I know that was a big cliff hanger to leave you with so I tried to get this chapter out asap! Thank you for reading and reviewing! It keeps me going strong. :0)

Chapter 5

"That's enough, Roman."

Bryn arched her back, another sob wrenching through her as Roman brought the cane down again. She had lost count of the strikes. Her vision faded in and out of black. She couldn't feel the tears in her skin. There were only flames licking across her mangled skin, burning straight through to her bone. Her struggles had turned so feeble she wondered why she even bothered. Neither Isaac nor Gareth showed any signs of slackening their grip. Still, instinct roused what little strength she had left and she couldn't ignore it. She could only hope that soon darkness would come or Roman would tire of this. There had to be an end.

The next lash came too quickly, gnawing through her skin like a vine sheathed in thorns. Bryn snarled through her tears, her body trembling violently.

"Enough," Lorens said again, rounding the table and grabbing at Roman's arm. "You got what you wanted, let her be."

Roman glared at his brother. "That's not for you to decide."

He was panting, his body slick with sweat; green eyes swimming in some other plane far from their cottage. Lorens faltered, withering under his brother's gaze as if guessing he might turn the cane on him next. A restless silence, heavy and hot, permeated the room until Roman stepped back, wiping his forehead on his sleeve.

"Perhaps you're right," He muttered, dropping his arm.

Bryn loosed a shuddering moan, relief running through her like flood waters. But Roman only turned to Isaac and offered him the cane.

"Your turn."

Isaac smiled. He looked to Gareth and released his hold on Bryn. The youngest of them shifted and gripped Bryn's neck, as though she were some wandering deer caught up in one of their traps. She mewled, attempting once again to push him off, but Gareth held fast. Lorens opened his mouth, but Roman grabbed a fistful of his tunic and forced him back towards the door.

"I don't want to hear anymore from you," He snapped. "Get some water, you can deal with her when we're done."

"Roman-" Lorens started, placing his hand over his brothers.

As Roman barked another order, Bryn's eyes, one bruised and swollen, narrowed. She could see, even through the tears blurring her vision, that the table had not yet been cleared. And just within her reach...a brass knife, gleaming in the firelight. It's serrated edges, tough enough to cut through their wretched game meat, called to her. Roman and Lorens' bickering grew distant as the passed through the door. Isaac and Gareth were distracted, watching Roman berate Lorens with captivated amusement. Neither noticed that they had left her right hand free. She slid her hand across the table as slowly as she could, her eye trained on the brother she could see; praying that he wouldn't catch sight of her movements. The cool metal of the blade shot through her nervous system like a jolt of lightening when her fingers brushed against it. She curled her fingers around it, trying a failing to coax away the trembling that was overtaking her as her heart pumped adrenaline through her veins. She dragged the knife back, tucking it in against her chest and clutching the base of it in her fist. Her eyes fluttered open and shut as she tried to assess her surroundings, but her concentration was being pulled in several different directions.

You need to go now. Bryn thought, sucking in one calming breath. Roman had not yet returned and in his absence her path to the front door was now clear. Swallowing, Bryn readied herself, staring squarely at Isaac's hand now braced on the table inches from her face. She shifted her feet below her, praying that her legs would move quickly enough. Lifting the knife into the air, Bryn called upon every last bit of strength she had and ran it through the center of his hand.

Isaac shrieked, dropping the cane and stumbling backwards. Bryn didn't wait, she slipped out of Gareth's grip, now slack as he gaped at Isaac, and shoved him away. She sprinted for the door, grunting as pangs of black and white light clouded her vision. She clutched the threshold of the kitchen as she passed through and pushed off of hit as her lungs begged for air she did not have. If she could just reach the treeline, she could at least find a place to hide and catch her breath.

Shit. She thought, stumbling as her mind called up an image of their property. The trees seemed miles away. She already felt winded and her muscles were protesting against her. I'll never make it.

She heard Isaac curse as he pulled the knife from his hand letting loose a steady stream of blood. It clattered to the floor as Bryn's hand clutched the door handle.

