I am the face of loves rage
~)(~
The moon continued to rise high into the sky and stare down in its fullness. Stars glistened and shimmered above me as I walked through the fire-lit camp. It was quieter now, but the moaning sounds of men writhing in pain still echoed in the back of my mind. I almost forgot how quiet it could become.
Like the settling of dust. It flies around in the air, zipping through panes of light, then settles on every surface it can find. It never moves again after that, not unless you blow upon it.
Miryam and I were in a tent cleaning the aftermath of an emergency surgery. I was in charge of cleaning off the table while she tried her best to soak up the blood on the ground with spare towels. From what I gathered, this person didn't make it through and bled out.
The two of us walked out of the tent into the night air, and I rolled my neck to attempt loosening the tension there. "Did we get through everything?" I asked, referring to the list she made earlier.
She rubbed her temples. "I don't want to know. Let's just say that we have."
"I can do that," I said, smiling at her.
I said goodnight and started walking towards my little sleeping tent. By this point, I was very familiar with the camp layout. You needed to when running around trying to keep men from dying.
I walked up and was about to go inside when something caught my eye. A few steps away, one fire was still lit. And sitting beside that fire was Azriel. I thought he would've gone to bed hours ago, yet there he was. I told myself to leave it alone, to just go inside my tent and finally rest. But when have I ever listened to my rationale?
I walked over to where the flame reached towards me like claws of weeds blowing in the wind. I felt the heat slowly rise where light touched me, and I sat on a stool opposite him. The fire danced between us, obscuring half of his face in shadow.
I didn't come here to talk—I actually don't know why I sat down. But I found that once I was here, I really wanted to ask him one question. A question I knew he would probably try to kill me for.
"Why... what happened?" I asked, having to raise my voice slightly.
His gaze snapped up, and he hummed an acknowledging response before saying, "what?"
I looked down at his hands, gloved in leather and adorned in cobalt Siphons. "Your—erm... your hands?" Mother above, I sounded so weak. So afraid of what would happen. I knew already—simply from existing near him—that those hands held a dark story.
His eyes widened slightly, catching the light. I watched him closely, perhaps too closely. Focused on his every move. Azriel took in a deep breath, straightening his back. His wings rustled behind him, almost invisible in this darkness.
"I'd like to know what you think happened," he finally said, voice a chilling calm.
I tilted my head, pausing a moment. Not the response I expected. "They were burned. But for some reason, never healed properly."
"Is that so?"
My brows knit. What was he playing at? I cleared my throat and said, "I know Illyrians have faster healing. Whatever happened kept your body from recovering."
He leaned his head on a hand and said, "what else could you possibly need to know?"
"I... I don't know," I answered, before taking a deep breath. I did know, but perhaps I shouldn't ask.
Azriel breathed a laugh, shaking his head as he did. The shadows around him mimicked the flames that danced and leapt into the air. I looked down at my hands, which were bent at the elbow on my knees. Blood still stuck under my nails.
From the other side of the fire, Azriel said, "how are you holding up? With all of this?"
I snapped my head up and met his curious gaze. I shook my head. "It's not as bad as I thought—not to say it isn't bad. What's happening to these people is horrific. But I'm not... I'm fine."
He inhaled deep and looked around the camp, before saying, "sometimes I like to think about what my brothers are doing right now."
"You have siblings?" I asked, brow raised.
He chuckled. "Not exactly. After my mother died, Rhysand's mother took me in, and treats me as her own. Same with Cassian. The three of us are like brothers, I guess."
I nodded and couldn't help but hang on his words. On the pain that clung to them. To get myself away, I looked up at him and smiled. "What do you think they're doing tonight?"
"Probably in a random bar getting drunk—or asleep. Rhys has always been very strict about his sleeping schedule. And Cass... I've never met someone so full of energy."
"I can see that," I said, grinning. "You seem to be the calm one—the one that keeps the others in check."
"I guess you could call me that."
I tried not to, but I found myself staring at him. At the jagged lines of darkness that moved across his face whenever the fire snapped from the breeze, at his eyes, which watched that flame and held the same color.
