Touched by the Flame || Azriel Shadowsinger

Chapter 5

It took just over two and a half days for the girl-- Soraya-- to finally eat the bread in her cell. It was offered to her twice a day, and every time it appeared, she ignored it. Azriel remembered how Feyre, too, had been reluctant to eat fae food.

He assumed Soraya had starved herself for the same reason of thinking it had been glamoured. Her caution almost made him feel bad that the bread had been laced with both a sedative and a temporary paralytic.

Now that she was sitting in front of him, completely still bar the rise and fall of her chest, Azriel finally got the chance to really look at her. She didn't belong in this room of horrors he so often visited.

The screams from prisoners of the past still seemed to bounce around the walls. The smell of blood had long since soaked into the floor which was scattered with old stains that hadn't been entirely scrubbed clean. The chair she sat in... how many corpses had been pried out of that chair?

But a human girl? She didn't fit.

Azriel tipped his head aside as he absentmindedly twirled Truth Teller in his hand. He studied the woman closely, wondering what about her could possibly make her scent so unbearably strong. Or how Rhysand's power rolled right off of her like it was nothing.

Soraya Beddor sat slumped unconscious in the chair in the center of the room, her wrists and ankles bound despite the paralytic. Her head listed forward, and a curtain of raggedy, long brown hair shielded her face from view.

Azriel slowly crept toward her, using the tip of his dagger to push aside some of her hair. She was thin. Far too thin to be healthy. And her sunken cheeks only helped to prove it. One side of her face was swollen with a deep purple bruise, courtesy of Cassian's elbow. A pale scar sliced through her right eyebrow, barely missing her eye. The scent of soured blood wafted from the soiled bandage wrapped tight around her forearm.

One of his shadows darted toward her, trying to get a look. Wrinkling his nose, Azriel backed away again. Despite her lashing out at Rhysand, she didn't look to be vicious. Just... broken. Like a doll dropped one too many times.

He kicked her booted foot in an attempt to wake her, quickly remembering she wouldn't have felt it anyway. How was he to go about doing this?

Azriel sunk Truth Teller back into its sheath and huffed out a deep breath.

The human stirred with an audible groan. Her head tipped back and she grimaced as her eyes fluttered open. They looked softer somehow despite the dim lighting. A warmer brown.

Her dazed attention rose to Azriel and he did his best to stand completely still. His shadows tightened around him as she stared. Soraya Beddor didn't look away for an instant while she took in the sight of him. She seemed especially caught up on his Illyrian wings, which unconsciously shifted further behind him.

He could practically see the moment it clicked in her head that she couldn't move. Something like panic flared in her eyes. That wholly devouring anger was nowhere to be seen, however.

"Let's start with your name," he said flatly. Soraya's gaze snapped back to his face which he fixed into a scowl.

He knew her name, of course. After Nesta's claim, Lucien had confirmed her identity. But he wanted to hear it from her. Admittedly, a part of him was curious to see if she would bother with a lie.

Soraya merely blinked at him. It was startling how quickly her features settled into something like boredom to contrast her earlier fear.

Azriel strode closer after a moment of silence, swiping Truth Teller into his hand and plunging the blade into the seat between her slightly parted legs. She didn't so much as flinch.