"Well!?" He shouted to Gareth. "Get. Her."

Bryn pushed the door open, clinging to the handle as she fell forward and nearly lost her balance. She could feel the shredded fabric of her dress threaten to fall away at the front so she pulled what remained of one tattered sleeve back up her shoulder, cringing as her fingers swept over splotches of warm blood. True to her memory, the forest seemed miles away. And although she could feel the adrenaline pounding through her like a drum, she knew she couldn't outrun her brothers. Panicked, she took a sharp turn, heading instead for the stables.

If I could make it to Belka. She thought; her eyes - her everything - now trained on the imposing black figures just beyond the house. Even now, her nerves were alert. She had never been taught to ride. All she knew of the skill was what she had observed throughout her lifetime. I just need to get far enough away. They won't follow me past the wall. If I could just-

She loosed a cry as a figure rounded the side of the house ahead of her. She flung her hands out, heels digging into the grass and made to dodge any oncoming hand. But it was only Lorens, water sloshing from the jug he carried as he jumped at the sight of her. Air rushed from her and she took up her pace once more. But as she flew past him, he caught hold of her wrist. Bryn whined, panic alighting anew. She tried to pull away, her body hemming as she threw all her weight towards the stables. But his grip wouldn't yield. As she tugged fruitlessly, her eyes were pleading -begging- him to release her.

Let go. Let me go. She shook her head urgently, lips moving even though she knew no sound would come.

"I-I'm sorry Bryn," Lorens said thickly. He looked to the ground, refusing to meet her eye.

Bryn whimpered as the fight fizzled out of her; the realization of her brother's betrayal impaling her as deeply as any blade. The window was closed, she could see Isaac and Gareth racing towards them the gap of space, her only salvation, shrinking with each swift step. She had been close, so close. Anger, black like tar, seeped through her veins, paralyzing her with it's sheer weight.

Coward. She thought, tears stinging her eyes. He's a coward.

Lorens had been the only one to ever dare stand up for her, but it had never been enough. He would only make allowances when he knew it would be impossible for Roman to find out. Whatever stand he made was quickly dashed by Roman's threats. And now, when she needed him most, he had forsaken her.

Loren's grip slackened but it was too late. Something heavy slammed into the back of her head, knocking her to her knees. Bryn's hands went to her head as a sharp ache radiated through her brain and light danced before her eyes. She curled over, bracing one arm on the ground to catch herself. Isaac's voice descended from above her, but it was dampened by the ringing in her ears. His boot collided with her unprotected stomach, knocking the air from her lungs and turning her over on her back. She gritted her teeth as grass and dirt scraped against the raw stripes that littered her back.

No. This can't be...happening. I-

She felt the boot again, just above her ribs, pushing down, down, down. She whimpered, unable to pull air into her flaming lungs. Blood crept up into her throat, threatening to spill from her mouth. Her vision shuttered, black light threatening to overtake her again.

No, I can't-I have to…get away.

As the keening in her ears began to subside, she could hear Roman commanding Isaac to stop, but he sounded far away.

"-see what she did?!" Isaac seethed. Roman didn't bother to answer him. The boot lifted away and Bryn felt Roman's hand close on her shoulder. She jerked away, but had nowhere to go. He tugged her up onto her knees. The world began to spin around her and she fisted the grass in her hands battling the ridiculous fear that she might fall into the vacuous sky.

Stop. Bryn could feel trickles of blood cascading down her shredded back. Roman's hand slid down, tugging her arm back. He joined her other arm behind her, his tight grip the only thing keeping her from tumbling back to the ground. Stop this, someone.

"Prepare the cart," She heard Roman say as a familiar rough texture circled her wrists.

This has to stop. Bryn cried out in earnest. She bucked against him with what little strength she had left. But Roman held fast, one hand clutching her bound wrists while his free arm came around her chest anchoring her to the ground. Tears spilled down her cheeks, as even the sky began to fold in around her, the clouds morphing in her mind until they resembled the bars of a cage.

