Chapter 72: 72
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"The 'other' me..." I say, my breath barely a whisper resounding around the empty cavern of the room, echoing off the damp walls and ringing its way down the multitude of corridors with an unsettling eeriness. I return my gaze back to the small angel, silently searching her for answers.
"And did you tell them anything? Did you recognise anything odd about their appearance, other than they looked like me?" I ask cautiously, ever wary of now making myself sound just as suspicious as the look alike themselves. Dawn's face draws in, her hands lingering over the already half finished bread, as if struggling to recall the memory, then, with a tiny, barely audible murmur, she says.
"No, I didn't tell them anything. There have been so many people outside my cell these past few days that I didn't think it was safe to say anything at all. In fact, I am not sure why there aren't any people now," Dawn muses under her breath, and pops another bit of bread into her mouth, wrapping her wings protectively around her, enclosing her body in a feathery cocoon, and ponders a little more.
"For some reason I couldn't remember, but I do now. After I figured out it wasn't you, the figure began to flicker, like my mind was seeing past an illusion or something. I think someone is messing with my mind, Miss Queen, I can't seem to remember things. I don't even know when all these cuts appeared. I just woke up one day and they did." she sighs defeatedly, gesturing the cuts cascading their way down her body, deep wounds digging into her flesh, festering and covered in dry and flaking blood. I grimace, holding down the urge to vomit.
"And do you remember what that person looked like at all? Under their façade?" I ask tentatively, to which Ithuriel gives a warning look, an indication that I might be pushing her too far in one day, straining her too much. But Dawn, to her credit, places down the remaining loaf on the grimy cold of the stone floor, and thinks, twisting her face in confusion.
"I don't think I-" and then she stops, her face going deadpan, and as blank as a cover of clouds in the grey of the night. Something between a mix of anger and fear crosses her face, blanketing her features as her face screws up, nose wrinkling in unbridled disgust, lips quivering. I take a small step back, raising my hands against her to soothe her newfound ailment.
She looks as if she is going to explode.
Her fists clench into tight, shaking balls.
"It was a man. With white hair, and a scar across his chest. I don't know why I forgot that."
Ithuriel stops pacing. I stop moving, dropping my hands to my sides as a dead weight consumes me, filling up my body with a heavy defeat- even Dawn seems to realise something is off and ceases to tremble in the black shadows of her cell. In that one tiny moment, the whole world seems to still to a deadly, sickening halt. Fire and flaming rage courses through my veins like a wildfire, sweeping me up in its tidal wave of power, brimming at the edges of my vision and threatening to explode. Ithuriel, sensing something is amiss, nudges me with his head, soothing me in my mind, and easing the golden glow that has begun to circle around me in swirling claws of light to a faint, numb glow.
I breathe out a shaky breath.
Azrael.
"He has been using you," I whisper, clenching and unclenching my fits to keep myself calm, and act which for the most part seems to be completely and utterly useless. I bare my teeth. Part of me debates unsheathing my sword and going back out to find Azrael just for the sheer pleasure of being able to stick it through him, to give him another scar on his pretty, vampire face. I would gladly walk the hallways of this dungeon a thousand times over just for one chance at vengeance.
I recall his words that echo through my mind, a taunt, a mockery of myself and spit on the ground in disgust.
'Say hello to the prisoner for me...'
Bitter loathing courses through me. Angrily, I wonder if he realised that the prisoner- Dawn, would remember, or perhaps, if that was his plan all along, or if he simply enjoyed the thrill of playing games with me: egging me on with hints and little titbits too obscure to figure out alone, but glaringly obvious once the secret has been revealed.
I bite my lip to push down my rising terror.
Azrael is far more dangerous than I had ever hoped to perceive.
Ithuriel and I share a look of concerned understanding. Of course, I could hardly have expected less from him: he is manipulating what people see, and, to some extent, getting into their minds- that is the way of a vampire, but with Azrael's soul, it is his life's purpose. Yet for whatever reason, perhaps lack of proper experience- though as a several hundred year old vampire I would doubt it, he hasn't been able to fully read my mind yet, only what is on the surface.
