I can't believe I forgot to do this last time around but I owe a lot to the friends I have made writing fanfiction and this story in particular would not have been written if not for Addy, who I pestered and pestered with story ideas for days on end while reading ACOWAR (and believe me the pestering isn't going to stop anytime soon). I'm so fortunate to have such wonderful people on my side encouraging me. This story is for you Addy! :0)
Chapter 1
Even though the wall had been destroyed, few humans and even fewer fae chose to venture across the open borders; not with the wounds of war still fresh in the minds of all who had witnessed it. The wall had been standing for so long, even now in its absence, those living closest to it could still feels it's presence. And while some fae were struck with mild but ultimately fleeting curiosity, most simply didn't care enough to make the journey. Many humans had, but few attempted to complete it by crossing into Prythian. Stories circulated by the Children of the Blessed and rumors that had accumulated power from years of whispering still hung over many a human encampment.
Bryn however had never taken much stock in the stories. Magic, both miraculous and terrible, had been sewn through her veins. And thought she hated it, she had no choice but to live with it. Survive it. Time had strengthened her resolve and she was no more frightened of it's power than she was of the mice that roamed through her family's farm.
So she strayed across the border; fearless and perhaps foolishly. But she couldn't stay away after seeing what the fae lands had to offer. Bluebells and Phlox of all colors painted the hills in wispy patches. Ancient trees towered above her. The scents and smells were more potent than anything in her homeland. She had visited the lands whenever she was able to and in the year that the wall had been down, she had yet to see a single soul...until yesterday.
As she busied herself with the morning's chores, Bryn tried to reconstruct the memory of the man...or fae from the clearing. She had watched him through the trees mesmerized by the shadows that flowed around him like tendrils of smoke. So much so that she hadn't even noticed the wings on first glance. A shiver wracked up and down her spine at the thought of them as a clear image raced through her mind. Those wings, like a bat's - a creature that roamed at night and silently hunted weaker beings with deadly accuracy - a stark contrast to the soft sun and pastel flowers that surrounded them then. Dangerous, that was what the fae were. And dangerous was what he seemed with those...things protruding from his back. From birth she had been told stories about the fae. A race of monsters, thirsty for human flesh in more ways than one.
But when he turned to her and she was met with his face...a different sort of shiver echoed inside her. His eyes were not that of killers: soft hazel orbs that gleamed like precious metals. And with hair black as night and tanned olive skin...he was handsome. So handsome that she wondered if she had simply dreamed him up.
Bryn plunged her hands back into the soapy water, scrubbing stains away from her sopping apron. She had been so quick to run, terrified that being caught would mean...well, she wasn't sure what it would mean. In her twenty-seven years, she had learned to wear instinct on her sleeve and knew better than to ignore them. Most of the time. He could've attacker her. Eaten her. Or stolen her away. Butterflies multiplied in her stomach at the sound of his voice floated through her mind. She had only heard the one word, but it was low and thick like honey. A balm against the fear her gut had dreamed up to protect her. Eyes slipping shut, Bryn tried to solidify the pieced-together memory, but it was already fading. Brow furrowing she wondered why she was so hesitant to accept her apprehension. Something deep down inside her was protesting.
You're just a fool, She thought. Glamoured by a pretty face. Fae or no fae he's still…
A shadow spread over her heart binding it up until it felt so heavy she thought it would drop into her stomach.
...still a man. She finished bitterly.
Blinking, she turned her eyes to the mountains to the place she knew the clearing to be. She pictured his face...those eyes a perfect match to the soft, lilting sound of his voice. And the weight in her chest lightened.
She stood, her mind made up. No matter the danger, she had to see him again.
What am I doing?
The question hung heavy in the chilled mountain air, but no answer came. Shaking his head, Azriel shifted his eyes to the sky. It was well past noon. He had landed in the clearing just after dawn, hoping to see her again and apologize for frightening her. He had spent the night arguing with himself, wondering if it was even worth the trip. In the end, he chose to go not out of guilt but something else. Something worse.
He knew what staying in Velaris that day would mean. Rhysand had scheduled another family dinner and...Mor would be there. Everyone would be there. Shame rattled his bones at the thought. He wasn't ready to face her. To face any of them yet. He was certain she wouldn't tell anyone else in deference to him, to give him time. But even the chance of meeting Feyre's eye; the eye of someone else who knew...he couldn't take it. The pity or empathy or whatever it would be. He had enough of that. Enough to last a lifetime.
