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Chapter 4
Where is he?
Bryn swallowed again, cringing at the lingering scratchiness in her throat. The bitter taste of ash still coated her tongue and she wondered fleetingly if she would ever be rid of it. She stuck her tongue out, failing to suppress her gag reflex.
The wolf, amber eyes glistening like melted gold, lifted its head to look at her. He had been there when she arrived, lazing in the sun. Reluctantly, Bryn met its gaze and was made breathless by the fire there. It wasn't often that she saw that look. The one that shook her bones. It was like he could see everything she was and had been and would be.
He's an animal. She told herself. He couldn't possibly...
Though her heart fluttered, she leaned back, bracing one hand in the dirt and tossing the other haphazardly in the air in a lackluster attempt to look casual.
What?
The wolf's expression didn't change. It just stared at her with those sharp eyes. Bryn tilted her chin up, tossing her hair over her shoulder and looked to the sky.
He's coming. She thought. I know he is.
The wolf snorted, as if reading her mind. Bryn shot him a glare. I am early after all.
She gathered a handful of her skirt, kneading the thick cotton between her fingers. Her worried gaze turned soft. It stilled smelled like her mother, soft and clean. At least, Bryn liked to think it did. She had no memory, no idea of who her mother had been. What she had been like. Her father and brothers refused to tell Bryn, placing the blame of her mother's death on her shoulders. You don't deserve to know her, Roman had once said. She could still feel the remnants of the blow like an old wound.
Because he's right. Bryn thought, releasing the folds of fabric as a familiar hollowness overtook her. Guilt soon followed. Slamming into her, drowning her. What was I thinking?! Taking this dress. Wearing it out. As if I had the right to-
The wolf loosed a growl by her side, tossing his head. Its tail swung back and forth in a pendulum swing. Bryn blinked down at him. He rose up, pushing his forehead against hers, another huff of air shooting from his nose. Bryn reached a hand around him, scratching behind one ear. The creature moved back so he could lick her cheek. The corner of Bryn's mouth turned up in a grin, her eye winking shut as the nuzzling continued. Once he was finished, the wolf leaned up against her; his size nearly enough to knock her to the ground. Bryn wrapped one arm around him, running her free hand through the fluffy fur at his chest.
Bryn had called him her friend for many years, having met the noble creature under nightmarish circumstances. They were both of them purchased pieces of property, torn from home and family. When she could speak, before she had been bound to the curse, she would talk to him through many a sleepless night. She wished desperately that he could talk back, but was grateful always for his silent presence. She was certain she would have gone mad without it. And on that fateful night of her escape, she knew she couldn't leave him in the castle of ice and stone that still haunted her dreams. Watching him go free into the depths of the forest, his shiny fur catching the moonlight as he weaved through the trees had been one of her great joys. And reuniting a year later, to find he had never really left her...she teared up all over again at the very thought; at the joy that pooled in her chest, chasing away the stifling loneliness she had lived with for so long.
The wolf whined again, licking at the corner of her eye. Bryn loosed a breathy laugh and patted his head, leaning back into him. Silence fell around them again and Bryn couldn't stop her mind from wandering.
I can't stay long today. She thought, her heart going heavy. I shouldn't even be here now. I'll just...I need to tell him that I can't come tomorrow. Or the next day. And then leave.
She sighed, angry with herself. She knew it was the right thing to do. Hell, it was the sensible thing to do. She was already at risk, choosing to come back to the clearing even though her brothers had returned early.
You have to tell him. She repeated again.
As she debated with herself, a flurry of wind fell from above giving way to a swathe of shadows that moved with all the gentleness and grace of a rushing stream. And from those shadows came Azriel, a devastatingly playful grin spreading across his face.
"Good Morning," He said, tossing his head to the side to steer the hair from his eyes.
Mother above...Bryn had to clamp her lips together to keep her mouth from falling open. He still took her breath away, stole it like some ravishing thief.
"I'm sorry I'm late," He said, tilting his head down with all the charming formality of a visiting prince.
Bryn just deftly shook her head, her heart giving way to palpitations as he lowered himself down next to her. His hazel eyes were gleaming and he lifted a large box into his lap.
