The stone whispered, water trickling through its interior and wearing it away bit by bit. Down in the dungeons, that whisper became a muffled roar as if it were a waterfall trapped in stone, and the artisans who had hollowed the mountain out had done their work to precisely show that. Great raging waves of frothing water flowed over the walls, mixed with the carvings of bones and drowning animals.
The sound was often times described as singing; it drove some prisoners to insanity because they couldn’t sleep over the noise, couldn’t think over it. That was exactly why Cassian and Rhysand had brought them there.
Under the Mountain, or in other words: the Hewn City.
They’d entered without alerting the Steward above, instead winnowing straight to the underground cellars where most interrogations were carried out. Azriel normally would’ve been the one there, but they’d left the Spymaster to Elain and to keep an eye on Eblis. So it was Cassian instead, Illyrian scales shining in crude lighting, that leaned over the beast while Rhysand lounged against the stone wall with a cold mask.
Cassian pressed close to the lone attor—the others still passed out and held in different chambers. Foul air slapped him in the face, but he schooled his expression into one of iron cunning. His voice was nothing but a growl as he asked, “Why have you come to Velaris?”
One of those wide, pointed ears swiveled, as if twitching. The singing of the walls hissed on.
“Let me ask again, why have you come to Velaris?” Rhysand quirked a dark brow as the attor merely twitched an ear again, lip curling in a quiet growl.
“You realize,” the High Lord began in a slow, dangerous drawl, “that there are two others who can talk even if you don’t. You are highly disposable.” The warning was severely apparent.
The attor, silvery fangs glistening, only said in a voice like shifting dunes, “I am the messenger. No one else has the answers you need.”
Rhysand raised his other brow. “Is that so?” He jerked a chin in Cassian’s direction, and the male grinned with a devilish light. A blade was in his hand faster than the attor could blink one of it’s beady black eyes, the sharp edge of it nicking the rough skin of its neck.
“As I see it, we don’t need any answers from you. We have Eblis, which you seem to so sorely want, and she is a very willing participant in answering our questions even if you aren’t.” Perhaps a little bit of an overplay on his part, but he pushed the thought aside and focused on the attors responding grin.
“Very willing indeed,” it hissed. “Then why are you here?”
Cassian pressed the blade deeper. “Maybe we’re just a little blood thirsty tonight?”
Rhysand wasn’t sure how to read the bat-like faces of the attors, but the way it’s grin disappeared seemed an answer enough. Cassian pressed closer, as if understanding the same thing.
“Let’s try again,” Cassian growled, silvery blood beginning to slip over his dagger. “Why have you come to Velaris?”
The attor pointed a chin towards Rhysand. The movement jerked the blade deeper. “Your High Lord has already answered that.”
“You want Eblis?” A sharp nod. “Why?”
The attor grinned again. “Your High Lord has already answered that.”
Cassian rolled his eyes, turning to Rhysand. “You’ve made this so easy, you know that?” Before the male could even respond, Cassian tore his blade deep across the attor’s shoulder and returned it to the throat. The beast grunted, but remained still so as to not rip it’s own head off. “Start answering questions or your arm comes all the way off.” Cassian’s hazel eyes were dark with malicious intent, enough so that even Rhysand had to hide his blink of surprise.
“Eblis has too much information,” it replied finally, the roaring of the walls around them filling the brief silence. It’s own blood slipped down its arm in silver waves. “The Queen is displeased and wishes her dead.”
“I see you did a spectacular job of that.”
The attor snarled but did not say anything more.
Rhysand sighed but motioned Cassian out of the room, and a heavy stone door slid shut behind them. The water trickling behind the walls especially echoed in the long corridor, the dotting of faelights against the walls seeming to flicker in time with the sound.
“It doesn’t like to talk,” he muttered. “Azriel is way better at getting information out of them.”
“I’ll make sure to tell him you said that,” Rhysand replied drily. Cassian grinned, punching him in the arm. Rhysand wiped the new wrinkle in the fabric away with a faux sniff of disdain.
“Oh no, poor Lordling,” Cassian mocked jokingly. Muscles bunched beneath his armor as he folded his armors. “Did I get some blood on your expensive Lordling clothes?”