So he left. Held tight to his flimsy excuse and fled the city; knowing all too well that if he stayed and missed the dinner Cassian would come hunting for him and drag him there if need be. He spent the morning listening to the sounds of the wilderness, drawing in new shadows and crafting an excuse that would best satisfy his High Lord and Lady upon his return. But after several hours, not a single living soul crept into the clearing. Or even near it.
He was about to slip into a prolonged meditation when he caught hold of her scent on a wayward breeze. Rising to his feet, he turned west and spun shadows around himself. Strangely, nerves began to flutter in his stomach and he realized he wasn't sure what to say to her. Or what to do when he saw her again. Nevertheless he walked on, weaving between trees, until his path was blocked by a winding forest stream. Clear water, filled with moss covered stones and small schools of tadpoles, rushed down the hillside. He followed its course until it spilled over a small waterfall no taller than Amren. Silently, he stepped to the edge and peered down. Sun light breached the canopy in warm amber shafts and small tufts of spring pollen and dirt floated serenely through the air. Water from the falls pooled in a small shallow pond before continuing their journey down into Southern Spring territory. And kneeling just below it was the girl. She braced one hand on a rock that jutted out from the surface, head bowed letting water drench her hair. Her free hand was pulling at tangles and shaking dirt away.
Unlike his brothers, Azriel had never felt the need to charm women upon meeting them. In their younger years, Rhys had relished in teasing women with carefully spun innuendos. Cassian on the other hand, aside from the occasional caustic word, chose to woo in a manner that was purely physical. A burning glance here, a carefully timed flex of his muscles there...Azriel never resorted to either tactic.
So he simply said, "Hello."
She did gasp this time, flinging her hair back which sent a flurry of water into the air; each nebulous drop catching the light like sparking embers. Stumbling back she looked up, dark eyes searching for him. Breathless she kept a tight grip on her dripping hair and broadened the distance between them with three tentative steps. Even from above, he could sense her speeding pulse. Feeling guilty, thinking she would run again, he stepped forward.
"I-"
With his eyes trained on her and all his focus dedicated to containing his shadows, he didn't register how slick the rocks were. His foot slid forward and he tumbled straight down into the pond with a definite splash. Shadow and soil splayed around him as water soaked through his clothes, but he barely felt the tender chill. Sputtering he shifted to his knees, the water only just reaching his mid-thigh, and lifted a hand to brush the hair from his eye.
A sound from the shoreline captured his attention once more. The girl had breathed a wispy laugh, the sound of it snaking through him like one of his shadows. When he met her gaze, her brown eyes went wide and she slipped a hand over her mouth, but he had seen what she was trying to hide away: the beginnings of a smile bright enough to steal rays from the sun. It still shone in her eyes, sparkling mischievously like the sun tipped water droplets that still fell from her hair. And now his…
Stricken with a mixture of embarrassment (and another emotion he couldn't identify), Azriel didn't have time to scramble up before she gingerly stepped to the edge and offered him her hand. Her expression turned into one of a silent apology, but she couldn't quite shake the amused grin from her face as she bit down on her lip. The heat that was bubbling in his chest ebbed. He thought of Cassian and Rhys, hell even Mor and what they would do if they saw him now and it stirred a smile deep down inside him.
He moved slowly so as not to frighten her and gently took her hand. She grasped his hand tightly and he adjusted so as to use his own strength to lessen her strain. Once straightened, they stepped back to the shore, feet sinking slightly into the flooded rocky ground.
Her hand was unexpectedly calloused, her grip firmer than Azriel would have thought possible given her slight, almost sickly human form. Azriel had little experience with human females, having only recently spent his days watching the movements of the seven queens. Her skin was somewhat tanned, but still light against his own. When he ventured a glance at her, he saw that she too was gazing at his hand. At the ripples of old wounds. A familiar unease swirled in his stomach, one that he had never been able to shake in the years since his brothers cruel game.
"My name is Azriel," He said, with a short bow of his head. Hoping the introduction would divert her attention.
Her eyes flitted away from his hand and she cocked her head to one side considering his name. He waited patiently for her to offer her own in response. Her hair was dripping wet and smelled of soil after rainfall. It stained the fabric of the olive tunic she wore. It was torn and mussed in several places, revealing a deep brown cotton slip underneath a near match to the carob tones of her hair.
