The Last Queen (An ACOTAR / Azriel fanfiction)

The Molten Dark

Three dead bodies. Well, four if you wanted to count the bits and pieces of the fourth one. 

Maybe one day Azriel would have it in him to tolerate seeing the dead bodies of his spies one after another, but that day was not today. When the bodies arrived and he saw the guts spilling out and the broken bones, his blood boiled.

He searched every single corpse thrice, even the fourth one which was torn to shreds. The skin that was peeling back and the flesh that was still dripping with blood was not hiding any wooden cylinder or paper. There was no warning.

Whoever this Daggerheart was, he was true to his word.

Their action was met with severe force and they didn't believe in giving a warning more than once.

"How far did they get in their search?" He asked one of his spies.

"They didn't get to began the search. They were killed as soon as they reached the human realm." He meekly answered. The icy cold rage on the shadowsinger's face almost made him want to step back but he stood his ground.

"Nowhere, then?" His voice was void of any emotion as Azriel picked up a knife and strapped it to his thigh. Another one was hidden in the layers of his jacket and of course, Truthteller was by his side, as always. "Stay here and make sure they get a proper funeral." With this, he stormed past the spies that were standing outside, waiting for instructions.

He halted for a second as the cool night air hit his face. With one last look behind himself, he spread his wings and pushed his feet off the ground.

The cold wind bit at his skin and he had to squint his eyes to see through the fog covering the mountains. At last, when he was standing at the very border of the human realm, he took one last deep breath and disappeared inside the forest.

The night was deep and dark as he silently slipped under the cover of the shadows and observed.

Daggerheart.

Who would know a person who called themselves daggerheart?

On his left there was a shout, then another. He prepared himself for some kind of danger but loosed his grip on his sword when he saw a group of drunken men making their way across a small collection of houses.

The houses were dark, the people inside them sleeping, or perhaps they were empty after the war. The five men stopped. One of them put his hand forward and pointed at his palm.

He leaned forward with a grin and carefully whispered something which caused all of his friends to laugh like hyenas. They took sips from their respective bottles of cheap wine and stumbled as they walked.

When they were close enough, Azriel straightened his collar and once again checked that his weapons were not showing.

When he emerged out from the darkness his face was masked with his shadows that wrapped around his mouth, shielding him from recognition.

He approached the men casually and interrupted them, asking them for directions for a place he was sure didn't existed.

One of them leaned over the shoulder of another and slurred out, "Are you new here, sir? We could tell you about an inn where you could stay."

They proved his suspicions right. They were indeed criminals. Perhaps Pickpockets, but it was a start.

He answered, "Yes. I am here to meet Daggerheart." He eyed the men's reaction carefully.

All of them collectively stopped laughing and talking. The one who had talked to him paled and another one licked his lips nervously.

Then, the one in the middle said, "What do you want from us? We are small thieves. We pay our Tafir."