Dance of Fate

Chapter Fifty Eight

-Velaris-

It took Azriel three hours of prowling through the city, hidden by shadows, before he found a creature that was unlike any citizen of Velaris.

The male seemed like ordinary High Fae- yet Azriel's shadows whispered that he was not. His scent was another indicator. There was something off about it. Something dark that made even the shadows recoil.

Palming his knife, Azriel crept up behind the golden haired male, hidden in the shadows of an alley. The shadowsinger did not make a single sound as he stalked up to the unsuspecting male.

As stealthy as the wind, Azriel was upon him. The male did not even have time to scream. Azriel bound him with shadows, before grabbing him and winnowing them both to the dungeons in the Hewn City.

The Fae's brown eyes were wide with fear, struggling against the shadows that bound him to an iron chair. Azriel calmly looked him over once, then twice.

"Where am I?" The male demanded, frantically looking around the dark dungeon. Azriel said nothing, his arms crossed over his chest as he inspected the male. "I-I've done nothing wrong!"

Azriel slowly tilted his head to the side, entering that familiar place of lethal calm. "Are you a spy?" He asked simply, as if they were conversing about the weather. The male's eyes grew impossibly wider, sweat beading on his brow. The scent of his fear stung Azriel's nose, the frantic beating of his heart loud in the spymasters ears.

"No!" Azriel did not respond. "I swear it!" The male cried.

He lies, a shadow whispered in his ear. By the acceleration in the males heart rate, the way his eyes would not still, Azriel didn't have a doubt about it anymore.

He knew he should call Rhysand right away. Tell him he'd find what he'd been sent to look for. Let Rhys question him first. But- he had to do this. He couldn't, wouldn't do it in front of Rhys. Not when he had just about given up. When he already looked at Azriel with disconcerting pity.

Azriel took a step towards the male, who began trembling furiously, pulling at his restraints, to no avail. The shadow singer kneeled, bringing his face level with the males.

"I am going to ask you a few questions." He whispered cooly. "If you lie to me, I will know. And you will not like what happens when you do." Slowly, so slowly, Azriel pulled out Truth-Teller. Let his shadows wrap around the blade as he showed it to the male, let his siphons burn blue atop his leathers.

"Please," the male cried. Azriel smiled slowly, the males fear sending a thrill through him.

"Who sent you to this city?" He asked placidly. The males lips clamped shut. Good. At least he could have some fun.

Azriel placed Truth-Teller's hilt on the males forearm. The male thrashed and thrashed, but Azriel only willed the shadows grip to tighten. He pressed the tip of the blade in slightly- not far enough to draw blood. He only cut skin- a skill only centuries of experience could gain him.

In one harsh, quick movement, Azriel ripped off a layer of skin, from wrist to elbow. The male's scream sounded in his ears a moment after the sound of ripping did. Azriel only let the skin fall to the ground, looking at the male's face with expressionless eyes.

"You have two layers of skin remaining. And when those are gone, I can move to different parts." Azriel explained evenly. The male started to sob. "So I am going to ask you again. Who sent you?"

The male sobbed again, but did not answer. Azriel sighed, bringing his knife to the brutalized arm. He didn't let the male so much as scream in protest before he tore a second layer of skin, this time much more slowly.