I don't know why I had such a hard time with this chapter! Like cutting stone with a plastic knife. But I was determined to get it out before the next book. Sorry for the long wait, I hope you enjoy!
Chapter 12
Sunlight poured down from a serene sky, bathing their luncheon with soft, warm light. Cool breezes still wafted up and down the alleyway, causing Bryn to lift guarded fingers to her hair and push curls out of her face, then back again. And again and again. Their table was full of small square plates, each bearing an intricately decorated border that resembled lace. The plates all bore different foods, each of them bite-sized and peppered with flavor. There were five servings per plate, to accommodate their party. Bryn peered towards Azriel again, hoping her eye was well hidden under a sheet of stray curls. He sat at the head of the table, to her left. Mor sat to her right. Feyre, The High Lady, sat across from her. And, next to Feyre, sat a new guest. Elain, Feyre's sister.
Another beauty. Bryn thought, picking up a blackberry from her plate and popping it into her mouth. She was shorter than Feyre, but she had the same warm skin and eyes. She wore a dress of pale pink and ribbons held her hair into a thick braid that wound around her head. I know they are high fae, but I can't imagine they were any less beautiful as humans.
What Azriel had told her of their story was, he suggested, only the tip of a monstrous iceberg, but Bryn appreciated the knowledge. She wondered, with a familiar ache in the pit of her chest, what he had told them about her. He had assured her once, that her story was her own and he had no intention of telling it without her consent. She appreciated that, for she was not yet ready to tell them anything. She had sensed of course, the change in Azriel after he had learned about her home life. She was not keen on experiencing it again. But surely he had to tell his High Lady (and Lord and bevvy of friends) something about what brought her to Velaris. An explanation of why she was here, living in his home well past the turn of the season, sleeping in his bed.
Bryn flushed, swallowing the berry down in one uncomfortable gulp. It's not like that, though. She told herself, cursing the path her mind had wandered down. They must know that at least.
She watched them talk, the conversation never lagging. Mor and Feyre always steering it in this way or that. Azriel spoke little, mostly to Bryn, providing context as the women breezed through story after story with a strange but nonetheless inviting casualness. Feyre laughed at something Mor had said. Snorted actually. She seemed very comfortable with the company around the table.
For a High Lady, Bryn thought, reaching once more for her fork. She doesn't act very queenly. If that's what a High Lady is. She corrected herself. Azriel had been a little vague with the details. Whatever he meant, I certainly didn't expect this.
Azriel spoke of his High Lord and Lady with reverence. He said it was an honor to serve them and the people of Velaris. But Feyre treated him as a friend, not as a loyal soldier. And there was nothing formal about their introduction. A smile here, and handshake there. A hearty "Welcome to Velaris" and "Azriel's told us practically nothing about you."
It was times like these, rare as they were, that Bryn was actually glad she couldn't speak. She could practically sense the curiosity radiating off of Feyre and Mor. The questions they were dying to ask, glistening like stars behind their eyes.
What would I even say? She thought, her heart skipping warily at the very idea of having to contribute to the constant flow of conversation. It was maddening, the realization of how ill equipped she came to situations like this. In all her life she had never been presented with the chance to make a female friend. And now that she had spent time with Cerridwen and Nuala and Mor, she was beginning to understand how different they were from Azriel. And other men...
But these are his friends, Bryn told herself. He wants them to like me. And for me to like them. So, trying is the least I can do. After all he's done for me.
The day unfolded like any other day she had spent exploring Velaris. She often sat on the farm, whenever she could scrounge a moment alone, dreaming about things like this. Going into town. Talking with people who knew her and liked her. Wandering the market and shopping. Not out of necessity but for the fun of it. When Mor had taken her out, they had breezed quickly through the Palace of Thread and Jewels while Mor pointed out some of her favorite shops. After lunch, they found themselves there again.
Mor winked at her.
"I could tell you wanted to explore some of the shops," she said with what was soon becoming a familiar gleam in her eyes as she addressed Bryn. Mor turned to the other women and announced, "She's a woman after our own hearts."
