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utterlyazriel · 27 days ago

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whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: can u believe we've actually made it to chapter eleven... 😲 i cannot! alas thank u so much again for being patient with me <3 i think i'm much better locked in now so MAYBEEE we'll see something other than longing glances soon ehehe <3 ok mwah thank u for reading, enjoy <3

word count: 4.5k

synopsis: Trouble sleeping leads you to wander the halls of the House of Wind, finding a friendly face. Azriel stews in his misery—but not for long.

CHAPTER ELEVEN :: FRIENDS (AGAIN)

You have a problem.

Despite the training and the fresh, rich and plentiful food—despite the bed that’s softer than anything you’ve touched in decades—it becomes rapidly apparent in the next week that rest does not find you easily in Velaris.

The first week it’s easy to chalk up the discomfort to your still healing body.

You weren’t high Fae by any means. The bruises that matted your skin were bone-deep and injuries of that kind took time to recover from.

Yet, as time rolled forward and the stiffness retreated, even as wounds turned to scabs, sleep did not claim you. In fact, it rather stubbornly avoided you.

You find you can only sleep after exhaustion kicks in, certainly no earlier than a couple hours of tossing and turning. It only takes a couple days of restless sleep to figure out the suspect.

The pillowy bed.

All your life, sleep has meant a hard surface, only differing from the ground in its protection against the chill of the mountains. But still, you’ve slept better nights on the ground than you have in this bed.

It’s so soft. It pulls you in and makes you feel as though you’re sinking into a cloud. Your pillows are plush and feathery, your sheets delicate and silky to touch.

It’s too soft.

So, when the aches of your injuries recede and the sleep still doesn’t come, you say to hell with it, even if a small part of you fears what the Highlord might say.

You keep the comforter but leave everything else behind — tugging it off the bed and curling up on the stone floors, bundled in the fleecy, warm blanket.

The sleep is better.

Still, as your days training with Cassian continue, it’s not a proven cure.

Some nights, like tonight, it evades you so severely that after a hour or two blinking at the floor, counting the spots on the ceiling, something stirs in you to move. You begin to wander.

Even with Rhysand’s assurance, it’s hard not to feel like an imposter as you creep through the halls of the house.

You’re silent on your feet. There’s only a whisper of your presence as you pass door after door, each of them ornately designed and firmly closed.

You’ve only done this wandering once or twice. The first time you got the itch to explore, you barely made it down the hallway you started in. Something dark had fluttered in the distance, taking you by surprise.

Heart pounding in a hair-raising chill, instinct forced you back into your room in a mad dash. Pressed up against your locked door, it had felt eerily similar to your old cabin.

But even so, you’ve haven't run into anyone else.

This time, your fourth time wandering, you take a different route, rubbing tiredly at your eyes with a hint of irritation. Even if sleep evades you, you’re tired, there’s no doubt of that.

Warm sandstone keeps you company. As you take a left where you’ve always taken a right, a pair of gilded glass doors you’ve never seen tucks itself behind an unsuspecting corner.

You have a rule not to open any closed doors.

This one, however, tempts you with a pool of pale moonlight cast through its windows. Besides, a quick glance through the glass tells you you’re alone.

It’s another balcony. Like all of them, you suspect as you open one door silently and step out, it overlooks Velaris. The city sprawls out from the foot of the mountain, glorious and alive.

The title of City of Starlight certainly seems fitting tonight. It glows, a thousand specks of light dancing across the air to you.

Beyond it, the blackness of the ocean calls out to you, a salty spring in the air. Seeing the edge of the continent, something stutters in your chest.

How big the world really is... How small it seemed to you not too long ago. You’re learning there’s much more than just frost and mountains.

Your gaze drops back to the city, its lights winking at you almost enticingly. Even from afar, you swear you can hear laughter carried on the warm wind.

How it is this lively when, based on the high and bright moon, it must be nearing morning baffles you. Tentatively, you approach the ornate railing and place your hands on it, leaning forward. How would it look from the skies, you wonder...

Someone clears their throat behind you.

Despite the gentle attempt to get your attention, it doesn’t stop you from startling violently, whipping around in a half second. Your heartbeat races, climbing up to too fast in a manner of moments.

It's Rhysand. That fact doesn’t help your panic but the sight of him reminds you to throw up the brick wall in your mind, just as he's been teaching you. The focus on the task ebbs away some of your panic.

“Can’t sleep?” Rhys’ asks, kindly ignoring your frenzied panic for your sake.

