Thank you all for your patience! I definitely missed writing this story but man The Last Jedi was so intense I just had to plow through a couple chapters of my Star Wars fic ;0) I was also pretty nervous to write this chapter cause well...you know...writing the Inner Circle is more than a little intimidating! I hope I do them justice. Enjoy!
Chapter 8
"Trust me, it will look lovely." Cerridwen said, her voice a whisper of gentle encouragement.
Bryn, despite her near rabid dedication to assume the role of a perfect house guest, couldn't help but shake her head from side to side, folding her legs in and wrapping her arms tightly around them. The half wraith's face did not falter but Bryn caught sight her shoulders dipping down ever slightly and felt a guilt-laden blush crawl it's way up her neck. She sat in a large clawfoot tub filled to the brim with blissfully hot water and piles of lavender scented bubbles. Having never experienced a full, warm bath in her life she had found herself quickly attached to the bathroom off her room, and quite addicted to soaking each and every day before slipping into bed to sleep.
The bathroom on its own was larger than the attic where she had spent most of her life. The floor was crafted of smoothed black stones arranged haphazardly about the floor, the crevices between them were filled with meandering cracks of gold that glinted pleasantly in the low fire light that filled the room thanks to the large fireplace against the western wall. A long vanity of dark cherry wood occupied the easterly wall, above which sat an oblong mirror. The mirror was boarded by an intricate stained glass design; a replication of the beautiful semi-circular window placed just above the tub. The window itself was etched with stars, each of them shooting up and arching from the center with woven, gold-flecked tails spinning out against a vibrant royal blue backdrop. It made for a lovely tableau that Bryn had often found herself staring at while she soaked. At night, once the sun had set and the city lights sparked to life, Bryn could peer through the colored, textured glass and see a wealth of warm lights. Velaris, at least what little she had seen of it from so high up, seemed like something out of a dream. One that she was anxious to explore from the ground. So, somewhat hesitantly, she turned back to Cerridwen, wondering how to best explain her reluctance.
In truth, she had grown to like the reserved, mysterious sisters. Having grown up surrounded by men her entire life, she was at first at quite a loss for how to interact with them. It had been a blessing then, that her first few days in their care had been (and still were) a blur to her, spurred on by a mixture of exhaustion and whatever potions were mixed into the teas Madja always insisted on her drinking. She knew they were meant to help, but for nearly a week she had felt like a ghostly version of herself, a lost soul entirely separated from her battered body. Most of her time and been spent sleeping or lying in a haze of warmth and comfort. All good things, Madja had assured her with all the gentleness and sternness of a veteran healer. Above all else she needed to rest, even if it felt wrong to do so. Bryn couldn't remember having ever spent so much time in bed or even indoors. And she was quickly growing restless.
In the end, however, she was thankful for the help of the half-wraiths, so much so that it eclipsed all the discomfort that came with her pathetic attempts to properly socialize. All at once, she found herself exhausted from their constant presence, curious as to their heritage and disconcerted by her lack of experience, the depth of which she was only just beginning to understand. She couldn't help her instinct to deny their every attempt to assist her, feeling both unworthy of it and suspicious of their true intentions all at once and, with no way to properly communicate her distaste, it had been rough going for a spell. Yet both Nuala and Cerridwen had been nothing but patient and kind to Bryn in the days since she had arrived and so swiftly did they endear themselves to her. They seemed to sense when she was becoming overwhelmed and never pushed the many boundaries she was anxious to set. They reminded her in many ways of Azriel. Their quiet nature was a vital balm to Bryn, who found herself rarely reminded of the curse and was pleased to discover that, like Azriel, they were careful to pay close attention to her movements and facial expressions, counting each one of them as a word or something akin to it. Which was doubly important in times like this...when Bryn was struggling to explain her conflicting feelings over the topic at hand.
Cerridwen held between her hands a beautiful dress of ivory and cream chiffon. Bryn could make out three layers of the thin fabric, each slightly differing in shade, draped down from the waist to the ground. The top was modest, with a square bodice and sleeves that billowed at the shoulder but were cinched with thin sky blue ribbons at the elbow. Both the skirt and the sleeves were dotted with intricate floral embroideries of pastel blues, greens and creams. It was equal parts charming and ethereal.
Much too nice for me. The thought drummed through her, igniting from a place deep in her mind, one that had been carved by him and carefully reinforced for years. Remnants of words began to drift up from the mire. Anxiety ratcheted up as self-doubt swelled up, she swallowed hard trying desperately to shoo it away. But it was apart of her, like a brand seared through her skin.
I'm...too simple- not deserving-
Her stomach wrenched painfully as she thought about her mother's dress, torn and stained with blood and the coat Azriel had brought her which her brothers likely destroyed or sold. She bit down on her lip as the guilt guttered and she contemplated sinking deeper down until she entirely enveloped in bubbles.
"Are we ready?" Came Nuala's lilting call from the doorway.
Bryn started and, without thinking, bowed to her instinct and ducked down. Water swelled up and over her shoulders, causing pleasant shivers to crawl up and down her back even as she cursed herself for being so silly.
"Not…exactly." Cerridwen said, flashing her sister a knowing smile. She swung around, letting the dress flow along with her.