Bryn went red in the cheeks, not realizing she had been perhaps too transparent during their first tour around the city. It was true yes, though it wasn't the "Jewels" in the Palace of Thread and Jewels that interested her so. Bryn waved her hand, her index finger raised, making the gesture for when she had a question. Even though their time together had been short, Mor had at least learned that one. She giggled, linking one of her arms through Feyre's and held the free one out to Bryn. Casting a hesitant eye towards Azriel, Bryn offered up her own arm, trying to fight against the awkwardness that still settled uneasily in the back of her mind. She saw Azriel nod encouragingly before she was whisked into one of the shops.
"Have you ever gone window shopping?" Elain asked pleasantly. coming up on her other side.
Bryn shook her head.
"It's fun," Elain explained. "We don't buy anything, just browse and try things on."
Bryn felt a wave of relief flow through her. That's good. She thought, eyes searching again for Azriel. I wouldn't want him buying me anything more. He was following behind, hands stuffed into his pockets as shadows swirled languidly around his shoulders.
It wasn't long, however, before Azriel was out of her mind. As Mor whisked her around the shop, Bryn felt herself go breathless in wonder. Lines of gowns were hung across the walls. Beautiful, delicate things each bearing intricately sewn jewels and overlays. There were grand jewel tones and soft pastels, deep dark plumes of feathers and thin wisps of lace.
They're beautiful. Bryn thought, mesmerized as she fingered the various fabrics. Like something out of a dream.
"Oh look at this one," Mor said, pulling a sumptuous scarlet frock from the bunch and holding it up.
"You have to try it on." Feyre said with a clap of her hands. "And Elain! Did you see the fuchsia one."
"Oh no," said Elain, going pink in the face. "It's so bright!"
"Nonsense." Feyre said, pulling it free and shoving it into her sisters hands. "Here."
Bryn smiled in spite of it all. She caught Mor's eye and the blonde motioned her closer.
"Come with me," Mor said, looping the red dress over her arm.
She led Bryn to the back of the store and after smiling towards the shopkeep, pulled her into another room. This one was cramped, but circular. And the center was a low ottoman of purple velvet. It was surrounded by walls of curtains.
"Here," Mor said, pulling one of the curtains back. "This will be yours. I'll go next to you here and Feyre can go on the other side-"
Bryn shook her head, but Mor fussed her inside with an easy swoop of her arm and slid the curtain shut. A second later, the hand passed through the curtain again. This time, holding out a dress.
"Feyre picked it out." Came Mor's voice from the other side of the curtain. "She liked the color."
Bryn, somewhat dumbfounded, took it.
But I can't-?! It was impossible to communicate without looking Mor in the eyes.
"It's just for fun!" Mor said cheerily, parroting what Elain had told her earlier.
Just for fun. Bryn exhaled. It was as if Mor had read her mind. That's right, like...a game I suppose.
"Come out and show us when you're done!" Mor said, after a beat. And she was gone.
Bryn clutched the dress in her hands, unsure of what to do. Her heart was hammering in her chest, but she wasn't sure why.
Am I excited? Nervous? Or...having fun? Maybe...
It felt wrong to indulge. What was the purpose of trying on clothes if you weren't going to buy them? It seemed silly. She shifted the dress and held it up and away.
It's...She almost gasped.
Crafted entirely of draped tulle, it was heavy in her hands. The skirt was full and long, the bodice was laced with thin patches of silver leaf. The sleeves were short and seemed oddly shaped, as if they couldn't sit properly on her shoulders. Her curiosity peaked, she went against her better judgment and numbly slipped out of her dress and shawl. Shaking like a leaf, she stepped into the dress and pulled it up her waist before slipping her arms in the sleeves, her heart hammering loudly in the back of her head. Just as she thought, the sleeves didn't fit her shoulders, but rather draped down. The tulle was thin at the top, but wrapped around her arms, just below her shoulders. More tulle was layered underneath, making the sleeves even longer. With shallow breaths, she felt around the back, looping the buttons until she reached the top. It was a tad large and far too tall, she could feel the skirt's hem sit oddly on the floor as fabric pooled stiffly looking for more room. She rose up on her toes to accommodate it.