That's it. Bryn thought. I must be dreaming. He always looks so distant and calm...but now he's...happy? Excited? Mother, I need to pinch myself.
"I have something for you," He said, his voice catching with nerves. Bryn didn't notice, she eyed the box with a hungry curiosity. It was obsidian black in color, gilded with thin lines of silver and gold. Letters were scrawled across the top in a fine, loopy hand and it was held together by a thick silver silken ribbon.
Strange to keep the writing supplies so nicely packaged. She thought, pulling the box into her lap. She fiddled with the bow, pulling it off the box slowly enjoying the smooth feel of the ribbon in her fingertips. Maybe he'll let me keep it.
She thought happily of weaving it through her hair as she lifted up the top and setting it down gently next to her. The wolf had risen again, rounding behind Bryn to peer over her shoulder.
Blush colored paper, as thin as leaves and just as crinkly, lay underneath the box top. Bryn lifted it back. Her brows knit together.
This isn't…
She frowned, finding none of the writing supplies he had brought yesterday. Her eyes fluttered back up to his, the question clearly painted on her face. Azriel laughed softly.
"It's...a gift," He said, warmly.
She looked down at it again, a small smile lighting her face. She ran her hand over the fabric, gasping at the touch. It was sapphire in color, beautifully soft and shiny. She gripped it with both hands, pulling it from the box and rising to her feet. The box and paper slipped from her lap to the ground. The garment unfurled.
A coat. She realized, her cheeks flushing.
It was impeccably tailored, bedecked with large silver buttons that gleamed in the dim sunlight. The collar was large and could be turned up against the wind and the rain. It was outfitted with two large pockets and a waist-cinching tie. The inner layers were thickly lined and covered by a cream-colored silk. Small black stones, flat and hexagonal were sewn into the hem of the sleeves and tie.
It's gorgeous...Bryn thought, hypnotized by the mastery of it. Which means...it's expensive. Mother above, it must be terribly expensive. It looks Fae-made.
She swallowed, lowering it down and sinking back to the ground. She hurriedly folded it, withering internally as she felt the blush in her cheeks stain her neck and chest as well.
She held it out to him, shaking her head.
"Please," He said, gently. "I want you to have it."
Carefully laying it down in her lap, she looked up at him. She pointed a finger to her chest, shook her head, then touched her thumb to her ear and dragged it down her jawline opening her palm just under her chin, finally forming a circle with her thumb and index finger and pointing to him.
I have nothing for you. To return.
Azriel only raised a hand.
"I'll make you a deal," He said, as if having prepared for such a reaction from her. "If you let me continue to teach you...if you learn enough to tell me your name, we'll call it even,"
Bryn huffed. How would that make us even?!
She opened her mouth to protest, but could think of nothing to say. He doesn't...I truly have nothing to offer him. But…
"Please," Azriel said again. "It's yours to keep."
Bryn frowned, unconvinced. Men always wanted something from her. Every smile, every gift, every plate of food came with a price.
But Azriel had that look again, the one she knew was devoid of any lie or pretense. He's...really just giving this to me?
She showed him one finger, then pointed to the sky. Holding out palm flat, she touched her other hand to it and then pushed her hands forward towards him as if she meant to drop something in his lap.
One day...I'll pay you back.
She paused, touching her finger and thumb to her chin. The shrugged.
Somehow.
Azriel nodded. "If you insist."
Bryn sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. I most certainly do.
Azriel breathed a laugh and Bryn thought she would keel over as the pleasant sound of it floated through her ears.
She rose up again and pulled the coat over her shoulders. It was loose, but oh so warm. She wrapped it tightly around, pivoting in a circle. Her smile grew as she spun back to face Azriel. She pressed her hands to her sides, and cocked her head to one side, hoping he could deduce her question.
How does it look?
"It's..." Azriel said in a whisper. "Beautiful."
Bryn felt her knees buckle and all the air in her lungs whooshed out of her.
Am I imagining...or...is he...he's not even looking at it.
