Blood & Shadows

Twelve

Vrythien's words stick with me as I give him the space he asks for. Instead of sleeping in the cottage with him or intruding on Faeriel and Geraent I spend the night in the makeshift stables. There's a corner that's cozy enough, so I sit there with my legs drawn to my chest and lean my forehead against the stone listening to the hissed whisper of the wind and shut my eyes.

When I open them, I'm in the prison of light. That circle of luminescence that near blinds me and keeps all shadows at bay. I can't see into the inky shadows beyond, but they swirl and churn thick and dark as my heart beats hard on my ribs, and the foreign familiarity settles in. There's a noise, a dull scraping that sets my whole body on edge. Shadows part as a witch light floats in the air, leading none other than Razeth toward me.

His loose auburn waves hang to his shoulders, and those kind eyes smile as he approaches me. Nothing about him says he's a monster as his fingers fiddle with the red-gold sash of his crimson robes. He has a close-cropped beard that's redder than his hair, and he plays the fingers of one hand over it as he crosses into the circle of light.

"There you are," his voice is like spiced wine, warm and rich. There's no animosity there. "I missed you," he smiles and reaches for me, but I take a step back as he cocks his head.

What Vrythien said I say in my sleep comes to mind. I will survive this, and I will kill him. Staring at the handsome, friendly, red-haired wizard doesn't match with that flash of...whatever he did.

"Come back to the city and we'll put all this nonsense behind us. My agents are already on the way to the Wicker Wastes. I don't want to hurt you, and mercenaries are a rough lot."

I swallow and raise my chin as he takes a step forward, and I take a step back, my hand hitting an invisible barrier between me and the darkness.

"Come back to my cage, you mean," I whisper, my voice a warbled mess. "Come back so you can kill me and become a god."

He makes a small noise and nods a bit.

"You don't remember, do you? You were one of the first to believe in me. One of the first to kneel and declare proudly 'In Razeth's name'. I wouldn't have the followers I do if not for you. It was your idea to become part of the chain to give your magic to me." He takes my hands, his touch is so painfully soft, and my stomach twists. "Do you truly not remember? We were lovers, Azara."

Azara. Is that my name? Lord Lazthien's last words whisper all around us. 'I'm so sorry, Azara'.

"Why would you let me sacrifice myself?"

"It's what you wanted." He caresses my jaw and I fight the urge to vomit on his pretty embroidered boots. "I forgot how beautiful you were," he strokes his thumb across my bottom lip in strange reverence. I might not remember being with him or anything before the dungeon, but I remember how filth-caked I was and the rags I wore.

"It must have been hard to remember given how absolutely filthy I was." I try to pull back but find myself pressed against that wall. My powers are that darkness, and there's nothing I can do under the glaring light.

"No, it's more the groveling and the half-mad begging." He grabs a fistful of my hair and I cry out. "I wasn't certain if I'd keep you alive. You were so broken I thought it was a mercy, but now?" He laughs as he yanks my neck long. "Now I get to do it all over again. I might not need you anymore, but you will always make for fine entertainment," he growls pulling up the hem of my skirt.