Taking a controlled inhale to calm yourself, your shoulders drop an inch. You nod slowly.

“Let me guess,” He says, taking a slow step in your direction.

He’s got his hands in the pockets of his sleek pyjama pants — a motion you now recognise not as arrogance, but instead to show that he means no harm. He tilts his head to the side, violet eyes narrowing as he hmmms.

“Bed too soft?”

It’s so spot on that you mentally check your walls, finding them still in tact.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t read my thoughts.”

Rhys smiles, giving a soft chuckle. He shakes his head. “I haven’t. You just…” He pauses, choosing his words carefully.

He glances up at the moon and then says, “Azriel was the same.”

The name makes your heart twist painfully. It's like pressing on an old bruise.

“Cassian too,” Rhys continues, giving a little shrug. “But Az more than anyone else. Spend enough time sleeping on the floor and anything else feels too wrong.”

Gingerly, you nod. Somehow, hearing about Azriel feeling the same as you— imagining him dragging the covers off his bed and burrowing on the floor— makes you ache a little bit.

Maybe you hadn’t realised how alike the two of you were.

“How did he…?” You wave an awkward hand and fumble for the right words. “Or Cassian—I mean, how did they get over it?”

Rhys gives another subtle shrug, his smile turning a little wry. “Not sure if Az ever did. I mean, he’s not big on sleeping for sleepings sake. Cassian on the other hand…”

He trails off and it makes you laugh softly, covering the noise behind your hand. Cassian has certainly let you know his distaste for early rising, even if he is always punctual. Though, you wonder if that’s more to with leaving his mate behind…

“I think,” Rhys starts, then stops. He clicks his tongue, mouth twisting to the side. “I think Azriel had trouble thinking he deserved it. As though he hadn’t earned it.”

The words pierce through you, panging painfully with the familiarity which they resound within you.

“I hope you know that nothing as essential as rest or food or safety—” Rhys stresses each word carefully. “—needs to be earned. Not here.”

Not here—because he’s vividly aware of where you’ve come from.

Because he’d come from it too. Because even though he’s an Illyrian male, at some point so were you, and that means he knows.

He knows. He chooses to be better.

You open your mouth, no clue what response is on your tongue, when the door opening behind him stops you.

Rhys turns and your eyes take in a Fae more beautiful than you could imagine, standing on the doorstep.

You hadn’t known females could… radiate as she does. Females in Exordor are more brutish, more hardened, as it's the only way they truly survive. This Fae is beautiful. She'd be torn apart in Exordor.

If Rhys is the night, she is a star within it. Glowing and warm, the spectacular sight to awe at.

Everything you’ve been leaning into since your arrival, the new identity, the idea of being a she for the first time properly, shrivels up suddenly.

You swallow thickly. You know without a doubt that you are not comparable to this Fae.

“Rhys?”

Cauldron, even her voice is sweet. She’s smiling softly, directed at the Highlord before you who has—what you can only describe as—melted at her presence. She steps down onto the balcony, draped in a soft, ashy nightgown.

“What are you—oh!” Her grey eyes lift as she notices that Rhys is not alone on the balcony.

The smile on her face shifts towards more friendly and welcoming. “Sorry, I thought I was just hunting down a runaway mate, not that he was actually busy.”

She reaches out and ribs Rhysand, as though he should’ve told her not to come looking for him somehow.

As they share a look long, you realise maybe she did mean that literally. She did say mate, after all.

“Who I am to deny myself the pleasure of being hunted down by my lovely wife?” Rhys drawls smugly, grinning as he catches her hand when she tries to rib him again.

He twists it and plants a devoted kiss on the back, evidently pleased when she brightens instantly.

“I’m coming back to bed now, anyways,” He says, murmuring into her skin before he restrains himself, straightening up.

You see his mate cast a quick, concerned glance your way but Rhys shakes his head. “She doesn’t need to hear any more of my blathering, I’m sure.”

He turns to you with a grin and a wink. You blink, perturbed, and completely unsure how to react.

“I hope at least some of what I said you'll find useful,” Rhys says, beginning to wander backward towards the door.

His arm finds the curve of his mate's waist like a magnet and a new emotion surfaces within you, tinged green. She steps back through the gilded doors first, waiting just inside for him.

“But more than that,” Rhys says, hovering on the doorstep. “I hope you’ll get some good sleep.”

He turns and disappears down the hallway, following his star into the darkness of the house. You watch them both go.

Somehow, you think he really means it.