Biting down on her lip, she dared to look up into the reflection in the mirror that was propped up against the back wall of the small dressing room.
It's beautiful. She thought. I don't...I don't even look like me.
She placed her hands on her hips, swiveling from side to side and watching the skirt twirls gently along with her hips.
The detail is so...She lacked the words to describe all of the small touches. A thin ribbon of dark velvet had been sewn across the bodice in an 'x' that trailer from either shoulder, crossed in the middle and wound around her back. She turned and looked over her shoulder, pulling her hair up and around to her front to get a better look at it. It was tied off at the small of her back, the tails of the bow trailing all the way down to the floor. As reached around and fingered the ribbon, her eyes trailing up again. Her heart fell. Though the tulle was deeply layered in the skirt, it was far thinner at the top. What was hidden by a similarly covered bodice in the front, was almost completely translucent in the back. Her shoulders were all but bare, her back on display. Her back...and the layers of scarring she had almost forgotten about.
Numbly, her mind blank, she reached one hand behind and let the pads of her fingers drift over the scars. Her stomach went sour as she traced them, the feeling was hauntingly familiar.
They're so- She thought, angering herself as old shadows began to weave their way back into her mind. So ugly.
They covered her skin like a second web of veins, some thin in shape, others puckered. And all of them a hideous shade of fleshy pink. She hated them. Hated how they looked and what they stood for. Even though Madja had managed to make the newer ones disappear, the old ones were permanent it seemed. A map of shame and fury seared into her skin.
Her eyes shifted from the reflection of the scars on her back to her face. Her fingers moved from her back towards the front through the folds of the fabric, it was light as clouds. The color was bold, a far stretch from anything her brothers brought home from the village. Bryn was reminded suddenly of the time she spent sewing and trimming the same tunics and shirts in their same bland colors, the fibers rough and scratchy against even her calloused fingers. She could remember looking up at the sky, clouds bathed in the colors of a beautiful sunset. The pinks and blues and gentle lilacs; so unlike anything found on earth and wondered if such colors could be manifested into fabrics. It turns out, they could be.
She looked down to the dress again. It was a truly beautiful color: indigo, perilously deep in pigment yet somehow strangely beautiful in it's darkness.
Like Azriel's shadows…
The thought took her entirely by surprise, but she couldn't deny the truth of it. Her scars decidedly forgotten, she turned again, admiring the contrast of the fabric against her pale skin. She imagined it wasn't the dress that cloaked her body, but Azriel's shadows. Or maybe it was Azriel himself. She closed her eyes, her lips parting to release a slow, calming breath as imagination claimed her and her surroundings fell away. His voice, a delicate but assured whisper, telling her she was safe. There were just his hands, on her back, her waist. Gentle yet terribly warm. Holding her close.
The thought took her breath away. She could remember a time, not long ago, that the thought of a man even coming within arms length of her made her sick to her stomach. She was certain that she would never want for the touch of one for the rest of her days.
But he's not a man. Bryn thought. He's fae...I think.
She smiled.
No, he's just Azriel. Bryn told herself. The wings, the syphons, the magic and the shadows. They did not make Azriel who he was...kind.
And quiet, Bryn thought, her hands moving lower, capturing handfuls of skirt so she could lift them as she swayed from side to side; her heart as light and as giddy as a sparrow in flight. Quiet in the best of ways. Sweet...and handsome.
She flushed, her stomach swirling as she pictured him in the mountain meadow. His small smile like a light; a glowing moon, in a star-laden sky.
A rustle of fabric, quiet as a whisper, followed by a breath of a word pulled her suddenly from her reverie.
"Oh!"