I can't go back there. I can't.

"Well?" Roman said, pulling Bryn around to face Isaac. "I said I'd return her, but made no promises on her condition."

Isaac held the cane in his hands, eyes sparking again. He swung it through the air once, the whistling sound of it turning Bryn's stomach. He stalked closer.

"I can't say I won't miss these times together." He drawled, his smile turning sinister as he fingered the blood-stained cane in his hand.

A spark of anger, a single flame burning deep down inside the pit of her mind, singed through her. She was tired. So tired of it all. She had done everything that was asked of her. Every day for years and now Roman was reneging on their deal, fooled into submission by money like some classless beggar. The heat inside her began to spread, chasing away the numbness. Bryn ran her tongue along the bottom of her mouth, allowing the blood and saliva to pool on top. The taste was metallic and foul, but she kept her eyes trained on Isaac; his jabbering fanning the blaze. She opened her mouth...and spat directly in his face.

Isaac sputtered and lurched back, wiping at his eye. Bryn choked out a laugh as Roman's arm unwound, a grim smile spreading across her mangled face.

"Shit," Roman grumbled, his hand tangling in her hair and wringing her head back against his shoulder.

Isaac cursed again, all the amusement in his eyes vanishing.

"You always were a dirty, little bitch, Bryn." He growled, looking down at his hand that still bore traces of her blood. He rubbed it against the leg of his pants, disgusted painting his pockmarked face.

Lifting the cane high into the air, he snarled, "You'll pay for-"

He didn't get to finish nor did he see his blow hit home as an explosion of shadows, blacker than night, erupted between them.

Azriel didn't hesitate as the lanky human male squawked in surprise. He caught the rod in one scarred, bare hand and gripped it tightly. The wood snapped in half and shadows leaked from the crevices between his fingers consuming what was left of it, remains floating to the ground like grains of sand. Then a burst of blue energy shot from his other hand, hitting the male square in the chest and knocking him off his feet. He flew backwards, slamming into the wooden fence several dozen feet away and fell to the ground in an unconscious heap.

Azriel turned, shadows licking off of him like tendrils of smoke. Hazel eyes scanned the scene before him. The youngest of the boys fell back, shaking like a leaf, eyes wide with terror. Another was gaping, eyes trained on the ground Isaac had only just been occupying as if he couldn't fathom what had just happened. But the fourth one staggered to his feet dragging Bryn up with him.

Bryn. Her name echoed in his head like a heartbeat, pulsing and pounding. The thread that had guided him trembled in earnest as he took in the sight of her. His cool, unconcerned mask melted away as a fiery, frozen rage took over.

"Release her," Azriel commanded in a snarl that could bend mountains, his wings stretching wide.

"I don't think so," Roman barked.

Azriel simply lifted a brow. He could smell the fear on the man. And blood. Her blood. The scent of it stung his nose. He took a single step forward, his hand hovering over Truth teller's sheath. Roman stumbled back, his arm moving up and tightening around Bryn's throat.

"Stay back or I'll snap her neck." He threatened, his arm encasing her head. A small, anguished cry escaped Bryn's lips, followed by a blood-ridden cough. What little control Azriel still maintained over himself shattered and he vanished in a rush of shadow.

For one dismal second, Bryn though he had gone. Behind her, Roman loosed a guttural cry as a dark blade sliced deep into his side. Shadows slithered around it, widening the wound and slipping into his body. Roman's eyes went wide before turning obsidian black, all light and color chased away. He released his hold on Bryn and she crumpled to the ground.

She shifted to her side, pushing up on one bound forearm, spitting blood. Roman too had fallen, blubbering unintelligibly and convulsing as more and more shadows enveloped him inside and out.

Bryn watched, unable to look away as horror and relief battled for dominance in her head. Azriel straightened, his posture as still and as steady as a statue. He flung his blade out, shaking away her brothers blood before slipping it back into a sheath at his side. As if he'd done it countless times. His eyes were sharp and hard as ice. The eyes of a soldier, a killer. Bryn stifled a shuddering gasp.

