Trial of the Valkyrie

Bleed

Chapter Eight - Bleed

Song: No Time to Die - Billie Eilish

"I am the only storm that matters now, and there is no shelter from what I bring."

― Rebecca Roanhorse in Black Sun

A     Z R     I     E     L

It was well after midnight when Azriel returned from his hunt, hands crusted with blood and the choked gurgles of his victim – no, the culprit – echoing in his ears.

  Trailing the scent his shadows had picked up on by the back door, he had stormed the streets of Windhaven – Cassian at his back. Whatever soothing words his brother had been attempting to administrate had fallen on deaf ears. All Azriel could hear was a call for the blood of whoever had poisoned the wine the priestess had drunk.

  Eventually they'd arrived at a small house on the edge of town. After knocking on the door, Cassian had shoved in front of Azriel, insisting that he do the talking. The shadowsinger hadn't argued, only placed a ready hand on the dagger sheathed to his thigh and rallied his shadows.

  An elderly female had answered the door looking quite puzzled to see two enormous, Illyrian warriors on her doorstep so late. Cassian had been halfway through an apology when they'd seen the door at the back of the female's house shut, a figure disappearing into the night beyond.

  Cassian had sprung up into the air, taking to the skies to scout their prey. But the spymaster's shadows had already latched onto the presence of the suspect and in seconds they wreathed Azriel and brought their master to what he assumed was the back of the house, and just a few paces ahead, retreating into the surrounding tree-line was Azriel's prey.

  The shadowsinger pulled the longsword from his back and gripped the hilt with both hands, then without taking his eyes off his target and with a feral growl, he threw the blade over his head.

  Faster than any heavy weapon had a right to be, too quick for even fae-eyesight to detect, the sword flew through the air — point over pommel.

  The culprit turned, no doubt hearing the sound of singing metal, just in time for the blade to spear him through the middle and pin him to the base of a tree.

  Landing beside Azriel in time to watch the scene unfold, Cassian had swore under his breath, his steady stride faltering for just a moment. But then he kept pace with his brother and they closed in on their moaning, weeping prey.

  When Azriel had finally arrived before the whimpering bastard, he, as usual, took a moment to memorize his victim's features. A narrow face and lank, dark hair hanging in gray eyes that slowly rounded as they realized the shadowsinger stood before him. The High Lord's Spymaster.

  Then Azriel had seized the male by his throat, his fingers tightening around his neck like a vice.

  "Azriel, we have..."

  But the blood roaring in Azriel's ears had drowned out his brother's words of reason.

  "You poisoned the wine?" Azriel asked. Shadows had loomed over their master and his prey, waiting to strike. "Did you poison them?"

  "Easy, brother..." Cassian had murmured.

  But his shadows cried for vengeance and Azriel was helpless to disagree. "If you lie, I will show you no mercy," Azriel said, through his teeth. "Did you poison them?"

  The male coughed, eyes watering, but he managed to nod his head, a trickle of blood spilling from the corner of his mouth.

"Why?" Cassian had asked, seemingly unaware of the molten lava that coursed through his brother's veins. "Are you work–"