I felt... not entirely myself. Because I was admiring him. I never admired people, never thought someone was good enough to admire. I was drinking him in, like he was some fantastical garden that caught me in a trap.
His gaze rose from the flames to meet mine again, and I couldn't bring myself to look away. I didn't want to. Mother above, I simply stared at him. And, to my surprise, he stared back. Perhaps challenging me, or perhaps, he was admiring me just the same as I.
I wanted. It killed me how badly I wanted. Yet I couldn't do anything about it. For good reason. Giving in to that desire, that lick of molten flame, it could get us both killed.
I tore my eyes away and took a deep breath in the nose and out the mouth. If I stayed any longer, I would regret it. So, I stood and brushed off my pants—as if it would remove any of the caked on blood and dirt.
Azriel watched me, and before I left said, "goodnight, princess."
I couldn't help but smile at that. What once was an insulting nickname now made me smile. What was happening to me? I turned back and said, "goodnight, Az," before I walked into my tent.
~)(~
I didn't expect to watch the battle with the others. But after word spread of Beron fighting on the ground, almost everyone was watching, including Miryam.
When Jurian found out about it, he nearly dislocated his arm again, trying to get up and join the fight. We had to pin him down, and he sent Mor in his place to command the men. It was... quite the sight.
Beron was easy to find in the crowd—just follow the dancing flames. And his sons, who shared a lick of his power, also pushed on the battlefield for the upper hand. They were fighting to win.
I watched Azriel closely, itching the tattoo on my hand. If Beron and his men won, and he died—what would happen to me? We didn't go over the details of that, and I was afraid of the bargain, and what it did to fill in the gaps.
It was a challenge to keep myself atop this hill. I wanted to fight, knew that I could do it. My uncle spent years ensuring I knew how to defend myself. But I knew that if I tried joining the battle, I would only be a distraction and a risk. I couldn't die. That was an obvious fact.
But I had to do something—needed to do something. I couldn't keep myself from the rumbling in my chest. Standing here was a waste of time. Waiting around for the injured was a waste of valuable time. I knew that—Azriel knew it.
I spun around on a heel and started walking through the camp. Miryam called after me, but I didn't listen to her. There was only one thing I needed to find, one thing that would solve my problem and still keep me from danger.
I searched the outsides of tents and found a bow and quiver of arrows leaning against a wooden post. I swung the quiver over a shoulder and tested the bowstring.
Miryam stopped when she saw me, her eyes darting between me and the bow. I didn't wait for her. While walking back up the hill, I checked the sharpness of the arrowheads, just to make sure they were real. This will work.
Miryam stood beside me and said, "you know how to use that thing?"
I pulled an arrow from the quiver and nocked it. "My uncle is many things, but he is far from idiotic. I spent most of my childhood learning the art of war, not embroidery."
Miryam took a step back and watched as I pulled the string back, my arms raising. I calculated the height, and let the arrow whistle through the air. My eyes stuck to it like a magnet and watched as it found home in the chest of an Autumn Court soldier Mor was fighting off.
She whipped her head around, golden hair covered in red, and looked up at me. I simply waved before pulling out another arrow. I was many things, but a sedentary, quiet woman was not one of them.
I released a controlled exhale as I let the arrow go and watched it pierce a skull. From this far away, it was hard to imagine I was shooting arrows at real people. I thought little of it by the time my third arrow found its home.
My eyes scanned the field. I needed to use these arrows wisely, and ensure no one realized there was an archer above them. If I could just get Beron in a moment he was standing still. Or perhaps one of his sons.
My hand shot up in flames. I dropped the bow and brought it to my chest. Miryam came and took my hand to look at it. There was no damage, but the tattoo burned. Something was terribly wrong.
I scanned the battleground for Azriel and found him in a fight between two of Beron's sons. Blue light flared as he shielded their attacks with magic. He was holding his ground, but it was three against one.
Tripping over myself, I grabbed the bow and struggled to nock an arrow. My hands were shaking as the seconds ticked by. I didn't calculate the angle, only acted on the muscle memory, and fired a shot. I nocked another arrow and let it zip through the air.
