Touched by the Flame || Azriel Shadowsinger

Chapter 43

Soraya watched for what felt like hours as people stepped forward to punch and kick and drag their blades over the faerie's flesh. She was horrified by the sheer number of people who joined in. Most of those in the camp, in fact. Berout had driven his fist into the male's gut. And even soft-spoken Ayanna had stepped forward, met the faerie's eyes, and carved a dagger's blade across his cheekbone.

All of the rebels had their own reasons for joining the rebellion, no doubt. And it seemed they were all happy to take their frustrations out on this one faerie. Even if only by spitting in his face. The little old woman who had been grinding the blue stones into dust took her turn last. Doing nothing more than smearing that dust-turned-paste into a few of his wounds. Soraya knew by the cry he let out, and the pallor of his skin, that it was faebane. Poison.

She watched every gruesome strike. If only so that somebody bared witness to the cruelty. People were gradually losing interest, wandering off after inflicting their damage. As if he were no more than a momentary source of entertainment. Soraya stayed even until the little old lady shuffled away, mortar of freshly made faebane in hand.

Being slightly distanced from camp, there was little light remaining by the time everyone left. The moon illuminated the sagging faerie, disguising the majority of his wounds in shadow. Soraya bit her lip against swelling emotion as she watched him sag, surrendering to the pain of his staked hands. She wondered if he even felt it anymore.

Stealing a glance back at camp to ensure everyone was tucking in for the night, she slowly swept closer to the stranger bound to the willow. His head drooped, chin to chest. Unable to find the strength to lift it.

She couldn't speak as her eyes flicked across his ruined body. At the bruised, battered, and bleeding flesh left on display. Soraya tried not to think of Clare in the same condition. She shook her head, stepping forward again.

Having heard her draw nearer, the faerie tensed and squeezed his eyes shut. Bracing himself, she realized. A few more tears streaked his cheeks, painting lines through the blood staining his skin. She watched him for a long moment, hugging her arms tighter around herself. Vaguely, she heard him mumbling something quietly to himself. Reciting it like a prayer.

Soraya gritted her teeth. What could she do in a situation like this? She considered cutting him loose. But then what? He was in no condition to escape on his own, so she couldn't let him go and play dumb when morning came.

A bit of blood dripped from his lips, down his chin as he continued whispering to himself. It was a name he spoke. Reciting it like it was the only thing of value he had left. Soraya's brows knitted in confusion as her eyes took in his condition again. A few of the shallower wounds were already beginning to heal, though very slowly. A perk of fae healing like Azriel's.

"It's a name, isn't it?" Soraya whispered, quickly glancing back at camp to ensure she remained unheard. She tried to decipher what he was saying. "Aurelle?"

That seemed to catch his attention. The faerie's head lifted, black eyes finding Soraya's. She tried not to stiffen beneath his cloudy gaze. So much pain in those unsettling eyes of his. He looked as though something vital had been scooped out of him. But at the mention of that name, a spark of something more.

"Aurelle..." She said again, "Does that mean something to you?"

The faerie trembled, lips parting around a quiet sob. Blood stained his teeth and dripped from his lips. His eyes lifted again to meet Soraya's.

"Mate," he managed, "my mate."

Tears rolled down his cheeks again, face contorting in a new sort of agony now. Soraya's eyes widened. This male before her had a mate. And if the way he crumpled into himself was any indication, she was gone.