Sweet Innocence and Gentle Sin || 𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐑

Chapter 6: Fly Away, Firebird

content warning: Beron is the worst

The only thing I know is that we're in too deep.

~)(~

I didn't realize I had been up all night until the sunlight finally hit my eyes. The whole place woke up after what happened in the lower levels. Beron was furious—no, beyond furious. There wasn't a word for the anger he showed.

There were many reasons for it. First, the soldiers humiliated him. Second, his most important prisoner escaped his cell and almost escaped the keep. Third, his entire plan to prove me a traitor was now ruined.

I didn't care for any of it. Only two things occupied my mind—sleep, and if Azriel was okay. I sat in the chair and once again waved the healer away from my wrapped neck. They told me I couldn't stand for another hour until my body fully healed and I was no longer anemic.

The entire council of generals sat around the room, as well as Beron's sons. Tamlin was the only one that looked like he hadn't just woken up. I expected he never went to bed, his nerves too shot to allow him any time to sit still. Even now, his knee bounced.

Beron lifted a hand to the doors and said, "bring him in."

I felt my bones sink deeper into the chair, felt the tattoo on my hand tingle as the doors opened. Chained, beaten, wings wrapped tightly, two soldiers hauled Azriel into the room. He looked up and surveyed the place with curious eyes. A cut still bled from his brow, and his eye was slowly turning purplish. The cut on his lip didn't look any better.

Beron rose from his chair and started walking idly around the table. "You know, Azriel, I was going to give you an out. Shadowsinger's are rare weapons."

"I am no one's weapon," he bit, showing his bloodied canines.

As a response, one soldier stepped in front and punched him in the face, causing him to drop to his knees. The ghost of it echoed on me, feeling like a pop in the neck that forced me to sit straighter with a pinch of nerves.

Beron raised his hand, and the soldier stepped back again. "Let the creature talk. You are a weapon, though. Your entire race exists as a weapon. And this curse of yours... well, it just makes you all the more valuable."

I could spit on the Lord's words if given the chance to. How a person could be so cruel, so lifeless... I thought it was impossible. But the impossible was currently enjoying this slow torture.

"Now, Azriel, you were given the option of living if you talked—and you did. But then you had to attempt an escape and tried killing the crown princess of Hybern. Now that, that is something that will get you killed. And there is nothing I can do to stop it," he turned to one general, "isn't that right?"

The male nodded. "Since she is of Hybern, their rules apply. He shall receive no trial."

Beron feigned a frown when he looked back at Azriel. "A pity. You would've been a marvelous tool."

"I'd rather be dead than used by the hands of some fucker who can't take no for an answer," the Illyrian snapped at him, almost growled out from where he knelt.

Before the soldier could reprimand him, Beron raised a hand and slapped him hard across the face. It burned against my cheek, and I tasted blood in my mouth. I had to hide it by feigning a cough into my sleeve.

Beron turned back to the table and said, "let's start now. I'm done waiting for my southern allies."

Start what?