His hazel eyes were trained on her face and she could see traces of it. That smile she wanted to see. One that was easy and grand and would turn her stomach to butterflies.
You have to tell him now. A voice in the back of her head beseeched. If you don't you'll never leave in time. And if you don't...you may never see him again.
Bryn swallowed, wanting to push the voice away. But she couldn't.
She knelt down and touched her hand to the ground, then rose to her feet and pointed to the treeline. And even though her heart decried the action, she shook her head from side to side.
I can't stay.
The beginnings of the smile fell away from Azriel's face, replaced by an impenetrable emptiness. Bryn cursed herself for being so sensible.
He probably thinks me ungrateful. She cringed, wishing she could take it back. Damn her brothers. Damn her stupid, miserable, trapped life.
"Tomorrow then," He said, all trace of emotion gone.
Bryn shook her head, shoulders drooping. She held up two fingers.
"Two days," Azriel repeated. "...from tomorrow?"
Bryn nodded.
Three days. Three sunrises and two moonfalls. It seemed like an eternity from now. And even if the day did come, Bryn wasn't certain she could sneak away again. Azriel took a step forward, closing the gap between them. He took gentle hold of her hand, holding it up.
"Alright," He said, softly. "Three days."
Bryn fought the urge to squeeze his hand, to tangle her fingers through hers and never let go.
Tell him. Another voice whispered. Just tell him why you have to leave. He'll understand. He'll help you.
Bryn dismissed the thought. She had considered it before. With Marion. With the few townspeople that looked on her with pity. But she couldn't act on such impulses. Anytime she tried, shame would ignite within her. She couldn't reveal the truth, couldn't let anyone - especially Azriel - see the way she had chosen to live. He would see her for what she was: a weak little farm girl unable to rise above her station. She couldn't stand the sorrow and the pity, the cooing and the coddling. And if he did try to help her, if anyone dared to confront Roman…
Bryn shivered. He...he would look at me differently. If he truly knew. If he could see.
Her heart ached at the thought, the pain so sharp she felt her whole body begin to tremble.
I can't tell him. She answered back. Never.
Bryn stepped backwards, holding the coat tightly to her shoulders and gestured her sign for 'thank you.' She knelt down and picked up the box, holding it at her side. She lifted her free hand, waving it in the air.
Goodbye.
"Goodbye," Azriel said. He watched her go, saddened by the ever-increasing number of farewells they had shared.
But what is the alternative? He thought. He couldn't take her back to Velaris.
...Why not?
The war had passed. It had been centuries since a human had stepped foot in the famed city. His high Lord and Lady would likely be thrilled by such a prospect. If he offered to show her around...Azriel shook the thought away. He had no right to assume that perhaps...just maybe she saw more in him than a simple friendship. He had spent centuries fawning in that way. Making a fool of himself. Hoping beyond hope. He would not fall prey to such absorbing temptations again. He didn't want to frighten her. Or pressure her as he had Mor.
Mor...
When the girl had disappeared from sight and sound, when he could no longer catch her scent, he unfurled his wings. He needed to find Mor and thank her for her help. Before he could shoot into the sky, he felt a tug at his leathers. He looked down. The wolf was there, sharp teeth clamped to one of Azriel's coattails. It's amber eyes were hot, its lip curled back at it growled openly. The sound would have struck fear into the heart of any lesser creature. But Azriel was no lesser creature. The creature tugged.
"What?" He grumbled, pulling his clothes free from the beast's mouth.
The wolf, hackles raised, only growled again before tossing its head back. Back to where she had been sitting.
Azriel looked up to the tree line, to the spot he had seen her vanish into.
"I mean her no harm," Azriel said, though he felt foolish to talking to the creature.
The wolf pawed at his leg and moved to grab hold of Azriel's leathers again.
Azriel leapt, his wings pulling him up and out of the wolf's grasp. Without looking back, Azriel rose up and into the sky. As the clearing grew smaller and smaller below him, he heard the wolf loose a long, languid howl.
Such an odd creature...Azriel thought, speeding through the air on a northern wind.