"I-" Azriel started. Not wanting to frighten her again, he continued to keep his shadows contained. But he could feel their pull within him, their curiosity. Instinct pleaded with him to let them loose and explore. He needed to know her name, everything about her. If only for his own piece of mind.
"Can I ask...what is yours?" He tried, gently.
A flash of sadness crossed her eyes, but like a bolt of lightening it was gone so swiftly that Azriel questioned whether or not he had seen it at all. She slid her hand from his and lifted it to her throat. Deftly touching her fingers just above her collarbone, she shook her head from side to side. Azriel's hazel eyes narrowed in understanding.
She couldn't speak.
It would explain the tang of magic that surrounded her. A curse perhaps…
"I'm sorry," He said.
She simply shrugged, the easy smile returning to her lips.
"Could...you write it down?" He asked.
She shook her head and brought her palms together flat. She spread them open and shut, mimicking the action of a book as her head continued to bob.
So she can't read or write. He thought. It shouldn't have surprised him, Mor herself had explained that upon her arrival to the Night Court Feyre couldn't either and many of the Illyrian females he had known were never given the opportunity to learn.
She stepped around him and knelt down before the pond, wringing water out of her hair. Azriel turned and watched her carefully, his mind whirling. How could young human such as this one run a fowl of a witch? He had heard tell of curses over the centuries, both horrific and petty. Vassa, the lost queen, had been betrayed. Others had simply wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time. Perhaps that had been her fate.
"Has it been long?" He asked. The question implied.
He saw her stiffen. She rose up at turned to him. Though her face remained still, his abilities allowed him to see just beyond the freckle-laden veil. The cogs in her mind were working, most likely to figure out how he had so quickly recognized her magic-tinged circumstances. She only held up her hands. Seven fingers. Seven years. Not long then. At least, not to Azriel. He was tempted to ask her what happened, but realized it would likely be too difficult to explain. As his eyes drifted to hers again, he realized that she was scrutinizing him as well.
A low, predatory growl interrupted their silent observations. The pair looked up to where Azriel had only just been standing. The wolf from the day before looked down on them, crouched and ready to pounce. It's amber eyes were focused squarely on Azriel, it's lips curled back revealing a ravenous set of thorn-sharp teeth.
The girl reached out, tugging at Azriel's clothes and stepped in front of him.
The creature leapt easily from the small ridge and landed at her feet, circling around and backing up, forcing the girl to step back as well and once more widen the distance between them. Azriel, having battled with and against beasts of a much more demonic nature, was undeterred. The girl dropped to her knees and ran her hand over the wolf's head, trying to calm it.
"He's a friend?" Azriel said, his voice low.
The wolf responded with the searing snarl. Azriel stretched his damp wings in response, hazel eyes alight. It was...almost endearing to see a creature so obviously out of it depth attempt to intimidate him.
She nodded, catching her hand under the wolf's chin and fixed it with a stern look. Azriel blanched, a smile itching at the corners of his mouth. The creature whined and huffed at her, but wriggled away and ceased its fierce show. The girl straightened from her crouched and offered him an apologetic look.
Her eyes shifted however and turned dark. The small, easy smile disappeared. Her brows knitted together. Azriel looked down following her gaze and realized that slivered wisps of shadows were leaking from him, shrouding his wings and sliding up his back, over his shoulder.
He let out a small curse under his breath at such a sorry display of carelessness. But he saw no point in retracting them now.
"They're only shadows," He said, lifting one scarred hand. She watched with a keen and curious eye as the shadows curled up his arm and languidly wove through his fingers. Azriel in turn watched her carefully as he willed the shadows towards her.
She cocked her head to the side and lifted her own hand to meet its path. A visible shiver wracked through her as the shadow touched her index finger, but she didn't pull away. Turning her palm up, the tips of her fingers curled just slightly and a strange but familiar warmth stirred in Azriel's chest at the sparks in her eyes.
He willed the shadows further, allowing them to brush across her palm and circle around her wrist. They travelled slowly up her arm, Azriel's sixth sense stirring at the fragile touch. He could sense her heartbeat as easily as his own now. He could feel now that she was undernourished, but no more so than the other humans he had come across during the wars. Still, there was strength in her...the calloused hands, the lean muscles and dirt-ridden clothes. No doubt she spent her days working. Azriel's thoughts strayed to a far off place, one he rarely allowed himself to see and a vision of his mother passed through his mind. The shadows turned as black as ink and expanded in size. They tendril of shadow slunk up her arm and over her shoulder, making to wrap around her back. A small cry slipped through her lips and she recoiled, pulling Azriel from his dark reverie. He called the shadows back immediately.