An arrow landed in one son's shoulder, sending him to the ground. The other arrow stuck into the second son's leg. The third fighting Azriel was Eris. As soon as his brothers dropped, he stopped advancing and ran off.
Before I had time to ensure Azriel was safe, from my peripheral vision, I spotted Beron looking at me. He caught on—must've seen his sons get hit. I drew an arrow and twisted to face him before firing it. I watched him block it with his sword.
He looked confused. I knew exactly why. A prisoner shouldn't be fighting along the side of their captor. This was my chance.
The next arrow slid without fault against the bowstring. It was one smooth arch, and the arrow whistled through the air—landed in his foot. Good enough. Though I didn't expect his form of retaliation to be a fireball flying in our direction.
I ran to and shoved Miryam to the side. We crashed into the mud as a ball of flames slammed into the ground. Fire skidded up my pants. I rolled my legs in the mud to put it out. Miryam sat up and cursed so horribly that I looked at her with a wide open mouth.
"What?" she asked. "We almost died—by a fireball."
"You should be ashamed of yourself," I joked.
"You would've done the same, I know it."
I helped her to her feet and looked back at the valley. They were retreating. The damage dealt to his sons was enough to convince the High Lord to retreat. Miryam wrapped her arms around me while squealing and jumped up and down. I dropped the bow and hugged her back.
Victory. We won.
I ran through the camp, bumping into the soldiers that filtered through from the valley. Some were covered head to toe in blood and guts that smeared on me when I slid past them. Armor was thrown off and set aside. Buckets of water dunked over heads to clean any blood possible. And now, the sound of laughter, of celebration, slowly built in various parts of the camp.
I found Mor and sped over to greet her.
"I didn't know you had such a sharp eye," she said, grinning.
I shrugged. "Aren't I full of surprises?"
She placed a hand on my shoulder and said, "thank you for that. You may have saved my life."
I shook my head. "No. From all I've heard, it will take an entire army for you to go down, not a single man."
She laughed and shook her head. "Take the compliment, Rowena. Sometimes it feels good to do so."
I watched her enter an open tent to greet Miryam. The two hugged and Miryam started telling her the story of my sharp-shooting. I let them have their time together, and walked further into the camp.
Part of me was scanning for a person who stood out among others. Not to talk to him, but simply to confirm that he was there, and he was alive. I passed a table and heard Jurian laugh at someone's joke. For the first time since I arrived, I heard laughter. Jurian's was a howling boom of drums. Mor was a bell chime, and Miryam a songbird.
I nearly slipped in a muddy spot when someone bumped into me, and I swerved around a corner. That was fun. It reminded me of ice skating. I smiled to myself, remembering when I was little and would slide across the ice-covered lakes with my mother.
I looked up and saw a set of wings poking up in the distance, attached to a tall body. There he was. Mission accomplished... if there ever was a mission to begin with.
I was about to look away and return to my lazy walk through the camp when he started moving—and I noticed the limp. He was limping. He was injured.
Those words skidded through my entire body like a ripple in the water, turning into a wave. It was like my bones snapped, and my entire body focused on that singular fact. He was hurt.
I started walking through the gap, closing the space between us that seemed to stretch on for miles and miles. I stopped in front of him and tried to hide the worry in my eyes, in my face. He looked down at me, and I saw the understanding flash in his eyes.
"It's nothing," he said.
I crossed my arms. "It is something—what if you get worse? If you die, I die. And I'd rather not die just yet."
I tried to not let anger control me, but it was difficult when he looked at me with amusement. As if my words were simply a joke. I wished I could slap him in that moment, just to get that look off his face. I learned my lesson the first time, though.
He huffed a laugh. "You're not going to die."
I took a deep breath and looked at his body. At the blood covering him, the cuts in his armor. "Where?" I asked.
His brows raised slightly. "What?"
"Where does it hurt?"
He studied my face a moment before he said, "here," and pressed a hand to a spot on his side, where a stay piece of fabric was shoved into a wound.
I gritted my teeth. "Mother save me. Come on." I grabbed his hand and walked him out of the common space and into an empty healer's tent.