“Call them that one more time, and we’ll see how much your salary decreases.”
The General barked a laugh. “Cruel ruler, using your power for evil.” They began to stalk down the hall, shoulder to shoulder in the tight space. Despite the water in the walls, they could still hear the faint music from above them in the Hewn City. The smile on Cassian’s lips slowly faded as they continued. “They want to kill Eblis, Rhysand.”
The High Lord’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I know,” he replied grimly. “Azriel and Cerridwen will be watching her, and she seems to know her way around a blade. She’ll be fine.”
“Do you think she knows something she shouldn’t? Is that why they’re after her?”
“I guess we will learn that in time.”
They came to a stop before a particular carving in the wall—one depicting a snake swallowing a snake in an endless cycle of cruelty—and Rhysand waved a hand. The wall grumbled, but split apart to reveal a set of stairs they began to ascend. Once past the threshold, the barrier preventing anyone from winnowing in or out would be raised. Subsequently, two guards in the dark armor of Keir’s Nightbringers stood at attention at the entrance, not even turning to face them.
Cassian murmured to him, low enough that the guards couldn’t hear over the drifting revelry, “Do we still believe Eblis is a spy? They’ve practically proven that she left without their consent.”
“They might be lying. We’ll send Azriel later tonight for more answers, after the party.”
“Party?” Cassian questioned, frowning.
Rhysand nodded. “Party.”
***
Hours later, everything had settled. There had been no sign of other dangers within Velaris beyond the 4 attors, and Eblis had quickly found her way back to the Townhouse despite suspecting the Shadowsinger—Azriel, she corrected herself—might be there.
He was not.
Instead, she was greeted by Cerridwen, the wraith smiling pleasantly as if nothing was wrong.
“Are you okay?” she asked, despite having already gotten it answered by Feyre.
The wraith nodded. “Madja healed me. And before you question it, Elain has also been healed and is resting.”
She blew a long breath of relief. “That’s good to hear.”
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Cerridwen replied, nodding.
She was about to protest, saying she’d already showered that morning, when she followed the wraith’s stare. Her clothes were dirty and disheveled from fighting and being thrown to the ground, the shirt even ripped in the back from where her wings had pierced through by accident. She was surprised it hadn’t been blown off her shoulders yet.
Cerridwen frowned and tsked. “Why did you not get your leg checked out?” Eblis’s eyes caught lower down as she remembered her equally torn and bloodied pants.
“It’s fine. It’s already healed, see?” She brought her leg up, revealing a very angry and red welt. The faebane was clearly slowing her healing process, but she didn’t deign to mention it. It would be gone by the next day anyway.
Cerridwen tucked her coal black hair behind an ear, frowning. But she relinquished the conversation with a sigh before turning and motioning her to her rooms.
“Oh, it’s fine. I can bathe alone.” Eblis entered her room without another word and shut the door behind her, though she knew it wouldn’t stop the wraith. But the female left her alone, and she set about getting undressed.
Another pair of clothes she had to throw away, she realized, the fabrics blood-stained and torn.
She ignored that, instead focusing on washing thoroughly. Before, she’d only meant to get the layer of grime off and the dye out of her hair as fast as possible so she could speak with her brother and family, but now she took her time exploring the soaps and hair washes, taking extra special care to soak her aching muscles in sudsy water.
By the end, she could smell the faint scent of night and myrrh attached to her and her hair, which curled wetly over her brow in tight ringlets. They just barely brushed her eyes, the annoying length unable to be brushed behind her pointed ears easily.
Eblis tapped a finger on her pale armoire, surveying the reddish bruise that was still left over from her wound. Though it would heal quickly—the cut not being that severe—she still knew it would scar. It would be just another mark upon her skin, she promised herself.
She threw herself into simple clothes similar to the ones she’d ruined that morning before Cerridwen knocked on the door. Eblis spent several long seconds of awkward silence before she realized the wraith waited to be allowed in.
“Come in!” she blustered, embarrassment burning her cheeks. She was not used to people waiting on her.