"I-I'm sorry," He said.
He could tell he had frightened her again. But she inhaled and then reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. He met her gaze and she turned up her shoulders as if to say it's okay.
The wolf yipped, pushing at her free hand with its massive head. She looked down at it and then up to the sky, worry covering over her face. Azriel following her gaze and realized that the sun had sunk lower in the sky. On the horizon, a pink-orange glow had painted the far off clouds. Sunset was fast approaching and not long after that a moonless night would usher in a blanket of darkness.
"You need to go." He said aloud, understanding.
She turned to him and nodded sullenly.
But she doesn't want to. He thought, unsure of what to do with such information. She didn't know him. He hardly knew her. And yet...he wanted to. Azriel tried to remember a time he had longed to know a person apart from the war and machinations of the bickering courts. It had been Cassian and Rhys. Feyre and...and Mor. Centuries of longing, spurred by denial, simmered in his stomach. He didn't want this. To go through it all again. He would be better off alone, with a family of friends and an occasional lover. Something to satisfy the endless onslaught of lonely nights in an empty house. But...no, not this girl. He wouldn't bring a human into such a tenuous and shallow affair. It wouldn't be right to waste even a day of the short life she was cursed to live.
And yet...
"Will you..." He started, but lost track of the words when her eyes met his. "Are you coming again? Tomorrow?"
A flash of doubt crossed her face and her brows knit together again. But she shook it off and smiled, nodding eagerly. Her hand still clutched at his and Azriel knew then that even after surviving Mor's truth...he was still weak. Still held hostage by the engrossing whims of his heart.
And so, even as the stronger parts of him protested wildly, he said: "I will be here."
The girl blinked, taken aback by the serious tone in his voice. Yet somehow her smile grew and she bowed her head in a show of youthful grace. Reluctantly, she slid her hand from his again and stepped away never once breaking eye contact. Azriel watched as she disappeared into the forest; the shadows around him stretching towards her as if wanting to follow.
"I'm worried about him." Mor said, running one sun-kissed finger along the rim of her glass.
Feyre cast her friend a comforting smile. She was expecting this after watching Mor emphatically ask the waitress to slip something heavier into her order of juice. She and Mor sat outside of Rita's enjoying the cool morning breeze that flew in from the sea, carving a gentle path up the Sidra. Breakfasts had become a tradition for the two of them. At least once a fortnight, the ladies of the inner circle would gather while the Illyrians spent the morning in training (at Cassian's insistence). While Amren was usually keen to join them, still reveling in the varied tastes and textures of fae food, on this day she had flitted off to the Summer Court to 'visit' with Varian. They didn't expect to see her again for several days.
"I know," Feyre said, needing no context to explain her friend's sudden admission. "We all are."
They had seen less and less of Azriel in the past weeks. Feyre, knowing her mate had a pension for keeping dangerous missions a secret, had demanded to know if Rhys had sent his spymaster to work. But the High Lord was as baffled as the rest of them. Cassian had gone to visit his home nestled in the highlands of Velaris hoping to find answers, but the Shadowsinger either wasn't there or didn't deign to come out. Both possibilities had left Cassian stewing; his frustration a dismal mask for the concern he obviously felt. Only Feyre knew enough to guess what had happened and she had winnowed to Mor's side upon the very second of realization.
"Do you think…" Mor started, staring down at her untouched plate, arms crossed over her chest. "That Cassian and Rhys suspect?"
Feyre snoted. "Cassian can't admit his feelings for Nesta...even after everything's that happened."
Mor rolled her eyes and huffed, but nodded in agreement. Cassian saw Azriel as a brother first and a soldier second. Any conclusion he would draw would likely bend towards that of their duties to the realm.
"And Rhys?"
Feyre bit down on her lip and Mor loosed a groan before reaching for her drink. "He does, doesn't he?!"
"No!" Feyre sat up straight and shook her head. "Not really...I mean, he does sense that something's changed between you two but he can't fathom what or why. And he would never try to get in the middle of it."
After several swallows of gin laced juice in which she considered Feyre's words, Mor finally reached for her fork, relieving her friend.
