He returned again, a few hours later. He was clean of blood but looked even more ill than he had when he left. The bags under his eyes were darker now. She wondered if he was sleeping at all. She also didn't understand why she cared.
She'd reasoned by now that his name was Azriel, but why couldn't she place that name? He was torturing people, seeking information. The man had taunted him about the burns on his hands and about the death of the High Lord and his court. If they were dead, what was the purpose of his torture? And how did she fit into it all?
He walked to the bars, tossing a water bottle and wrapped sandwich to her before walking back to lean against the wall opposite her. With a heavy sigh, he slid down the wall, spreading his legs in front of him. His head leaned back into the wall, and he didn't speak.
She eyed him nervously, gently unwrapping her sandwich and beginning to eat it. There was a huge piece missing from the story in her head. The man before her was fighting for something, but she couldn't for the life of her reason out what it was. He'd told her she belonged here. What had she done to deserve it? She didn't even know who she was.
The man on the other side of the wall had vicious words he'd flung at Azriel. Did that mean he'd deserved death at Azriel's hand? Had there been something more he'd done? There had to have been. She watched the way Azriel's throat worked as he swallowed.
His usual leathers had been traded out for dark pants and a dark sweater. It made him look edgier, scarier. His features were sharper, eyes colder. He was so beautiful but held so much darkness.
"Stop staring," he said, waking her from her daze. She startled, quickly looking down at the ground in silence. He chuckled. She didn't look back up at him.
She let them sit in silence for a few moments before gathering the courage to speak. She drank the water, easing the scratching rawness of her throat.
"Did you want me to hear all of that? To scare me?" She asked, voice hesitant.
His eyes met hers quickly, brows knitting together for a moment before he schooled his mesmerizing features back into cold indifference. He leaned his head back again, breaking eye contact.
"No," was all he said.
She sagged visibly, deciding she wasn't going to get very far when he continued.
"I had nowhere else. I'm sorry you had to hear it." He didn't meet her eyes. His jaw flexed with effort. He looked down at his hands in his lap, picking at his cuticles. She had the urge to fuss at him to stop, but she wasn't sure where that urge originated from.
"Was what he said about your hands true?" He visibly recoiled from her, grimacing at her.
"What makes you think you have the right to ask me questions?" he spit at her, looking down his nose. He lost his sense of comfort, rising to his feet gracefully. He neared the bars, looking down at her with a sneer. A sadistic glimmer lit his eyes. "Are you still feigning ignorance, or are you finally ready to talk?"
"I- wha- I mean, I-"
"It's okay, baby, you'll spit it out eventually," he cooed.
She glared up at him, nostrils flaring as she breathed heavier. He was so haughty for someone who looked so withered. She wondered for a moment if it was all an act. Perhaps he was putting on a scary face to intimidate her.
"I don't remember anything. I don't know who you are or who I am."
He snorted, letting out a cackling laugh.
"Come on, bunny, really? That's your tactic? Fucking memory loss?" He laughed again, that wicked glint still in his eyes. "It's creative, I'll give you that."
Something about the way he called her bunny tugged on a loose thread in her brain, but wouldn't budge. Was he implying they knew each other?
"It's not a tactic, Azriel, I-"
His laughter howled even louder and wilder.
"You're absurd," he chided, "but not very smart, huh, bunny? Don't know who I am? Is that right?" He crossed his arms across his broad chest and gave her a smug grin.
"I-"
"Save it," he barked at her. He turned, heading towards the door with swift steps.
"I heard that guy say it," she sobbed out, but he was gone. Fuck. She was utterly fucked. She buried her head in her hands and for the thousandth time, begged herself to remember. She started with what she knew. She knew Azriel had some tie to Rhysand, but not what it meant or how they were connected. The High Lord's death had been used to goad him, so they must have been close.
She knew it was cold, but couldn't hear anything outside of the building, even when using her fae hearing. Which implied she was either in a very large building or there were wards around the room that blocked out sound. This appeared to be a torture chamber of sorts, so it made sense that it would be sound-proofed.
She couldn't even remember how she knew who Rhysand was. Her head was pounding with the effort she was expending dragging through her own mind, desperate for answers. Maybe it was useless.