“Mor has insisted upon a welcome party, and Feyre has insisted upon a thank you party tonight,” the female said upon entering, carrying a box in her hand. “I have some jewelry here for you to borrow from both females since Amren took all of your old adornments.”
She winced slightly. “Amren always did love shiny things.” Cerridwen chuckled, but set the boxes on her pale nightstand without another word. She left before Eblis could even ask any more questions.
She sighed and slipped out of the clothes she’d just gotten into, searching through dressers that had magically filled up with clothes for something...fancier. Her skin instantly pebbled in the air, the scars that would forever mark her even more obvious in the setting light. She recognized the clothes as things she would wear when she was younger, but looking at them now…
She cringed at the innocence in them, the looseness and ability to wear such revealing clothes. The past five centuries had bid her to wear clothes that hid her shape well—to save herself, among other things. But they wouldn't hide most of her scars either.
"I'm not in Hybern anymore," she whispered, voice almost splitting the silence in her room. All the flowers had been removed but the scent still remained, and Eblis almost hoped that it found a way to pierce her dreary ways and show her how to be innocent again.
She would try. For her family, but most importantly, for herself.
Her fist balled up as she made her decision.
***
The night was warm enough that most everyone decided on short sleeves and loose pants to combat the heat, little buzzing flies harassing them as they waited out front of the Townhouse.
Standing outside, the group was patiently awaiting Eblis's arrival for tonight's special dinner. Though the female would not be attending, Elain had also imparted her desire for a thank you party for Eblis along with Feyre. Morrigan had wanted something to welcome her anyway, so they’d decided to combine both celebrations into one.
Although Azriel was worried about leaving her alone after the attack, both Elain and Mor had forced him to come. Not only that, but also the fact that this would be a rare occasion, a celebratorial one that he couldn't miss out on. Behind everyone's words, he could tell they wanted to add on that it might be their last for a while. Depending on the movements of the Queen.
“I’ll go check on her,” he murmured to Mor, who nodded. Azriel walked up the smooth paved path to the Townhouse’s door, pushing into the bright interior with a frown. She was taking a worrying amount of time.
Cerridwen flashed from the shadows to greet him, gold jewelry sparkling.
“You should be resting,” he said by way of greeting, sending a hazel gaze up the stairs to where Eblis was staying.
“Like I’ve told everyone else: I am fine. But thank you for worrying,” Cerridwen replied. Nuala slipped to her side, the twins eerily similar in appearance. The latter gripped the former’s arm gently.
“There was faebane on the bolt just like there was on Elain’s. You must rest, sister, or you’ll be sick.”
“I agree.”
Cerridwen sighed. “I’ll watch the house tonight, then.”
Nuala nodded. “I will watch her and Nesta.”
“Is she not going tonight?” Azriel asked, words surprisingly sharp. Nesta, Feyre’s sister, was known for her short temper and terrible attitude; it was typical of her to be skipping out on the special occasion even if she didn’t know what it was for. He didn’t know what Cassian saw in the female, but for Feyre, Azriel would endure her.
Nuala’s shrug was her only response before both their coal gazes swept upwards. They whipped into shadows and disappeared.
He frowned, turning and following the direction of their eyes.
And suddenly, he couldn't stop staring.
He couldn’t tell if it was surprise that forced him to turn and take her in fully, or something deeper in his chest that tugged at him, but he did it anyway.
She wore a simple and innocent dress, one the pale blue of the sky. It made her dark hair seem even darker, and her misty gray eyes appear lighter and more like clouds. Cerridwen had done masterful work brushing kohl along her eyes and a faint brush of sapphire along her cheekbones, her lips softly glossed. Her hair was short enough that the only decoration was a small band of watery blue that held the dark curls from her face and allowed the small dewdrops of jewels in her ears to glimmer. She was striking, an echo of her past self whispering through his mind.
His gaze swept to her surprisingly bare legs—and the strip of reddened skin that had drawn his attention.
Almost unintentionally, he found himself cursing inside of his head. He had known she was injured, yet had forgotten to have Madja check and heal the wound. The only reason it was still there must've been because of faebane still lingering. Unwelcomed, worry entered his hazel gaze.