"Good." She shovelled several bites into her mouth, swallowing hard. "I will tell him, Feyre. Him and- well, everyone else."
Feyre smiled gently,"I know you will."
"But...now that Az knows-" Mor started her bottom lip trembling. "After I-"
"He just needs time," Feyre said, leaning forward and reaching for Mor's hand. "You know how he gets better than any of us. When he's ready, we'll see him again."
Mor considered this, nodded and returned to her meal.
As days passed, their meetings became more frequent. Bryn woke before the rising sun, speeding through her morning chores so as not to arouse suspicion in her brothers. Once the work was done, she would disappear into the woods and hurriedly make the trek into fae lands. The journey would take her close to an hour, but it was well worth it. As she traversed the last hill leading to the clearing, she felt a flurry of butterflies let loose in her stomach. She couldn't help but wonder, each and every time, if Azriel would truly be there.
Sure enough, he sat in the center, arms resting on bent knees. Eyes closed as a breeze ruffled his dark air. Bryn wrapped her arms around the tree at her side, leaning against it and gripping it tightly. It wasn't fair how beautiful he was; how...otherworldly he seemed against the gentle pastels of the wildflowers that still dotted the clearing. Even now, this being their seventh or eighth meeting, she was still entirely undone at the sight of him. Waiting for her. She flushed, recalling a night's worth of dreams that were anything but innocent. They all began in the same way. With him, sitting just as he was now. And he would turn to her and she would see him smile...Her stomach turned over at the thought of it and she loosed a wistful sigh.
His eyes fluttered open, setting her heart alight. But he didn't smile, she could see it in his eyes. The softness, the relief at the sight of her. The rest of his face was carved stone and angular bone. It didn't bother her though.
Someday. She had promised herself. I'll see his smile. If he doesn't up and disappear on me.
She waved her hand as she stepped out of the trees, hopping over an overgrown clump of weeds. He lifted one of his and jerked it to the side before letting it drop back to his knee. Bryn stilled for a second.
He looks...tired. She thought, brow furrowing.
She dropped down next to him, curling her knees under and bracing herself with one hand. A beat later, her white-furred friend, appeared from the shadows. As if he had been waiting for her. He slumped down next to her, resting his head against her bare foot. She pressed her palm to his head for a quick pat, a silent thank you for his self-imposed chaperoning. The wolf only blinked lazily in response.
Over the long and lazy afternoon hours, they had come to find an effective (if at times a little clumsy) means of communication. To Bryn's surprise and utter joy she found that, unlike anyone she had known, he was careful to watch her every move as she struggled to craft a response to his questions. He would always think before speaking, trying to find a phrasing so that she could easily respond with a simple 'yes' or 'no' but as their conversations deepened, they were beginning to find it harder and harder to continue. Thank in part to his seemingly endless patience and her exuberance for finally being heard, she had managed to convey to him that she lived with her family on a farm just south of the wall, that they grew several kinds of fruit trees and cared for a small bundle of animals. Now if only she could find a way to tell him her name.
A stronger gust of wind flew through the clearing, ushering in a bank of deep grey clouds. Bryn lazily wrapped one arm around herself, trying to stave off a shiver at the sudden dip in temperature. When she looked up again she saw that Azriel was watching her carefully, a look of disapproval simmering in his hazel eyes.
Flushing, Bryn shook off the chill in her bones and touched two fingers to her lips and then flung them out.
Tell me…
Lifting her shoulders squarely, she bent her arms at her elbows and set her hands flat with her palms facing upwards. She pointed to his wings and then to the sky.
What is it like to fly?
Azriel smirked. It wasn't the smile Bryn was desperate to see, but her blood went hot at the sight of it and the cold was all but forgotten. All the air in her lungs left her in one whispered whoosh.
"Flying?" He said, cocking his head back and looking to the sky himself. She nodded eagerly, like a child waiting to hear their favorite fairytale told again.
"It's like nothing else. Most Illyrians learn when they children. I...didn't learn until I was much older. And it wasn't till then that I truly understood what it means to be free."
Bryn listened thoughtfully, tugging free an aster blossom and rolling it between her fingers. She slid down on her back and rolled to her side; hitching her free hand under her head to elevate it. Dropping the flower, the reached for him to catch his attention and ask another question.