Bryn spun around, the folds of fabric slipping silently from her grasp. From behind the curtain peered Mor, another dress slung over one arm. Clearly it was meant for Bryn.
"I'm so sorry." She said, her head of blonde ducking out of sight before Bryn could even breathe.
Bryn faltered, her hand going to her neck, then around to her back as she met her own gaze in the mirror once more.
As her fingers felt along the highest of her vertebrae where she knew the groove of an old scar lay, she couldn't help but think: had Mor seen?
Her other hand wove into her hair draped over left shoulder. With no other outlet available to her, she pulled on her hair tangling her fingers into it and forcing it back behind her head where it should have been all along. Shame and confusion swirled in her head making her dizzy. Her ears rang with the echo of Mor's absence, that sound made in acknowledgement, the hushed intake of breath. It felt as if she were both still present in the room and far away. The disparity was jarring.
Of course she saw. How could she not? A bitter voice answered in the back of her mind. Her well-dark eyes fixated on her own reflection in the mirror, as if in answer to the voice. They drifted downwards, taking in the dress once more. The beauty she had admired only seconds ago seemed foolish to her now. Her brows knotted together as she regarded the gown with newfound (yet somehow obvious) disdain, her eyes focused on the nakedness of her shoulders. She dipped her right shoulder down, allowing her a better look at the sunken lines that stretched and pulled at her skin. What little anger she felt for Mor's accidental glance was eclipsed entirely by the broiling hatred in her heart that had always been reserved for herself.
Stupid, She thought, running her fingers along the scars that lay just below the curve of her shoulder. She shivered as her fingers traveled across them, taking in the sensation with renewed venom. How grotesque they were, how definite.
How could you be so- Her fingers curled in, nails clawing at the ruined skin. But however slight, she welcomed the pain for the distraction it allowed her. She sucked in a long breath, shoving the hatred back into the dark chambers of her heart where it belonged.
"What were you thinking?" She muttered to herself, pushing the sleeves of the dress down her shoulders and stepping out of the skirt as quickly as she could manage. She stumbled back into the corner of the dressing room, glaring down at it as if it would move of its own accord.
You were never meant for such niceties. The bitter voice cooed. Bryn didn't bother to push it away. How could she? Not when it was so right.
With a labored sigh, her shoulders fell as a familiar weight churned in her chest. Quietly she gathered her clothes into her arms and began to pull them on. Once her sundress was fit again, she reached for the shawl, pulling it around her and carefully assuring that her back and shoulders were completely covered. Once she was satisfied, she gripped each end in both hands and tied a large knot to keep it in place.
Swallowing hard she placed a hand on the velvet curtain leading back out into the shop. She thought of Mor and realized she had not caught a glimpse of her face. A stab of apprehension shot through her.
How can I go back out there?
She glanced once more at the dress, crumpled on the floor. It felt silly, to place so much meaning into a pile of fabric. But Bryn couldn't bear to be so near to it any longer.
What choice do I have?
Steeling herself, she pulled the curtain open and stepped outside, molding her face into a familiar mask of passivity.
Mor stepped away from the dressing room and hurried back into the shop proper. Her ears were ringing as she clutched the now forgotten dress in her arm. Her eyes darted across the length of the store, searching for Azriel. She found him, lounging on a bench by the door. He was obviously bored, but dutifully waiting for their game to end. As she suspected, the shadows that drifted silently around the bench he sat on stiffened the moment they sensed her presence. Not a second later, Azriel stiffened too, his soldiers instincts never wavering. His amber eyes, sharp and questioning, swung to Mor. Even though she was expecting it, she still didn't manage to morph her face into something less ghastly. She swallowed hard, her own metallic eyes swimming as she deftly handed off the dress to the waiting attendant and made straight for the doorway that led out of the shop. Azriel followed behind her, a shadow wreathed in shadows. Luckily, Feyre and Elain were still occupying dressing rooms of their own.
