A Ballad of Flame & Shadow | Azriel

eleven

"Alexis don't – " Azriel growled the warning, but Bryce and I had already stepped onto that star. And nothing happened.

"Seriously?" I muttered, sighing.

"Well – " Nesta began, laughter in her voice. But then it happened.

Light began flaring from the star under our feet, a kaleidoscope of colour that merged and intertwined taking form – the form of a dark-haired young female. A hologram, I realised, of a High Fae that I had seen before.

That heart-shaped face. That long dark hair. I knew it.

"Silene," I breathed, utterly still as she appeared before us as if addressing an audience. Addressing us.

"From the carving?" Nesta asked, and both Bryce and I peered over our shoulders at the sound of footsteps. My brows rose high as Nesta strode forward, through the wards like they didn't even exist. "At the beginning of the tunnels, there was a carving of a young female, you said her name was Silene."

"The carvings an exact likeness," Bryce swallowed, turning back to that silent, still entity. Beautiful yet solemn. "But who is she?"

"She looks like Rhysand's sister," Azriel said, and something pulled in my chest at the pain scratching his tone. My eyes met his and I knew from the sadness in them that Rhysand's sister wasn't alive, that they had grieved her.

Nesta peered back at him, curiosity and sympathy in her blue-grey eyes. I might have asked who she was and might have offered Azriel some kind of comfort had Silene not begun speaking.

"My story begins before I was born," Her voice was heavy – as if every word carried weight. "During a time know of only from my mother's stories, my father's memories. Both of them showed me once, mind-to-mind. So, I shall show you."

"Careful," Azriel warned, both his scarred hands braced on either side of the doorframe now, his muscles bulged and tense as he remained on the other side of the barrier.

We all took a staggered step back as Silene's face faded and mist swirled. Glowing, incandescent casting a light upon Nesta's startled face as she stood between Bryce and me.

"First sign of trouble," Nesta muttered, fingers twitching at her sides. "and we run."

"Fair enough," I nodded, Bryce mirroring the action. We had no arguments there, whatever this place was, whatever Silene was showing us, I doubt any of it would be good.

I held my breath as Silene's ethereal voice broke free from the mist, and suddenly, running seemed like the last thing we could do. Not when she had all the answers. Sorry Nesta.

We were slaves to the Daglan. For five thousand years, our people—the High Fae—knelt before them. They were cruel, powerful, and cunning. Any attempt at rebellion was quashed before forces could be rallied. Generations of my ancestors tried. All failed.

The fog evaporated as if carried away by a cold breeze. And in its aftermath spread a vast field of corpses beneath a stormy sky, a twin to what we had seen engraved miles behind on the cave walls: Crucifixes, Beasts, Blood Eagles—

The Daglan ruled over the High Fae. And we, in turn, ruled the humans, along with the lands the Daglan allowed us to govern. Yet it was an illusion of power. We knew who our true masters were. We were forced to make the Tithe to them once a year.

To offer up kernels of our power in tribute. To fuel their own power—and to limit our own.

I heard Bryce's breath catch in her throat as an image of a Fae female kneeling at the foot of a throne appeared before us, a seedling of light in her upheld hands. Small, delicate fingers closed around that droplet of power. It flickered, illuminating pale, flawless skin.