Again, I feel as though I should apologize for the longer wait between chapters. Personal issues are stealing the bulk of my attention. I appreciate your patience and continued readership! I have every intention of finishing the story and hopefully I will be able to post another chapter by Thanksgiving (end of November).

Chapter 7

W-where am I?

Blinking, Bryn tried to steady her vision. But her world was spinning. Splotches of black light popped in and out of sight, marring the blurred shapes and colors that swirled around her . Her head, her limbs and even her bones felt like stone. She could smell burning wood and hear the crackling of a raging fire. It was enough to lull her to sleep, but something was holding her back.

Tired, I'm...so tired.

She wanted to sleep, every thread of her consciousness was begging for her to do so but her heart was hammering so wildly in her chest she couldn't allow herself to drift away into the dark again. Blood raced through her veins, alerting her nerves as her skin erupted in patches of gooseflesh.

Something's wrong. Something's not...right. I-

The answer came like a shock of lightning. That familiar voice, both seedy and sanguine, burrowing in her head like an invading insect; biting into her mind and injecting that familiar poison that left her paralyzed. Bryn gasped, all manner of exhaustion vanishing as air flooded her lungs like water. The warm shadows that danced across the walls around her morphed into a familiar, sinister form. The voice grew louder and clearer until she was convinced that it wasn't just in her head. He was there. Standing by her side.

No, no, no.

She cried out, cursing as her body betrayed her. She needed to escape but she couldn't move. Memories she had locked away long ago began to flash before her. She could see the tower.

The slate and stone and open ceiling so very far away it seemed no bigger that her fingernail. The staircase sloped upwards, a dark spiral of a prison, the bannister covered in cobwebs as dozens of candles burned with black flames unmoving in the stale air. Water began to flow around her, sloshing up against her sweat-soaked skin and rising up at an alarming speed. She thrashed, groaning as her limbs protested but managed to sit up. As her vision cleared she could see that it wasn't water at all, but something black and warm.

I...what?!

Shivering, she plunged her hands into the mountainous folds of sheets and pulled them up. The black liquid looked almost blue as it trickled down the lines etched in her palms.

Ink. She realized, a mountain of words building in her throat.

The ink went still for only a second...and then began to recede as if the bed sheets were soaking it up. But before Bryn could breath a sigh of relief, the ink shifted and began crawl up and and around her body. A shiver ran through her as she realized where it was heading. Ink pooled at the back of her neck, just under her hairline. Entering her. Seeping through the lines where he had marked her. The ink began to fill her up, flooding her veins and organs until she was certain she could feel it leaking through the scars that littered her body. She could taste the ink on her tongue, hot and metallic like liquefied stone.

Fighting and clamoring she screamed again as her hands met with nothing but air and she began to fall. What was only a second seemed like years as gravity enveloped her and pulled her down, down down. She collapsed in a heap on a cold floor. Her legs were tangled in fabric, halting her escape. Her back felt as though it had been slathered in tar; her skin tight and unrelenting. She reached down, panting as she tried to dislodge herself. She had to run. She had to go. But she couldn't even see.

Bryn!

Someone or something was calling for her. A voice she recognized but couldn't place. There were more pressing matters. A cold hand cupped her shoulder. Her world jolted. She cried out again, reaching blindly to push the encroaching figure away. But she was so weak, so tired and heavy.

"Bryn," The voice called again. Gently this time, lilting and soft.

I know that voice, Bryn realized. Azriel.

Her eyes fluttered open to a blur of shadow and blue light. She reached out blindly her fingers hitching onto something cold and hard; metallic. A hand, its surface rippled, covered hers. Her vision cleared and she could see Azriel's face drift in and out of focus above her, his hazel eyes sparked with concern.

"Bryn," He said again.

My name?! She thought, adrenaline pulsing through her veins and sending a wave of much needed clarity through her head. He-he said my name, but how? How could he know, I didn't...I can't-

The memory of what had happened came flooding back to her. What she had done...and said. She opened her mouth and tried to speak again. But her throat constricted, the words vanishing from her tongue like flames flushed out by a wild wind.

No! Bryn thought, anger and despair giving way to the tremendous ache in her muscles. I spoke...The curse it- something fractured I know it did.

She loosed a shuttering breath, tears flooding her eyes. It wasn't fair. She had spoken. She was sure of it.

