#Also Nesta: freakboy what is GOING ON?

[flowerflamestars]

Haunted Holy & Divine snippet

“When you torture people,” Nesta said, flatly. “For whatever it is they’ve done. They throw them in the dark and they throw them to you.” There had never been a choice. Azriel was the bastard son of an Illyrian lord. There was only blood, for him. It would have been swords and battlefields. A lifetime of war. Killing his own, when the disobeyed. Crippling his own, when they dreamt of more. Azriel’s hands would have always had to do the work- for Rhain, for Shahar, for Rhysand. It was no small thing that had made him what he was, but it was no choice either. “I mean you no harm,” Azriel settled on saying, nearly soundless. Colorless, as the deepening shadow, his many many forebears in Night’s unholy work crowding close in cold comfort. It was no physical nearness, but Nesta’s eyes flickered up, following what was not light like a moth. “What is the point in hurting them,” she huffed. “What is the point, when you?” She made a vast slashing gesture toward him, lingering enough Azriel could not reign in the shadows that slipped, trying to coil around her aching wrist in support. “You don’t need a knife to know.” No, he didn’t. And the first century of his work for the throne, Truthteller had been nothing but a friend, a mark of respect: Azriel might carry of sword at times, might have survived training, but he would never carry a blessed blade of his people. So Rhain had made him one. Starsteel did not bend for High Fae hands, but it had melted. Become something better, worse, beneath Azriel’s young, unfettered grip. “I don’t.” Azriel admittedly, softly. “I do not choose what my High Lord asks of me.”