I want to thank everyone for the feedback. It's been a true pleasure to read and helps keep me motivated and I couldn't be more grateful. I'm so very happy that people like Bryn. Thank you so much! I know this chapter took a while! I get so nervous writing these characters, but your encouragement really helps! I was laid out sick for a while (first a cold, then another cold, then a really bad cough and finally a pinched nerve in my neck from coughing too much!) It like ages since I've been able to post anything! . Thank you for your patience and Happy Holidays :0)
Chapter 10
A thread of sun was visible on the horizon by the time Azriel left Cassian's home. The mixture of warmth from both the fire and several glasses of good whiskey still pulsed through his veins. As his wings pushed him up and up into the depths of an endless blue sky, he could feel a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. He was grateful to be on good terms with Cassian once more. Rare was the occasion they found themselves at odds. Although few in the circle knew, he fought more frequently with Rhysand but they were small disagreements, easily remedied. Cassian on the other hand, was much like bear. To poke him would be a fool's error and it took time to assuage any wounds or lingering anger. Azriel tried to avoid it at all costs for Cassian was the sort of person he had always imagined a good brother to be. Boisterous and brave, a true friend but never afraid to take the piss of out of him when the situation called for it (or didn't call for it). Azriel was thankful for him. Thankful still that the wall he had purposefully built up between them had been destroyed. At least, he could see through it now. How silly it was to keep it up for so long.
He landed on the roof of his home, breathing in the pre-morning air mixed as it was with the scent of the flowers that lined the hillsides and salt wafting up from the oceans far below, before heading downstairs. He paused on the middle step, his hand gliding gently down the dark wood bannister. He had expected Bryn to be asleep by now. She was, but not in her room.
The fireplace that sat in the center of the wall, grand on it's own but perhaps paling in comparison to Cassian's, was still sparking, stoked by magic the High Lord had gifted to all of his friends. It's soft crackling was the only sound to breach the comforting stillness. Bryn was seated on the floor in front of the large crescent couch sat before the hearth. Her arms were crossed over one another, propped up against the low glass table where many of their lessons were held. Her head rested in her arms, strands of curly black-brown hair falling over her face and down her back. Azriel stepped down and rounded the staircase, shadows rising up over his shoulder and peering down at her curiously. Ink was everywhere. In splotches and stripes. Deep navy fingerprints littered the corners of the pages and could even be found dotting the table in several spots. At least, where the table could be seen. Aside from the ink pad and quill cup, the surface was practically covered with sheet after sheet of parchment, all spread about haphazardly. Several pages were covered in attempts to neatly write out four letters. BRYN. And next to them, in equally varying degrees of skill were six others: AZRIEL. Underneath several pages he found sheets of lettering. Each one a tad neater than the one before it.
She's been practicing. With a smile, Azriel knelt down next to her. His eyes shifted, taking in the mess with a whisper thin chuckle. With one hand, he fingered the corner of a page, the one directly in front of her, the bottom half of it trapped under her elbow. She had attempted, several dozen times it seemed, to copy his uniquely angled handwriting and by her last attempt had managed a fairly uniform copy. She was learning quickly, putting in the work. Soon enough, he hoped, she would be able to write full sentences. And then, maybe, they could 'talk' unimpeded by misunderstanding.
He shifted onto his knees, propping his elbow on the couch, his head on one closed fist. Taking in the familiar peace of the morning in bloom, he watched her shoulders rise and fall with each breath.
It was right, he thought, shadows settling around him like draped fabric. Upon seeing his friends, his family, he had been certain he made a mistake in keeping Bryn a secret from them. But now, having spoken to Cassian, he knew it had been the right call to make. Bryn needed time to settle. To rest.
No, not needed. He amended. She deserves it.
He thought back several weeks, to his last conversation with Madja.
"She's coming along," the healer said, helping herself to the tea Azriel had laid out. "But rest is still key. I've done what I can to heal the scars on her back but...much of it still remains."
Azriel stood across from her, leaning against the kitchen counter. His arms were crossed tightly against his chest, a makeshift shield to brace himself for whatever news Madja had. Aside from steady improvements, none of it had been what he would call 'good'. With Bryn well out of critical condition, Madja had been working her magic on what amounted to corrective healing. Her face was healed, her vision unobstructed. But there were traces of nerve damage and strain beyond her years. Azriel was glad for every visit, but his relief was tarnished by guilt. It lingered in the healers wake, like the smell of smoke long after a candle had been snuffed out.
