A Court of Fire and Shadows.

chapter eighteen

There were no sounds in the darkness besides their soft breathing- which suddenly sounded very loud in her ears- and the occasional scream of rage, terror, or pain. It seemed to switch between the three, and it was an effort for Elena to not just rush in and rip up everything in sight. Her rage was a palpable thing inside her chest, growing with each quiet breath, with each excruciatingly slow step down the stone corridors. 

The main thing stopping her was not her brilliant wit, or her excellent instincts, but Azriel's back and those huge wings, which blocked her way through. He'd gone in front of her to use his shadows to conceal them both, along with checking for any things they needed to dispose of. So far, they hadn't run into a single thing- person or not. And she knew by now that silence wasn't necessarily a good thing. Especially when it caused shivers to run up her spine, and her said excellent instincts to rear up on its hind legs and take a sniff.

And then she heard it- a shout of alarm, cut short by whatever the others had done to dispose of the source. They'd gone a different route, to distract whoever was in here. They had no clue how many there were or what they were, they were going in blind and it set all of them more on edge than usual. They walked for two hundred steps- she'd counted- before the corridor began sloping downward, deeper into the base of the mountain, and her thighs began to burn with the strain. 

The screams grew louder, and a voice whispered to her hurry hurry hurry. It sounded young, and urgent, and slightly like her mother. But she knew she needed to listen, so she began walking with more urgency in her steps, tapping Azriel's back as a signal to go faster, one they'd all devised while flying here. And he didn't ask, maybe because he'd heard the voice too, or because he could feel the tension radiating off her, and quickened his steps before slowing abruptly, a small archway of stone leading someplace, torches flickering over the stones. 

He paused, his wings tensing, and then she was being shoved against the wall of the wide passage, into the shadows. His body came over to cover hers, his wings shielding them both, and she finally sensed the change in the air currents, the near silent steps of multiple pairs of boots coming this way. His shadows had sensed it before even her currents could, she mused, feeling his breath on hair tickle her scalp. Her hands had come up to brace against his chest, and she held her breath, feeling him do the same as the scuffle passed right by them, disappearing around a corner. Thirty seconds more passed, and only then did they allow themselves to breathe, and another thirty had him easing off her, his shadows spreading out around them to check for anymore dangers. They stood in silence for another minute before he nodded and began inching towards the arch, her now stood next to him, dagger in hand. His blue siphons washed watery light over the stones, making her as though she were underwater. It was calming somehow, and it allowed her to keep steady when the next scream rang out, hollow and exhausted.

Azriel enters the chamber first, and she hears a sharp intake of breath before she slips through after him. The chamber looked as though it was carved into the stone itself by some mighty,  ancient god. Its ceiling stretched all the way to the top of the mountain, and she could see a tiny hole, and beyond that, the night sky. It's walls were rough and uneven, along with the floors, and in the center of it all, restrained by chains attached to her arms and legs, lay Haven. And standing over the bed, holding a long, rusted knife, was a male.  A male who sensed her somehow, and turned, mouth twisting to shout, before it was cut off by her knife embedded in his skull. She didn't have to think before she threw, the muscle memory kicked in, and the knife had been flying before Azriel could even draw his sword. 

She moved to Haven, the nausea rising in her like a tide as she realized the bed was oak, and the linen was purple, with yellow flowers embroidered on the sides, and the chains were so tight they'd drawn blood from Haven's wrists and ankles. The girl was still clad in her loose pants and shirt with straps that exposed her collarbones and her arms, and the realization had Elena quietly pray to whoever might listen in this strange world.