Olethros

twelve - azriel

Sleep didn't come easy, if at all. I was sure when my eyes fell closed, they opened an hour later. The sun was peeking her rays through the dips in the mountain, urging me to start the day. I'd left my bed and dressed in tight pants and a sleeveless tunic. Nobody else would be up at this hour, I heard the way they spoke drunkenly the night before.

I spent my time on the rooftop training mat, walking myself through movements that felt like second nature. I worked my muscles as I watched the sun rise, though my shadows didn't scatter in her wake. They swallowed me today. They'd gone absent during my time with Freyja the night before, leaving me for only the time it took to return to my own bed.

The High Lord will have your head.
We did not check on her through the night.
We scatter in her light.

I didn't know what the fuck they meant. I never did. I would think after living with them for so long, I'd understand their cryptic language, but they seemed to like to taunt me more than give me rational thought. I couldn't focus on my blade, nor if the correct muscles were strained. I couldn't focus on anything.

The moment I'd slipped while thinking about how well Freyja slept last night- the moment my blade found it's way down my bicep- I threw it. It stuck itself in the rock wall of the mountainside. Blood ran down my arm, dripping from the fingertips of my gloves. I cursed, marching to my blade, sheathing it, and making my way back into the House.

Yet another mistake- Mor was standing in the kitchen with a cup of tea to her lips. I grit my jaw, slipping past her and to the stack of cloth and the basin. I dipped a cloth in and ran it up my arm, collecting the spilling blood.

"What happened?" Mor asked, her sweet voice sounding so gritty in my ears. It was unkind but I ignored her. I didn't want to explain why I failed at my training for the first time in decades. I couldn't. Her head would fall with mine if Alcaeus found out if anyone else knew.

"Azriel?" She pushed. I scrubbed my skin harder. I needed to go to Windhaven. I needed to visit-

A hand was on my shoulder. My body seized. I couldn't even breathe before I found myself pinning her to the counter, my blood-slick gloved wrapped around her delicate wrist. Through the pounding headache I hadn't noticed had formed and the darkness surrounding my vision, I saw her face flash with shock, and then anger. Rightfully so, Morrigan shoved me back and tore her arm from my hand.

"What is wrong with you? I wanted to make sure you were alright," she snapped. My jaw clenched as I turned my eyes back down to the smeared red across my skin. With a sigh, I turned and walked into the sitting room, tossing the cloth into the fireplace. The House understood me, because flames erupted. I watched them swallow the pink cloth, steam hissing at the wet fabric.

"Azriel!" Mor seethed. I lifted my chin and turned my eyes back to her. Her hands shot out, as though she couldn't possibly comprehend what was so wrong with me. I didn't know either, but perhaps she would if she'd paid me any mind in the past years.

"What's going on?" Cassian asked through a yawn, his bare feet shuffling as he came in from the corridor. I cursed under my breath, shivering against the climb of my shadows on my neck.

"Azriel just had me pinned, all I did was try to see why his arm was cut," Mor spat, crossing her arms as she glared at me. I met her glare with one of my own. It's a shame to see that she didn't know of my boundaries with touching after so long. Had she ever paid me any attention? Cauldron, had my name even been mentioned between the trio?

Cassian's eyes flicked to me. I felt no fucking shame. It wasn't my fault she hadn't spoken to me long enough to know that I'd been tortured since the war fell. My brothers knew that. Cassian pushed it often but Rhysand was always respectful of it. He never voiced the changes the war caused on him, but he understood.