Madja was experienced enough in her position to sense the question Azriel wanted to ask. She took her time, spooning another sugar cube into her cup and watching it dissolve.
"Bryn is very much human," she explained, swirling the spoon. "Their bodies are not as susceptible to certain kinds of magic fae's are. There's only so much I can do for her, especially because much of the scarring isn't all that recent."
Azriel's eyes shifted from the tiled mosaic floor to Madja's wizened face. This was new information. If they weren't recent...
"How," he started, thickly. "How old are they?"
Madja set her cup down. "I can't be certain. I have little experience with mortal anatomy. But if I had to guess...five years? Maybe ten?"
Azriel felt waves of nausea creep up his throat. Five years. Ten. One...would have been one too many. How long had this been going on? Since before he had met her. Long before, it seemed. Azriel didn't want to think on it. That cottage was so close to the wall, so far from town. Had she really been alone all that time? Left to contend with those savage, deplorable brothers of hers? Azriel knew intimately what she must have experienced, but he had been lucky. His powers had manifested at a young age, giving him a way out by the time he was eleven. But Bryn...she was, well, he didn't know.
"Do you know how old she is?" Azriel asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
Madja shook her head. "Not her exact age, if that's what you're asking."
It was.
"You could always ask her." Madja said plainly before finishing off her tea.
Azriel met her gaze, but said nothing. She had a point. Leave it to Madja, he thought, to speak honestly. Bluntly.
"Isn't that rude?" Azriel countered.
Madja considered it. "Perhaps if she were high fae. Or...an old friend. A much older male or women may take offense. But I doubt she would."
A birch log covered in embers broke apart; the sound of it causing Bryn to stir. Her eyes fluttered open and she yawned, pulling Azriel from his thoughts. She sat up straight, one hand moving to her face to rub the sleep from her eyes.
"Good Morning," he welcomed, softly.
Bryn turned to him, too dazed to be alarmed. She simply smiled, happy to see him, and mouthed the words back to him.
"I'm sorry," Azriel said, "I didn't think I would be gone for so long."
Bryn shook her head, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs. She balanced her chin on her left knee. Her dark eyes, still cloudy from sleep, taking in the tendrils of flames that danced in the hearth a few feet away. Azriel followed her gaze and they sat in silence for a time, watching the sun creep up from the ocean and cast the city below in soft, golden light.
"Bryn," Azriel said, finally. "I was...wondering, if you would like to meet my family. Today."
She tensed. The move was slight, visible only to someone with the skills Azriel possessed. Still, he pressed on. Now that the Inner Circle, well most of them anyway, were aware of her existence, he knew he couldn't keep them at bay for very long.
"Just one of them." He amended. "They're harmless really. Just...excitable. I don't want to put any pressure on you but, now that they know you're here..."
Bryn seemed to be considering his proposal seriously. After a moment she lifted her hand, index finger extended. Just one?
Azriel nodded. "Just one."
Bryn sucked in a deep breath, but nodded.
Alright.
Why am I so nervous? Bryn thought as her fingers knotted into the fringe of her shawl searching for loose threads to tug on. She stood in Azriel's living room, too jittery to sit still. After a quick breakfast, Azriel had left her to change and by the time she had finished he had already gone to retrieve his "dearest friend" as he had called him. Or her. They? She wasn't sure what fae called themselves. There was so much she didn't know.
Or am I not nervous enough? She thought, pushing off the back of the couch and walking around the front of it for the seventh time. This is his family...and I'm a human whose not supposed to be here. I think. I'm not really clear on that.
She caught sight of her reflection in a long, gold-flecked mirror leaning against the wall.
No wonder he left. It took me so long to get ready. Bryn thought, flushing.. Maybe I should've called for Cerridwen & Nuala.