"Oh, that's perfect," Nuala said, with a wink Bryn couldn't see from her bubbly hideout.
"I thought so…" Cerridwen beamed with pride.
Although Bryn was certain neither would ever attempt to chastise her, she didn't want to risk it. So she flung her head up scattering water and bubbles across the floor. Nuala held in her hands a cozy robe, her eyes shifting from the bath to the floor. Bryn nodded in understanding. She gripped the sides of the tub and gingerly pulled herself up. Nuala stepped up to her side, one shadowy hand hovering just under Bryn's elbow in case it was needed. In the days after her arrival, it certainly had been. Bryn's first bath had been a revelation in and of itself and she had been flustered to find that she hadn't the strength to pull herself out on her own. Both Nuala and Cerridwen had been with her though, gently offering their assistance whenever Bryn cast a worried glance their direction. Nevertheless, Bryn was incessantly determined to manage on her own and, even though she had to grunt and groan a bit, she manage to pull herself up. She winced as water trailed down her back and her still healing scars began to stretch and sting as her skin dried. Nuala helped her into the robe and out of the tub, guiding her gently towards the small cushioned seat set before the mirror and sink.
Bryn shivered and wrapped her arms tightly around her chest, still a bit shaky from the effort but her mind was still focused on the dress. It was a lovely dress and deep down she was more than a little tempted to slip into it, but in truth, she had never cared for long dresses. They tripped her up during chores and she felt as though she had to drag the folds of fabric along with her wherever she went.
Maybe if I…Bryn didn't wait to finish the thought. She touched a finger to the corner of her mouth, another sign she had worked out with Azriel, signifying that she had heard his question and was trying to think up the proper way to communicate an answer. It had become one of the many they had created as his lessons continued and, one she found herself using the most often. So much so that it had, along with several others, become second nature to the both of them. She then leaned over, gathering folds of fabric in her hands and pulling them up until the robe's hem sat just below her knees. She looked up at the twins again and shook the fabric from side to side.
"Too long?" Cerridwen guessed, after a few seconds of Bryn's controlled flailing.
Bryn nodded. The twins looked towards the closet, but Nuala shook her head. "Well, I don't know that we have anything shorter."
The hand maids shared a glance. Bryn was petite even when compared to the Archerons, they would have to have clothes hemmed and there certainly wasn't time for that.
"And you can't wear the pajamas."
Bryn held up one hand, palm flat and shook her head affably. She then spread her index and middle fingers wide before slapping them back together again and repeated the action two times.
"You want to trim it?" Nuala said, somewhat affronted.
Bryn, sensing her surprise, dropped her hand and nodded sheepishly.
"I don't see why not," Cerridwen said easily, garnering a pointed look from her sister.
Cerridwen fixed her twin with a similarly keen eye, until finally Nuala relented with a graceful wave of her hands.
Nuala sighed, "Very well, but I have one condition…"
Bryn made to protest, but realized it was likely going to be the only compromise she could manage. She nodded reluctantly.
"You can trim the dress," Nuala said, "if you let me trim your hair."
Bryn huffed. She should've seen it coming, Nuala had made the request several times in the past weeks, but Bryn had her reasons for resisting. Still…
Bryn looked over her shoulder to gage her reflection in the mirror. Even with the fancy soaps and oils from the bath, her hair did look a bit...matted. Nuala always had to take a brush to it, battling to undo the tangles and make sense of the curly mass.
I suppose if it is just a trim. Bryn reasoned with herself.
She turned back to the sisters and nodded. Nuala and Cerridwen exchanged a pleased glance.
"I'll get some sheers," Cerridwen said, excitement laced in her whisper like voice.
"Azriel keeps some in the far right drawer," Nuala called after her sister.
Cerridwen halted at the door and turned back around. She gripped one finely crafted iron handle and pulled open the drawer. Sure enough, she found a sleek pair of silver sheers.
As Bryn watched her, nervously picking at her thumbnail, a thought clamoured for attention at the back of her mind.
Az...Azriel keeps...!? She whipped her head round to Nuala, worry overtaking her wide eyes as the realization clarified. She reached out, tugging on Nuala's sleeve.
Nuala met her gaze, her own dark eyes reflecting Bryn's concern.
"What is it?" She queried gently, though she couldn't mask her confusion.
Bryn flung her hand out, waving her arm in a wide arch, mouthing her question slowly in hopes that they would catch on.
This room...She started. Is…
She paused, brow furrowing. She stopped, shook her head once, a clue that she was starting over. Nuala and Cerridwen watched her curiously. She lifted one arm and ran her hand, palm flat, facing her face, downwards. As it passed over from forehead to chin, her expression changed from concern into one of stone that somehow, inexplicably, was immediately identifiable as a play at Azriel's patented mask of indifference. She then spread her arms wide, moving them up and down to mimic flapping wings, before spreading them out in a wide circle in front of her. Nuala and Cerridwen, with a synchronicity only twins could muster, stiffened as wide grins formed on their faces. Before Nuala could answer, Cerridwen slapped a hand over her mouth trying to contain a fit of laughter. Bryn dropped her arms, crossing them tightly around her chest as her neck began to flush.