I made it. Bryn thought, trying to cool her nerves. The late afternoon sun, still hidden behind a bank of thin clouds, was only just visible above the western mountain range. Spring was still far from reaching it's peak, but the days were getting noticeably longer. It was hours still until sunset. With time to spare.
Pausing at the gate, Bryn touched the collar of the coat with both hands, allowing herself to indulge in the feel of the fabric for a moment longer. She had allowed herself a small detour, stopping by on the small ponds on her trek and admiring the coat in the dark, glassy reflection on the surface. Even though the water distorted her shape, she was captivated. Tracing the silver stitching with her fingers she sighed contentedly. Never in her life had she worn something so grand or so well made. Reluctantly, she pulled out of her reverie and slid the coat from her shoulders. A chill ran up her spine as the late afternoon air washed over her. She touched a hand to her stomach, admiring her mother's dress. It was a stark but vibrant contrast, the dust-swept ivory surrounded by such a deep, dark blue hues. After draping the coat over her lap, she folded it and slipped it gently back into the dusty pink wrapping. She let the boxtop fall in place and tied the ribbon back around it. Her clumsy bow was nowhere near as pretty, but Bryn didn't mind.
Rising to her feet, she clutched the box tightly to her chest. The weight of it a comforting touch against her chest. She couldn't remember a time she had held something that was entirely hers, something given without expectation or pretense. She wouldn't have believed it if not for that fierce determination in Azriel's eyes. And the satisfied smile that lit his face upon her reluctant acceptance.
I certainly don't feel reluctant now. Bryn felt her heart warm and she allowed for a small smile before slipping through the gate to her home. She looked to the sky, her eyes searching for the early signs of night in the few blinking stars that could be seen in the waning light of the sun.
The smile fell away.
To her dismay, she could see black smoke spilling from the chimney over the kitchen. She paused, listening for sounds of chatter by the stables, but heard nothing.
Impossible...they couldn't have finished all that work so quickly. The gears in head stumbled and stuck as she tried to work out how long she had been gone. Four hours at most. Four hours but...there were three hands this time. Isaac and Gareth were helping Roman. Oh Bryn, you stupid, stupid girl. Why didn't you think?!
Once the skinning was done, they would move to the kitchen to begin curing and cooking. Swallowing, she hurried towards the front door eyes shifting left and right for signs of her brothers. She stopped at the door, weighing her options. Going through the back door was out of the question. They had to have noticed she was gone. Even if I go through the front...Bryn thought. But...if she managed to creep upstairs and trounce loudly down, she could convince them that she had been up in her room all was risk in that too. If they were crowded around the fire and one of them turned or heard the door open, they would see her.
And if they see the box there will be questions. She clutched it tighter against her side, glancing down at it. She considered leaving the coat box under the steps outside, but couldn't bear the thought of something happening to it.
I just need to get it upstairs. Bryn thought, resolute. She placed her hand on the handle of the door and after sucking in a steadying breath, pushed down. She cringed as the door creaked upon opening, stopping when there was just enough space for her to wriggle through.
Sure enough, she could hear chatter from the kitchen accompanied by the sounds and smells of sizzling game over a large fire. She shuffled silently across the floor, her eyes trained not on the stairs but on the kitchen door. She could see Isaac and Gareth, backs to her as they bent over the fire. She slid the box behind her back, gingerly stepping towards the staircase. Just a few more steps...
"Bryn." Roman's voice called from the kitchen. "Come here."
Bryn flinched, eyes darting around the entry hall searching for a place to hide the box. She couldn't make it all the way up to her room and back without rousing suspicion.
What do I do?! What do I do?
Lorens appeared at her side, grabbing her forearm and pulling her towards the kitchen. She tried to protest but she couldn't catch his eye.
"Where the hell have you been?" He hissed. "Are you out of your mind!?"
Bryn could feel the pulse in his wrist slamming against her skin She tried to shake him off, but he held tightly to her, fear and betrayal battling in his dark eyes. He hadn't seen what she was carrying, hadn't even bothered to look.
"She's here," Lorens said stiffly, barely able to keep himself composed.