The two fae had been with her since the beginning to help her bathe, change and apply the balms Madja left behind between visits. After a while, however, as her strength grew, Bryn was struck with the desire to manage on her own. She knew the two of them only wanted to help, but she felt more and more like an invalid the longer they pressed. After much insisting and even a quite word with Azriel, they agreed to remain away unless Bryn specifically called for them. It was a challenge at first, to see how much she could get done on her own. There were certainly things she needed help with still, but dressing and bathing were not one of them. Not that they didn't come with their own sets of challenges. One being, she had never before had to decide what to wear. Nor had she ever had a packed wardrobe to rifle through. Her clothes had always been hand downs...from her brothers. She would stay up nights in front of the fire, tearing and ripping old tunics and shirts; sewing them back together, trying to craft something that looked less like a loose sack and more like something that was made for her much smaller, feminine frame. She did enjoy that sort of work. Sewing came easily to her and if she had time in the day, she would practice more artful styles and even some embroideries. She never imagined she would have access to such beautiful fabrics and colors and patterns. Amongst the pile were several shorter dresses Cerridwen had brought over (only after Bryn had taken a pair of scissors to many of floor length option). After much fretting and many trips from the closet to the mirror and back again, Bryn had chosen one of those for the afternoon's outing.
It was a simple sundress of midnight blue. Crafted of thick linen, it was sleeveless, but the hem was cut high, keeping her back well covered. What Bryn liked most about it was the matching lace overlay that hung loosely from her shoulders, ending at her waistline. Patterns of small birds and floral designs had been stitched all over. It was some of the most beautiful craftsmanship Bryn had ever seen. As she inspected it in the mirror, she wondered if she could ever master such an arduous technique. The ivory shawl draped around her back was not needed, but it offered her a feeling of security she wasn't yet ready to do without. She shimmied the shawl down her shoulders, letting the fabric catch on the crook of her forearms and swayed from side to side.
It's so lovely, she thought, admiring the dress again. Such a shame to cover it…maybe just this once I could-
A knock came at the door, causing her to jump. A second later it opened and she heard Azriel's slate-smooth voice float down the hallway.
"Bryn?" He called, gently. "We're here."
Bryn leapt back from the mirror, turning her head to make sure her hair didn't look a mess. Azriel appeared at the end of the hall.
"Ready?" He asked, a hopeful glint in his eye.
Bryn shook her head 'yes', even as butterflies churned like mad in her stomach. She cursed herself as she felt her cheeks go warm.
"This is Morrigan." Azriel introduced as an equally lithe figure sprung around from behind him.
Oh...Bryn thought, the air nearly knocked out of her. Bryn could count on her two hands the number of women she had known in her life. Even so, she was fairly certain she stood before the most beautiful of female specimens. She was high fae, of that there was no doubt. Tall and svelte, she was dressed in surprisingly simple clothes, a long dress of deep scarlet red with transparent sleeves that ended at her wrists in thin gold clasps. Her hair, like spun sunlight, spilled down her back in soft waves, a small section of it was pulled back above her ear and pinned in place with a with two metallic clips bearing jeweled stars. Her lips were stained apple red, the color truly popping against the bronze color of her skin. But it wasn't just her features that registered beauty, as stunning as they were. She wore a smile that glowed more brightly than any perfectly placed angle, curve or gemstone. There was a joyous spark in her warm brown eyes that miraculously banished the butterflies in Bryn's stomach. Surprising, as Bryn was conditioned to be distrusting of strangers, no matter their gender.
"Bryn," She said, her voice honey soft as she stepped forward and offered her hand. "Hello."
Bryn's eyes shifted back and forth between Azriel and Mor's hand. She wasn't sure exactly what she was meant to do, but she felt compelled to lift her own hand, mirroring the fae's actions. Mor took it gently, placing her other hand over Bryn's.
"I'm so happy to meet you." She said, and Bryn was certain she meant it. "And please, call me Mor, no one important ever calls me Morrigan."
She directed a pointed look at Azriel, who was watching Bryn with a careful eye.
I can't call you anything. Bryn thought acerbically, a familiar but nonetheless bitter sting slashing through her ribs. She was certain Azriel had promised to explain her...situation before hand.
As if reading her mind, or at least realizing her inadvertent gaffe, Mor's brilliant smile faltered.
"Oh, I didn't mean…" She said, looking instantly apologetic. "In your head, you can call me that. If you think about me. Not that you'd spend a lot of time thinking of me or-"
As she rambled on, looking helplessly at Azriel, Bryn felt the bitterness fade away. She wasn't sure whether she should turn away or laugh. So she pushed her hand forward, finding Mor's and circling her fingers around it. She shook her head and smiled sincerely, hoping it would convey her dismissal.