"This...is this Azriel's room?" Nuala tried, biting down on her lip in an attempt to curtail the giggles her sister had already let loose.
Bryn nodded, eagerly awaiting the answer.
"Why, yes." Nuala said, ramming an elbow into her sisters side. The flush deepened, traveling quickly up and bleeding into Bryn's cheeks.
Azriel's room. This is Azriel's room. This whole time she had thought...well, she hadn't thought much of it at all if she was honest with herself. But...Bryn cast her eyes around the room, peering past Nuala to look through the door that led into the bedroom.
That's his bedroom. His...bed. And hearth and bath...but if I've been here. Where has he…? Bryn sunk lower into the chair, the realization weighing her down.
Nuala, understanding now, placing a hand on Bryn's shoulder and offered her a calming smile.
"There's another room down the hall," She said, gently. "Just as big as this one, I think."
Bryn was hardly placated though. After all he's done. I'm upending his life...he's not even in his own room.
Cerridwen stepped in, crouching to better catch Bryn's eyes in the mirror. "Azriel doesn't mind. Really, he couldn't care less about these things. The guest room down the hall is almost exactly the same."
Almost. Bryn thought, lips pursing as she tried to contain her distress.
Nuala and Cerridwen exchanged anxious glances as a silent conversation passed between them. Cerridwen stepped back and grabbed the dress from it's hanger. She pulled a padded chair up next to Bryn.
"Now," she said, arranging the fold of skirt fabric across her lap in hopes that would be enough of a distraction. "How much were you-"
Bryn, seemingly in agreement, grabbed the skirt without thinking and pulled it into her lap. Nonplussed, Cerridwen made no move as Bryn plucked the sheers from her hand and, after eyeing the fabric for a beat began to cut into it, tearing off strips of each layer as she went. She made quick work of it, expertly handling the sheers and trimming the layers with a careful eye. When she had finished, she gently set the sheers down on the counter and held the dress up, inspecting her work. Evidently pleased with herself, she grinned up at Nuala and Cerridwen, her eyes searching for their opinion. They both blinked, too surprised.
Bryn glanced back down at the dress, her shoulders dipping.
Not good? She wondered, a small frown replacing the grin.
Cerridwen recovered first. She perked up and made to take the dress from Bryn.
"Well," She said with an encouraging smile. She gave the dress a good once over, noting that Bryn had perfectly trimmed the front of the dress a bit higher than the back to keep in line with the embroidery. "It looks just right. I'll just...clean it up a bit."
Bryn's smile returned, although still a bit bashful. She nodded her approval and Cerridwen responded with a whispery laugh and a nod to excuse herself.
Nuala watched her sister flit through the door to retrieve a needle and thread before reaching for the sheers and placing a gentle hand atop Bryn's head. With a reassuring smile she said, "Now it's my turn."
Azriel leaned against the back of one charcoal couches, arms crossed and syphons gleaming deftly in the late morning light. Aside from the crackling hearth, the only sound came from the intricately designed grandfather clock that sat by the front door down the hallway. It was the only heirloom he owned, one that had been deeply cared for by his mother before him.
Whatever is taking so long, he thought, observing the shadows that swirled around his wrist mimicking his impatience. He leaned forward slightly to better peer down the hallway towards his bedroom. I hope everything is alr-
Nuala gracefully slipped into the hallway and Azriel straightened, casting his eyes to the ceiling and trying to do away with the curiosity and concern that they were likely to recognize if his face was anything other than shadow and stone.
"Here we are," Nuala said, in way of both a signal to her mentor and a play at a casual announcement.
Nuala stepped to the side, lifting her arm back to usher Bryn forward.
Azriel opened his mouth to greet her, but found no words.
She looked different and yet more like herself than ever before. Even before they had met in the clearing. There was a lightness in her eyes and a color to her cheeks he had longed to see since he had brought her to Velaris. It seemed the food and the rest were finally doing some good. The dress Cerridwen had chosen was a perfect compliment to her skin tone and her hair had a healthy shine and bounce now that it was free of matting and dirt. Nuala had pulled several small sections from the front back, tying it off that the back of her head with a thin piece of white ribbon. A thin, cornflower blue shawl hung around her shoulders and she wore a pair of woven leather flats.
"Bryn! I-you look," Azriel started, pushing off the couch and straightening. In his peripheral, he caught sight of Nuala and Cerridwen peering out from the hallway, wide eyed and waiting, oddly knowing smiles plastered across their usually cool faces. His feet planted heavily into the floor and he lifted a fist to his mouth, feigning a cough. "It's, ah, a lovely dress."
Bryn ducked her head, but smiled nonetheless. A flicker of mirth bubbled up in her chest. It was strange to hear Azriel use a word like lovely but not as strange as she thought it could be.
"She trimmed it herself," Cerridwen offered, appearing at Bryn's side, beaming with pride.
Bryn flushed, waving her off.
It's nothing. She gestured. I just like it…
She grabbed the skirt, pulling it up ever slightly.
Shorter. She mouthed, admiring the fabric and the feel of it against her fingers.