Roman sat at the head of the table, a slab of freshly cut and cooked meat on his plate. Venison from the smell of it. Isaac and Gareth had taken the seats on either side, gripping knives and forks and eyeing their own plates hungrily. None of them looked up as Lorens released her, stepping around the table towards the crackling fire, leaving her to explain herself. She watched him, wondering if perhaps he would lose all nerve and bolt for the door.
Bryn gasped as the box tipped and nearly toppled out of her grasp, she had to duck to down to catch it, slamming herself into the wall to pin it behind her.
Dammit, Dammit. Dammit. She thought. She jolted when she realized that Roman was watching her. He didn't move beyond chewing, the noise of it turning Bryn's stomach. She fought withhold a grimace while trying to soothe her breathing. She held his gaze, her eyes stinging as they dried. When he finally swallowed, he lifted a hand and nudged Isaac's shoulder; grumbling an order Bryn couldn't hear.
Isaac turned round in his chair to glance at Bryn. After swallowing a large bite of half-raw meat, he jumped from the bench and wiped his hands on his sides.
No. Bryn thought. She fought the urge to run for the door herself. Isaac was nowhere near as strong as Roman, but he was wily.
Rounding the table, Isaac stuffed his hands in his pockets and stepped towards her. Bryn lurched away, cursing herself as Isaac's bored grin turned serpentine.
"Whatcha got there, Bryn?" He asked, closing in on her.
Bryn shook her head, mouthing the word 'nothing.' Her mind was racing. It was too late to pretend, but if she could weasel around him and make it to the back door maybe she could dump it in the forest.
"Give it to him." Roman demanded lazily before taking a large gulp from his mug. Foam from the mead sloshed down to his chin.
Before Bryn could protest, Isaac had snatched the box away with one gangly arm. Bryn spun around and reached for it, but Gareth had crept up behind to her and caught her wrist. Isaac stepped back to the table and handed the box to his brother with the self-satisfied beam of a hunting dog retrieving a kill. Bryn tried to pull away, but Gareth pulled her arm behind her, folding it up at a painful angle and anchoring her to him.
No, no, no. Bryn thought, leveling the curse at her own base weakness. If she hadn't run all the way home...
"What's this?" Roman said, catching their attention.
Bryn went pale. He pulled the coat out from the box, the fragile wrapping falling away from it like a bank of snow. The fabric looked even more beautiful in the dim light of the fire. Too beautiful for their modest farmhouse. Embers reflected across the sparkled hem, like far away stars in a dark moonless night.
"Very nice," Roman said, fingering the collar. Bryn struggled against Gareth, nearly breaking free. How dare he handle it with such feigned reverence? Bryn's blood heated. He sounded almost amiable, but Bryn could see what was stewing behind his eyes.
"How'd you get your hands on something like this?" He asked, looking at her finally.
Four pairs of eyes were on her. Bryn didn't know what to do. She opened her mouth-
"Steal it?" Isaac said, from Roman's side.
Bryn shook her head.
"Oh, so someone gave it to you then?" Gareth offered, chuckling. "Out of the kindness of their heart?"
Bryn stopped herself from nodding. She couldn't let them find out about Azriel. They wouldn't like it.
Found it. She mouthed, wriggling away from Gareth and dropping to the ground, pretending to pick something up.
"Found it?" Isaac guffawed. "Please."
Bryn shot him a glare.
"Don't lie, Bryn," Roman said, rising from his seat. He had to keep his head bent to retain eye contact with her. "Who gave it to you?"
Bryn's jaw tightened. She straightened, holding her ground.
"Say," Gareth interjected, slapping his knee. "She must have a friend. That's why she's always sneaking out into the forest."
Bryn's heart plummeted into her stomach.
Roman and Isaac whirled to their younger brother. "Into the forest?"
"Sure," Gareth said, pointing back to Lorens who was silently stoking the fire. "He let her go."
Lorens cursed under his breath. "Dammit Gareth,"
Roman rose from his seat, bearing down Lorens. "You did what?"
"Mother above Roman," Lorens said, refusing to meet his brother's eye. His knuckles were white as he gripped the poker. "She woke up early, her work was done. What's the harm in letting her go out every once in awhile?"