"Bryn I-" Azriel started. Bryn didn't wait, she reached for him and her arms found his neck and she wrapped them tightly around him. Whatever Azriel wanted to say didn't come. She felt his hand at her side before it drifted down and tugged loose the fabric still wrapped around her legs. With aching slowness, he lifted her up from the ground. Bryn gasped, her head spinning as the floor fell away from beneath her. With a whimper, she burrowed her head into the crook of his neck. She cursed herself, the trembling in her bones magnified against the stillness of Azriel's.

It's like he's carved from rock. She thought. She tightened her grip, knowing deep down she couldn't harm him.

Anger, exhaustion and despair mixed together in a toxic concoction and Bryn was helpless to stop the tears from flowing. Whatever had existed between them would be gone now. He had seen her for what she was, a weak and powerless human girl. She wished she could take it all back as visions of their time in the mountains flashed through her, each one of them now poisoned by all that had transpired. Bryn held tightly to Azriel, sobs raking through her like waves.

Azriel's resolve cleaved apart. He could sense it. Whatever power the curse had, it could not defeat the understanding Azriel had been forced to endure. For a single second he could feel al that she felt...all as he had when he was a child. The shame and the anger. The helplessness. The physical pain was eclipsed. It was nothing compared to what lived inside of him. The ache he hadn't been able to relieve himself of even now centuries after he had been free of them. His family. And then like a flickering light it was gone. Slowly he lowered himself down into the plush chair that sat by the bed. As he gingerly lifted his hand away from her shoulders it found .

The ache grew and he constricted, embracing her with a gentleness he rarely indulged in. Hi chin touched her forehead as wet drops flecked across his eyelashes.

"I'm sorry," He said, finally. The words broke as they left him. They were useless now. Meaningless in the aftermath of what he had seen...and what he hadn't. Until it was too late. And yet he was compelled to speak them again. Over and over. "I'm so sorry."

Bryn didn't respond aside from shaking her head frantically from side to side. Her head spun with the desire to explain. He had nothing to apologize for. After a while, the exhaustion began to win out over the turmoil in her head. As her vision blackened, Azriel's voice filled her head. Soft and quiet. A warm light somehow surviving despite the tempest.

You are safe.

Madja returned in the afternoon to continue her work and to both Azriel's frustration and relief, she banned him from entering the room. As much as he wanted to be in there, offering up any help he possibly could, the sight of her was too much. The blood had been washed away, but the bruising had worsened overnight, stirring far too many emotions inside of him. He felt as though he had been carved out and filled with storm water. His blood would boil and he would again think about returning to the human lands and making slow, painful work of those men. In the short time he had managed to sleep he had dreamed of it and reveled in the feeling of their bones snapping under his hand…But then he would think of Rhysand and what he had given him all those years ago. Control.

Control to decide when and where his brothers would meet their ends. It was a small gesture, but it had birthed within Azriel something he could not live without. For the first time, he held the power. And he would continue to hold it. The choice was his. The shame and the fear melted away and he was able to move on with his life. He left his family behind that day. Left that cellar behind. Taking with him only the darkness which had since been welded to him like sparkling gems in the hilt of a great weapon. He was free.

And he would not deny the same courtesy to Bryn, no matter how loud the call of bloodlust rang inside of him.

So he paced, unsure of how to relieve the anger that lingered in his veins. He thought of leaving again, of finding Cassian and needling him into a sparring match, but the risk of being discovered was too great. If he came at Cassian with that rage, he would be forced to explain himself. And he wasn't ready yet to explain...he wasn't even sure how to explain.

Madja worked until evening as Cerridwen silently assisted. Nuala had left to attend to Feyre, heeding Azriel's command to say nothing of where her sister was and what they had been up to. He prayed to the fates that his High Lady wouldn't ask and the half-fae wouldn't need to lie for him. He was thankful for their assistance and was already mulling over ways to repay them later.

"Humans are such fragile creatures," Madja said, entering the kitchen to scrub up. "But I'm confident she will make a quick recovery."

Azriel didn't ask additional questions, only waited for her to continue.

"As I said yesterday, rest is key." She slipped her hands into the basin that Nuala had left out. "I'll need to see her again in three days to remove the stitchings. Until then she should restrict her movement to avoid opening them up again. I don't want to have to redo anything."

Azriel nodded. Madja paused, staring at her reflection in the rippling water. She shook her head and reached for the hand towel Azriel offered to her.

"Whoever did this-"

"It's been taken care of," Azriel interrupted, shadows flaring around his neck and shoulders as malice coated his words.

Madja nodded grimly and took Azriel's hand in hers. "I have no doubts that she will be well taken care of. But should you need anything, I will be here."