Azriel had faced danger and even death, but never before had he felt more grateful for the abilities he had gained in the wake of his hellish childhood. Every move she made, no matter how small, he was able to identify and he could see clearly how happy it made her. To be heard even under the spell of enforced silence.
She scrunched her to feign a look of terror.
"Was it frightening?" He said, giving voice to her words. Bryn nodded.
"At first," He said. "Yes, very much so."
He told her in detail his first time in the air, the subsequent fall that had left him with fractured bones and the weeks it took for him to master the ability. As his story came to a close, his throat began to itch. Azriel tried to remember a time he had talked for so long.
"I could take you sometime," He offered.
Bryn sat up quickly, eyes wide. Out of fear or surprise Azriel couldn't tell.
"Slowly of course." He clarified.
Bryn swallowed, her mind whirring at the thought of being lifted into the sky. To see the world from so high up, to see all she had never been able to see outside of her family's farm and the trails she had carved out of her own restlessness. But...to be that high up and clinging to Azriel. He would need to hold her tightly of course. The image was so clear in her mind, so vibrant, she could almost feel his arms around her. Perhaps in one of her dreams...
Azriel breathed another laugh. She had brought a bevy of loose flowers and leaves up in her hair. Without thinking he reached out and pulled loose the fallen aster, his fingers sliding through the curled lock with an aching slowness.
Bryn stood as still as a statue, hardly breathing. He was close, so much closer than before. She could smell citrus and smoke on him; she wanted to drink it in like wine.
The cloud bank passed them by, itself a sluggish mass. In it's wake, the warmth of the sun poured over them. The grass was tinted in rose hues now, the white flowers taking on a new color in the musky orange rays of sun.
Orange...Bryn thought, something in the back of her mind stirring.
A warning.
Oh no.
Bryn leapt to her feet and turned around. The sun was setting. Half of it already having disappeared beyond the mountain above them.
Has it already been that long?!
She spun back to face Azriel, racking her brain for some way to explain. But there was no time. If she hurried. If she ran now...she could make it back in time.
Azriel remained seated, but concern was set in his eyes. "Did I-"
Bryn, shaking her head, knelt down and touched her hands to his lips to shut him up. She mouthed the words I'm sorry.
Hoping it was enough, she she darted across the clearing a vanished into shadows.
Azriel clamored to his feet, nonplussed. Lips burning in the wake of her touch, he looked to the wolf that had been sitting by her side. It too was watching the place where she had just been. A grim understanding set in it's wild eyes.
Wanting to follow her, Azriel stepped forward. But the wolf, stirred to action, blocked his path.
And once again, Azriel was reminded of Mor. Of the years he had spent following her around. Dark anger bit at his heart and his feet turned to stone.
She will come back tomorrow. He told himself.
Then he would ask her what had happened, if it was something he did.
Relenting, he nodded to the wolf. Spreading his wings wide, he shot into the air and headed North.
Bryn ran home, so fast she thought for a moment she could fly. Her lungs grew hot as she mined them for air, but she wouldn't stop. She couldn't stop.
Craning her neck back, she let out a cry. The sun was gone, the sliver that had remained in the clearing having slipped behind the mountain. The day was done and night was here.
I'm late. She thought, panting. So late.
Herbs fell from the basket she clutched but she didn't stop to retrieve them. It didn't matter now. As she descended she could see small dots of light flickering in the valley below, strings of curses echoing in her mind. Dodging trees, she barrelled out from the forest, nearly losing her footing and rolling down the hillside.
She could see the farmhouse clearly now. Her grandparents had built the house decades ago. They were the only humans daring to settle so close to the wall. Others had called them crazy, but the land was fertile and the animals they raised kept the family from poverty. Her parents had taken the reins, cultivating small groves of fruit trees. The house itself was crafted of brick and stone. With two stories and several windows, it looked positively quaint to the undiscerning eye.
But Bryn felt no warmth when she looked upon the house. And now that she was late...
Maybe...maybe they're not home. Her brothers had gone into town that afternoon and sometimes, if she was lucky they didn't make the trek home until well after dark.
Her heart sank at the sight of smoke rising from the chimney. Swallowing, she slowed to a stop and caught her breath.
It's been so long since I...Bryn couldn't bare to finish the thought. Maybe just this once I'll get a second chance.
Something akin to a laugh threatened to spill out of her. An empty, bitter one. Closing her eyes, she steeled herself and, gripping the basket tightly in one shaking hand, she jumped the fence that marked her family's border.