Azriel stepped forward too, meeting Bryn's eye and said, almost sheepishly, "I thought of all the people to start with Mor would be-"
"The least objectionable." Mor finished, a mischievous glimmer in her eye. "By far. Isn't that right, Az?"
Az. Bryn repeated in her head. A nickname?
"I would've thought so," Azriel said with amusement. "But here you've gone and done something I was certain only Cassian was capable of."
Mor scoffed and playfully punched at Azriel's arm.
A nickname. Azriel didn't seem like the type that would want for one.
Then again, what do I know? Bryn thought. What is...what is happening?
As she watched the pair of them exchange lighthearted barbs, she felt apprehension swirling in her head.
Is it nerves again? She wondered as something sharp pricked at the back of her mind. No...this feels different. Somehow.
"I thought we could go for tea." Mor said, "Maybe shop around. Azriel isn't exactly a reliable guide when it comes to this sort of thing."
When Bryn's brow furrowed in confusion, Mor giggled.
"You know, something fun." She said with a wink.
Azriel smiled wryly, rolling his eyes at the jab. The prick in the back of Bryn's head only grew hotter. Larger.
It...bothers me. She realized. They were just teasing each other, but it seemed to come so easily. Like family. Azriel seems...brighter somehow. More relaxed. More...like himself. Bryn could understand the feeling, she felt lighter too. All her nerves were gone. So why? Why does it make me feel...like I-
She couldn't even decide what it was she felt. It defied description. So she shook the thought away, not wanting to dwell on the negative. She was determined to make a good impression and prove to Azriel that he had no reason to worry about her, no reason to keep her hidden away.
After all he's done for me, she thought. This is the least I can do.
Just over an hour later, Azriel stood before the door to his High Lord and Lady's palace. It was a sweeping estate, tastefully picked over by its owners. Set against a peaceful stretch of the Sidra, it boasted several great rooms, a central garden flourishing with both carefully tended flora and visiting fauna. Fireplaces (stoked by magic, with no need for a chimney) and comfortable furniture decorated almost every room, art from The Rainbow was prevalent throughout. Even though the estate had only just recently been completed, it was difficult for any of them not to glide through the threshold and feel instantly at home.
If only, Azriel thought, shadows slinking around his shoulders. I was worthy of such a feeling.
He pushed the thought away, even though he couldn't deny the truth of it. As shadowsinger and spymaster, lying was as much a part of his anatomy as bones and muscle. One of many tools necessary to do his job well and earn his keep. He was good at it. But he didn't like it. Especially not now. When it had come so naturally. Even in the face of his dearest friends. His family. With a sigh, his forehead fell against the wood door, his eyes slipping shut as another wave of guilt washed over him. The shadows around his feet rose up, as if to comfort him. But he shooed them away too.
He was grateful to Mor. For her understanding. For not asking questions, even though he could tell she wanted to. Even though he knew he would soon be obligated to answer. He knew she would enjoy showing Bryn around to the places he had missed. He hoped Bryn would enjoy it too. It gave him the time he needed. To see Rhysand and explain himself. Being able to talk to Cassian had been an important step, but it was hardly what Azriel would call a complete success. Cassian may have let him off the hook, but Azriel hadn't really explained himself at all. Azriel knew the reason of course. Despite his constant huffing and howling, Cassian's tough hide hid a surprisingly soft heart. It was never difficult to reach it. But Cassian was not Rhysand. Not in countenance or title. Azriel owed his loyalty and strength to the people of Velaris, but Rhysand was beholden to them by his very blood. Not only was Azriel certain Rhys would expect answers, he knew that he was entitled to them. Bryn was, after all, the first human to come to Velaris since the fateful battle. It certainly was illegal. Not anymore at least, but the precedence had yet to be set. And her presence had gone unbeknownst to the city's own High Lord and Lady for almost two months. If such a lapse in security were to ever come to light...
I can't even get the words out. Azriel lamented. And if I can't do that-What is he going to think?
He straightened. His hand hovering over the handle to the door. He was never one to wing it, he usually had his words planned out well in advance of speaking. But his mind was a fog whenever it came to Bryn. He felt sick at the very thought of what he would need to explain. He could feel a dark, deep rage spark in his gut. It was familiar. And dangerous.
An amused voice came at him from behind. "You have to push, you know."