The grimness gave way to a warm smile that Azriel attempted to return. Cerridwen appeared with the healers coat, ready to escort her home.

"Thank you," Azriel said, his voice thick. "Is she-"

"She's still awake," Madja finished, slipping closed the buttons at the breast of the coat. "But she should sleep."

Azriel only nodded.

He stayed in the kitchen as Cerridwen escorted her to the door, his hand braced against the cool surface of the countertop. Shadows flooded around him, sensing his unease. He heard the front door click shut behind them. Now they were alone again. In his house. Bryn in his bed. All day he had fought the urge to see her and now the time had come.

And he couldn't bring himself to move.

He could still feel her arms around his neck, encircling him in a vipers grip even as she shook as violently as a leaf caught in a storm. He could feel her tears on his collar, burning through his skin. Azriel let his eyes slip shut, inhaling deeply. He knew, intimately, what she must have been feeling. The paralyzing fear of more pain. Of wondering how much more she could endure. For eleven years he had lived through it. And survived it.

He chose never to speak of it. Even to Mor. They had of course danced around the subject. Overtime he had been forced to relinquish bits of information and implications. But to open himself up that way, to unstitch old wounds and pull them apart so that his friends could see truly how broken and desolate he was inside…

No. He stepped back, recoiling at the thought. He knew what would happen. Everything would change. They would all see him differently, as if he had somehow changed shape. Transformed somehow. And that was something he couldn't bear.

That's why. He thought, looking up towards the hallway. I didn't see because...because she was fighting to keep it from you.

Azriel remembered suddenly his first day at the war camp. The fear that gripped him at the thought of his life being laid bare before the raucous recruits. For years, he had done everything he could to keep his history deeply buried; far down below in the darkest corners of his heart. So he steeled himself and vanished into smoke and shadow; reappearing in the doorway to his room.

She was sitting up, the silken sheets draped over her knees which she had pulled up to her chest. Her chin rested on top of them. Her eyes were open but lost to some far away place. In her hands, arms wrapped around her folded legs, she clutched a mug filled with some concoction Magja had created. Lazy ribbons of steam ascended from the cup, smelling strongly of turmeric and mint. Azriel was glad to see some of the color had returned to her cheeks. Cerridwen had prepared a small tray of food for her, but it sat untouched on the bedside table.

She lifted the cup to her lips and sipped from it, her eyes sliding shut as she swallowed.

"Madja said you should be resting." He said, gently; hoping not to chastise. He was used to this sort of behavior, having grown up with both Rhysand and Cassian's endless barrages of "I'm fine" and now that Feyre too had entered into the mix…

Her eyes popped open and she caught sight of him in the doorway, starting somewhat. Azriel pushed off of the door and crossed the room, lowered himself into the chair that sat by the bed. Bryn kept a careful eye on him. She studied him with the same intensity that had hypnotized him upon their first meeting. Except now it was different. Now he understood the darkness that lay just behind those eyes. The depths of them called to him even now.

"Can't sleep?" Azriel asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

Bryn's darted from side to side before she shook her head.

Azriel understood. He had spent many nights fretting over Mor whenever she was duty bound to visit the court of nightmares, over Rhys during those hellish years he was trapped Under the Mountain, over the safety of his city as the reality of war grew so strong it could no longer be denied.

"The tea will help," He said, gesturing towards her hands. Bryn looked down it before dutifully lifting the mug to her lips again.

Azriel rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward. When she had drained it completely, he lifted his hand out to her to take it. She passed it over, her arm trembling at the effort of holding the mug up. When he took it, she gestured a thank you and collapsed backwards into one of the many plush pillows that lined the head of the bed. She winced at the pressure on her back and rolled into her side, facing him. Gathering the pillow in her arm, she pulled the sheet up to her stomach. Once she was settled, her eyes flickered shut again and she inhaled deeply. Thinking she was ready to sleep Azriel rose from his chair and turned towards the door, but a small sound stopped him in his tracks.

She turned away from his gaze, but all he needed he could read in her face. Fear...and shame. An empty darkness in her eyes, deeper than any ocean. So he lowered himself back down, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his scarred hands together. For a moment, all that existed between them was the gentle crackling of the fire.

"I'm sure you have questions." He said finally, lifting his chin to meet her gaze.

A spark of light flashed in her tired eyes.

"I have some myself," He continued, quietly.

Understanding flashed in Bryn's eyes and even though he could sense every muscle in her ravaged system go taught, she nodded.

