When you cried, I'd wipe away all of your tears. When you'd scream, I'd fight away all of your fears
~)(~
It was bound to happen eventually. I sat in an uncomfortable wooden chair with uneven legs and stared at my fingers as I picked away the skin around my nails. My leg shook uncontrollably, making the chair wobble. The room was, for now, empty. The table was barren, save for the collection of candles standing on melted wax, and the other three chairs tucked nicely around me.
I worried my lip enough to taste blood and sighed. Four days, and not a single word about that operation. A task I considered the worst failure of my life. It felt like I was stuck in a stagnant pool of thick sludge, slowly decaying as the hours passed. The dread ate at my chest and filled my head with a million "What ifs?"
I hadn't spoken to anyone yet, content to hide in my bare room and imagine all the scenarios of my worst fears. Speaking meant explaining. Explaining meant reliving. And I was terrified.
The door opened with a creak—honestly, could Jurian find a more ancient place to set up camp—and the sound made me freeze and look up.
"—been standing out here cause you're too afraid of the big bad wolf?" Cassians' words echoed into the room as he opened the door. His smile dimmed a bit when he saw me, but his voice stayed as high as ever. "Are we early, or is Jurian just taking his sweet time?"
I shrugged and glanced up at the large clock hanging from the wall. It was a dull wooden rectangle with no decorations, a plain clock face with needle-like hands, and cracked glass. It ticked obnoxiously, with every other tick sounding slightly longer than it should have.
The two Illyrians sat and eyed each other warily, and I pretended not to notice Cassian's attempt to communicate with his eyebrows. Part of me wanted to shout at the two for acting like I was some fragile thing not to be messed with, and part of me wanted to curl up in my chair and hide away.
I hated it, really hated it. This confusing, contradictory thought process spinning me around in circles until it ends with me stuck in the center of a whirlpool. I wanted to scream, yet I knew if I did, I'd have to explain. I wanted to be alone, yet I was desperate for someone to talk to.
My fingers stilled from the rubbing of the pendant around my neck when the door opened with a loud creak that made all of us look up. Jurian closed the door with his foot and dropped a stack of papers on the table. The thud and pause were obviously for dramatics.
He sat down and said, "We're fucked."
The shadowsinger reached for the top of the pile—a neatly folded envelope with a wax seal. He turned it over, finding no writing on it. Cassian picked up a few of his own and skimmed over them, his brows furrowing.
I knew what was written without needing to read them. So I just met Jurian's eyes and said, "he knows, doesn't he?"
He nodded, a familiar darkness lingering there. When I stared at myself in the mirror, let myself think of the past, that same darkness found me. The past.
Cassian looked up at me with a frown and said, "So... it's true, then."
"And now the whole world seems to know," I commented, eying the stack of letters with the desire to set them alight. Had I just gone numb? This odd calm feeling washed over me as the seconds ticked, and I just wanted to stop thinking, stop doing anything.
It didn't matter anymore what I thought, what I felt. There was nothing I could do—no one would believe if I tried to die again. I could run, but then I'd never stop running, and that was a pathetic waste of life. So, what was there to care about? What was there to fight against?
It didn't matter if Hybern came after me—I could handle the torture they'd put me through before death. But they wouldn't get my family. Never. I'd dig myself out of a grave to keep them from it.
I glanced around the room and met the shadowsinger's stare. He had that look to him like he knew what I was thinking. I wanted to tear out his eyes for it.
He handed Cassian the letter he had read and said, "Do you believe it?"
Cassian drew a heavy breath and spoke out loud, "Dear Rowena, the High Lord and his family have cordially invited you to attend this year's annual Starfall Ball... our trusting shadowsinger shall be your escort for the evening's festivities. We are excited to meet you again. Signed by the High Lord of the Night Court." He tossed the paper on the table and clicked his tongue. "It's got his signature—seems real."
I leaned over and picked up the letter, reading it over twice. The silver ink gleamed in the light, and the High Lord's signature was clear, etched like a shooting star. My stomach dropped at the words, at the insinuation of them. Trusting.
Before I knew it, the parchment was smoking and on fire. I dropped it back on the table so it wouldn't burn my clothes, and watched the electric flames turn it to ash.
"I hope he doesn't expect the same doe as before," I stated, crossing my arms.
"You can't be actually considering it," Jurian said, shaking his head.
