Shadows Whisper | | Azriel

30

Astryn couldn't bring herself to get out of bed. The shadows urged her to at least sit up and eat, but even that felt like too much.

She didn't know it was possible to feel both overwhelmed and underwhelmed at once, but there was nothing too much and not enough going on and it felt like it was crushing her. The shadows tried to comfort her, curling around her to cool her overheated skin and whispering reassurances to her. It didn't help.

All Astryn knew was that she didn't want to be here. It was too bright and cozy and easy. It was hard to accept that she was in a place now where just the passing thought of being hungry would cause food to appear—after years of being starved, it was unnerving to see so much with so little effort. There was no chance of being starved here, of needing anything so desperately that she'd do anything that was asked of her to earn it. No, this place didn't stink of desperation and misery and starvation and blood. But she did. She knew she did, that she probably always would no matter how much time she spent in any of those luxurious baths with the expensive soaps. It was all just too much, and she felt like she couldn't ever fit in this group like the others seemed to.

She felt like she fit with Azriel, but was that enough to make stomaching everything else manageable? She didn't think she could do it. Not when she almost called that cell home. Not when she'd rather be there than sitting here in all this luxury and wealth.

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she found herself winnowing again. In a blink, she had left the plush, almost too soft bed and landed flat on her ass in that cell. The cold, damp stone bit into her skin.

She made no attempt to leave. Instead, she tucked herself away in that same old corner she spent so many years hiding in. There was some odd comfort to it. This place hadn't ever been good—it had been a years-long nightmare, but it was also consistent. She knew what to expect of the people who held her prisoner. It was all consistently terrible, but at least nothing changed, at least she could prepare herself for everything that was coming because she knew what it would be. She knew every meal would be slightly moldy bread, water that was barely suitable for drinking, unseasoned, uncooked potatoes chopped into little bits—though she had no idea that's what they were—and some clump of something she couldn't even begin to identify. That same thing, over and over for years. Even when she had dinners with Killan, who was shrouded by a glamour so heavy he was hardly even the outline of a person as he ate his much more luxurious meal and drank his wine, she had the same meal she always did. It was disgusting and sometimes made her sick, but it was the same. Day after day, it was the same.

She didn't know what to expect from any day out of here. She had some semblance of peace with Azriel. And everything else she had was fear—fear of the unknown, of the male who she shared a father with, of the female who she was told was her cousin, of that female with the otherworldly eyes who was so utterly paralyzing, and of the other winged male who had gone with Azriel to take her away from the one she had been forced to marry.

Rhysand was the most terrifying in the group though, even if Amren was doubt stronger than him.

Astryn hadn't forgotten the way Azriel had been looking at her as they prepared for the spell to find her mother—how proud he looked of her. And, more importantly, she hadn't forgotten the way his face turned to stone and he stared at the wall instead of at her when Rhysand came in. She knew the High Lord ordered the shadowsinger to stop looking at her like that, or looking at her at all. Azriel followed that order. He took his eyes off of her at that silent command from his High Lord. Despite how safe she felt with Azriel, there was a part of her that wondered what other orders he would take from Rhysand.

Astryn was brought into this world to take Rhysand out of it—everyone in that small group knew it. Astryn didn't think herself to be capable of taking on her half-brother and didn't even want to try, but if he ever thought she did want to, if he ever thought she could be a threat, would Azriel refuse if he was ordered to use the trust she had in him to his advantage and kill her before she even knew it was happening? Would he refuse that order from his High Lord? Would anyone in that group refuse an order to end her life if Rhysand decided he wanted her gone?

She doubted it. She doubted that any of them, even Azriel, would refuse that order from Rhysand—their High Lord, the one they called family. She felt, deep down in her bones, that they would kill her without hesitation if it came down to it. Maybe Azriel would hesitate, but he would still do it. He was her mate, whatever that meant, but she didn't think that would stop him from killing her if that's what he was told to do.

And why wouldn't Rhysand give the order to kill her? She hadn't been kind of welcoming to him beyond the basic politeness that had been brutally instilled in her. And she was born to kill him. He had no reason to want her alive. Especially not with the way she almost visibly cringed any time someone called him her brother or referred to her as his sister. She showed no interest in being part of his family, and she could be perceived as a threat if she refused to join the fold, so why wouldn't he want her dead?

That in mind, she would rather rot in this cell than go back to that house and wait for Rhysand to decide she was more trouble than she was worth.