Azriel eyes trailed down, but the slightest breath of a giggle pulled his attention back to his favorite spy sisters. Nuala glared at her sister and Cerridwen bit down on her thumbnail. But before he could even fix them with a chastising glance, the two of them vanished in a puff of glittering smoke.
"Er," Azriel fumbled, lifting one hand to cup the back of his neck, sure enough it felt a shade warmer than normal.
"S-shall we go?" He asked, swallowing hard.
Bryn looked up and nodded eagerly, dropping the folds of fabric. She made for the door but as she passed him, Azriel reached out, catching her wrist in his hand.
"Wait."
It was a mistake. Bryn jolted, nearly jumping out of her skin. She spun to face him, the ease and lightness replaced by fright and stiffness. Her breath hitched in her throat (a near quiet sound but one Azriel's discerning ear could still pick up on) and tried to pull free of his grip. Azriel relented to her immediately, stepping back to give her more space. Bryn caught her freed hand in the other and held it tight against her chest, staring down at it with a hard, far away look.
"I'm sorry." He said quickly, cursing himself for being so brash. "I didn't mean-"
Bryn, however, recovered quickly this time. Her cheeks went red and she shook her head again, gesturing It's alright.
She smiled, but Azriel's shadows pulsed around him, sensing that she was still on guard. Still unnaturally rigid. Still unnerved.
"It's...up this way, actually." Azriel said pointing towards the stairs across the room that led to the roof. Bryn cocked her head to the side curiously but followed him anyway. As Azriel climbed the stairs, his anger at himself began to grow. He knew better. Knew better than to make a so sudden a movement. Knew that any unforeseen unwanted touch threw her on edge. Flashes of what he had seen in the field...and what he hadn't began to acost him.
How could I have been so thoughtless? His hands turned to fists at his sides, syphons glinting. Shadows crept up around his neck, as if trying to console him.
Bryn followed several steps behind, sensing his regret while simultaneously battling her own. She tugged at the strands of fringe that lined the hem of her shawl.
He didn't mean it. It was nothing. Nothing to get upset about She thought, balefully. I know that but…
She couldn't shake the stab of fright that throbbed through her. She could feel it still, radiating in her chest, pulsing as if it were alive inside of her.
His grip wasn't even tight. She thought, chastising herself. When she reached the roof, she could see Azriel standing near the edge, hands propped on his waste, wind tossing his raven hair about. He's angry...but not at me?
An honest and relieved smile sparked across her face. She silently stepped to his side, sliding her arm through his, linking them.
Now it was Azriel's turn to jump. He did, but composed himself, looking down at her. Bryn touched his shoulder with her free hand and smiled up at him. Azriel felt the heat in his neck ratchet up several degrees.
"I'm sorry Bryn." He said again, ducking his head. "I'll be more careful, I-"
Bryn nodded in understanding, waving her hand out. All forgotten.
Azriel sighed, relieved.
"Thank you," He said, the weight of his gratefulness settling heavily around them.
Bryn inched slightly closer to them, excitement taking over as she glanced between him and the city far below.
"Ah." Azriel said with a breathy chuckle, her cheerful anticipation quite contagious. "Well, the thing is…"
He trailed off. How to explain?
He never usually found himself at a loss for words. Then again, there was always the simple, succinct truth.
"We'll have to fly." He said after a beat.
Bryn's eyes went wide. She looked down at the city, peering over to glance at the cobblestone road down below. She followed it with her eyes as it snaked down the mountainside and realized that Azriel was right. If they were to walk...well, she would probably tire herself out before they ever reached the city below.
Bryn took a deep breath and touched her index finger to her chin. Alright then.
Azriel nodded and slowly bent down behind her. Bryn's mouthful of air left her in a whoosh as he pulled her up into his arms; one tucked under her knees, the other wrapped gingerly around her waist, purposefully avoiding her back. It was as if she weighed nothing at all. Her arms found his neck and she wrapped them tightly around him, trying no to think of the last time she had been in this very position. His shadows enveloped them both like a cool caress of wind. Bryn squeezed her eyes shut tightly, barely daring to breath as she waited for him to take to the sky but after several motionless beats...nothing happened. She peeled her eyes open, one at a time, looking up at him questioningly. Azriel couldn't help but laugh. It was faint and quick, nevertheless the sound of it sent waves of butterflies tumbling over themselves in Bryn's belly.
"Only when you're ready," He said, softly. "I'll go slow this time, I promise."
Bryn took another steadying breath and nodded.
With permission granted. Azriel spread his wings wide, the sound of them unfolding and catching the wind sending shivers up and down Bryn's spine. He hitched one foot up onto the low railing in front of him. Bryn peered over the edge, gasping as the city seemed to swell beneath them, stretching higher than ever before. She tucked her head in, her forehead pressing into Azriel's shoulder.
"Are you ready?" Azriel asked one last time. Bryn nodded against his shoulder.
Azriel's stepped up onto the railing, teetering for just a second before stepping off and sailing into the sky.
From Azriel's home far above the center of the city, Velaris looked liked a glittering wonderland unlike anything Bryn had ever seen or even dared to imagine. To finally find herself in it, walking down a narrow street alongside Azriel, it felt like a dream with a dream.
I should pinch myself. She thought, eyes darting from side to side, up and down, trying to take it all in.