At his worried face, I shrugged. "I can't exactly say no to a High Lord. I'll be fine—it'll be fine."
His gaze hardened. "I've learned to stop believing when you say that."
"If you're so worried, then come with me," I said in a bite, though he didn't budge.
Jurian shook his head and said, "I'm needed in the Summer Court."
I wouldn't admit out loud that I wanted him to come with me. Being stuck in a place like Hewn City with the person I hated most didn't sound fun—obviously. I looked at Cassian and asked, "Are you going?"
He huffed. "Course I am."
Okay, that was better. At least I'd have Cassian to keep me company. I'd known him five years—plenty of time to trust him enough with this. We've fought and saved each other enough times for me to know he didn't wish to see me suffer.
"When do we leave?" I asked, looking at the shadowsinger.
His eyes seemed trained on my every movement as if expecting something entirely different—something he'd have to fight. "Starfall is in a week—we probably have three days."
Three days to prepare—not bad. I nodded slowly and looked back up at that damn clock that ticked away. It was going to be a very long three days, wasn't it?
~)(~
The sun was much too bright for my liking, oppressive with its heat and blinding. The scowl on my face was slowly becoming a permanent fixture as I fought the urge to go back inside, where it was cool and dim. Thankfully, this tree had enough shade that I didn't need to squint anymore.
Anya bent down and pulled a stem to cut again, adding it to the basket. She sometimes disappeared into the bushes of green while searching for the perfect cutting. I could smell rosemary, mint, basil, and thyme. There was a massive collection of overgrown herbs just waiting to be cut down. The bright flowers of poppies and lavender cut through the sea of green, attracting the bees and butterflies.
Anya stood up and waved at me, dirt on her cheek. She traversed the jungle and sat down next to me in the shade. "So, ready to tell me why you're so upset?"
I sighed and pulled her basket to me, trying to evade her question. "I'm sure the cook will be happy with this."
"We can use them too—the lavender and valerian make a great calming tea—and I found some ginger."
I smiled and picked up a purple cutting of lavender; the smell hitting my nose gently. "It's nice."
She nodded and laid back on her elbows. "Indeed. I wish I could stay in a place like this forever."
"I'll make it happen," I said, placing the cutting back with the others.
The breeze finally came in, and the sea of green rippled, the leaves above sang. I let the air hit my face and closed my eyes, breathing it in.
"I have to go for a week or two," I said, eyes still closed.
Anya sat up, and I heard her sigh. "Is that what you and Jurian had that meeting about yesterday?"
I nodded. "I'm going to the Night Court."
"With Azzie?"
I turned my head and raised a brow at her, the surprise surely obvious on my face. "Azzie?"
"That's what I call him," she explained, ignoring my confusion. "He likes it—laughed when I first called him it."
"You talk to him?"
She nodded with a wide grin, her eyes shining. "All the time! He helps sterilize gauze and keeps me company since no one else wants to do it. Actually, he's the one that told me about this garden."
I couldn't help but look surprised—maybe a little weary. The shadowsinger... being nice? To Anya, my Anya. No, there had to be some other reason. He knew how much she meant to me. What was his game?
I pushed off the grass and stood. "I have to find Jurian. Make sure he'll keep an eye on you in the Summer Court."
Anya took my offered hand and stood, looping the basket on an elbow. "I'll be fine. I'm not a teenager anymore."
I ruffled her hair. "Is that so?"
She rolled her eyes. "Alright, mother. But I don't need him intercepting every male within five feet of me."
"That's what a father does, nothing I can do to stop him."
She laughed at that and shook her head. "I'm going to bring this back to the kitchens, get them dried and bottled. I'll see you at dinner?"
Just because I could—and because I learned long ago that it very well might be my last—I pulled her into a hug and kissed the top of her head. "Of course you will. I'd hate to miss Miryam's nightly rants."
She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oh, don't remind me. I have to sit with her all day."
We parted ways then, and I waited until I knew she was gone before I started in the opposite direction of where I knew Jurian was. I was still going to talk to him about Anya, of course. But at the moment, I had other—more important weeds to pull.
I found it strange how easy it was to locate him, but things with him had always been strange. Somehow, I could always focus on him, his breath, even when he was miles away. I should look into it, sure, but I didn't want to think about him more than I had to.
This place wasn't exactly abandoned, just a summer home barely ever touched by its owners. So there was a library—dusty and ancient, with mold around the cracked window. And I should've expected it, really, because it only made sense that he'd be hiding away in a library. The only place no one had an interest in.