Azriel looked over his shoulder, the white hot anger dissipating in an instant. Cassian was leaning against one of the columns that held up the roof above, grinning like a cat. He was dressed in his usual attire, his hair swept up and back. A thin sheen of sweat was visible on his forehead. He must have just come from his morning workout. Azriel turned, swallowing down a deep and heavy sigh.
"What are you doing here?" He asked stiffly. He wanted to talk to Rhysand first. Alone. Hell, he had come knowing full well that Feyre was working at her studio in The Rainbow. The thought of more than one pair of eyes on him as he attempted to explain plucked at his anxieties. Azriel's wings flexed instinctively, but if Cassian noticed, it did nothing to deter him. He pushed off the column, his hands going to his pockets.
"Figured you could use some back up." He said with a shrug, casting his eye to the side.
Azriel's shoulders fell. Cassian's attempt at casual indifference was neither successful nor welcomed. It was his favorite tactic, other than outright mockery or disdain, reserved only for members of the Inner Circle. He'd seen it used on Mor and Feyre, even Rhysand on the odd occasion, but never on him.
"I don't need-"
"Uh-huh" Cassian interjected, pushing past him and opening the door himself. He stood in the entry hall, his dirt splattered leathers a hard contrast to the polished stone floor underfoot. Azriel stood his ground, even as his shadows crept closer to the doorway, wanting to enter. His lips pursed into a thin line.
"Az," said Cassian flatly. "It's Rhys. What exactly do you think he'd going to do? Banish you?"
"You don't know the whole story." Azriel reminded him pointedly.
"I'd like to." Cassian responded. He folded his arms over his chest begrudgingly. When Azriel said nothing, he sputtered, "how many times have you laid your life on the line for Rhys. For this city? For Feyre and her sisters? Don't you realize the lengths you would have to go to...to undo all of that?"
Azriel's eyes sharpened as he considered Cassian's words. It was a surprisingly good argument. But no matter the logic behind it, Azriel could not shake the voice in that coiled, poised like a snake in the darker recesses of his mind, ready to strike the moment he let his guard down, the moment he chose to believe that he wasn't in the wrong. The one that knew he had done something unforgivable. And also knew...that he had no regrets. That was perhaps the true source of guilt. That lack of shame. That total and complete assurance that what he had done had been the right thing to do. To betray the word of his High Lord and friend, to the promise he had made all those centuries ago. And to have done it so willingly. That was what was eating him up inside. He could only hope that finally admitting to it would help assuage the pain. If only a little.
"Alright." Azriel said, stepping inside. He bowed his head, the weight of adrenaline pulsing and pounding through his system as the pair of them made their way to the study, where Rhys was most likely to be.
It was similar to the one that sat, now practically abandoned, at the House of Wind. The only difference being Feyre's obvious touches of warmth and the addition of several art pieces. Two large desks sat against an expanse of book shelves to the right, They were equal in size, but diverging in styles. Rhysand's was crafted of dark cherry wood, sturdy and sleek. Feyre's was daintier by comparison, but artfully made and much more orderly. While Rhysand's desk was stacked with papers and maps, books and empty glasses, Feyre's was clear save for a small stack of books and several sheets of parchment, where notes were scribbled. A candle and Rainbow-made tea set took up the most space. At the opposite end of the room, a grand fireplace sat, magically stoked at all hours of the day and night. A large map of Velaris, achingly precise in artistic detail hung above the mantel. The scent of burning sandalwood and rose hips filled the air and floated out the doors that led to a sweeping courtyard brimming with greenery and color. No doubt Elain was proud of the years showings and the work she had done to craft such an enchanting garden.
Rhysand sat in one of the lush emerald green armchairs by the hearth, a book in one hand. The small side table next to him was stocked with a still steaming mug of tea and plate of pastries. Azriel stepped in first, Cassian close behind. The shadowsinger could sense his brothers anxious energy and knew Rhysand must have felt it too, but for perhaps both their sakes, the Fae Lord kept his eyes trained on the pages of his book until the pair had drawn close enough that even a distracted human would take notice.
Golden eyes, sharp as a hawk's, appraised them both and Rhysand smiled. With one hand he closed the book, the pages slapping noisily together, and tossed it aside.
"Cassian, Azriel," He greeted in his usual amused drawl, crossing one leg over the other. He hitched one elbow on the armchair, fingers playing with a stray curl of obsidian hair behind his ear. "This is a surprise."
"It's not," Azriel said tightly, in no mood to tolerate the usual pleasantries.