The street Azriel had landed on was lined with two to three story redbrick buildings, a stark difference to his home of white clay. Even though it was still morning, fae of all colors and kinds walked the streets, chattering and eyeing the shop windows as they passed them by. Bryn knew she shouldn't stare, but though she tried to keep the urge at bay it was impossible when so many fascinating creatures were making their way up and down the lane.
Faeries, Bryn thought, eyes widening as a lithe woman nearly two feet taller than her walked by. Her skin was dark, the color of sapphires, while her eyes were warm, and pale gold in color. A pair of chattering fae-girls, the first one's daughters perhaps, followed closely behind, whispering and laughing with one another. I always wondered...the people in town talked about them like they were monsters but...
"Bryn," Azriel called softly. She turned around, heeding his call.
"We could go to the markets." Azriel said, a casual suggestion meant mostly to call Bryn's attention back. She swirled back to him, her question written plainly on her face.
"There's four of them," Azriel explained, stuffing one hand into the pocket close to his blade. He offered his free arm to her. Bryn nodded enthusiastically and nearly skipped back to his side, slipping her arm through his.
They made their way through the tents at a comfortable pace, Azriel allowing Bryn to tug him along as she ogled the available wears and the patrons around them. As they meandered he couldn't help but smile, pleased to see her out and about. Two hours went by before Bryn could feel the adrenaline in her begin to wane. Her legs and feet were sore from the all the walking and she was beginning to miss the comfort of Azriel's home.
When they reached the last tent in the row, Azriel turned to her, running his free hand through his mop of black hair. "Where should we go ne-?"
Before he could finish, Bryn's stomach emitted a loud and long gurgling sound. Flushing, Bryn slapped a hand over her stomach and dodged Azriel's eye.
Oh no...but I don't want to leave, She thought, as another grumble ripped through her.
"There's a tea shop around the corner." Azriel said amiably, ignoring the sound for Bryn's sake. "We could stop and get something to eat."
Bryn cocked her head to the side and gestured, What's that?
"What's…" Azriel repeated. "...what's a tea shop?"
Bryn nodded.
Azriel smiled, "Would you like to find out?"
Azriel led her to a small shop that sat on the edge of the Sidra, the one he knew to be Mor's favorite. It was a quaint little building, painting a delicate teal blue. The shop's name was printed in pink paint over the door, next to a yellow striped awning. The waitress, a young faerie with seafoam green skin and a smattering of freckles across her nose, let them choose their own table.
Bryn had pointed to one of the ones outside, a small iron crafted cafe table with two matching chairs and a small porcelain vase filled with vibrant magnolia blossoms. Azriel had insisted that Bryn take the chair with the best view of the river. It was a warm day for early spring, and the smells of freshly blooming flowers and salt from the sea not far off hung pleasantly in the air.
A breeze twined through the alleyways and up the cobblestone street gently tossing Bryn's hair back and away from her face. Her eyes fell shut as she sipped once more at her jasmine tea, breathing a contented sigh through her nose.
Azriel, having already drained his cup, leaned back in his chair. He peered over his shoulder, taking into the sight of the riverside, watching fae pass by. Some of them avoided looking at him altogether, while others cast a wary glance in his direction as they passed. Azriel knew well enough that without the charismatic Rhys or the boisterous Cassian, he struck a far more imposing visage. But he would rather that the passing fae kept their eyes on him than on the human girl accompanying him. The first human to ever walk within the walls of Velarlis since...well, he couldn't remember a time. Perhaps Rhysand would know.
He turned back to Bryn, a frown growing on his face. He could see that she was beginning to fade. The circles under eyes were darkening and she looked as though she could drift off to sleep at any moment.
He could admit to himself, and would likely have to admit to a pestering Madja, that it was too early to take her out but she had been so excited at his proposition, he couldn't bare to withdraw it. That and, he couldn't deny the truth behind his reasoning for choosing today. The weather was mild and warm, yes, but an ulterior motivation lurked underneath Azriel's good intentions: the other members of the inner circle, Elain Archeron included, had only just left Velaris that morning. Varian (and a begrudging Amren) had invited them to attend the first of many festivals held annually in sparkling bay city of Adriata; a precursor to the coming of Summer. Azriel had declined, but fortunately was no met with much suspicion or chiding. He had decided long ago, along with his bastard brothers that, even in times of peace, it was important to have at least one member of the Circle present in the city. Feyre and Rhys, Mor and Cassian even Elain, they had all leapt at the chance to bask in the sun and soft white sands. Which meant that Azriel and Bryn could freely explore the city without even the slightest chance of running into a member of his adoptive family.
It's better this way. He thought without a hint of doubt. For now.
Azriel could remember vividly that first dinner at the House of Wind, Feyre's wide eyed (and altogether atypical subdued) quiet face, still reeling from all she had been through. Carefully assessing each of them. He could remember the surprise and faint signs of unnerve as Mor & Cassian surrounded her with the intense waves of their personalities. It had been necessary then. Rhysand had known there was no time for idling. War had breached the horizon and was steadily approaching. Still, his highlord had been as careful as time allowed him to be. He had gathered the Inner Circle, told them what he could and implored them all to come as they were. He wanted Feyre to have all the information she could for her to feel comfortable with them, for her to know that they could be trusted even if it meant a baptism by fire. What Rhysand didn't know, what he didn't allow himself to know, that it was far more important than that, that evening had become auspicious in so many ways. It wasn't only the introduction of a potentially powerful ally. No, Feyre had become so much more to them than that.