Azriel looked down at her and his gaze immediately softened, guilt clanging through him. There wasn't an inch on her back that wasn't striped and bloodied. A vessel in her right eye had burst, the skin around it was swollen and beginning to bruise. Her bottom lip was slashed, blood dripping down her chin. Azriel cursed under his breath. He felt ill. How long had this been going on? Why hadn't he seen? And If he hadn't come...He pushed the dreaded thought away and stepped over the male's body and crouched before her. Bryn shuddered, instinctively shrinking away. It was a small move, but Azriel's heart cleaved apart at the sight of it. He dropped to his knees, arms trembling as they hovered over her broken body.

"I-" He started, shakily. "I can't leave you here."

He didn't trust the humans, not after everything that had happened to the Archeron sisters.

She needs a healer. He thought.

"Please," He said, managing no more than a whisper. "Let me take you to Velaris, my home."

Bryn's inhaled, her whole body trembling with strain at the effort and tears flowed from her eyes and a sob escaped her. She nodded furiously, trying to reach for him; forgetting that her arms were bound. Azriel pulled her into his arms, his shadows making quick work of the bindings around her wrists. With her hands free, Bryn loosed a wet sigh and turned into him, her hands clinging blindly to his fighting leathers. The siphons at his shoulders gleamed, and a thin shield of blue light covered her back, but not before his scarred hand made quick contact. He could feel what was left of her skin torn to ribbons and the blood, hot and sticky against his palm. The last of his composure fell away.

He swallowed, turning his attention back to to the men still standing. It took every last thread of discipline he had not to set her down and shred them all to pieces. He looked down at the man who had held her; used her body as a shield. The shadows fell away from him, simmering with the anger reflected in their master.

Roman groaned, bubbling saliva frothing from his lips. His pupils rolled far back into his head until nothing but a cloud of white was visible in the fluttering sockets. Azriel lifted one foot and pressed it against the male's temple. He considered shattering his skull right then and there. But that would be too easy, too quick. Azriel wanted to peel the skin from his bones. Taking the time to revel in each agonized cry, watching the life drain from those sickly green eyes as he succumbed to a slow and painful death...but he could feel Bryn's pulse begin to slow. So he looked to the other two. The ones who were still unarmed, watching him closely.

"I will be back," He said, his voice now steady and calm yet still laced with deadly malice. "And if I find that you have helped him in any way...you will regret it."

Both of them nodded hurriedly as shadows slunk swiftly towards them like snakes in the grass. Azriel lingered for only a moment, allowing his words, his visage as dark and foreboding as a moonless night, to sink in before calling his shadows back and vanishing as quickly as he had come.

Although the city of Velaris was guarded like no other, manned by only the most courageous and cunning of sentries and warded with ancient spells so powerful only a select few in Prythian stood a chance at breaking them, there were ways into the city known only by the Shadowsinger. They too were well protected but while Azriel had his suspicions that the High Lord knew of them, he had never seen nor sensed a single soul attempt access to the city through his secret routes. One of them, his preferred method of entering and exiting Velaris, was hidden near his home and it was through this gate that he arrived, carrying with him the first human to enter into the city in over five centuries.

He landed on the roof deck, a swirled line of shadow shooting from his surrounding cloud into the sky towards the House of Wind with the speed of a falling star.

"Bryn," He called softly. He had not dared to look at her during the flight, choosing instead to focus all his energy and attention on his speed.

The thread snapped to life again, reviving only as he called her name...and was met with no response. Dismayed, Azriel's grip on her tightened.

"Please," He whispered. "Bryn, can you hear me?"

Her head lolled back and her grip on his clothes slackened.

"Bryn!" He called, louder this time even as his breath hitched in his throat. "Bryn, don't- you can't fall asleep. Please-"

A small sound, like a tinkling bell, drifted up from the staircase behind him.

Nuala was standing at the head of the steps, hands folded in front of her. She moved to bow her head, but froze as Azriel turned to her. Never before had she seen her mentor in such a state. His face was sallow and stricken with worry. His message, relayed to both her and Cerridwen through their private web of shadows, had been brief and vague.

