this way, hours before finding her. He hadn't understood then either. Why he felt so uneasy. It wasn't until he found her. Bleeding in the snow that he knew he had been right to act on intuition.
Azriel rose suddenly from bed, his mind fully awake now. If he was feeling it again, that sickly sensation, did it mean something had happened to Mor?
Nerves turned to panic, tearing his heart to ribbons. His wings unfurled, shadows surging around him until they filled the room completely.
No. He thought, trying to collect himself. His shadows trembled, touching the glass of his window as if trying to break through it and pull him into the night. Nothing's happened. What could happen? We are at peace. Finally.
He repeated the words to himself, calling the shadows back. No word had come from Rhys. The sentries had not called for him. He looked through the window to the expanse of city lights, drawing his shadows back in. They came reluctantly, still riddled with nervous energy. His gaze trailed along the Sidra until it landed on Mor and Cassian's block.
You need to let her be, said another voice in his head. One that had been silent for far too long. She doesn't want you in that way. She-
Azriel swallowed, a familiar pain now kindling in his head.
She never did. Not in that way.
He inhaled through his nose, letting out the air in one long, sustained sigh through parted lips. Leaning forward, his forehead met the glass. He lifted his hand, fingers grazing the window.
If it isn't Mor. Or the Court of Dreams. Or any part of Prythian…
The girl. An image flashed through his head. He had been happy...no relieved to see her there after days of absence. He hadn't stopped to think...hadn't asked her why she had been absent. His brows knit together and he replayed the image again, searching for signs. Of what he didn't know.
She seemed...happy and healthy for a human. Freckled skin made paler by the long winter. She wasn't thin like Feyre had been when Mor had rescued her from the Spring Court.
His shadows were whispering now, attesting to his suspicions. There was something...off. The frown etched in his face deepened. He hadn't seen it; either because he wasn't looking or didn't want to. But if it wasn't outwardly visible, that meant she was hiding something. Normally, he could sense these things. Sense the truth of a person's feelings, hear the words they didn't say aloud, tell almost immediately when they were about to lie. It had taken years for him to understand that other Illyrians and High Fae didn't operate this way. That they couldn't see what was so clear to him. As clear as a cloudless sky.
He replayed their first encounter over again. Then the second and third. Humans were always easier to discern. Their understanding of magic and it's relation to the world was so tenuous and their lives so short that it made them easy to see.
But this girl...He walking back to his bed and lowered himself down. His wings twitched in agitation. He hated this. Not knowing.
He rested his arms on his knees, catching his head in his hands.
She was cold. He thought, remembering the feel of her hand trembling against his palm. The feel of her skin, soft but chilled.
He shook his head, That can't be all.
But it wasn't untrue. She was always barefoot, always dressed in torn frocks that seemed ill-fitting and faded with age. Azriel knew little about human economics, his eyes had always been trained on the queens, their armies and their machinations. Farmers in Prythian ran the gambit. Most of them were lucky now that the borders between courts had opened. Trade was flourishing and money flowed. Whether or not the same could be said for the humans Azriel couldn't know. Perhaps there was a way to coax in answer from Feyre.
Azriel rose from bed once more, his eyes now trained on the Palace of Thread and Jewels.
Wings unfurling, he stepped into his closet to search for a tunic to wear.
"My Lady, it's been too long!"
Mor managed to return a smile to Lyra, the head shopkeeper of her favorite atelier. The hour was late, already half past 9, but the shop was still bustling thanks in part to the unusual warmth not often attributed to an early spring night. Vivianne and Kallias had left just after sunset, having slept and lazed about for most of the day after drinking, dancing and chattering the night away. Feyre and Rhys were still in bed, having spent the day doing Cauldron knew what to each other.
Mor's smile grew as she walked around the store, eyeing the latest stock of glittering dresses. She was happy, so happy that peace had finally come. Vivianne and Feyre had become fast friends, just as she had hoped. Now that the war had passed, there was so much to make up for. Stories to tell and retell. Plans to make. Her head spun at the very thought of all there was to do in the coming decades.
Ugh, why did we open that third bottle? Mor bemoaned, holding a hand to her head. She shook it off and focused once more on her shopping. A string of retail therapy always helped to cure her burgeoning hangovers.
"Are you looking for something in particular today?" Lyra asked, her amber eyes sparkling excitedly.
Mor smiled sweetly, she knew Lyra loved to dress her up. "Not today. I won't stay too long."
"If there's anything I can help you with, please let me know." Lyra said, with a short bow before retreating to help a customer.
