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My chin fell to my chest, and I shoved my palms against my burning eyes. Azriel gently pulled a hand away, like he had done many days ago, a lifetime ago. “I know you can do it, darling. You always lay down your fears and desires to do what’s right, no matter how difficult the task may be. It’s what makes you who you are, not only the huntress, but the object of my eternal admiration.”
How could I say no?The torment of this decision quickly sobered at his words, a peace replacing the tension. I slipped out of his weak grip, grabbing the hilt at my hip and unsheathing the pale blade from its home.
“Good gods, who gave you a sword?” he asked, eyes widening slightly as the light danced across the polished bone.
“Perks of being a huntress,” I said with smirk. “A small step up from yours, don’t you think?”
He blew a sharp breath in agreeance. “A big step, I’ll admit. But gods always have their favorites.”
Roman helped flip Azriel on his stomach, holding the broken wing in a way so it wouldn’t drag as he shifted. He pressed his forehead into the stone, still coated in his own blood and sweat, and took several deep breaths. A muscle in his jaw flinched as he braced for the amputation of the last wing. He turned his head as Roman explained how to slice through the joint at the point of least resistance, delicately explaining how to practically butcher him alive.
I placed a gentle hand along the edge his wing, a faint pulse racing beneath my touch through the thin skin. My voice whispered a countdown, and in one perfect slice, I finished the job.
20
After I severedAzriel’s last wing, I realized why they made the huntress wear white.
Dark blood splattered my bracers, my chest, and dripped down the length of my armor The brutal sight of my leather afterward made me appear vicious, bloodthirsty and ruthless. Not a drop of crimson was hidden on my body, and each one trickled proudly like paint on a blank canvas. I was the picture of deadly consequence, a portrait of pain, and I let his blood design my brutality with every streak.
We allowed him time to writhe as long as he needed. Roman guarded the door while I held him, watching for any signs of the queen or her minions. I let him scream and curse into the soft part of my belly, his head heavy in my lap and growing damp with soundless tears. The bleeding stopped after a while, and my stomach twisted at the earthy smell, making me sick. But I swallowed back the bile to maintain my composure and be a solid fortress of strength he could draw from as the agony ceased.
When the initial shock waned, I rocked him slowly in my lap and stroked his head. His body shook against mine as quiet sobs demanded release. He was slowly coming out of it, the great waves of pain easing into small swells he could bare more easily.
This, I decided, was love. Not the witty banter or inappropriate flirting we normally engaged in, not even the sensual kisses or the night of lustful exploration. This, holding each other through our darkest moments, through our worst nightmare and the hardest thing we’d ever been through together—this was what loving someone truly looked like. To sit there amid his pain, feeling his agony on a level so intimate it was practically my own and wishing I could steal every ounce of his suffering and go through it for him. It hurt so much, to love him, but I didn’t regret a single ache at the expense of what I gained in the process.
Roman poked his head in the room sometime later to check in on us. I had let Azriel fall into an exhausted sleep in my lap, caressing him into an unconscious state so he could get a break from reality. But judging by the stress in Roman’s eyes and the way he crossed the room in a few anxious strides, we were out of time for such indulgences.
“I’ll take him back to the room. You need to find the queen. Gods only know the power she’s already recovered with her freedom.”
“Assuming Loren gave her the leystones in the first place,” I corrected him, still not completely convinced my friend, my brother would do such a thing and betray me so definitely. Roman only shook his head at my skepticism.
“Go see for yourself then. I need to get Azzie back to Estelles immediately, so you’ll have to go the rest of the way on your own.”
I let loose a heartless laugh. “I’ve faced every cruelty in this mountain by myself. This is no different. Keep him safe, Roman.”
“Of course, Arya. He’s my brother,” Roman said as he shifted Azriel against his chest. “I love him, too.”
I watched as he lifted Azriel with a groan, gritting his teeth with unbreakable determination in his eyes. My heart swelled as he carried him, his steps staggering beneath the weight of his fallen comrade. And I no longer worried for either of them, for they had each other.
I turned and lunged for the door, every fiber in my being alive with a subtle rage just waiting to be set free of its bindings. When I saw the queen, when I faced my demon at last, I would set it free. I peered back over my shoulder at Azriel once more, letting the mangled sight of him spark my fury and fuel my bloodlust. There would be no last kiss, no final goodbye, because this would not be the end for us.
I slipped out the door and into the hall, and this time I didn’t hide in the shadows.
The guards eyed me cautiously as I passed, unsure if they should apprehend me due to the casual way I roamed the halls and pretended to own the place. Still covered in blood, my steps were nonchalant against the plush carpeting running the length of the hall toward the throne room, staining the expensive carpet with crimson footprints. They followed me as I passed, each one collecting behind me in curious apprehension, ready to strike if I made one stray step in a different direction.
I rounded the final corner, and the double doors came into view, along with the pair of guards I recalled faintly from the last time I was here. The sight of me jarred them into action, just about to unsheathe their weapons when I raised a hand to stop them.
“Open the door,” I said, “or I’ll wear your blood, as well.” The threat encouraged them to assess the state of my leathers, causing them to steal hesitating glances toward each other.
I cleared my throat, indicating impatience. My glare settled over the one closest to the handles, his composure betrayed by a sheen of sweat. He nodded with a quick dip of his chin and stepped aside, swinging his door open wide to allow me through.
The throne room was empty, yet alive with lanterns as though it was soon to be occupied. My breathing slowed to study the stillness, listening for any sign of the queen’s approach. I placed a trembling hand on my sword, letting the smooth feel of petrified bone soothe the aching twitch in my fingers.
“Arya?” A recognizable voice broke the silence behind me. It was masculine, not the queen, but someone else I was eager to see.
I spun sharply on my heels, finding Loren standing in the doorway. He was dressed in formal attire, wearing a black tunic with gold stars lining the sleeve. Leather pants were tucked underneath his tunic, folding into a gold, metallic leg. A long, matching black cape flowed elegantly behind him, floating on the air slightly as if he had just stopped abruptly in his tracks.
“What the blight are you wearing?” I asked, running a judgmental eye over his appearance. He barely looked like himself. The only identifiable feature was the blonde hair now slicked against his head, but his unruly curls flipped at the base of his neck, defying the firm hold of the wax attempting to tame them.
