Touched by the Flame || Azriel Shadowsinger

Chapter 41

Soraya blinked tiredly as the portly man across the fire from her rambled on. About what, she couldn't be sure anymore.

"Berout fought in the war against Hybern," Aya whispered in explanation, making Soraya stiffen when she leaned a touch closer, "he was left wounded on the field by the faeries he crossed the seas to fight for."

Soraya nodded slowly, remembering the war with the cruel king of Hybern that Azriel had told her about. He'd mentioned an army of humans coming to their aid, rallied to battle by Feyre's own father. She tilted her head, struggling to imagine the cook wielding a sword and cutting down enemies.

Berout swung his arm in a show of how he'd apparently struck down a faerie in one pass, taking his head clean off.

"He's very passionate about our cause," was all Ayanna said before straightening again and turning back to the enthusiastic retelling of events.

Berout went on and on about the blood he'd shed, happy to talk the ear off of anyone in the vicinity. Soraya ignored the decorative descriptions and let her gaze wander the camp. 

The sun had fully surpassed the horizon by the time a shrill whistle shrieked through the woods. She jumped at the noise and whirled to face Berout, who curled his fingers back between his lips and whistled once more.

People quite literally came out of the woodwork at his signal. Appearing from dark patches between trees, peeking their heads through tent flaps. Descending toward the ground from perches high in the treetops. Soraya went still as they all closed in, human and fae alike.

Smiles were strewn about, laughter and slaps on the back exchanged between some. A few people grumbled their annoyance at being exhausted and ready to sleep. She silently wondered if they had been up all night patrolling. Did they have constant patrols keeping watch?

Berout and Ayanna began dipping carved, wooden bowls into the massive pot and handing them out. Shooing away those who hung around even after receiving their food. 

People greeted each other as they would friends, trading good morning and how are you. Some smiled when handed their breakfast and others wrinkled their nose after a sniff. Earning a curse, and if they were within range, a swat, from Berout.

Occasionally, eyes drifted Soraya's way. Likely curious of a new face. She bristled beneath every glance.

A soft voice drew her attention, "here you are."

She turned to see Aya holding a wooden bowl toward her in offering. Soraya couldn't help but be hesitant in accepting it. But after a brief pause, she did. Carefully taking the bowl in her hands so as not to spill its contents.

"I can't imagine they kept you well fed," Ayanna added, offering a half smile that was meant to be one of comfort.

Soraya tried to return it and failed miserably. 

She sucked in a breath and peered down into her bowl, lips pinching at what was inside. It looked like soup or broth, with chunks of meat and root and herbs floating about. It took everything in her not to grimace.

Upon tipping the bowl to her lips and allowing herself a sip, she couldn't help the way her mouth twisted. Soraya hid the wrinkle in her nose by drinking a bit more of the broth.

It tasted as though Berout had boiled a pot of water and added a pinch of dirt for seasoning. There was an earthy undertone, and something with the texture of grass grated between her molars. 

Soraya didn't realize she had become so accustomed to the flavor drenched food in the Night Court. Had she still been living in the shack on the back of her parents' land, she would have been delighted to have anything warm fill her belly. Now all she could think of was the honey-glazed ham served on Solstice.