Healer need immediately. My house. Tell no one.

"Cerridwen-" Nuala began. "Is preparing your room, my apologies, I didn't realize-"

"It's fine," Azriel choked. "Where is-?"

"Madja is already in route," Nuala said, stepping aside so Azriel could descend the steps first.

"I can meet her. Bring her sooner-"

"She is seconds away," Nuala confirmed, her voice a whisper on the wind.

Azriel moved silently down the hall, shadows cluttering around him, tenderly caressing Bryn's body in an attempt to sooth her. Cerridwen appeared in the doorway, a similar look of surprise igniting her usually cool face.

Azriel didn't bother to explain as he lowered Bryn onto his bed.

"I-I don't know-" He started.

"Lay her on her side if you can," came a hushed, but firm command from the doorway.

Madja had arrived. Azriel complied.

Is...is she breathing? He touched a hand to his forehead, running it through his hair. I can't tell. She's so still. Too still. I-

Madja placed a hand on his shoulder. Azriel opened his mouth to explain, but she shook her head and steered him towards the door.

"I will take it from here," She said. No bow or show of rank. Madja had always been a gentle soul, but firm in the face of a crisis. She didn't take kindly to anyone barking orders at her or questioning her methods when there was work to be done.

"What can I-"

"There's nothing to be done here, Cerridwen will assist me."

Azriel felt Nuala take hold of his wrist and guide him to the door. He deftly followed, even though the thread had gone taught again, vainly trying to pull him back. To make him stay. As the door slid shut, he caught sight of Bryn's face. There was no color there, no signs of life or movement.

Please. Azriel thought, shadows whispering around him. Save her.

One hour turned quickly into three. Azriel collapsed onto one of the couches in his living room, wings aching from the straining of flying so fast and hard. He could still smell the blood on his hands, even though he had scrubbed them clean several times.

Instinct was begging him to do something, take some sort of action, but he was no healer. And Bryn's wounds were...extensive. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and tangling his fingers in his hair. Images of what he had seen flashed through his head in an unending tortuous stream. The joints in his fingers jerked and he considered flying straight back to that farmhouse and slaughtering the lot of them.

Nuala silently approached, carrying a single mug on a tray. Thinking it was tea, Azriel raised his hand to refuse her, but he caught a whiff of it and recognized the brassy scent of alcohol.

"Medicinal," Nuala said gently, a smile meant to comfort gracing her dark face. Azriel took the cup and drained the contents in one long gulp.

"Is she-?" He tried, his voice hoarse.

"Resting," Nuala finished, sensing her teacher's worry. "Until Madja is finished."

"What can I do?" Azriel asked for what must have been the hundredth time. Nuala shook her head.

"If I don't-" Azriel stumbled, wringing his hands together. "If you don't give me something to do…"

I'll go mad. He thought, unable to say the words aloud.

"How long?" He asked instead.

Nuala leaned back to look down the hall, catching her sister's eye. "Another two hours, maybe longer."

"But-"

"She will heal fully." Nuala answered, sensing the coming question. "In time."

In time. The words were a spear to his gut. And then he felt it again, the thread tugging at his heart. He touched a hand to his chest, wincing as another spark of pain burrowed there.

Strange. He thought. It's almost as if-

Realization slammed into him. He rose to his feet too quickly, head spinning. Nuala started, nearly dropping the tray as she moved to take it away.

Rhys. He needed to see Rhys. Immediately.

"Where is the High Lord?" Azriel asked, breathless.

"A-At the townhouse." Nuala answered.

"Is he alone?"

It didn't matter. He shook his head and moved around Nuala, headed for the stairs.

"Don't leave her." Azriel commanded her. Nuala simply bowed and by the time she had straightened again, Azriel was gone.

This chapter is a little bit shorter, but hopefully it was still a good one (all things considered)! As always (forever and ever), I'd love to hear your thoughts! Thank you for reading.