Mor turned, scrunching her nose. Even after all these years she had never gotten used to such formal displays. She preferred hugs to curtsies and laughter to stilted conversation.
The smile in her heart dampened slightly. She approached a particularly glittery scarlet red dress and fingered the fabric, trying to distract herself. But it wasn't enough.
Cassian...
He had been attendance, but was far from his usual barking, boisterous self. He had left early that night, having barely spoken to her or anyone else. Except to say…
He's not coming.
Mor shivered at the anger in those words. But it wasn't directed at her. It wasn't directed at anyone. Not even Az, but at the circumstances as they were. Rhys had, mercifully, sensed that something was wrong with his bastard brothers but spent most of the evening distracting Feyre with ravenous whispers. No doubt her High Lady would be questioning her later, even if Rhys implored her to stay out of it.
This is just what I didn't want. She thought, her painted lips turning down. She wondered what Cassian suspected. She was desperate to talk to him about it, but she wanted to give Azriel more time. Still, the waiting was torturous.
I should go see him. She thought, rifling through another rack of dresses. No matter what Feyre says. Tomorrow I'll-
She looked up mid-thought and nearly pulled a button of the dress she was handling.
"Az?!" She said aloud, slapping a hand over her mouth too late.
Sure enough, Azriel was there. Surveying the racks with his usual indomitable intensity. Mor bit back a giggle. There were other fae in the store, but none of them cast such a formidable stance. Even with his wings tucked tightly against his muscled back, their size and shape was undeniably grand under the low ceiling of such a quaint little shop.
He seemed surprised to see her, too. His cheeks flushed pink and Mor bit down on her lip. She tried to think of something to say to steer the conversation in any direction other than-
"I thought you all would be sleeping still," Azriel said with a small, apologetic smile.
Relieved, Mor returned it.
"So did I," She said, letting the fabric of the dress fall through her fingers.
A heavy silence settled between them. Mor swallowed wondering if things would ever return to the way they had been before.
"How are you, Mor?" Azriel said, there was a sadness in his voice. A concern that she was no stranger too. Mor paled, recognizing that look in his eye. The one she had seen on countless occasions but never knew how to placate it.
"I-What are you doing here?" She asked, quickly.
He looked down and Mor realized he was stumbling - stumbling - over words to find an answer for her.
"Shopping," He said, finally, still refusing to meet her gaze. "For...a friend."
The gears in Mor's head twisted and turned. A friend. Of course, Azriel had friends. Mor could count them all with her two hands alone. Rhys. Cass and Amren. Feyre...and herself. All the rest were acquaintances. Friends of his friends. Or allies. Or subordinates. Or...lovers.
Unable to help herself, Mor folded her hands together behind her back stepping around the rack
This must be what Feyre feels like all the time. Mor thought, a spark of light flushing out some of the blue in her heart.
"Someone I know?" Mor asked lightly. Too lightly. But she knew better than to try and keep her intentions hidden for Az. Even for her it would be a fool's errand.
Fortunately, Azriel only smirked. Mor's knew that look too. The one he bore when he had no intention of cooperating.
"I...could use your help actually." He said.
Mor fought to keep her frown hidden. Not an answer.
Aside from the depths of his feelings or the few rare dalliances he had undertaken, Azriel told her everything. Every doubt, every worry. She knew things that Rhys (and even Cassian) didn't know. Although she was dying to press him for more information, she bit her tongue.
Aside from the storm of questions swirling in her head, Mor was at a loss of what to say. She had long ago vowed to keep her secret safe no matter what. She never imagined the day would come when she would tell him, never imagined what it would be like once the deed was done.
I suppose I should've given it some thought. She pondered, sardonically.
Is this why he didn't come last night? Was he...with someone? Mor was certain he was still avoiding her, unable to face her whether out of confusion or shame or anger she wasn't sure.
I still don't know what I'm feeling. She thought, dolefully.
"Right," She said, hoping she sounded cheerful. "What are you looking for?"
Azriel watched her carefully, weighing her reactions. Mor had always been discreet, that he could count on. Even if she was dying to ask him more questions, she wouldn't. Yet. She had known several of Az's lovers, but there were secrets that he kept even from her. And he wasn't yet ready to talk about the girl, he couldn't even explain to Mor who she was…
"Something warm." He said. "A coat maybe?"
Mor beamed, her target already in sight. "Lyra makes the best ones."
"I know," Azriel said distantly. Whatever memory he was lost in, Mor was certain it had to do with her. She had received many a present from him (Cassian almost always tagging in) from Lyra's.
Mor took hold of his hand, pulling him to the other end of the store. "What color?"
Azriel blinked, "I'm not sure."