Rhysand's eyes shifted momentarily to Cassian. Azriel could sense his brother shrug from behind.
"Has something happened?" Rhysand asked, the bell-like timbre of his voice wavering only slightly.
Azriel's hands turned to fists at his sides and he cursed himself. He wanted to control this anger, this all-consuming rage, but he knew what was coming and he knew he was powerless to stop it.
Just get it over with. He coaxed himself as his shadows, darkening, swelled around him. Over and done.
"You know why I'm here." He said, finally. His hazel eyes turned toward the fire, unable - or perhaps not quite ready - to meet the gaze of his High Lord head on.
"Alright," Rhysand said carefully. He shifted in his seat, an odd look lighting in his eyes. His hand motioned to the matching emerald velvet couch across from him.
Azriel obeyed, moving swiftly around the back of the couch and dropping down into the seat, his wings tucked rigidly behind his back. He rested his arms on his thighs, clasping his hands together as one knee bounced nervously up and down. Cassian followed suit, his eyes shifting from Rhysand to Azriel and back again. Rhysand too, watched Azriel, his curiosity (which even he couldn't deny had been steadily building since yesterday) turning quickly to mild alarm. He directed a pointed look back at Cassian who only shook his head to silent express his equal confusion.
"Perhaps...a drink?" Rhysand suggested.
"Couldn't hurt," Cassian said, answering for the pair of them. His eyes were still trained on Azriel, but he was unable to hide a twinge of amusement. Cassian and Rhys could both remember many an occasion when they, as young boys, would try to rattle the stoic, seemingly impenetrable Azriel, just to see what would happen. Never once were they successful.
What is it people say? Rhysand thought, his own amusement sparking to meet the growing sense of dread in his gut. Be careful what you wish for?
Rhys snapped his fingers and the tumblers that sat on the table between them were filled again. Azriel reached for his, but did not drink. Looking down into the depths of the cup, he assessed his reflection. Rhysand looked to Cassian and lifted his glass. Cassian mimicked his High Lord and they both drank deeply.
"Az, I-" Rhysand began, setting his glass down.
"It was not my intention to deceive you." Azriel said, the words tumbling out at such a windsprint speed Rhysand struggled to follow. When he put the pieces together, he chuckled.
"Azriel," He said, leaning forward, trying to catch his brothers eye. "I'm not upset. Whatever your reasons, I'm sure they were warranted. In fact...I have no doubt of that. I should hope you don't think so poorly of me."
Azriel looked up, mouth falling open. "No, I didn't mean to off-"
"But it is curious," Rhysand continued, his eyes locked onto Azriel's. "That you chose to hide it."
Azriel could feel the words pressing into him like waves. He knew Rhys did not mean to wound him. In fact, he appreciated the honesty. He would rather feel this guilt than see his High Lord dance around the truth. It didn't, however, dull the pain. The shadows surrounding him swelled.
"Or...should I say her?" Rhysand amended. A chill licked up the back of Azriel's spine.
"It was a mistake." He relented. Some of the pressure in his chest lessened. He took a deep breath and continued. "In hindsight, I should have come to you directly. Immediately. I did, actually."
"I remember," Rhys interjected.
"-but I wasn't honest with you." Azriel continued. "I felt that..discretion was needed. Not for my sake or yours...but for her. She needed time. If I could tell you...when I planned to tell you I would…"
Azriel stopped. He could feel his brother's eyes on him, drawn in waiting no so patiently for him to continue. He swallowed the nerve to curse aloud. This wasn't going as smoothly as he had hoped. He couldn't remember the last time he had spoken with anyone this way. Rambling and correcting and doubling back. He was certain they were as struck by the oddity of it, too.
"But I had no such plans." He admitted, attempting to speak more plainly. "I didn't expect to see you yesterday...I'm sure that was clear enough."
Rhysand waved his hand in dismissal.
"Time," he repeated, mulling over the word as only he could. "Time for what?"
Azriel swallowed, but even though he had just downed another hard swig, his throat felt painfully dry. They had come to it. As he knew they would. His shadows went still, as if frozen in time.
"Her name is Bryn." Azriel said, his voice shuttering. "She is a human, but that is not why I...kept her presence here a secret."
Rhysand and Cassian both waited patiently for Azriel to continue.