If he was so smart, he would know not to let a dirty cloth stay in the wound too long, unless he was dying for an infection. It should be only a temporary fix until proper care can be given. If I hadn't found him—I wouldn't be surprised if he'd sleep with it.
I had him sit down on the table and then instructed he take off his shirt so I could see the full extent of the damage. He was under my care now. The bargain made it so.
I brought a bucket of water and placed it on the table, then a few fresh towels. I pealed the old one off and looked at the damage. It was more of a gash than a puncture, but it was still bleeding fresh against scabbing spots. Luckily, it didn't look too deep, but would still need stitches.
I went over to the cabinet and pulled out a kit of needle and thread, and set it down next to him. "Lift your arm," I said, before preparing the thread.
"You're not seriously doing all of this," he said, sounding rather annoyed.
"Like I said, I want to live a little longer. So you aren't allowed to bleed out—or get an infection. Mother above, you're such an idiot."
He raised a hand in defeat, before leaning away slightly so I could get to work cleaning the wound with fresh water. "It's not my fault Beron's sons tag-teamed me... thank you, by the way, for helping me."
I simply nodded and hummed a reply. He hitched a breath when the cloth scraped over a scabbed section, and I breathed an apology. I was always too rough with cleaning. Once the wound was clean, I gave him some pain reducer.
"I almost forgot I knew how to use a bow," I said, breathing a laugh as I prepared the needle, which he was watching with unease.
"You're good at it."
I nodded, smiling softly. "It was—is my favorite weapon. So... elegant and difficult."
"I'll have to remember that next time I'm in danger," he said.
I started sewing the skin back together, and he sucked in a sharp breath, eyes closing tight. I tried to move as fast as I could, but there was a certain speed I had to keep so I didn't mess anything up. Because the wound was in a very used part of his body, I needed to make sure the stitches wouldn't come undone.
"Do you think... because I hurt Beron and his sons, that they might retreat entirely?"
Azriel took a deep breath, his skin stretching around his chest that rose and fell again—and made me stop my work for a second, just so I wouldn't make a mistake. I looked up at him and saw that he was very focused on the fact that I was currently sewing him back together. I'm sure if I was in that situation, I would also stare.
He finally spoke after a long moment. "I don't think he'll give up that easily. But we can only hope."
I pulled the string tight, and the skin reconnected tighter. Azriel hitched a breath, his body tensing as I knotted the string, and checked to make sure it was sturdy. I pulled out the scissors and cut the thread close to the skin. His jaw clenched, and he looked away.
"Can I... ask you something?" He said slowly.
"Depends on the question," I said, a brow raised.
He nodded. "I've been thinking about it for a while. You're not sick, are you?"
I pulled out the new bandages and laughed. "Why would you think that?"
He smiled a little. "You tend to pass out often."
I accidentally pressed too hard on his stitches, making him hiss a breath. Fuck. I should've known he would somehow figure out that something was wrong. Of course something was wrong. My excuse for not telling him before was because I didn't know him and didn't trust him. But now... now I didn't know exactly what I felt about him.
Before I could really decide, I said, "don't... don't freak out."
"Why would I?"
"Because it's not... normal."
He breathed a laugh. "Nothing is normal, princess. Not in this world."
I dropped my hands into my lap, the bandage half-pealed open in my hands. "I have the Sight."
I watched him closely. His eyes widened slightly, brows raised a little. My breath hitched with fright. I don't think I'd ever seen him visibly surprised before, at least not enough for me to ever notice.
"I... thought they were all dead," he finally said.
"So did I." I let out a sigh of relief at his reaction. It wasn't horrible by any means. "But my mother was one, so it must've passed to me."
"No one else knows?"
I shook my head. "Are you mad?"
His brows furrowed. "Why would I be mad?"
"Because I didn't tell you. And it's... not an ideal curse."
"No curse is ideal. And I'm not mad." He smiled slightly. "If I could, I would make sure no one knew I was a shadowsinger."
"You don't think it's strange?"
He breathed a laugh, regretting it when the stitches pulled a little. "Both of us are strange now, princess."
