A Court of Light and Melody

A Light

**Set about six years post ACOSF**

Bonus Chapter 7/12

A Light

"You do not yield."

- Sarah J. Maas in "Kingdom of Ash"

Song: Underground - Cody Fry

How many Autumn Court bandits does it take to capture Spymaster Azriel Berdara? Fifteen. Azriel thought it sounded like a joke Cassian would tell at a seedy tavern. Except the punchline wasn't funny – it was a fact. And Azriel wasn't in a seedy tavern – he was in captivity with only a single torch to light the dank room since all the windows were boarded up. His wrists and legs were bound in heavy chains anchored into the floor on which he knelt. His entire body was wrapped in links of metal that weighed down his wings and shoulders, singing and clinking with every rise and fall of his chest.

Azriel was not too proud to admit that the entire setting made him uneasy. It was too familiar. Too much like his childhood. A small part of him was panicking that he wouldn't ever escape. But thankfully the rational part of his mind was far louder. The part that repeated "just wait, someone will come."

Normally, Azriel was inclined to rescue himself. But these bandits had timed their attack well.

Azriel had been flying back to Velaris from his rendezvous with Eris when a series of arrows had struck him through the wings. Then the shadowsinger had plummeted towards the earth, his shadows cushioning the impact of the branches and twigs that attempted to break his fall.

After Azriel's vision had cleared and the world had stopped spinning, he'd been swarmed by what had looked like dozens of bearded males (thanks to the temporary double vision he'd experienced) who giddily conversed about "ransoms" as they dragged Azriel away – his shadows thrashing even though he was too weak to fight back. Not that there was much fighting you could do with fifteen spears pointed at your throat in the court of an enemy where you weren't supposed to be in the first place.

So he would patiently wait for a rescue. Or for his strength to return to him. His wings would soon heal. He could break out of these bonds and fight his way past the burly captor before him, escape to the surface and fly back to the Night Court. No one the wiser.

"You're the shadowsinger," Azriel's captor said, stroking his too-long salt and pepper beard. "Of the Night Court. I've heard stories."

Azriel said nothing.

The captor tossed his hunting knife between his hands and lowered himself into the chair positioned in front of where Azriel was chained. "We'd planned to ransom you out to your High Lord when we saw your wings, but there's a pirate of sorts who pays a pretty price for fae with rare magic." He leaned back in his seat, looking down his nose at Azriel. "Sold him a sylph last year for a whole chest of gold pieces. I wonder what you'll fetch."

Azriel remained silent but internally celebrated that he may be able to bust a pirate trafficking ring. Hardly the worst outcome after getting captured.

Unsatisfied with Azriel's reaction to this news, the male's eyes became shrewd. Azriel didn't so much as match his look. Just continued to kneel on the stone, breathing as best he could beneath the weight of the chains.

The male's eyes landed on Azriel's bracers and the cobalt siphons that glimmered feebly. "That's a good indicator of where your power's at I'm guessing. Seems like we have you well at hand for the time being," the bandit remarked. Then his eyes glinted with a discovery. Azriel's stomach lurched. "What the hell happened to your hands, boy?"