"I did so, because-" Azriel stuttered, after a beat. "Because...I knew that knowledge of her presence would bring questions. Why is she here? Who is she? Where is she from. And...the answers to those questions…"
You're rambling. He thought. Not making any sense.
"I'm not sure I follow-" Rhysand said. Cassian shifted in his seat.
"It's a long story." Azriel said, practically breathless. He could feel sweat pooling at his browline. "The end point being...that I took her from her home with her permission, but before that- I...killed someone. A human. Possibly two of them. I can't be sure."
A heady silence swelled through the room, interrupted only by the steady crackling of the fire.
Cassian, of course, was the one to break it. "You did what?!"
But Azriel had eyes only for Rhys, watching him with the intensity only he was known for, looking for any sign of a reaction to gage. The High Lord's golden eyes had gone dark, his expression unfathomable.
"You're," Rhysand started, his voice a low rumble, serious and stony. "...not sure?"
Azriel loosed a long, thin breath. "No."
"Why not?"
"Because if I were to go back there to confirm it," Azriel answered, his voice alight with a steady, almost dangerous assuredness. "I'm certain I would finish the job. Kill the rest of them."
Rhysand's eyes met Azriel's again. He made no move to speak, but Azriel could sense the question that loomed in his mind.
"When I brought her here. To Velaris. I did so because-because…" His voice turned hollow and heavy. Ice flowed through his veins. With a curse, he rose from his seat, just as he had at Cassian's several hours earlier, seeking out the warmth of the flames. As much as he hated it, he wanted to remember that anger. He wanted his brothers to understand. Why he did what he did. But his mind was a storm. He couldn't bring himself to say what he needed to say. He watched the tendrils of fire, his unblinking eyes stinging from the heat. A hand clapped down on his shoulder, pulling him from his nightmarish reverie. Rhysand stood next to him.
"If it's easier." He offered. Azriel sucked in a breath, understanding. Rhys meant to bridge their minds. It was a gesture Azriel knew his High Lord meant to be supportive, but it usually made him uncomfortable. The connective thread he could form was powerful. To Azriel, it was like being stuck with a knife. Always leaving a wound. More often than not, Azriel declined such offers. But this time, he merely nodded. It would be a living hell, to have to explain...to describe what he had seen. What he had done. This would be far quicker. Cassian stood and crossed over to them, stepping up to Azriel's other side and braced himself. Rhysand's mind reached out, like a veil of evening light, connecting the brothers together. Azriel closed his eyes. Before he knew it the memory overtook him and he sent it out for Rhysand and Cassian to see.
He flew through the sky at breakneck speed. At first, Azriel thought he was headed back for the clearing, but he sped right passed it. It only took a glance to note that the wolf was gone. That creature. Azriel thought. It's growl still echoed in the back of his mind. Vicious and imploring. But for what? Azriel didn't know. He wasn't sure where he was going, but his shadows did. He had never been able to explain it himself, how they knew things even he didn't. There was no rhyme or reason behind their instinctual pull, not that he needed to know; as all he did was benefit from their knowledge. He often wondered if they were somehow a part of his conscience. That they only allowed him to tap into the deeper recesses of his mind.
The pain he felt mere minutes ago, like a bolt of lightning striking through his core, had gone. He could, however, sense distinctly the absence of it. Waves of adrenaline, hot and anxious, radiated through him in its wake. His shadows sensed it too. And they were poised, ready for another blow should one come. As he flew, the blanket of trees below grew sparse until he reached the very edge of the forest...and the end of the Spring court. He didn't need the physical wall to sense where one court ended and another began. He dropped lower, knowing he was now safe from any watching fae trackers or spies, humanoid or otherwise.
What could possibly demand my attention here? He thought, a question posed to his shadows even though he knew they would not answer back. Not in that way, at least. A structure caught his eye and he barreled down, instinctively taking cover behind one of the larger trees. With uneasy eyes, he surveyed the landscape before him. It looked to be farmland. To his left at the base of a small hill, he could see a gathering of fruit trees feebly fenced by human made barriers. Farther away, three horses stood idle in a modest stable. They seemed unbothered. Just to his right, sat a modest cottage. It was land well kept, no doubt the occupants made an adequate living off the land, but how strange to stumble upon a human farm so close to the wall and so far from the nearest town. All was quiet. Serene.
There's nothing here. Azriel thought, have I gone mad? Something called me here. But what?