I placed the bandage over the wound and rubbed it down so it stuck. "Alright... I thought that was going to go a lot worse."
"I enjoy surprising you," he said, smirking. Sure... sure thing.
I took the gauze and started wrapping it around his abdomen. I had to lean closer to him to go around and my cheek brushed up against his chest like I was hugging him. My cheeks reddened and burned. I quickly wrapped the bandage back around and dropped my head.
"There. Now—don't touch it or your mess it up," I said, smacking his hand away from the bandage.
Azriel shook his head and huffed a laugh. "I'm sure Jurian will want you at the meeting tonight."
Part of me immediately tensed. "Why? Because I shot a couple of arrows?" I gave a small smile and started cleaning everything up.
He watched me, eyes like fire on my back. "I think he's just jealous that he didn't get to shoot Beron in the foot himself."
I turned back to him and said, "I was going for his thigh."
Azriel nodded, humming a response. "Is that so? You wish to cripple him?"
"Something like that."
Azriel pulled his shirt back on, his hair ruffled to curl around his head. I took a deep breath and pulled open the tent again before walking out. Cold air blew against my face and neck. I couldn't... I couldn't be in that small space anymore.
I sucked in a breath and started walking through the camp. Perhaps I could find Miryam, and check in on how she was holding up. Ever since the fighting started, she and I grew close, at a faster rate than I expected.
I started walking through a crowd of celebrations when my upper arm was grabbed by an unfamiliar man, who stared at me with a pained look in his eyes. I tried to pull away, but he was too strong. He pulled me with him into a secluded area, even as I tried peeling his hand off and hit his arm and back. I could've screamed, but everyone would think I cried wolf.
He brought me into the little thicket of trees at the edge of the camp, and shoved me against a tree. I tried to shove him away, but he didn't budge. He pulled a dagger from his belt and held it to my throat.
"You killed my brother." His voice was shaking with the aftermath of a breakdown.
Now I remembered him.
I opened my mouth to speak, but he pressed the blade deeper, drawing blood. "I don't want to hear it. He could've lived—he should've lived. You killed him."
"He asked me to," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. Obviously, he was in a deep state of grief, and likely didn't realize the gravity of what he was doing. I just needed to calm him down and talk it out.
He shook his head. "No—no, I don't believe you."
I took a deep breath. Tears stung in my eyes, but I didn't let them fall. "I'm sorry your brother died."
"If you were sorry, you would've tried... you would've actually tried to save him, but you just stood there and did nothing."
He pressed the blade harder against my skin, and I could feel a trickle of fresh blood slowly fall down my neck. His face was inches from mine, and he growled, "I'll avenge him, though."
"You'll regret it," I said simply. Keep him talking. Keep him hesitant. That's all I could do until someone realized I was missing.
He clenched his jaw tight and moved to slice deep into my throat. I closed my eyes, and my body tensed as the dagger slipped across my neck... and nothing else.
My eyes opened again to see someone walking towards us, someone that caught his full attention. In one quick motion, the person punched him hard in the face. I watched him fall to the ground with a loud thud.
"Jurian?" I looked at him with wide and very confused eyes.
Jurian stood there and shook his hand that now held red marks on his knuckles. "I knew there was something wrong with him." He looked up at me, gaze dropping to my neck. "Holy—you're bleeding."
I brought my hand to the wound, feeling wetness there. It wasn't a lot, definitely not enough for me to feel it or worry about it. I shook my head. "I'm fine—how did you find me?"
"I was looking for you. Then I noticed he wasn't sulking around—just connected the dots and thought, where would a questionable individual want to take a woman where she wouldn't be found?"
I laughed. "You are... quite the strange person."
"I am unique. One of a kind, if you will," he said, extending a hand for me to take. "Come on, I'll have Miryam fix you up while we talk about what happened today."
I followed him back into the camp, and said, "you two have been getting along."
He grinned. "Yes. She's coming with me to the Summer Court when this is over. I could use someone like her... quite the spirit."
I couldn't help but agree. Miryam was the rare person who could experience a hundred different heartaches, and still be able to smile and look at the world with optimism. She went through so much, and could still hold all the light in her laugh, and her jokes.