Unlike Rhysand however, Azriel was not bound to such constraints and he was determined to give Bryn as much time as she needed. And even then…
Azriel was at a loss of how to best proceed. No doubt his brothers, Mor and Feyre, they would have questions. And expect answers.
We are too far away. Azriel thought, watching Bryn as she set her cup back down on the table and tilt her face into the breeze. Too far to think about such things.
"Bryn," Azriel said, his voice soft, his eyes downcast.
Her eyes fluttered open and she turned her head back to him. The corners of her lips turned up, a minute sign that she was listening, one of the few that Azriel wasn't certain she even knew she made.
No matter. He thought, resting his arms on the table. If she can't see them, I can.
It sparked a strange, but altogether euphoric wave of pride deep inside him. Listening and watching were his specialty, but he had never imagined a situation outside of the war where they would be so needed. So appreciated. It was both a relief and a victory all at once. What was a Shadowsinger without a war or unrest? He always felt guilty, that his livelihood and his skill was dependent on the suffering of others. To find a new purpose for them...it was answer he hadn't realized he needed.
"How are you feeling?" He asked, his eyes fixed on his own fingers, woven over one another. He waited a beat, letting her think on it, wincing slightly when he realized it was potentially too open-ended of a question.
He looked up at her, a pang of guilt pulsing through him. The sadness only threatening her dark eyes had grown in. His shadows shuttered around him, plumes aching to reach out for. To take it back. To rephrase. But he held them back.
What can I say? Bryn thought, brow creasing.
It was times like this that she felt the curse most deeply. It was like tar swirling inside her. Sticking to her insides. Impossible to remove without tearing at her resolve. Impossible...and permanent. There was so much she wanted to say. So much that, try as they might, a few thoughtful hand gestures couldn't possibly do what she needed to convey the words trapped in her head.
She knew what she was, what she had been her whole life...a burden. A burden to her father, to her brothers...and now to Azriel. He had done so much for and, unlike anyone else she had ever known, he never asked for anything in return. It seemed impossible to express everything she wanted to tell him without the power of words. That she was, and would forever be indebted to him for the rest of her life. There was a girl inside of her that she thought she had lost long ago, but since meeting Azriel, she could sense that girl coming back. The parts of her that she was certain had been chipped away, lost to a chasm of ore and ice...perhaps they weren't really gone.
Without Azriel, I don't think...would I have ever imagined…?
She looked up, heart sparking as she took in the worry flooding his dark eyes.
If I can't speak…
Some things could never be said. Curse or no curse. So what did others do in moments like this? Bryn set down her fork and placed her hand over Azriel's. He started, not expecting it. She squeezed, feeling distinctly the twists and grooves of his marred skin. Their eyes met across the table and a wealth of understanding passed between them.
I'm...healing. The touch said.
Thanks to you. Her smile said.
"Can...can I get you anything else?"
Azriel and Bryn turned, both jumping as they realized the pink haired waitress had returned to their table. Azriel managed to recover first.
"Perhaps…" He said, pulling his hands from Bryn's. "Two more of the blueberry tarts?"
He glanced at Bryn.
"Those were your favorite, yes?"
Bryn looked down at her plate. She had eaten every one of the six different mini pastries that had been placed before her...and yet he was right.
How did he…how did he know?
She nodded.
After the waitress had come and again, Azriel said, "We should head back soon, it's starting to get colder."
Bryn couldn't feel it, but she had no doubt he was right. Still, she deflated at the idea of leaving the city center. There was so much they hadn't yet seen.
"We could come back tomorrow," Azriel said, sensing her disappointment. "In the evening."
Bryn nodded in agreement.
"I still don't see why Mor got to stay," Cassian grumbled, slamming his now emptied glass onto the table. A waitress appeared seemingly out of thin air to refill it and, for a shred of a second, Cassian managed a grin of thanks before returning to his patented sulk.
The sky above still showed signs of the sunset that had just vanished behind the mountaintop. A mixture of waning oranges and gentles blues, soon to turn dark save for a glowing, nearly full moon washed across the cityscape prompting shop owners and residents to call upon their magic and summon lights. Never one to let the moon outdo it's splendor, Velaris soon sparkled with new color and new life. Nocturnal faes peered out from their homes to start their days and music began to fill the streets.
The Rose And Thyme restaurant, a favorite of Feyre and Rhysand's ever since that first dinner out they had shared with the Inner Circle nearly three years ago was practically empty but soon the evening crowds would descend and the night would begin in earnest. Cassian, along with Feyre, Rhys and Elain occupied what had become their regular table even with members of the circle still away. A grand view of the Sidra was stretched below them. Feyre looked beyond Rhys' shoulder and watched as people walked alongside the railing under warm lantern light, some holding hands and chatting, others leaning over to catch sight of their reflection in the water. She was glad to be home, even if the celebrations in the Summer court had been a raucous good time...for the most part.