—

Azriel's shadows appear to lose their penchant for mischief overnight.

Which naturally means there’s a healthy dose of suspicion that brews in his mind. As Azriel walks towards the training ring, he eyes the unusually calm blackened spirits. Gone is their frantic energy and instead, they laze about, content to curl up around his shoulders today.

Suspicious indeed. Azriel makes a mental note as he casts a glance out of the windows carved out of the mountain rock.

It's dusk. Night lingers, waiting to drape itself across Velaris in a glossy, inky blanket. Twinkles of light begins to burst forward in the darkness. For all the sour reasons he's making himself train at night, Azriel has to admit it has some perks too.

Like they do most days, his thoughts drift to you.

There's a slight hitch on the thread between you and Azriel and he feels his wings give a little involuntary shudder in response. Thanks to his pestering shadows, he's still being fed little updates about your whereabouts and wellbeing — still a perfect torture.

But you've graduated to training with Cassian.

No longer just cautious friends, no, you're standing up and fighting against him, as you had done with Azriel all those months ago. It had been another morsel of information dropped in his ear by his shadows that made him stumble in his motions.

He had hardly given you a choice, back in Exordor. Azriel remembers it now with a wince, wishing in hindsight that he had been kinder. He had exposed your secret of helping the girls in the camp, infiltrated your home, and all but enforced it on you.

It came from good intentions but if he knew what he knew now, he'd do it differently.

There's... lots of things he'd do differently.

But, with the past set in stone, it didn't matter. Cassian was about choice. Rhys was about choice — and Azriel knew there was no way either of them would've gone near you without your permission, let alone engage in combat.

Besides, he's fairly certain that his brothers were aware of how Azriel would tear them limb from limb if they threatened his mate in any shape or form.

Mate.

The word is still fresh on his tongue and Azriel has to swallow thickly around it, feeling clunky and wrong in his mouth. It doesn't feel as though he's truly earned it yet.

Funny how he spent so many years waiting for one, yearning for his mate, aching for the other half of his heart.

To now be here — travelling through the House of Wind during the evening, to keep his distance from you.

There's another hitch on the tie that binds you and Azriel raises a scarred hand to brush his knuckles along the tender ache in his chest.

He wasn't sure what the little tugs and pulls throughout the day meant. He wasn't sure if it was him or you that was responsible for them.

Even if it feels like a daydream more than anything, he lets himself pretend it means you're thinking of him.

"Give it time," He murmurs to himself, his voice a raspy whisper.

It was Rhys' advice, given to him after that last meeting on the balcony. Give it time. It's what you deserve, what he owes to you.

It doesn't mean it doesn't still sting.

His eyes track the tiles on the floor as he rolls his shoulders back, already preparing for the next couple hours spent training. He can hear the sounds of Cassian out in the ring already, the scuff of his boots against the hard ground.

"Give it time," Azriel urges himself again, under his breath, willing the words to give him some more of his desperately lacking patience. He steps down onto the balcony.

Then, he promptly freezes, because it becomes rapidly apparent that Cassian is not alone.

You... You're there.

In the ring, your wings stretched out in the lowlight of the rising moon, your face relaxed in a way he'd nearly forgotten.

Mother, he’d already thought you were the most beautiful Fae he’d ever laid his eyes on, even back in Exordor, but one short month in Velaris has transformed you.

You had always been strong—your muscles wiry and slender, but hardened. Not having to guess when your next meal is, sleeping with both eyes closed… the effects of being cared for is magnanimous on you. You look better.

To Azriel, you glow.

Then your head towards him and the easy expression of your face shifts to something he desperately wants to be able to read. Cassian has noticed his entrance too, hovering just behind you, but there’s nothing Azriel can look at other than you.

Your eyes meet his.

Stretched out between you, invisible and humming like a live-wire, the mating bond gives a pang.

Azriel feels it burrow beneath his skin, feels it through every nerve and even though he doesn’t deserve it, his heart still croaks forlornly tell me, tell me you feel it too.

The corner of your mouth tugs up and it takes Azriel a whole moment to realise it's almost a smile. Directed at him. Is he still sleeping? Is this some wondrous dream he wishes to never wake from?

He murmurs your name, his voice as rough as a thunderstorm.

"Az," Cassian responds instead and Azriel's hazel eyes snap up to his brother.

He's still frozen in place, paused on the edge of the balcony, even his wings stilled. The only movement is his rapid shadows, bursting forward and reeling themselves back in, like they want to cross the space but know they're not allowed to.