"Every girl has their favorites." Mor said, dipping her line in the water once more.
"I suppose so," Azriel said, eyeing Mor patiently.
Mor just fixed him with an impish grin.
This is good. She told herself; unable to ignore her wariness. Even if he isn't biting...This is what I want. To be friends like before. Everything as it was before.
She realized now why she had been so scared to tell him the truth. The thought of losing him was too much too bear. And if she couldn't love him, what reason would he have to stay? She had met far too many men like that. Women too.
Azriel thought back. Even after several visits, he could only remember seeing her in one of two outfits. The linen tunic and the brown underdress.
"Something dark," He said, thinking of the soft contrast between her brown hair and moon-kissed complexion. "Blue maybe?"
Mor nodded, turning back to the racks.
"Oh well," She said, eyeing a pristine navy garment. "This is lovely."
She pulled it down, holding it at the shoulders so Azriel could see. True to his request, it was a dark blue; intoned with green like the deep waters of the Sidra under the dim light of a crescent moon. It was crafted of velvety fabric, soft and luxurious.
"It's...perfect," Azriel said, lifting one of the sleeves.
He looked up to find Mor watching him. A smile ghosted over his lips. She had always worn her emotions on her sleeve, and it was no different now. He could see confusion and concern.
"Thank you, Mor." He said, a new warmth in his voice. "I can always count on you...when I need you."
Mor relaxed her shoulders, realizing he must have seen. He always saw.
Always…
He turned his gaze back to the coat, inspecting it with care.
I...I have to know. Mor thought, fidgeting. She didn't want to intrude. But she didn't want him to get hurt either. Or hurt someone else. Was this just a rebound? A fling? If it was a fling, she couldn't imagine Azriel would bother with gifts. Or...could it be that he did have a...friend. One that none of them knew about.
"I-" Mor started, the questions poised on her lips. A voice deep down silenced her. She hadn't the right to ask. Not anymore. Things felt different because they needed to be different. If they were ever to move beyond this. Things would need to change. Perhaps Azriel had already realized that.
"You're welcome, Az." She said, her voice thick.
She stayed with him as he completed the purchase, chatting with Lyra about the Summer line she was currently developing. The coat was folded into a tan box and tied off with a black, silk ribbon.
They stepped out into the night together, easily folding into the crowds that still lined the streets. Mor looked to the sky, picking at her thumbnail with her index finger. They stopped when they reached the bridge leading to the west end of town.
Azriel nodded a silent goodnight to her, wings stretching wide. He was glad to have seen her without warning. This was foreign territory for both of them. The learning curve was high. and would take time. If he hadn't seen her now...he likely would've staved it off for much longer.
"Azriel," Mor called just before he rose into the air. He paused,
Mor shifted on her feet, her hands stuffed deep into the pockets of her sweater. I wonder...She thought, sadly. If this guilt will ever go away.
"We have another dinner in two days," She said, biting down on her lip. "You're...coming, aren't you?"
She restrained herself from pleading with him. If worse came to worse, she could always involve Cassian.
Azriel blanched. He opened his mouth, shadows circling around him, but he didn't have an answer for her.
"I-" He started. He thought of Cassian and Rhys. Of Feyre, the only one who knew. He wasn't ready to face them yet. He didn't even want to know whether or not she had told them. But as he looked down at Mor he knew. He knew he couldn't deny her, couldn't bear to see even an ounce of pain touch her beautiful features.
He inhaled deeply, steeling himself. His face became a mask of calm.
"Yes," He said, his voice low. He maintained eye contact with her, knowing she would be suspicious otherwise.
Mor loosed a breathy laugh. "Good. We...I missed you."
Azriel swallowed down a pang of sadness. Liar. He thought. You're lying and she's going to find out.
He felt sick. He turned his head to the sky, mapping a course in his mind.
"As did I." He said, but the words were hollow. He felt far away as he spoke them.
He turned skyward, shooting into the night like a star. Unable to say goodbye.
Mor watched him go, his silhouette and shadows a beacon of black against the violet night sky.
"One step at a time, Mor," She whispered to herself. "One step at a time."
Bryn hadn't meant to fall asleep by the fire. That was her second mistake. She had every intention of waking early and heading out into the mountains come morning. In order to do that however, she needed to finish patching the clothes Roman had left behind. Her brothers would be returning the following day and Bryn wanted to spend as much time with Azriel as possible. Which meant she had to finish up all her chores, to avoid arousing suspicion in Roman upon his return. Neglecting the sewing, that had been her first mistake.