"Maybe because she was the only one that didn't make a comment?" Elain offered gently, smiling in thanks to the waitress after she slipped the last of their platters onto the table in front of her.
"What?!" Feyre huffed, turning her attention back to the table and to her sister seated at her side. "I certainly didn't make any comments."
"No, but someone else did," Cassian was quick to point out. He nudged his head to the right two times, eyes pointedly moving towards the High Lord seated beside him. Rhysand was stretched back in his chair, hands tucked behind his head. "and you're fully responsible for his actions."
"I don't see how that's fair." Feyre grumbled, stabbing her fork through a steaming piece of heavily seasoned meat and hurrying it onto her plate.
"I'm responsible for you, too" Rhys said, with a shrug and a smile. He straightened and reached for his own drink, mumbling something under his breath before swallowing a sip of amber liquid. "And you're damn right it's not fair."
Cassian sniggered but Feyre, wanting nothing more than to enjoy the evening, just rolled her eyes and shot her mate a sardonic smile. Rhysand could pay for that comment later.
"If you want to go back and argue with her, Cass," Rhys said, a familiar glint in his eyes. "Be my guest."
Cassian opened his mouth, a retort already ready and waiting, but thought better of it. There was no shame in harboring a passing fear of the petite yet mighty Amren, even now after her powers had lessened some. Of course that hadn't stopped him, or Rhys, from daring to whisper a few playful words about Amren's traditional Summer court dress.
"Varian wanted me to stay." He grumbled instead, before reaching for his fork and dunking it into a plate of spiced meats. "How he convinced her into those robes is some sort of miracle."
"I'll drink to that." Rhysand added, lifting his glass briefly to the air.
"Poor little Illyrian," Feyre teased, hitching her elbows up on the table and fixing her Illyrian brother with a sardonic stare. "Did the scary little lady ruin your weekend?"
Cassian shot an obscene gesture her way. "As a matter of fact, she did. I still have two days to go before I have to head back the camps. What am I supposed to do now?"
"Check on Azriel, maybe?" Elain said in a small voice beating both Rhys and Feyre to the punch.
A thorny silence permeated the table as each of them dodged one another's eye. It was a subject that they had discussed in detail as private pairs, but it had yet to be breached when they were together as a group. At least, mostly together. Elain shot an apologetic look across the table, but Feyre waved it off.
"No, she's right." Feyre said, slipping a serving of food to Elain's plate and motioning for Rhysand to do the same. "I keep wanting to but someone," she shot an annoyed look across the table to Rhys. "says I should just leave it be."
Rhys, to his credit, didn't pester his mate. He simply pulled his own plate closer and said, "Azriel will come around when he's good and ready."
"It's been almost four months." Cassian said, surprising the others at the table. He had been strangely tight lipped about the matter every time it was brought up and although Feyre and Rhys knew that Cassian had visited Azriel several times, he had never expounded on his brother's goings on and would abruptly change the subject whenever pressed.
"I didn't want to jump to any conclusions," Cassian continued. "But I'm worried about him."
Rhys, seemingly embolden by Cassian's admission, leaned forward, weaving his fingers together.
"Actually, now may be the best time to discuss this," Rhys said, looking around the table. His impromptu late night conversation with Azriel, though it had taken place nearly a month ago, was still fresh in his mind. The look of horror and guilt on Az's face upon his entrance, a lapse in control Rhys had never seen his shadowsinger yield to; followed closely by the very last question he ever expected to hear from him, it was all weighing on his mind.
Rhysand sent a word of apology through the bond to Feyre before posing his theory.
"I think it has to do with Mor." He said. Feyre kicked him under the table, but it was a blow not nearly as strong as it could've been. Rhys feigned a look of pain.
"We shouldn't talk about this now." Feyre said through gritted teeth, fighting the concern and curiosity that battled for dominance in her head. "If you're right, you're right and it's their business not ours."
"Darling, I agree." Rhysand said. "But how long can we let it go on?"
"Az and Mor...can handle it on their own." Feyre repeated, although she cringed hearing how unconvinced she sounded. "When you and I were dancing around the bond, they kept to themselves."
"Says the busybody." Rhys teased, pointedly.
Feyre opened her mouth to retort.
"You know something." Cassian said, his words bringing a sharp end to the burgeoning lovers spat.
"I-" Feyre said, flushing. "What? No, I'm as lost as you are."
The table fell quiet again as Cassian sized up his High Lady. Feyre dodged his eye and reached for her drink.
"Cassian-" She said finally, looking to her sister for help. Elain, as clueless as the rest of them, merely shrugged. Feyre's shoulders sagged as she ran her thumb along the rim of the glass.
"Is he okay?" Cassian pressed, his tone impatient. He leaned forward, resting his large arms on the edge of the table. "That's all I wanna know, Feyre. If something's happened-"
"O-of course he's okay!" Feyre said, suddenly finding herself on the defensive.
Cassian sat back, crossing his arms, clearly unappeased.