With a sharp intake of breath, Mor crossed her arms tightly across her chest. Her nails dug into her arms as she tried to gather her thoughts. They were impossibly scattered, and any attempt to ground them up was interrupted by visions of what she had seen.
She was practically littered with them. Scars all over her back. All. Over. Like she had been-oh, I can't even think about...what could have possibly-?!
Mor felt dizzy, flushed, angry at herself for being so casual so quickly and allowing it to happen.
"Mor," Azriel's voice was, as usual, maddeningly calm and soft. "Are you alri-?"
"Why is she here, Azriel?" Mor said finally. She bit down on her lip, trying to keep her questioning to a minimum, but the trail that followed the first was too strong to contain. "What...what happened to her?"
Azriel was quiet. His shadows darkened, as did his face. Mor looked away. The intensity of his gaze was never something she had grown used to; even after all these years.
"She..." Azriel started, his voice a glacier. Terrifyingly cold and impenetrable. "I - What happened?"
There wasn't a question in his words, only a gentle confrontation. Gentle in sound perhaps, but Mor could sense the heat in his eyes.
"I-" Mor stumbled, cheeks turning scarlet. "I didn't mean to, I mean, of course I didn't but when I opened the curtain. I-I saw…"
She couldn't put it into words. It was too horrible to say. Mor spotted a bench across the walkway and moved for it. Her knees felt shaky. She had to sit. Her kneed bobbed up and down as she tried to find the words to explain herself.
After a moment, Azriel crossed as well and lowered himself down next to her.
Mor shuddered and looked to Azriel, bracing herself. "I didn't mean to-"
Azriel sighed, his shoulders dipping under some invisible weight. "I know."
Mor didn't know what else to say. This is exactly what he didn't want. She thought, cursing herself. Me. Us. Any of us, getting too friendly too quickly.
They sat in silence for a moment, watching patrons drift by. Watching the shadows move in the store. As the minutes dragged on, Azriel lifted his hand and placed it over Mor's, squeezing it gently. Mor's heart started and she looked towards him questioningly. The smallest of smiles, the ones he, for centuries, reserved only for her, sparked across his face.
"I'm sorry." Mor said, her remorse deepening.
"Don't be." Azriel said, "I should have been...more candid with you."
"No," More said, "Don't make excuses for me. I just, I got comfortable and-"
"I know." Azriel said. "It's why I wanted her to meet you first. I knew that you would be...well, you. I thought you had the best chance of putting her at ease. It worked for me, after all."
For Azriel. Mor thought, her eyes drifting towards his hand over hers. To the scars he bore.
It worked for me after all.
"Azriel," Mor continued. "What...what happened? To Bryn."
Azriel's grip grew stronger. Not out of anger, but out of need. Mor could feel him trembling, his shadows going cold.
"It-" He started. "It isn't for me to say."
Mor swallowed, she knew (more than most) how difficult it was for Azriel to express himself when his emotions rang so strong. "But she wasn't safe, was she?"
Azriel inhaled. Mor turned her hand over, lacing her fingers with his and squeezing back.
"No." He said finally, unable to hide the venom from his tongue. "To put it lightly."
"Does Rhys know?" She asked quietly. "Why she's here."
"Yes." Azriel said. "When you were with her, I went to see him and explain."
"And Cassian?"
Azriel sighed, "By sheer will...of course."
Mor grinned, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"But no one else."
Azriel shook his head. "No one else."
Mor straightened, letting her hands fall loosely in her lap.
"Why me?" She asked. "After I just royally screwed-"
"The same reason Rhysand wanted you to meet Feyre before the rest of us." Azriel said, simply.
"That wasn't-" Mor said, shaking her head. "I just happened to be there and I was nosy enough to intrude."
"We both know that's not true." Azriel said. "I've always known you were the best of us Mor. Rhysand wanted Feyre to meet someone who truly represented the heart and soul of Velaris. I wanted the same for Bryn.
Mor turned to Azriel, her eyes wide. Does that mean he...?