The door to the cottage burst open. The sound of heavy wood slamming against stone shattering the stillness. Azriel slid back swiftly, keeping his body and wings well hidden behind the massive tree trunk. A figure in white, stumbled out, falling into the lush grass.
The girl. Azriel realized. This must be where she lives. But...how could she call to me? And why?
The usual mixture of relief and ease he felt at the sight of her was fleeting. Something is wrong. His shadows repeated as the weighted twinge of dread returned to his stomach. He smelt it, before he could pinpoint it. Fear. Rolling off her in waves. Fear...and blood. His Illyrian senses, heightened as they were, drew in the smell of it. He could practically taste the metallic tang on his tongue. On instinct, Azriel watched, his feet rooted to the ground as he tried to make sense of it. His eyes followed as she darted left. Another figure appeared from around the side of the house blocking her path. A human male. He looked several years older than she, but they had the same hair and similar features. Seeing her, the male dropped what was in his hands and reached for her, catching her by the wrist.
"Are you crazy?!" He hissed at her. She didn't seem to hear him, only pulled against his grasp, her feet digging into the ground as she tried to jerk her hand free. It was then that all the warmth and adrenaline was sapped from inside him, as the source of the stench was revealed to him. Her back was covered in blood. Lines of scarlet, angry and raw, some so deep they looked like claw marks.
"I'm sorry, Bryn," The male said, his voice tinged with regret.
Bryn. His shadows whispered, understanding a second before he did. They swelled around him, whispering as they did. Bryn. Her name is Bryn.
"You vicious little bitch!"
Azriel pushed the shadows away, his eyes slamming back into focus. Another male had joined the fray, this one gangly, his voice as grating as nails on rock. Azriel searched for Bryn, finding her crumpled on the ground, her stomach caught under the males foot. Azriel understood now. His veins tightened, warmed to boiling with rage. These men, whoever they were, they had hurt her. He made to leap forward, one hand braced on the tree as shadows seeped from his palm gnawing at the bark like a frenzy of ravenous insects, when a much louder voice broke through the chaos.
"Isaac! Stop." The voice boomed, it's rumbling, authoritative nature drawing the attention of both the boy, Isaac, and Azriel himself. It was enough for Azriel to give pause, to continue assessing the situation.
Just how many of these...men are there? Azriel thought, watching the door. A much larger male stepped out into the gray light, one of the larger humans Azriel had seen.
"Stop?" The lanky boy repeated, aghast. "You see what she did?!"
As the pair argued, the larger one reached for Bryn. Dragging her up by her hair, he spouted orders to the three others. He hardly regarding her, as if she weren't a human at all. He forced her to her knees, "You move, you're dead." He said. Bryn didn't seem to hear. Her eyes, one flooded with blood, were far away.
It was the last word Azriel would hear. His head was full, their voices too far away. Whatever this was. He would end it. Now. The shadows around him, now black and entirely devoid of light, shuttered with anticipation.
Azriel forced himself to pull back, unable to bear watching it again. The rest of the memory came in pieces. Echoes of what after next hung between the three Illryian brothers. Cassian and Rhys both could feel in their bones the same rage, the same terror Azriel had felt as he flew back to Velaris with Bryn's broken body in his arms.
The Shadowsinger crouched, the weight of the memory enough to crush him. His wings flung themselves around him, shrouding him in darkness. He called silently for his shadows. They flocked around him, easing the trembling in his heart.
He didn't know how much time passed, how long it took to collect himself, but when he felt well enough he rose up and faced Rhysand again.
"Who are they?" Rhysand all but growled.
"Her brothers," Azriel spat, unable to contain the malice that still clung to his heart like a leech.
Cassian sucked in a low breath, his eyes meeting Rhysand over Azriel's shoulder. The High Lord looked down into the hearth. Even the flames seemed to shrink in the presence of his Shadowsingers wrath. All three of them still bore scars of what Illyrian customs had done to their mothers. They were the sort of wounds that didn't heal over time. They only grew deeper.
"Whatever time you need, Azriel," Rhysand said, "Whatever time she needs. You've got it."
Finally, right?! An update! I most definitely have not abandoned this fic. I hope it wasn't too terrible, I feel...out of practice? Azriel's pov was definitely a little different, but with everything going on...poor Bryn couldn't take it all in. Why do I do these things to my girls!?
Thank you for reading as always. I appreciate every view and especially every review!