A Court of Shadows and Rage (Azriel x OC)

Prologue: An Anguish So Deep

One year before the Hybern attack on Adriata.

Pain. Physical, unendurable pain, like she had never know. She could not scream, barely take in a breath, before her eyes were shutting and she was fighting for her very life to stay awake. 

Brinna turned her head to the side, seeing a brutally scarred, severed black wing, peeled back from itself in scraps, lying next to her on the ice cold ground. 

Her wings– they had taken her wings. 

A cold dark chill set into her naked skin, knowing she did not want to look over her other shoulder, nor did she have the strength to turn her head. This was the end, the final act to the eternal tragedy of her Cauldron-forsaken life. Just like everything before, she would not go down without a fight. Brinna let loose a blood-curdling shriek, shaking the camp. She was screaming, shouting, begging–

A flash of white-hot pain cast her mind into dark shadows that lulled her to sleep. 

One year after Hybern's defeat.

Her hands were nearly frozen, bright red and purple, scratched hard. Her body ached with a chill set deep into her bones, and she checked her satchel yet again. The deep blue ribbon shone bright even in the dark pit of her bag. Nothing else she had dared to take, steal away. 

Just her sister's ribbon, something to keep close and remember her by. 

It was a never-ending trek through the Illyrian mountains, and a dangerous one– especially to someone who couldn't fly. 

Frustration did not begin to cover the wrath of emotions bursting from her. She was beyond angry, beyond speaking to, and she swore if she ever saw another Illyrian again, she would kill them, without a second thought.

Going south was the only option, to the Day Court.

She had purchased a satin taupe gown, the lightest colored fabric the small shopkeep had, and planned to change just on the border before claiming citizenship with a new court, a new life safe. No wings, no happiness–she did not dare wish for either, just safety. She would finally, finally be safe. 

A few bellowing laughs through the trees made her freeze. She tried to listen, painted against the bark, barely breathing. 

"No need to drink to our bastard High Lord," one spoke, laughing as he spat on the name of their leader. "Or his whore wife."

Another chimed in, "Maybe she'll let me fuck her too– the sissy Lord of Spring disappointed her, who's to say Rhysand is doing any better."

"Maybe they're all fucking her – possibly why the Commander is so insistent that his precious Illyrian whores keep their wings and train." Brinna tried to not growl, hot rage pulsing in her veins like molten lava.

Three. There were three of them, and she only possessed two ash arrows for protection. She should run, cross the border at another spot, far away from Illyrians. 

Her foot slipped, a push of leaves so light it could've been the wind, but the men were distracted, raising their eyes straight to her hiding spot. Without taking even a second to think, she was sprinting, darting swiftly between trees. 

She was still unbalanced, uncoordinated from the loss of her wings. Two years was not nearly enough time to make her full recovery, but she could walk and run now with no assistance, although her back strained and ached with each pounding step. This was worse, she was exhausted, had not eaten in days, and every ounce of energy poured into each twist and turn, until her back was on fire. 

Black wings flashed in front of her and sent her tumbling onto her back. Brinna cried out, nearly screaming as that same phantom pain ached in her. Losing wings was like losing a limb, and she had not been young, she felt everything. 

"Going somewhere sweetheart?" 

Brinna thrashed, kneeing the warrior in his most sensitive spot, before twisting up to stand again, but someone had her by the arms before she could go anywhere. His hand grasped the tattered, fur lined coat and pulled it off her in one powerful swoop. She bucked, crying out as that same pain ran through her again. 

She was on fire. 

"An Illyrian with no wings?" The other laughed, spotting her worn-through fighting leathers. "And a runaway no less?" 

Brinna spat into his face, and his hand came down hard and swiftly across her face. Her head smacked to the side, but she did not dare flinch, only turning to meet his gaze harder than before. 

"I don't know," spat the one she had kneed, finally recovering with rasping breath. Brinna bit back a smirk, knowing she had hit him with every single power she possessed. She was still an Illyrian warrior, trained and strong. She knew it hurt. 

Terror struck her to her very core as she saw an idea alight his eyes. "I think we have a spy in our midst, males. She's escaping to the southern border, to report Illyrian movements." 

Brinna's breath caught in her throat at the implication. They would not kill her, they would torture her for information she did not have, break her bones, shred her to pieces before she was even asked a question. Guilty, no matter her innocence, she was a female. She would be completely guilty of whatever story they spun. 

"No, p-please-"

He circled his arms around her roughly and shot into the sky. 

"I think our General Commander might be interested in a spying, traitorous Illyrian."