When Azriel doesn't say anything for a long moment, his name is spoken again, this time from you.

Gods, even your voice has changed ever-so-slightly. No longer are you straining it, leaning into the lower tones to sell your façade. There's a softness to it that hadn't been there before.

Azriel thinks he could drink the way you say his name, get drunk on it, and be merry forever.

He still can't move. Did you know he was training here during the evenings? Is that why you're here? Is this some forced intervention for the two of you, set up by his scheming brother?

His body sways forward, wanting, but he can't bring himself to move.

You step forward first instead, treading lightly til you stand before him. In the background, he can see Cassian turn and busy himself, evidently giving the two of you some time.

"Azriel," You say his name again — and it goes down like a shot of moonshine, burning fiercely, warming him from the inside.

He's still taller than you, forcing you to tilt your head back to face him properly and at this angle, he can see the sheen of moonlight reflected in your eyes. You’re utterly beautiful to him, furrowed brow and all.

His beautiful mate— and he left you.

Left you to be taken, to have your wings pinned down, to have their hatred carved into the scars on your spine.

And he left you to think he was right to do so.

Agony, like nothing he’s felt before, rips through him, a fierce hurricane, violent and betrayed. He will never forgive himself.

"I'm sorry." He says earnestly, his voice low but not quiet. The words burst out and he can’t contain them - not when it’s all he’s wanted to say to you these past weeks.

"Leaving you behind—”

There’s an audible shudder in his breath, his eyes fluttering as if admitting his mistake aloud causes him physical pain.

“It will never stop being the regret that haunts my every waking moment and every moment asleep.”

“Azriel—” You murmur, seeing just how deeply he cuts himself with his words. You can tell now that Cassian is right; the soldier before you would punish himself far longer than you ever deigned to.

“Please,” He cuts you off gently, swaying forward again and forcing himself to have restraint. His shadows barely obey, mere inches from you.

“Let me-” His voice is almost a whisper, his hands curling into loose fists before he releases them with a soft sigh. “I will spend every day of my life making it up to you, if you allow me to.”

For a long moment, you stare up at him, searching his eyes for something he doesn’t know. The bond between you thrums quietly behind his ribs.

“I know you will.” you simply say.

Not assuming but… understanding. As if your picture of him is suddenly clearer.

“But either way, I forgive you.”

The air in his lungs disappears, like a punch to his gut. Even as his face barely shifts, well-trained after centuries, his shadows betray him, exploding into a frenzy.

They dart forward, bating into your arms and neck with enough speed to surprise you, but your response is only a puff of air, almost a laugh. The edges of your mouth turn up. Azriel scowls at them, a flustered hue rising to his cheeks.

“…Why?”

You don’t seem surprised by his question, even though the moment it leaves him mouth, Azriel wants to stuff it back in. Who is he to question your forgiveness?

You take a weary breath in and for the first time, break eye contact, casting your to the ground.

“You… You made a mistake. You know that now.” Your eyes flash up to meet his. “You also came back. I think that’s maybe just as important.”

Azriel blinks, more surprise rearing up within him.

How are you so calm, so levelheaded? Where is the angry warrior forged in icy heart of the Illyrian Mountains? The ones who fight first and ask questions never?

Forgiveness, Azriel knows, is not a concept among Illyrian warriors.

His eyes glance up to the other occupant of the balcony. You surely can’t have got it from hanging around with Cassian, of all people. Hot-headed, easy to anger, grudge holder for all eternity Cassian?

Perhaps, Azriel thinks, he doesn’t give his brother enough credit.

“Besides, I also can only hope I’m treated with the same kindness when I make my next mistake.”

Your words soften him. As Azriel swallows the lump in his throat, he finds it in himself to take the forgiveness as easily as you’ve offered it to him.

He nods, then draws his hand from his side and holds it out, “I would hope then, that you wouldn’t mind starting over. As friends?”

Not allies, companions, or teachers.

You put your hand in his, setting the bond twanging between you, and nod. This time, when your lips curl up, it’s in a real, genuine smile. It’s small, but there — and it’s for him.

Azriel could probably fight the moon at this point.

“Friends.”

“You guys done over there? Friends yet?” Cassian calls out callously, having heard almost every word and trampling over the moment without regret. You drop Azriel's hand quickly, turning back with a somewhat flustered expression.

Azriel narrows his eyes at him and Cassian grins deviously in response.

“Great. Does this mean we can all go back to training together in the morning?” Cassian tilts his head to you, gesturing. “She’s been putting through the wringer. I think it’s your turn.”