Bryn's eyes went wide. Isaac and Gareth's, too. Lorens may as well have pulled out all of his hair and eaten it. Never before had he or anyone else questioned Roman's decisions as head of the household.
Gareth snorted, releasing his grip on Bryn and leaning against the cabinetry. "You always were soft, brother."
Lorens cast his younger brother a sharp look and made to step forward, but Roman shoved him back.
"This is the harm." He said, lifting the coat on his hand. "Someone start's pampering her, giving her gifts and then she gets that high head again. First it was that thing…"
He looked over his shoulder, his green eyes sharp with anger. Bryn shrunk back. She had seen that look before. Roman shoved the cloak into Lorens' chest. He stumbled back, scrambling to hold on to it.
"You take it into town tomorrow," Roman ordered. "And sell it."
Bryn wailed and rounded the table, grasping at Roman's shoulder.
No please. She mouthed, hands shaking. She looked to Lorens, mouthing it again. He just turned away, shame stewing in his dark eyes. Without looking at her, Roman grabbed Bryn's wrist, pulling her away. He glanced Isaac, pointing a stern finger at him.
"First thing in morning, you're going with him. Make sure it's done."
Bryn felt tears welling up in her eyes as Roman pulled her up the stairs. Up and up until they reached the attic. He shoved her inside and lit a candle. Bryn moved around her bed towards the narrow window across the room, putting as much distance between them as possible.
"You tell me where you got it." Roman said in a low grumble. The dim light of the candle cast shivering shadows across his face, mutating his features. "Or there's going to be trouble."
Bryn shook her head, fear nipping at the back of her mind.
Roman sighed, reaching into his pocket. "He's back you know...Aldric."
Bryn's heart stopped. None of her brothers had dared to speak his name in the seven years since their father's death. The sound of it permeated the room like a toxin. Bryn tried to breath but her lungs had turned to stone, heavy and useless.
"Approached me in town, actually...with a new offer." He continued, pulling a tightly bound bundle of rope into the light. Bryn loosed a panicked murmur, her knees going weak.
"Thought I'd punch him straight through." Roman said, the joints in his fingers cracking as he formed a fist with his hand. "But you know how he is, all talk and charm."
Bryn could hardly hear him, she swayed on her feet. The room was closing in on her, the constricting like a snake's coils. Water pooled in her eyes.
No, Roman...He can't. He promised.
"You know, I never knew how much father got that first time. Turns out it was shit compared to what he offered me yesterday." Roman said, looking up at Bryn. He smiled cruelly, light dancing in his green eyes like pagan demons celebrating a kill. Nostrils flaring, Bryn felt the fire spark again. Heat roiled off her. She was not a piece of cattle to be auctioned off. Again.
"I'm tempted to take him up on it. Lorens all but fucked that Baker girl. We'll have another woman around here soon enough," Roman said, unspooling the rope. "Unless...you tell me who gave you the coat."
Bryn's eyelids shuttered. She wouldn't, couldn't give up Azriel. Roman would track him down, hunt him if he had too. It wouldn't be the first time. Whenever a boy in town dared to look at her, Roman was there. Frightening them off or even beating them down. First it was the pub owners son. Then Oliver Cocker, who had travel to the Queen's city to get his teeth fixed up after Roman had challenged him to a boxing match before pummeling his face into the dirt. Bryn shook with rage at the thought of it, her mind replacing Oliver's pock-marked face with Azriel's angelic one.
After everything Azriel has done for me. Is still doing for me...If Roman even tries to lay a hand on him-
Bryn grunted, clutching her chest as another stab of pain echoed through her. It was worse this time, she felt it reverberating in her veins all the way to in her fingertips and toes. Her hand moved to her heart and she fell to her knees. The pain was gone as swiftly as it had come. And she felt...lighter somehow as if the shield around her had sustained a heavy blow. Panting, Bryn was certain she could feel a crack in its perimeter. As if to confirm her suspicions a rush of air seemed to seep from it suddenly, like steam from a kettle.
But that's...it can't be possible.