Lorens was gone again, off visiting with Marion. He had offered to take her into town, but Bryn vehemently refused. As a child she had loved going, but the curse had changed everything. It was Isaac would had blabbed about what had happened. Word spread like wildfire and before the days end everyone knew what her father had done. How she had been...tainted. Punished and ostracized, she felt like a corpse on display whenever she entered the town. Men, women and children would stare and gawk at her. Some pointing and whispering while others cursed and spat disgusted by her presence. Only Marion and her family seemed to understand what had really happened. No doubt Lorens had explained, but a single friendly face wasn't worth the onslaught of glares and bluster. Lorens left her alone again, without much fuss aside from making her promise again to return and lecture her about the dangers of her "little game" as he called it. Bryn listened patiently, pretended to heed his word, but she took no stock in his fear.
So, after eating her fill at the kitchen table, she stoked up a roaring fire and settled down as the sun set with a needle and thread to begin her work. She had never minded the sewing, it was easier on her body to just sit and stitch. But it was also endlessly boring; a task she had mastered long ago and had no patience for now. Especially when she was working with her brothers clothes. It seemed as though every time she had finished there was new rip to repair. A new stain to work out. A new garment to create from scratch.
Unfortunately, there was more to do than she remembered. And although she worked quickly, soon she could see the sky beginning to warm. Night was coming to an end. And she still wasn't done. To make matters worse, she was tired. The trek into the mountains was no easy task and she had hurried through it for three days straight. As she stitched up a tear in one of Gareth's shirts, she felt her energy waning. Before she knew it, she had dropped the needle and thread into her lap, her head lolling back. Lost to sleep.
When her eyes fluttered open again, she knew she was in trouble. She was woken by a troubling sound, but she was too groggy to recognize it. At first. As her blurry vision cleared, she realized she was hearing voices. Male voices. One of them was sharp and whiny. The other hushed.
Isaac.
Sucking air into her lungs, her whole body jarred into clarity. But her muscles were stiff as stones and she could only manage small mechanical movements. Her mind whirred. They weren't supposed to be home until tomorrow. Had she miscounted the days? No she was certain - certain - they weren't due home until tomorrow. Lorens wouldn't have left otherwise.
Groggily, she looked up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
"Look who decided to wake up."
Isaac and Gareth stood over her, identical, noxious grins plastered on both their faces.
"Sleeping the day away, eh Bryn?" Isaac sneered, "Tsk, tsk,"
Bryn's mouth fell open. Her third mistake.
Her eyes caught site of what they held between them only a second before they lifted it in the air and dumped the contents over her head. It was the ash pale, full to the brim.
Ash flowed into her mouth and nose, coating her tongue. Slamming her eyes shut, she clamored to her feet desperate to breath but not daring to. She could hear faintly her brothers laughing, but the alarm bells in her head were too loud. She held her hands out, blindly feeling for the door that led outside. Her throat constricted and she fell to her knees unable to stop from retching. Bracing herself against the grassy floor, her entire body convulsed violently trying to dispel the intruding ash from her system.
She rubbed at her eyes, clearing them of ash. Even though she had managed to shut them in time, they still stung. Bleary-eyed, she looked down. Her dress, her apron, her arms and hands, everything was covered in a layer of black soot.
Fucking bastards. She cursed, clutching at her stomach as she heaved again. Her throat felt hot and raw. She needed water. She rose shakily to her feet, her head spinning wildly, and turned towards the rain barrel by the door. Isaac leaned against it, blocking her path. His arms were crossed and there was a worrying spark in his eyes.
He's baiting me. Bryn thought, wiping wildly at her mouth, dark eyes blazing. It took every ounce of energy left to restrain herself from attacking him.
"What's going on here?"
Both brother and sister turned to see Roman standing in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame. He could barely fit under the high threshold. Though his stance remained casual, both Bryn and Isaac could sense the annoyance in his voice.
Bryn swallowed, cringing as the walls of her throat scratched against each other like sandpaper. She fought to contain another cough. She looked to Isaac. He was smiling, but he didn't move or speak. His green eyes narrowed on her, a silent challenge.
There was little Bryn could do to explain and even if she could...she had been caught sleeping. Roman would not be pleased. Running her hands over her apron, Bryn turned her gaze back to Roman. He was watching her carefully.
Pursing her lips, Bryn simply shrugged tossing her hair over her shoulder. A wave of soot, like a cloud of insects fell away from her tangled hair. The fire inside her ebbed, tickling her ribs angrily. She swallowed again, the pain a vital reminder. She needed to pick her battles carefully. And this was one she was sure to lose.