"Why didn't you let Madja check you, Eblis?"
"It's fine," she quickly said, long fingers tugging her dress down to cover it. She stepped down the last few steps, a blush high in her cheeks as the sun fully awashed her with light. Within the last rays of that sunlight, little scars fluttered like jewels on her skin, and as soon as she noticed it, he could tell she was ashamed.
It made him think of his hands that used to make him feel the same way, wrangled with burn scars as they were. The little straps of her dress did nothing to hide them, just like his gauntlets and armor didn't.
Like one broken animal reaching out to another, his fingers absently brushed against one of those scars.
She froze under his scarred finger, froze and went completely cold under his touch. Instantly he retracted his finger, but he still felt like he owed her for her kind words from earlier, even as his gut wrenched at her terrible reaction.
"Everyone has scars," he said, as if trying to abate her embarrassment. He didn’t want her to feel the way he had for so long, and he couldn’t lie to himself when he realized this small connection made him feel closer to her. There was but a flicker of surprise in her gaze before she glanced down and away.
Azriel took the hint and stepped back, giving her space. Her steps were clipped as she forced herself out of the Townhouse, and he couldn’t help his frown as he followed her out.
Rhysand was the first to turn and blink up at his sister, the same surprise at her clothes echoing on his face. Mor and Feyre swiveled shortly after and smiled up at her welcomingly, though both the female’s gazes paused, reading Eblis’s stiff expression.
Azriel shrugged at Mor’s accusing expression, and yet she still pulled him aside.
“What did you do?”
“I—I don’t know,” he murmured truthfully. “Did something happen to her?”
Mor frowned up at him before realization cleared in her brown eyes. “You don’t know yet,” she breathed.
“Don’t know what?”
“You should’ve taken Rhys’s offer and listened to her whole story, Azriel.” Both of them glanced up to the small female. She was quiet, listening to Feyre and Rhysand bicker. Mor winced as Cassian said something particularly vulgar, but was saved from having to scold him as Feyre shot a discreet look at him. Eblis shrunk further.
Azriel gripped Mor’s shoulders, her hair glittering like gold in the light, as he forced her attention back to him. “I don’t need the whole story, but tell me the gist of it.”
“Look, Eblis spent many centuries in a continent known for it’s closed off ways. No import, no trade, no new people. She was among some of the few winged people besides the ugly attors, and was a...rare specimen.”
Dawning realization and horror mixed in Azriel’s hazel eyes. Mor nodded, red lips tight. “She does not like to be touched,” she clarified.
The horror was slowly replaced with something colder—deadlier—as he considered the full scope of that statement. She does not like to be touched.
If he ever visited Hybern again, he knew there were quite a few rare specimens he might have the pleasure of killing.
Mor read his gaze, and something like surprise touched her face. “You care for her, Az.”
“Feyre told me to sympathize a little more, and that is what I’m doing.”
Morrigan’s mouth tugged upward into a smug grin. “Keep telling yourself that.” She turned away and began to rejoin the others where they waited. Before they quite did, she added, “I’m surprised, Shadowsinger. Out of all of us, I thought you would take the longest to trust her.”
He watched Eblis again. His shadows warned him of her, while something else whispered to listen and understand. “I’m surprised too,” he said after a moment.
Mor flitted from his side, a loose dress of silky mauve flowing around her as she ran into Cassian’s side with a laugh that would put anyone at ease. He’d once been put to ease by it. But his mind was still swirling with the implications of what he’d learned tonight.
He joined Cassian’s other side, attaching himself to the conversation before he got lost in his thoughts.
Rhysand turned to Eblis, hands in his pockets. “I’ve realized something: I stopped Mor from touching you before, but do females like her even affect you as bad as a male would?”
Feyre seemed to open her mouth to answer—perhaps to scold—but Eblis answered before her.
***
Also, sorry for the later update! I kind of forgot about it again...ugh..schedules..
Hope everyone is healthy during this Corona-cation and at least enjoying this extended summer I guess lol
If you have any questions to ask then go ahead and ask 'em here--
***
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