With small footsteps, she approached the front door; her eyes trained on the smoke that billowed into the night sky. She watched the puffy black tendrils, wishing that somehow she could become them and float away into the night.
Stepping up to the porch, she cringed as the aging wood buckled under her weight. No doubt one of her brothers had heard it. But if she were lucky...She pushed the door open and stepped inside. The warmth from the fire could not reach her, but for a moment all was quiet and she dared to think that perhaps she could slip upstairs unseen. She moved towards the steps that led to her room in the attic.
"There you are."
A hand caught her shoulder and spun her around. Her back hit the door and she was faced with Isaac and Gareth, the youngest of the four; leering at her like cats on the prowl. They were dark haired like she was, but both of them were green eyed like their father. They wore their hair trimmed at the sides at their eldest brother's request, the pair of them following him around like trained mutts eager for his approval now that their father was long dead.
Isaac, the older and taller of the two, all sinew and sneers, spoke first. "You're late."
Bryn flinched at the delight in his voice, but kept her face as still and as hard as a statue.
"Roman isn't happy," Gareth said, flashing his teeth and parroting his elder brothers mocking tone.
Unable to speak to her case, Bryn could do nothing as each grabbed one of her forearms and dragged her into the kitchen. The basket of plants, her only play at an excuse dropped from her hand and spilled over the floor, already forgotten.
A fire crackled in the large hearth that sat across the room. Before it sat a large table built by their grandfather. And at it's head was her eldest brother, Roman. He didn't look up upon their entrance. His eyes were trained on a gold pocket watch that had once belonged to their father. The only trinket of worth left after his death.
"Bryn," He said coolly, almost gently. "Do you know what time it is?"
Bryn bit down on her lip, her whole body quaking. She managed a small shake of her head.
"Half past eight," He said, snapping the watch shut and finally looking at her. Bryn shifted her gaze, unable to meet his. He too had their father's eyes, green as emeralds but dark and distant.
"Lorens is tending to the animals," He continued. "Since you weren't here."
Bryn stepped back, but Isaac and Gareth held fast; their nails threatening to pierce her skin. Not good. This was not good. She bowed her head in a show of regret. Her heart had burrowed up in her throat, choking the air from her.
"There's no excusing it," Roman said. Bracing his large hands on the table he rose. He was taller than the rest of them and sported a muscled frame after years of brush hunting and boxing with the men in town. Before his siblings had grown he had spent most of his days tending to the crops but once their father had died and Roman and inherited it all, he delegated any and all work to his siblings. Most of his time was spent at the bar or in the southern woods.
Bryn kept her eyes trained on the floor.
"What should we do about such blatant tardiness?" Roman asked. Lips pursed, Bryn could only manage short, swift breaths. She knew that any action or protest on her part would only make things worse. She felt a hand snake through her hair and grip tightly pulling her up. She gasped as a stinging pain radiated in her skull.
"I told you Roman, not to let her out for so long," Isaac sneered. Bryn could smell his beer-stained breath by her ear but she only turned her head away.
"She can't be trusted," Gareth added eagerly, his grip on her arm tightening. "You extended her a kindness and she took advantage."
Bryn shook her head furiously. Her eyes were pleading. No. She thought, searing the sentiment through her eyes. It's not true. It was an accident.
"Perhaps you're right," Roman met her gaze coldly before looking down and casually picking at his thumbnail. Bryn felt the color drain from her face.
"Five lashes." He said finally. Bryn felt the wind knocked out of her, not from trepidation but relief. Five. She could handle five. As long as Isaac wasn't the one to-
"Each." He finished. "Lorens should be back shortly."
Bryn's knees buckled and she mouthed the word no in earnest over and over again. Isaac stepped towards the door that led out back, pulling her behind him. Bryn fought but Gareth still kept hold of her arm, pushing her along. She was still weakened from her run and unable to wriggle away.
"And Bryn?" Roman called. Both brothers ceased their excitable chattering immediately stopping just before the threshold.
"When you're not busy with chores," Roman drawled, stretching his arms out in front of him; readying himself. "You are to be confined to the attic. For a fortnight."
Bryn loosed a petrified wail, but it fell on deaf ears. Unable to pull away, she was forced out the door and into the black. Roman followed behind, clutching a birch cane in one brawny hand.
Thank you all for reading! At the risk of sounding cloying, I would very much appreciate a review. Until next time!