Her heart hammered relentlessly in her chest as she waited for Roman to speak. He took his time, looking between them, his eyes assessing. Bryn repressed a growl. Roman wasn't stupid, he had likely already put together what had happened. He was testing her, hoping she would crack and dig herself a deeper hole.
"You've made quite a mess in there." He said finally, chastising her as if she were a child. Bryn's nostrils flared and she bit down on her lip, dodging his eye. "Get it cleaned up before dinner."
Bryn's shoulders sagged and she dropped her head down in a show of regret she did not feel. Isaac snickered, igniting the heat in her belly all over again. She glared at him openly, her hands turning to fists at her sides.
Bastard, bastard, bastard. She thought.
"Isaac," Roman snapped impatiently. "Enough. We've got work to do."
Isaac straightened, following behind Roman like an eager pup. "Yes, brother."
Bryn watched them go, allowing the steel to breach her eyes. Gareth was waiting for them by the stables, tending to Belka. The cart was piled high with the game they had collected.
Is...is that why they are home early? Too many dead animals to carry?
Bryn loosed a groan. She had been far too careless. Too stupid to think that they would be true to their word. She wiped at her face, shivering as the ash coated her hand. She must have looked a mess. Stalking over to the barrel she gripped it with both hands and dunked her head inside. Opening her mouth she sucked in a stream of cold water, swishing it around before pulling her head back out and spitting. She repeated the action again, pulling her hair back and wringing it out. Somewhat alleviated she slipped into the house to clean up the ash that now covered the ground.
It took her close to an hour of scrubbing and washing to get the job done, her focus stunted by the touch and smell of the ash. Her eyes were tearing, blurring her vision. She had to pause several times, her stomach sent to churning by the itch in her throat that stirred up wave after wave of nausea. She could still taste the ash on her tongue and was sure some of it had made it's way down her throat and into her lungs. She paused, gagging at the thought, squeezing the knitted cloth in her hand tightly as she waited for the queasiness to pass. She rose up and headed for the sink, certain she was going to vomit again.
As she waited for the feeling to pass, she looked out the window. She could see Isaac and Gareth were still unloading the cart, distributing the spoils as Roman directed them.
Fortunately for her, Roman was so committed to the sport of the game he always saw fit to carry it through to the bitter end. Bryn would not have to skin the creatures or prepare them for dinner and storage. It was a bloody, nasty job and Bryn had no desire to ever take part in it.
And with that many carcuses… Bryn thought, spitting into the sink. Even with Isaac and Gareth's help they won't be done until sunset.
It would take hours - hours - for them to finishing the skinning alone. Roman always took such pride in it. He wouldn't rush the process. In fact, he was probably teaching Gareth how to do it himself since it was his first hunt.
You should go. Go now. She thought, turning to look at the fireplace. It was clean, probably more so than it had been in months. And aside from two remaining garments, her work was done.
It's too dangerous. Another voice said. They may be distracted but if you're not back in time…
Bryn moved away from the window slowly, as if pulled by an invisible thread. Her heart was hammering in her chest.
You told Azriel you would be there today. You promised. Lorens is still in town. They won't know, they won't care…Even if you're late he'd have to cover for you. Or else he'd be in trouble too.
Bryn didn't allow Loren's warnings to sink in. The thought of staying, of going another day without seeing Azriel, was too terrible.
I can't...I just can't stay here another minute.
Her mind made up, she dropped the rag into the sink and hurried up the stairs to the attic. Shedding her soot-soaked clothes, she reached under the bed and pulled out an old trunk. After struggling with the latch, he hands trembling fiercely, she pulled it open; letting loose a stream of dust. Waving it away, she rifled through the trunk.
It had belonged to her mother. She found it years ago, after her father's death. He had kept it hidden for years. Luckily Bryn had retrieved it before Roman had seen, knowing that he probably would've had the contents sold.
There. She pulled an cream colored frock from the bottom. She had only tried it on once before, too frightened to wear it out at the thought of Roman questioning her. The skirt was crafted of thick muslin and fell full to her ankles. The bodice was tied off at the front by a length of shiny blue ribbon and the sleeves tied off with the same ribbon cinching just above her elbows. She slid it over her head, pleased to find it still fit her like a dream. She did up the tie, weaving the ribbon through the holes, trying to ignore the trembling in her hands. Satisfied, and knowing that she couldn't delay a moment longer lest she lose her nerve, she silently descended the steps and slipped out the front door.
Bryn didn't look back, didn't dare open herself to the protests in the back of her mind. She just ran, disappearing into the forest and across the remnants of the wall.
Thank you as always! I can't say it enough. Until next time. :0)