I swung the door open, expecting to burst into screams at him. But then he turned to me, one of those books in hand, and I paused. I went to great lengths to make sure we were never alone together after I tried to kill him. So it was difficult now to step through the threshold into the room. A room that smelled like him—burning applewood and golden whiskey.
The window looked out at the overgrown garden and cast light into the room shaded by vines growing against the outer wall. The space was small; shelves bursting with spines stacked in every way to fit the space. It felt cramped and suffocating to stand in such a room.
The shadowsinger raised a brow and closed the book he was skimming. "Can I help you?"
Right—right, I was here to yell at him.
"What are you trying to do?" I asked first.
He was quiet for a moment, before he said, "Um... read?"
"No—no, stop acting stupid. Are you trying to fuck up my life? Why? Is it just to make me miserable?"
"I'm not following."
"First, you show up out of the blue—now that I can handle, just a chance encounter. But then," I started pacing the room. "You're suddenly knee-deep in our plans and going with us on a mission—sure, okay, you're just doing your job. That's fine. But this? I can handle your painfully annoying presence around me, but you have no right trying to sneak into my life."
He was quiet, thankfully. I hadn't finished yet.
"What kind of fucked up mind must you have to think it's alright to get involved with my family?" I stopped and looked at him, rage bubbling in my blood. "Is it some kind of game for you? A joke?"
The shadows stayed calm around his shoulders as he turned to face me. "I don't understand."
I caught myself before I ripped him to shreds with my teeth. Our faces were inches from each other, our noses brushing. Tears welled in my eyes, but I forced them down. I snarled, and he responded in kind, a hand on my shoulder trying to shove me back. But I held strong, digging nails into his hand enough to feel blood.
"Stay the fuck away from Anya," I growled.
His brows furrowed as he exhaled a silent laugh, shaking his head as he looked away from me. "Anya? What right do you have controlling who she befriends?"
"I have every right because I raised her."
The shadowsinger scoffed at that and stepped around me. "She is a perfectly capable nineteen-year-old adult—who can make her own decisions."
"But she doesn't know you like I do."
"What do you think I'm going to do? You can't possibly believe I'll try getting into her bed, of all things."
"It wouldn't be the first time," I bit, venom stinging my tongue. I wanted to hurt him in every way possible without having to kill him—wanted to tear open his skin with my tongue, crack his ribs with my heavy words, and drain him of blood with my meaning.
He had stopped moving at that, staring at me like I was insane for even thinking such a thing. And maybe I was. But I was also terrified for Anya.
"I cannot believe you would ever think so low of me," he finally said, a bitter laugh escaping him. "Five years is one thing, darling. Fifty is a whole other."
"I'm sure every other Illyrian would disagree."
"Well, I'm not like the others—wasn't raised to be one." The glint in his eyes was the same I had managed out of him a week ago when I screamed at him. "So stop comparing me to them."
"I'll stop when I have proof," I hissed.
He took a step forward, stopping himself there, and took a deep breath. "Let's get one thing clear; I have no intention of being anything more than a friend to Anya because she deserves to have at least one person in her life who isn't after their own gain."
His words hit me like ice, that calculated look in his eyes a branding of history on my skin. It infuriated me like a volcanic rumble. I crossed my arms to keep them from acting on their own.
"Are you implying I'm using her?"
His gaze hardened. "Don't pretend you aren't. I know you, Rowena. You can pretend all you want to that I don't, but I do. And believe me, it's more painful for me than it is for you."
I shook my head, avoiding his gaze. "I just want the best for her."
There was a breath of silence before he answered. "Of course you do. But that doesn't mean you don't also want to prove to them that you can do better."
Images flashed when I closed my eyes to take a breath. Of hanging feet and a cracked skull. A splattered brain and broken neck.
"Princess," he started in that whisper of a voice that always soothed my shoulders.
My eyes snapped open, though, and I said, "Don't call me that."
"Why?" he fought back, eyes studying my face. "It's what you were, is it not?"
"That life is dead—forgotten."
He took a step closer. "That life is yours, Rowena."
My name fell so easily from his lips like it belonged there, like he'd said it a thousand times before in a prayer to the night sky. It made me wince. "Don't call me that."
"It's a part of you, no matter what you do. You can't run from it, you can't escape it—believe me, Rowena." A step closer, easing into a hunting ground.
