A Court of Light and Melody

Baby Sing

Bonus Chapter 12/12

Baby Sing

"How strange, thought Perdu, that one laugh can wipe away so much hardship and suffering. A single laugh. And the years flow together and...away."

― Nina George

Song: Sing - Travis

"Hold still, Azriel!" his stepbrother grunted, the front of his chest pressing hard against Azriel's bound wings.

The young Illyrian felt his sibling's nails dig into his flesh as he braced Azriel's forearms up against the wooden post he was chained to. Meanwhile his other stepbrother — the eldest one — wound a length of rope around his wrists, binding his hands to the wood. The coarse fibers rubbed against his flesh uncomfortably.

Something was wrong. Dreadfully wrong. Why else would his brothers have snuck into his cell in the dead of night? Normally Azriel would have been grateful for any excuse to have light in this prison he was kept in, but there was something ominous about the torch his youngest stepbrother had brought and hung on the wall. There was something eerie about the flickering light it cast about the damp, dank room.

Azriel struggled against his stepbrother's hold again, his chains rattling against the cellar floor. But his waif-like form was no match for the strong, well-fed torso that pressed against his drooping wings.

"You'll be fine if you stop squirming!" his stepbrother snapped, jostling him.

His other brother tied off the knot with a satisfied nod. "I'll fetch the bucket then."

Assured that Azriel was unable to escape now, the sibling who had held him in place finally retreated and approached the wall with the torch. Not that escape had ever really been an option since the young Illyrian had been a prisoner since birth.

Azriel yanked against the binds, the rope rubbing his skin raw. He growled and the sound of clinking chains struck a harmonious chord with the uneven pounding of his heart.

"Don't be so dramatic, bastard-born," his eldest stepbrother drawled. He picked a bucket up from the ground, the liquid within sloshed onto the floor. Oil by the scent of it. "You're Illyrian . You'll be fine."

Azriel's mind raced for answers, wide hazel eyes flitting from the brother who held the pale of oil to the younger sibling that removed the torch from its sconce on the wall. That bright, burning, sinister torch.

He started towards Azriel, holding the torch a safe distance from himself. "You'll heal, Azriel. It'll only hurt for a moment," his youngest stepbrother said.

The warmth of the torch grew hotter, hotter, hotter, as the two siblings closed in on Azriel.

"No..." Azriel choked out. "No! Don't!"

"Sh!" the eldest brother hissed.

But Azriel, so often quiet, would not be silenced now. "No! Help!"

The older sibling sighed. "We need to make this fast then." And he dumped the bucket of dark, slick, oil over Azriel's trembling hands. Then he looked to his younger brother. "Do it. He'll be fine."

Wincing against the young Illyrian's cries, his stepbrother lowered the torch to Azriel's knuckles.

The room lit up brighter than Azriel had ever seen and agony ripped through him as his hands were set ablaze. The stench of melting flesh filled the air, Azriel's cries bouncing off the cellar walls.