"It's nothing bad, it's I-uh," Feyre gripped her glass and lifted it to her lips; an obvious but necessary stalling tactic. She had to think of something that would turn the conversation away from Mor. Her eyes drifted to Rhys, to the river beyond him as she tipped the glass upward, letting a large stream of house wine slide past her teeth. It didn't make it much farther. As her blue-grey eyes zeroed in on a pair of figures walking along the Sidra in her direction, she promptly spat her near mouthful of wine across the table, spraying Rhysand from forehead to chin.
"Hey!" Rhys sputtered, pushing his chair back and scrambling for his napkin. Elain looked between her sister and Rhys, biting down on her thumbnail to keep from laughing. Cassian, however, blinked and then burst into laughter, slapping a hand to Rhys' shoulder causing him to lose his grip on the napkin.
"Feyre, darling," Rhys said, managing to catch it and scrubbing his face thoroughly before dropping the napkin onto the table. "If I wanted to taste your wine, I would've asked."
He looked up at his mate, eyes glistening in preparation for a snarky comeback but Feyre's eyes were far away, focused on something behind him.
"What is-" Rhys started, gripping the arms of his chair and turning.
"Nothing!" Feyre nearly squeaked, reaching out across the table to grab at her mate's collar. "Nothing, there's nothing."
"Feyre, it's clearly not nothing…" Elain said laughing softly, looking to her sister before turning to peer over Cassian's shoulder.
"Oh! Isn't that…" Her voice trailed off into silence, her mouth falling open.
Cassian continued to guffaw, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye as he too turned to see what all the commotion was about.
It was Azriel, his usually shadowed visage was lit with a genuine smile and he was chuckling. Beside him walked a young woman, a stranger neither Cassian nor Rhys had ever seen. She was petite, her head only just reaching Azriel's bowed shoulder. Her hair was dark and full, spilling waves and curls over her shoulders and down her back. She was clothed in a mid length cream and plum colored dress and woven flats. Feyre recognized Cerridwen's handywork. Her shoulders were draped with a matching shawl; her fingers absentmindedly toying with the fringe hem as they talked.
Except they weren't talking. The girl was gesturing quickly in a way that at first seemed more like concentrated flailing, but it soon became clear that there was a method to the perceived madness. Once she had finished, Azriel responded in kind mimicking some of her motions and adding a few of his own, intermixing an occasional spoken word here and there. To their surprise, Rhys and Cassian recognized several hand signs they used in battles long ago, but how could the girl have understood?
Whatever it was Azriel had said, the girl's smile widened and she nodded emphatically. Her eyes glistening with cheer, she gazed up at the Night Court's Master of Shadows...as if he were the brightest of suns.
They walked side by side, but even the gobsmacked watchers on could sense that there was tension there. They swung their hands wide, as if wanting to reach for the others hand but neither dared. Instead the girl veered wide, reaching for the iron railing that protected pedestrians from falling into the Sidra. She gripped it tightly, leaning her weight into it, seemingly needing to catch her breath. Azriel appeared attentively by her side, a flash of concern appearing on his face. But the girl shook her head, waving him off. She turned around, lifting up onto her toes to peer over the barrier and down to the slowly rushing waters below. Azriel leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, attempting to look casual as he kept a close watch on her. They 'talked' for several minutes more, before continuing on.
When they reached the small set of wide steps that led up to the row of shops and restaurants, the girl deftly held her hand out, as if she wasn't even aware she was doing it. And Azriel, in turn, lifted his hand to to meet hers. She gripped it tightly and with an encouraging grin, he helped her up the steps. As they reached the top, Azriel leaned in close, whispering something in her ear with an ease and grace that seemed unimaginable to the four dinner mates.
She laughed at whatever it was he had said, pausing to tuck a thick curl of hair behind her ear. And in doing so, momentarily looked beyond, catching sight of the four pairs of eyes now barely thirty feet away from them. Her smile faltered and she pulled her hand from his. She looked questioningly up at Azriel. Sensing her discomfort, he leaned towards her, his hand now hovering near her waist as if worried she would tumble backwards. She merely tilted her head up casting her eyes towards the Rose and Thyme. Azriel pivoted to follow her gaze, a pep and charm to his movements the likes of which Cassian and Rhys had never seen before.
But as soon as he took in the sight of his High Lord and Lady, his best friend and his newest companion all staring down at him, all the laughter and warmth sapped from his face. His mouth fell open and reached behind, catching the girls hand once more.
"Azriel!" Feyre called, stumbling to her feet and waving her hand in the air. "Hello! Come and-"
But Azriel shook his head stonily and pulled the girl up into his arms before vanishing suddenly in leaving a wake of purple and black shadows behind.
"Join...us…" Feyre's greeted fizzled into nothing.
The four of them, thoroughly agog at the strange scene they had just witnessed, stood and sat in a din of quiet. Until Cassian couldn't bear the silence any longer.
"Wasn't that…" Cassian ventured after several waning beats. He looked around the table, but the others still had their eyes trained on the spot where Az had been. He pressed on anyway.
"...was that a human girl?"
Mini! Cliff! Hanger! I'm the worst I know. But there will be more chapters soon, I promise. This story is back on the top of my priority list. That said, it is so hard to write a character that can't speak! I hope it's not too repetitive. It's a huge challenge for me (in the best way). Thank you all for your patience with me and I'd love to hear from you as always!