She looked up at her brother, her fingers still brushing against her throat. His green eyes were wide, his anger temporarily forgotten. As if he had sensed it too. Inexplicably emboldened, she inhaled deeply and rose to her feet. And for the first time in nearly eight years, Bryn's voice rang out clear as a bell.
"No."
The silence that followed was deafening. Roman recoiled, dropping the rope as he stumbled over his surprise. But his recovery was quick.
His hands turned to fists at his sides and he growled, "What did you say?"
Bryn slapped a hand over her mouth, just as surprised as he was. She had forgotten what it felt like. To speak. To feel the walls of her throat vibrate with each passing sound. For years - years - she had wanted to say that word. Shout it at him and the rest of her brothers. She had been forced to lock it away with all the others, but somehow she had managed to speak it aloud. And now that she had...She stared him down, dark eyes rippling with seven years worth of righteous anger.
"I'll never tell," She practically snarled, her voice raw and shuddering. "You stupid, lazy pig."
Gobsmacked, Roman's mouth fell open.
Bryn sucked in a breath, intent on unleashing another flurry of insults but no sound came. As quickly as it had come the fire in her chest had wicked out and she was left voiceless and empty again.
No! She mouthed, paling as the crack vanished from her mind's eye. She clutched her throat with both hands, spurned with disbelief.
How-? It's not- Not fair!
Her grit was snuffed out by terror as she beheld furious, molten rage etched into every line of Roman's face. A voice in her head, pure instinct, screamed at her.
Run.
She bolted for the stairs, but Roman was too fast. As she streaked by him he caught hold of her hair and wrenched her back. His fist followed ramming into the side of her head. The force of it sent her crashing down the stairs. Toppling down, she landed on the ground in a heap; her head slamming hard into the wood floor. Inky black dots marred her vision. The walls and floor and ceiling, everything was spinning. She hissed, pushing herself up on her hands and knees. A terrible pain kindled in her temple and she could feel a thick, warm wetness trailing down her cheek from the corner of her eye.
Run. You need to run. She scrambled to her feet, her entire body protesting. Her head spun so violently she keeled over again, bile rising in her throat. She felt a weight at the small of her back, pressing deep and pushing the air from her gut.
"The hell-?" Isaac muttered, his boot grinding against her back and holding her down. If he hadn't spoken, she wouldn't have recognized his blurry shape that floated like a bulbous black cloud above her.
Bryn groaned. She could hear Roman descending, each heavy step ringing in her head like a death knell. When he reached the bottom, Isaac stepped away. Roman reached down, grabbing the back of her neck and hoisting her up.
"She spoke," He said.
"She...what!?" Isaac questioned.
Roman dragged her behind him into the kitchen. Jerking her forward, Bryn grunted as her pelvis collided with their dining table, knocking the plates and utensils around. She flung her hands out, gasping at the sting of the impact against her palms. The twinge in her temple was worsening, her eyelid drooped shut out of her control, partially blackening her vision.
"Hold her down," Roman barked to his brothers. Isaac was there first, catching her before she could pull herself up. One hand holding tightly to her wrist, the other tangling in her hair and pushing her head back down, effectively bending her over the table's edge. Gareth leapt from his seat and took hold of her free wrist, pulling it away and clamping it down with both hands one set above her elbow, the other below. Bryn growled like an animal caught in a trap, unable to wrestle herself from their grasp.
"What's happening?"
Isaac and Gareth turned to the backdoor. Bryn couldn't see him, but she could hear Lorens' voice.
"She spoke," Isaac said, unbridled glee laced in the announcement. Gareth turned to his brother, eyes wide.
"She...spoke? I-What did she say?" Lorens asked, worry seeping through his words.
Roman rounded the table, the cane in his hands. His brothers watched him in silence, only now sensing the depths of his anger. Fruitfully, Bryn tried to wriggle out of her brothers grip. Even if she did manage to get loose of them, she knew she couldn't make it to the door.
She whimpered, her whole body jolting as Roman laid his hand over her back. It was big, so much larger than she remembered.
"She insulted me," He answered, his voice hushed and deceptively calm. His hand slid upwards gripping at the fabric of the dress.