"Bryn," He began. A shiver ran up her spine at the sound of her name on his tongue, instilling her with the courage she knew she would need in this moment. "Who were those men?"

Nostrils flaring, Bryn's eyes rolled back as rage sparked inside of her. She clutched the pillow tightly to her, wishing suddenly to be swallowed up by the cool softness of the sheets never to be seen again.

It's gone now. She thought. Whatever friendship she had with Azriel would be forever changed. The secret she kept, one of them at least, was lost. He would looked at her differently, just like those in the village. She turned her face back to his, expecting to see the pity or the judgement that turned her stomach…

Only to find understanding.

Azriel looked down to his hands and Bryn following his gaze. He swallowed once, his mouth suddenly dry. Slowly, he unfolded his hands and turned them over. He was struck suddenly by the realization that, during the months he had known her, as spring unfolded around them, she had never asked about his hands. Never looked down on them when she thought he couldn't see. He had never wanted people to know. Never offered to explain unless asked. Rhys and Cassian and hounded him. Mor had been gentle. Amren frank. Feyre had yet to ask, but he was sure Rhys had quieted her curiosities. But Bryn...he looked up again. Shadows from the fire danced across her face, melding with the bruising than surrounded her eye. Even though his years of triumph far outweighed those he spent suffering alone in the dark, the shadows of what he had survived still clung to him. The fear would never leave him, the threat of imprisonment rang like a death knell every time he went into battle or on a mission. And though he cursed the memories that haunted him, he knew that fear and determination had led him to success, making him the most feared of the Shadowsingers. And so with a deep sigh, he opened his mouth...

"I was born a bastard…"

And began to tell his story.

Days turned to weeks and thanks to Madja's care, Bryn was beginning looked more like the girl Azriel had met in the meadow. She had yet to smile and refused the help of Nuala and Cerridwen when dressing in the morning, choosing instead to lounge in the same clothes she had worn at night. As they ate breakfast together, seated at the small glass table that looked out upon the city from Azriel's lush but minimal living room, Bryn would toy with the hem of her silk trousers. It seemed as though she still hadn't gotten used to wearing long pants. This morning they were an cool shade of sky blue. When she sat, she hitched her legs up underneath her and nodded in a sleepy-eyed greeting. Azriel didn't mean to stare, but a smile caught the corner of his mouth as he watched her inspect the fabric. He coughed lightly, attempted to shoo it away and busied himself with turning the page in his book even though he hadn't finished reading it yet.

As always, she took her time eating, picking only small bites and revelling in the taste of each mouthful. They would sit in silence. A silence that was fast becoming as stifling as smoke.

Azriel longed to talk to her. To hear the sound of her voice. In his sleep, he would picture these peaceful mornings differently. He would dream as though he had been dropped into the conversation, like a stone into still water. It would be as though they had been talking for hours and yet he was always torn from sleep the moment she opened her mouth to speak again.

So every afternoon he threw himself into the task of teaching her and she answered back with an equal amount of excitement and determination. He would read to her, speaking slowly and succinctly, his finger tracing the words as he spoke. Bryn would watch, eyes as wide and as hungry as an owl on the hunt, her mind spinning as she tried to take it all in.

He left only when she slept, making enough appearances with various members of the Inner Circle so as not to arouse suspicion that a human had entered into the city unbeknownst to its leaders.

Azriel turned another page, this one going entirely unread, as he watched her swallow the last morsel from her plate. And yet, he could still sense a hunger in her.

He set down his mug and rose to his feet, shaking the nervous energy out of his wings.

"A cloudless day," He said softly, surveying the city himself. "We could...go out."

Bryn whipped her head around to meet his eyes, hair tumbling over shoulder.

"If you wanted," He continued, looking back towards the window. "I could show you the city."

When he turned again to gage her response, he nearly stumbled back as he took in the smile that was growing on her lips.

Unable to stop himself he said, "Is that a yes?"

She hopped up from the chair with more energy and swiftness than he had seen from her in days. She clutched at his arm, nodding vigorously as her hair danced around her face.

"Very well, then." Azriel said, her smile infectious. He lifted his hand and opened his palm. A shadow pooled in the center of it. As his fingers closed around it, tendrils slipped through his fingers and flew into the air now carrying a summons for Nuala and Cerridwen.

As always, thank you for reading and I would love to hear from you! This chapter was more of a challenge for me than the others. Thank you for sticking with me. I would love to hear from you. Until next time when a certain...circle will be making their first appearance. ;0)