The Dark Flower (Azriel x OC)

15. The Wyrm (Tamlin)

The first task took place only days after Feyre took her beating before the faerie nobles of Prythian. Tamlin had asked Lucien to look into what impossible feat Amarantha had dragged up in such a short amount of time, but there wasn't so much as a whisper of a rumor. 

It took everything in his power to keep his face cemented in stone as he was led to the dias where two chairs had been arranged, side by side - another one of Amarantha's power plays. And far below it was... was a maze unlike anything he'd ever seen - made of mud and filth. An ugly feeling settled deep in his gut. 

"I've even had your pet brought up," Amarantha said with a dismissive wave of her hand. 

Tamlin fought to keep his hands from shaking as his eyes landed on Persephone. She was kneeling as Rhysand's feet, her too thin body swaying slightly as she fought to keep herself upright. Like every time she'd been dragged up since Rhysand took an interest in her, she was clean of the blood and dirt that usually covered her - which just made her bruises stand out even more against her ashen skin. 

Perhaps he should be thankful that Rhysand had even bothered to find clothes to dress her in. Still, Tamlin's fingers twitched against his thigh. The sight of that murdering bastard so close to his daughter made him want to rage. 

His Persephone who had once been made of soft smiles and the innocence of youth was dead. He tried to tell himself that his daughter was gone - at least in spirit. The Persephone he knew died the moment the whip he held struck her skin. The rest of her was slowly following. 

A slow, tortuous death, just like she'd warned him that she'd recieve. He should have sent her away earlier, but would it have made any difference? The second she stepped foot off Spring Court territory, the Attor or some other monster loyal to Amarantha would have dragged her Under the Mountain.

He should have had Lucien find her a new home with the humans that first night he sensed Persephone at the wall. He should have done a lot of things different... It was his own fault now that he was watching his daughter slowly die from starvation and infection and abuse. 

Rhysand smirked at Tamlin, but Tamlin only had eyes for his daughter in that moment. He'd failed at being a father, he'd accepted that the moment Amarantha put that whip in his hand. 

Persephone's hand reached out hesitantly, dragging against the ground until it met his shoe. Her fingers traveled up, tightening around the hem of his pants at his ankle. Tamlin's throat tightened. Her ability to always know when he was near had always amazed him, but right now... right now it was breaking his heart. 

He swallowed down the emotion and in a tight voice, said, "Come along, Persephone." 

Her lip wobbled slightly as her hand traveled up until it met his wrist and she pulled herself to her feet. Her knees shook under her and her steps were small and uneven, but she was able to carry herself. 

No matter how much he might want to, he wouldn't allow himself to help her. Her holding onto him the way she was doing now was risky enough. But he couldn't bring himself to shake her off. The most he could do was move at her pace, which was pitifully slow.