AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“The queen trusts him. Who are we to question her faith?”
“You’re right, Fenris, but something just seems…odd. Hold up,” the second voice paused, and neither Roman nor I breathed, knowing what they’d found. “Where are these feathers from?”
The first voice mumbled something to himself before speaking. “Could it be from the watcher we’ve got in the old training room?”
“Nah, wrong color.”
There was a long pause as the pair connected the devastating idea. “They’re here…” Fenris whispered.
Roman threw open the door and charged outside without a second thought. As the door flew open, I saw the shocked faces of Fenris and Killian, their eyes wide at the expanse of forest green now filling their vision and coming for their throats. He wrapped his giant hands around each of their temples, slamming their skulls together before either of them could utter another word. The blow sent them both crumpling to the floor, where Roman then grabbed them each by a handful of hair and dragged them into the room where I stood, stunned into stillness.
He tossed one of them, Killian, my way, who I quickly pinned to the floor while still disoriented. I unsheathed the blade at my hip with one swift move, pressing the razor edge to the nape of his neck while shoving the side of his face into the stone.
“Don’t move,” I warned, “or I will butcher you like you butchered my Azriel.” Killian grew stiff underneath me, his squirming ceasing at the sound of my voice.
“Arya?” he grunted beneath my weight.
“That’s right. Thought of a new nickname for me yet?” I dug the blade a little deeper, letting bone cut through skin and draw a line of crimson across his neck. The sight made my stomach lurch.
“Aye, I did. Bitch—” a groan cut off the rest of his sentence as my other hand smashed his face harder into the floor.
I leaned lower to speak softly in his ear, letting the breath of my words brush against it. “They call me huntress now, actually. Your little sister is all grown up.”
“Arya, quit taunting the skinny bastard so I can tie him up.” Roman growled behind me. I sighed, disappointed in the disruption of our banter, but ultimately shifted my weight so the watcher could bind him tightly next to Fenris. Once they both were securely tied and no longer a threat, I turned to Roman and saw him starting toward the door.
“I overheard them say they’re keeping Azriel in the training room. It’s not far from here, we just have to get past the guards and find a way to—”
“Unlock the door? Already solved that problem,Huntress.” He lifted a hand to show a pair of keys dangling from his fingertips, curtesy of the Chosen he’d just man handled.
“Nicely done,” I said with a pat on his shoulder before sneaking carefully back out into the hallway once more.
We snuck and dodged the queen’s guards, evading their sight with careful stealth. The queen didn’t employ many personal guards—she was already imprisoned here as it was. Therefore, avoiding unwanted attention wasn’t as difficult as planned, but it didn’t make the process any less unsettling. It took us quite some time to find our way around the lush hallways and velvet rugs, each hall decorated a tad grander than the last the further we ascended into the queen’s court.
I tasted the blood in the air when we turned a corner, the copper smell marking our destination—the training room holding Azriel. I peeked at Roman, whose gilded stare was ornate with sympathy.
“We don’t have time for grand reunions, but I’ll give you a moment alone. I’ll guard the door in case someone comes looking,” he offered. I gave him a weak smile, appreciating the kind gesture but not completely sure I wanted to face this on my own. Whatever lay behind that door, whatever version I found of the man I loved, I had to be ready. I had to be there for him with steadfast strength and uncompromising courage. Roman used the keys to unlock the door and slowly pushed it open with one hand, just enough to let me slip through before shutting it quietly behind me.
The smell struck me immediately, the first of my senses snatched. Blood, vomit, piss—every bodily fluid was present here, greeting me like an old friend and bringing back haunting memories of my own spats in the training rooms.
It was pitch black, but there was another energy here. The sound of labored breathing and soft moans filled the darkness, as did the slight shifting of a body across a cold floor. Every sound, every smell, every terror created by the blindness of night, was familiar in a way my heart seized in hesitation.
“Who’s there?” A small voice sounded from the center of the room, the one voice I recognized no matter the emotion or pain that burdened it. His voice was all I needed to find my strength again.
“It’s me,” I replied, my own voice barley above a whisper.
He didn’t reply for the longest time, but finally spoke the sweetest words that ever touched my soul. “You’re late.”
I smiled through the tears rippling down my cheeks, springing forward on their own accord. “I know. I’m sorry. You watchers are a stubborn breed. It took all afternoon to convince Evander.” I stepped forward and felt blindly for some kind of light but nailed a short table with the side of my hip instead, a force great enough to leave a bruise. The sharp jerk of the table sent a harsh shriek throughout the hollow room. My fingers skimmed the top and finally found an oil lantern propped in the center.
I lit a small flame and let the dim glow fall across the bare training room, which obviously didn’t do a whole lot of training anymore. Judging by the crimson-colored floor and splashes of muck on the walls, the chains dangling from the ceiling and odd instruments holding sharp blades and daggers, this room wasn’t used for runners.
This was a torture chamber.
Azriel lied on his side in the center of the room, his knees tucked into his chest as he curled into a loose ball. Any fleeting joy sobered at the sight of his back, with one wing broken at odd angles and the other completely torn from the joint. The bloody end of a stump now resided where his right wing used to be, the crude edges verifying its removal had not been a clean cut.
I paced across the small room, placing the lantern on the floor some feet away from where he lay. Azriel was barely recognizable as the tiny flame flickered its glow on his beaten and bloody body. He avoided my gaze as I took in the sight of him. But I couldn’t hide my disgust at the queen’s handiwork or protect his pride from the pity in my heart. I dropped to my knees beside him, but my hands only hovered in front of me, afraid to touch any part of him and disturb a deep wound my eyes couldn’t see. They settled on his face, my fingers smoothing over the length of his jawbone and entangling themselves into the matted hair stuck to the base of his skull. The bleached color was now dyed a deep scarlet.
He cracked open an eye as he felt my touch, and I forced a passing smile as his gaze crossed my face. I really was happy to see him alive at least, though the circumstances soured the mood. It was hard to soak up this moment when my fingers were slick with his blood.