"Stop." Tears stung my eyes, threatening to caress my cheeks if I blinked.
Another step. "Not until you acknowledge that your name is Rowena."
Those tears slid down my face and neck like chilling fingers outlining me. I shook my head at him, forcing my voice out of its cave. "No. I—she's dead."
He shook his head—Azriel shook his head. "No, she isn't. I'm looking at her."
I shook my head again, and he took another step, close enough now that I could feel the heat radiating off his skin. It reminded me of tunnels of thick stone, of drunken words and music. A familiarity I couldn't imagine without feeling that horrible tang of grief.
I moved as fast as a startled rabbit, spinning on a heel and slamming the door shut behind me as I met the empty hallway. I started walking, the back of my hand smearing lines of pain across my cheeks. The ache in my chest was the same one I got after every nightmare, after every reminder. It made my body shiver, my blood burn under my skin.
I couldn't breathe—couldn't stop moving. My feet would surely catch fire if I stopped for a breath. Walking faster and faster, I tried desperately to find what I needed. I didn't even know what I was looking for.
I stumbled over a rug that had bunched up, causing me to fall hard on my knees. The pain shot up my thighs and down my calves. My hair fell around my face, barely shielding me from the outside world as I placed my palms flat on the ground and slid off my knees to sit on one hip. My back bowed, and I pressed my forehead to the scratchy rug as sobs wracked my body and tears clouded my vision.
Everything just hurt. Everything constantly hurt. I couldn't find a source, a remedy, or even explain what I felt. I had to live through it, endure it, fight it in silence. Why? Why did it have to hurt? To remember anything, to feel anything.
It had been so long. So long just pretending none of it existed. A bandaid, sure to rip off one day, now pulling from my skin with a burning. And all at once, I couldn't breathe or think or see. I couldn't hear beyond the ringing, or move beyond the shivering. I couldn't comprehend the world around me, the world within me.
What did she look like? I can't remember her face.
A familiar magic shoved its way into me, pushing and pulling at strings to take control and force me into a new being. And at the smell of whiskey, the sound of a popping fire, and the feeling of a stone floor, I opened my eyes.
It was a dark room with high ceilings to fit a loft over the small kitchen. A few bruised chairs surrounded a small fireplace that lit the space. I was sitting on an old ripped rug, staring down at the surrounding mess.
Crumpled paper flattened into messy stacks, ripped pages, and open envelopes. Leather-bound journals in fallen stacks, open and bookmarked and ripped. Scratches and smears of ink, crossed-out words, and tear-stained parchment.
Tears stained my own cheeks. A pool of wine soaked into the rug beside me, and giant shards of a glass bottle shattered covered the ground. I could taste alcohol on my tongue and feel an ache in my feet from standing too long in heels. The dress squeezing me had fallen rather gracefully into a circle of fabric around my sitting frame, glittering in blue crystals reminding me of the night sky.
A sickened feeling lingered, confusion and shock clouded my vision. I was utterly devastated, grief-stricken, and broken.
The only window in the apartment cast shadows into the room. The light outside was the same amber as a firelight. I could hear talking and laughter in such a mix that it must've been a party outside. Yet I was stuck here, in this silent space, with these heavy words overflowing in ink and carved by a knife.
I fell back with a gasp as that magic sucked itself out of me, seeping through my lips in an exhale and disappearing into the air. My bones throbbed as I sat myself up again. The hallway was silent, empty of all but myself. I wiped the tears away and went to stand, my legs wobbly. The necklace around my neck seemed heavier, more noticeable as it swung from my neck in a mosaic star shape.
Something was coming. Something I'd never be able to forget.
-Authors Note-
hi, so it's been way longer than I wanted. I'm dealing with medical issues and needed a break to figure it out. basically, my ADHD medication has been inconsistent the past couple of months and I've been suffering withdrawal after going up to weeks without my pills being refilled. not fun :,)
~anyway~ this chapter ended up longer than I expected so I hope it's okay! it's probably a confusing mess but I was going days between writing sessions and half the time didn't know where I wanted it to end. overall though, we're getting there. the pieces are all falling into place... 😈
let me know your thoughts cause I love comments, you guys are always so funny I love it. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I'll see you next time!! have a great rest of your day/week!!
also, how would y'all feel if I started writing a Harry Potter fic? I've fallen back into my obsession and have a couple ideas floating around 👀