The words make you grin fiercely and suddenly, Azriel finds he has no trouble with that idea in the slightest.

—

The trio of you train into the twilight, even with the agreement of tomorrow’s early training.

Like an old habit, you fall back into sync with Azriel so easily it’s nearly scary. While your training with Cassian has been about teaching you a variety of new techniques, with you and Azriel it’s always been one on one.

Tonight is no different. Squaring against him in the ring, your new strength and arsenal of moves makes you an equal match. No longer are you trailing behind by one second, stuck on the defence.

Steel of swords clash and you bare your teeth in delight. Just months ago, you were still like an apprentice to him.

Now, you hold your own, new scars and all. You’ve adapted to change in your wings and when you fight with Azriel, it’s fluid. It's a dance.

It also exhausts you like nothing else. When Cassian finally calls it, the fight unwon by either of you after nearly ten constant minutes, you feel tired in a way you haven’t in an age.

It feels good. You’d almost feel bad at Cassian’s exclusion if he wasn’t grinning as widely as you. The sight doesn't jar you but the realisation that it’s happiness for you does. You're still not used to having people in your corner.

As you pant and step out of the ring, Azriel speaks your name.

“May I walk you to your room?” He asks, still panting lightly. The nod in reply comes easily.

Azriel smiles, one of his real ones, teeth and all. His canines are sharper, giving him an almost fanged grin. You’ve never seen that smile before, as eased and relaxed as it is.

You wonder for a moment how much the Azriel you met in the mountains, the colder and harsher version, is the real one.

Here, in his home, you can see that every corner of him is softened.

And then whatever you’re thinking is wiped in an instant as he pulls his black training shirt to wipe the sweat from his face—revealing his glistening, tanned and toned stomach that ripples with every breath.

Cauldron. A heat you’ve never felt quite before burns through you, like a paper going up in flames.

Something strung between your ribs stings in the most perfect way. You feel your lips part instinctively, your heartbeat suddenly louder than it was a moment ago.

Smothering the feeling, you make sure to school your features into something neutral, your open mouth snapping shut.

You have no idea what expression you’d made but you don’t doubt it’ll be something Cassian can laugh at. A quick glance at the male shows you’ve gotten away with it this time.

Turning, you pad across to the weapons rack and lay your broadsword to rest, waiting for Azriel to do the same. He sheathes the sword with ease and then tilts his head towards the doors.

Together, you bid your friend adieu. Something glimmers in Cassian’s responding smile, his dark eyes watching you with a look that tells you he knows more than he says. You don’t give any reaction, not wanting to encourage him.

Besides, you’ve learnt that Cassian has that expression most of the time. You've just grown use to putting him on his ass afterwards though.

Instead, you turn and face the other warrior on the rooftop. He's watching you closely, his shadows, which had been banished during your fight, back and lingering around him in a relaxed way.

You lead the way. He follows. Neither of you speak.

It's something timid and new, trying out your friendship again. Despite how easy it was to fall back into fighting with him, you have to admit that your fragile friendship back in Exordor was founded on your lie.

He didn't know who you were, even if you did share many quiet evenings in your cabin. The ground you're starting on is new.

The quiet walk seems just the way to begin.

Something stirs in your chest, almost akin to a purr, warm and welcoming as you walk. Your arm brushes against Azriel several times on the walk, each time setting off a flare beneath your skin. You're too busy watching your feet to notice the fervent glances Azriel can't resist stealing.

You arrive at your room what feels like far too soon.

As you raise your hand to the knob, the silence continues, broken only when you begin to turn it.

"I wanted to say thank you," Azriel says, the words rushing out of his mouth. It makes you pause in your motions. You look back at him.

He seems hesitant but sincere, as though he feared bringing up your forgiveness in case you decided to revoke it.

His hazel eyes dart away, breaking contact briefly, before he clears his throat and meets your eyes. "For allowing me a second chance."

"You know Azriel," You say, your voice warm in a way he's never heard before. So, so different from the warrior in the mountains, in all the best ways, he thinks.

"I think you've been giving me a second chance from the first day we met."

Then, you bid him goodnight and slip into your room quietly.

Exhaustion drags you down to your pile of blankets and sleep is swift to claim you, not even giving you a moment to fixate on the tenderness of Azriel's last smile.

That night, for the first time since you've arrived in Velaris, you sleep the whole night through.

[NEXT PART: SHRIKE (TO YOUR SHY AND GLORIOUS THORN)]

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