"She's been through a lot," Azriel continued, uncharacteristically clueless of Mor's questioning eye. "Like Feyre, I thought if anyone could make her feel comfortable, it would be you."
"You saved her." Mor said. It wasn't a question. Not to her at least.
Azriel went stiff again, his siphons gleaming. He hunched over, shaking his head. "I didn't...I failed her."
Mor's hand went to his shoulder. "Azriel..."
"Letting her stay here with me." He said. "It's the least I can do."
Mor sighed. She recognized that voice. She had known Azriel long enough to know what was coming. She stood up and offered him her hand.
"We can talk about it later." She said. "For now, I hope I can salvage the rest of the day."
Azriel looked up, shadows swirling around him. After a moment he accepted her hand. Mor drew him up and into a hug.
"Whatever happened," She said softly into his ear. "I'm glad you found her. I'm glad you were there for her."
Azriel felt his heart swell. He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close. His eyes fell shut and he thought about how fortunate he was to have Mor in his life still. Always and forever.
Just tell her it's okay. Bryn thought to herself. ...Somehow.
Bryn shuffled sheepishly into the storefront, motioning with her hands as she did, trying to practice what it was she could sign in hopes of placating Mor.
It was an accident. Bryn told herself. Of course it was. If she can just forget-
It seemed like a foolish thing to hope for. No one ever forgot. Bryn's heart sunk as she thought about it. Mor would be different now, just as Azriel was different. There was no going back.
Just when I thought things were going well. Bryn sighed, looking around the store but finding no sign of Mor.
Or Azriel. Bryn thought, her stomach turning over.
After another moment of helpless searching she caught sight of Mor's golden hair outside, through the window. Sitting next to her, clearly in the midst of a deep conversation was Azriel.
Bryn stepped up to a tall rack of garments and positioned herself just behind it, never taking her eyes off them.
They're talking about me. She thought grimly. They must be.
Bryn wished desperately that she could read lips, but they were far enough away that even if she could she wasn't certain she could see them clearly enough to do the job justice.
"They're sweet," came a soft voice from behind her. Bryn turned to see Feyre's sister, Elain, at her side.
"...aren't they?" the older Archeron sister finished. The fuschia dress was looped over her arm and she wore a sweet, easy smile.
Bryn looked back and Mor and Azriel. His hand fell over hers and she leaned closer to him. Bryn shot a questioning glance back to Elain.
Elain nodded wistfully. "From what I've heard, they're meant to be. Nuala and Cerridwen once told me that Azriel has loved Mor for centuries."
Bryn went pale, all the color of her embarrassment draining from her face.
Azriel? And Mor? Bryn thought, Elain's words echoing in her head. In love...for centuries?
Bryn watched Mor stand, locks of golden hair falling over her shoulders as she offered her hand to Azriel. He took it and she pulled him into a hug. Bryn watched, stone still as Azriel reciprocated, his arms wrapping tightly around her waist.
Bryn spun around, instinct begging her to look away. The tendons in her chest grew impossibly tight, her heart felt as though it had been struck by lightening. She struggled to breath.
All this time...Azriel has been in love with Mor?
Ah! A classic miscommunication you say? How could I not? How could...yeah ouch, why do I hurt my own shipper heart like this? I wish I knew.
Thank you so much for hanging in there with me! The last few weeks (ugh months) have been...pretty bad. I had to go to the ER (not covid related, that comes later haha...ha) and then I was in recovery. Then my brother was diagnosed with Covid, so I have been taking care of my niece almost 24/7. And that's TMI! But...there it is. He's okay now.
I don't know why I kinda breeze over the introductions with canon characters, I guess they intimidate me a little bit? I definitely don't plan to do it with Cassian though. That seems like the most important one somehow. Coming next time! To any one who has left a review or kudos, I feel so supported and encouraged and it means the world to me.
I'm so nervous about the next book (Sarah's) because if there is even a hint of Azriel and any other character being romantic (you know who I mean) it will just break my little OC-writing heart. I'm sorry Sarah, he's taken!
Until next time...