We entered the meeting tent, and I saw everyone was already here. Mor stood talking to Azriel, leaning over the table, while Miryam listened to them from a chair, her head resting on a hand and her eyes hanging heavy.
Mor looked up first, and her brow rose. "What the hell happened to you?"
Then it was Azriel who's head snapped up, and his eyes immediately landed on my wounded neck. Miryam blinked away whatever made her look so tired and said, "someone had an accident."
"It's nothing," I said, leaning a hand on the table. "Would you be so kind?" I asked Miryam. She sighed and stood from her chair, and I let her place her fingers over my throat and use her healing magic.
"I had some trouble with someone. Thankfully, Jurian found me in time," I explained, knowing that if I didn't, Azriel would never stop glaring until I did. Miryam finished, and went back to her seat, where she held her head in her hands.
Jurian waved a hand. "It's unimportant now. What I have is this," he pulled out a letter, which held the seal of Autumn Court. "It was sent an hour ago."
"Have you read it?" Azriel asked.
He nodded. "You'll never believe it."
He dropped the open letter on the desk, and I looked at it and said, "they're leaving. Just like that?"
He nodded. "Now, the main reason I wanted Rowena to join us is because of this." At those words, he pulled from under the table a quiver of arrows. "Is this the one you used?"
I knit my brows, but recognized the intricate silver detailing. "Yes, why does it matter?"
Jurian pulled one out and showed the arrowhead to the light. It gleamed an iridescent color. "These are ash arrows tipped in faebane," he said. "And you almost killed two of Beron's sons—likely put him out of commission for a while, too."
I blinked back in surprise, closing my open mouth with a pop. Mor let out a long breath and then started laughing. She dropped her head and shook it as laughter bubbled through her.
I smiled. "So... they're retreating because of faebane tipped ash arrows I didn't even know were—that is so..." I started laughing. It skidded up from my stomach and burst through me in a light bell of a sound.
Mor pointed at me and said, "I like you—that is absolutely hilarious."
I couldn't help but find this so... so dreamlike. How coincidental, how baffling. I couldn't believe it was entirely real, and needed to pinch myself on the arm. Very real.
"So... now what?" I asked to no one in particular.
Jurian shrugged his shoulders with a sigh. "We let the High Lord know, since he's the one that sent us here in the first place. Then set up some permanent camps throughout the pass, and... wait till the next orders."
Mor said, "my uncle has summoned me to go say hi after being gone so long. You'll probably hear from me in a few weeks."
Azriel chuckled and nodded. "I'll stay here longer, maybe follow Jurian around for a bit."
"Starting to like me, are you? I'm flattered," Jurian said, smirking like a wildcat.
Miryam wrapped an arm around my shoulder and said, "I'd like to spend more time with you two. A rather interesting pair."
"I can't tell if that's a compliment or not," I quipped. She just rolled her eyes in response.
I walked out of the tent after the others and watched as everyone split up to go to their various tasks. Now I was just standing here—with no idea what to do. I didn't... I didn't have a place. Not like them. I was the newcomer, the outsider no one wanted to talk to simply because of my past.
They may say otherwise—may say I am important—but I knew the lie that was. Even... I hated to admit that even Azriel sometimes looked at me like that. I thought he might not, after all that we went through. But... I didn't know him half as well as some people here. As Mor.
I hoped that I'd be given the luxury of time. Time to prove I belonged among them. Time to prove I wasn't a threat. That I could—and want—to learn, to call someone a friend, and mean it.
Until then, even if I was always with someone—even if I could confide in someone—I was still alone. I was so alone. The kind of loneliness that just ate with a hunger that could never be quenched. The kind I couldn't figure out how to stop, couldn't find the source of. It was just there. So simple and yet... so complex.
-Authors Note-
have fun with a long chapter! I didn't spend a lot of time editing it cause i'm in the mountains right now with family so had to discreetly get this up cause I'm not about to explain to my grandpa what fanfiction is.
anyway, I hope you have a great day and enjoyed this chapter! see you later!