"Say it again, Bryn." Roman dared, the voice hitching up in volume.
Bryn squeezed her eyes shut, her pulse fluttering. The muscles in her back went taut, preparing for the impact. No, relax. You need to relax. She thought, biting down on her lip.
"Come on," He baited tenderly, gripping the collar at her neck and shaking her. "Tell them what you said."
I can't. You know I can't.
Roman straightened, staring down at her for a moment that seemed to last for hours. Then he set the cane down on the table directly in her line of sight. A familiar shiver raced up and down her spine. Too soon. It was too soon. She still bore the scars from the past week. Still cringed every time she was forced to stretch her aching muscles.
"Last chance, Bryn." Roman grunted, calling her attention, his hand fisting the fabric at her back.
Bryn's eyes fluttered open. She knew she couldn't stop what was coming. You've survived worse than this. She told herself. You have. She took in one shuddering breath and met his gaze. Even if she couldn't say the words, she could still ensure they were felt. Her upper lip curled back to reveal her teeth and she glared at him, eyes blazing.
Roman barked a callous laugh, his hand lifting away.
"You always were a brazen little bitch." He spat. Bryn wasn't deterred, she let the fire seep from her, all the fear she had left burrowing deep down inside where it couldn't be seen or detected. Roman's laughter died out.
"Don't you dare look at me like that," Roman seethed. His second hand joined the first and tore at the fabric. Bryn bit back a cry as the dress, her mother's dress, was ripped open.
Bryn, her eyes stained with tears, didn't see him take up the cane again. Without warning, the impact ripped through her back, now laid bare, like a hot knife. It had been years since he had hit her like that, with every last ounce of strength in his arm. Stunned, Bryn's teeth pierced through her bottom lip as she tried to keep her cry locked inside. Roman cocked his head to one side, waiting. When it didn't come he lifted the cane again.
The second hit landed just below the first; every vein and muscle in her body went taut with the effort of keeping quiet. He leaned forward, his large body pressing into hers. His breath was hot and fowl against her face as he whispered, "If you won't speak, then I want to hear you scream."
The third blow hit her shoulders, tearing through her skin this time. She could feel it in her bones, blotting out all other thought and sensation. Unable to bear the agonizing sting any longer, Bryn heard herself cry out.
Miles away, Azriel halted in midair nearly falling into a straight drop as a sudden and terrible pain jolted through his system.
What...what was that? Gasping, he touched a hand to his chest feeling for an arrow or some other flying projectile. Shadows whirled wildly around him scanning for signs of a threat.
It felt as though...like I was stuck by lightening. He thought, sucking air back into his lungs. His hand fell away, moving to the hilt of the blade strapped to his side. There were no signs of an attack, however. Below him sat nothing but barren white-capped peaks, so cold and so perilous it was impossible for life to dwell there. Aside from whistling winds, all was silent.
He was about to fly on when a second, sharper pang speared through him. His shadows spread in earnest now, frantically whispering to one another. But they could see nothing, sense nothing. The pain remained this time, pulsing along with the beat of his heart, localizing just below his collarbone. He turned back, rather he was pulled back, by some invisible string threading through his chest and tugging him around.
He eyed the horizon. The sun was beginning to slink away. A preternatural quiet fell over the skyline. Even the clouds seemed to still. His mind raced, filtering through pages of intel he had stored away. Had there been a chance of an attack somewhere in Prythian?
The thread pulled tight again, remnants of the initial shock echoing through him. He flew forward a foot and the thread went momentarily slack. After a beat, it drew him forward again.
Shadows hedged in close around him. Each of them sibilating and rasping. Calling him, begging him to go.
Go where? He thought, wingbeats falling hard and fast. He looked over his shoulder back to Velaris, the only home he had ever known.
No! The shadows screamed now, the sound of it jarring even to Azriel.
South. They implored. Go South, go now. You are needed.
Never once inclined to question his Cauldron-given gift, Azriel's wings stretched wide and he pitched forward, heeding the strange call.
As always, thank you for reading. The next chapter...it's going to be a rough one (not to say this one wasn't! I am emotionally spent already). I'd love to hear from you! 3