Trial of the Valkyrie

From the Grave

**Behold, the most heavily Outlander inspired chapter of all. I highly recommend listening to the hour loop of Cody Fry's Eleanor Rigby while reading

Chapter Twenty - From the Grave

Song: Eleanor Rigby - Cody Fry (cinematic version)

"More Weight."

― Arthur Miller in The Crucible

A      Z      R      I      E      L

He had no idea where he was going but he had an hour to figure this out. To save her. He'd promised to protect her the night that they got married. He'd promised to fight for her. He would not fail her now. He would not be too late. Not like he had been in Sangravah.

  Trial by fire. Trial by fire. Of all the trials, trial by fire.

  Azriel had no doubt the magistrates had selected trial by fire for a reason. They could've chosen to submerge her in water to see if she floated. They could've chosen stacking boulders upon her to see if she levitated them. They could've pricked her with a needle to see if she bled. But they had chosen fire and they had chosen it to antagonize him. To frighten him. To keep him from coming to her aid if he made it back in time. To make Azriel's knees weak when he had to look upon her corpse.

  No, he wouldn't think about her being a corpse. There was still time. He still had time.

  Memories of the night Gwyn had been poisoned came reeling back. That gaping whole in his chest as he looked upon her unmoving body. The hollow chasm that had been forged in his stomach. He couldn't bear to feel that again. He would sooner die.

  Strategies began to weave in his mind, connecting lines and threading together like a spider's web. One that would normally ensnare his prey, leaving them helpless and open to his blade.

Except now Azriel wasn't just the spider twisting the web, he was the prey as well.

  Fire. Fire. Fire.

  Try as his shadows might, they could not suppress the boy in his mind who was recoiling at the very idea of flames. Of being near heat and having to interact with it.

  Think, Singer. Think... they crooned.

  Rhysand and Feyre weren't an option. Powerful as they were, neither of them would be able to rescue Gwyn by force without starting a war. Troubles they may have, Azriel knew Rhys wouldn't hesitate to bend the rules if he asked him to save Gwyn. His brother would sooner endure his own people's uprising than see someone Azriel loved harmed. No, the High Lord and Lady must remain in the town records with Balthazar. Besides, they may be successful in finding a loophole. One that would spare them violence. It was a lead worth pursuing and he wouldn't interrupt it – futile as it may be.

  Nesta and Emerie. Surely they would want to help and surely they were useful, but they were two people he'd have to look out for. If this jury was entirely composed of males who hated Gwyn, and therefore hated Nesta and Emerie, Azriel couldn't afford to have to aid the two Valkyrie in addition to rescuing his wife from a burning pyre.

  Fire. Fire. Fire.

  Still letting his feet carry him towards the edge of town, Azriel gritted his teeth against the rising fear in his chest.

  That left Cassian. A second set of siphons could only benefit Azriel and he had no doubt his brother would aid him in rescuing Gwyn – even if it meant risking their positions. Even if it meant risking their diplomatic immunity. He needed to find Cass–