The gnawing anxiety in the pit of my stomach tells me that that ideal is hardly going to last.
Yet I have no doubt about the words he uttered to me at the masquerade, that if he could, he would crush my mind, if he liked. His power is enough to at least partially contend with Soren, but it is not so much his power that makes him dangerous as to how exactly he choses to use it.
I turn my attention back to the little angel cowering behind the bars.
"You must not talk to anyone, unless you are absolutely certain it is me," I plead to Dawn at last, inclining my head against the bars of the cell, perhaps out of frustration, or disappointment in myself. The soft buttery light of the fire above our heads drifts over her as she nods at me, her eyes wide, but not surprised, as if the information I was telling her is not a new concept to her.
I sit down on the ground opposite her and tentatively reach through the bars, pressing my palm to her hand, letting the pent up magic course through me, tapping out through my fingertips and into her skin, sinking into the flesh with a faint golden glow. Dawn and Ithuriel both watch on under the delicate firelight in silence as I begin to heal her wounds. A spark from the flames pops. Silence ensues.
After the bread has been finished, and Dawns wounds are fully healed, long gone with the smell of rotting flesh and skin, and the sour smell of blood and decay, I arise from the floor, brushing myself off, relieved to at least have done one good thing today. One good thing amongst the mess of Azrael and Soren.
With a dark chuckle to myself, I begin to wonder exactly how I ever became so entangled with the two most devious Princes in all of Faey, and what I ever did to get one of them to want to marry me.
The council would certainly not be pleased.
I turn to leave, beckoning Ithuriel to my side.
Suddenly, Dawn presses herself against the bars, white hair flung messily across her face, her eyes wide as her mouth opens to cry:
"Wait, Miss Queen, there is something else!"
I still for a moment, attempting to keep my face neutral, professional perhaps, and not let the frown of confusion slink on to my face in its place. It is a look I will have to practise, especially if I want to be among the vampires for the rest of my mortal existence- emotions are a weakness here, at least to those who don't know how to control them.
I edge a little closer to the bars, my heavy steps resounding around the oddly empty corridors and Dawn fishes around in her dress, desperately searching for something among the folds of clothes, her face frantic, eyes wild and almost cat like. Ithuriel and I wait in silence, sharing a puzzled look between us, before Dawn holds up a letter in triumph.
"Its a letter for you, from Elris and Lilyana," she states, offering it up through the bars. I hesitate for a moment. A letter?
"Who gave this to you? How did you get this?" I ask slowly, my tongue heavy in my mouth, unwilling to form the fateful words that are spinning in my head: what if it is a trap?
But Dawn shakes her head, apparently aware of my concerns, and shakes the letter at me again, willing me to take it.
"It was not a vampire who gave it to me, it was a boy, his skin was warm, not like a vampires. He has been visiting me in my cell. He says he knows Lilyana."
In that moment, my whole body freezes as my mind strives to process the information, turning it over the slow cogs in my mind, clicking into place and hitting me with a monumental realisation like a bat out of hell.
Someone in here knows Lilyana?
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"The 'other' me..." I say, my breath barely a whisper resounding around the empty cavern of the room, echoing off the damp walls and ringing its way down the multitude of corridors with an unsettling eeriness. I return my gaze back to the small angel, silently searching her for answers.
"And did you tell them anything? Did you recognise anything odd about their appearance, other than they looked like me?" I ask cautiously, ever wary of now making myself sound just as suspicious as the look alike themselves. Dawn's face draws in, her hands lingering over the already half finished bread, as if struggling to recall the memory, then, with a tiny, barely audible murmur, she says.
"No, I didn't tell them anything. There have been so many people outside my cell these past few days that I didn't think it was safe to say anything at all. In fact, I am not sure why there aren't any people now," Dawn muses under her breath, and pops another bit of bread into her mouth, wrapping her wings protectively around her, enclosing her body in a feathery cocoon, and ponders a little more.
"For some reason I couldn't remember, but I do now. After I figured out it wasn't you, the figure began to flicker, like my mind was seeing past an illusion or something. I think someone is messing with my mind, Miss Queen, I can't seem to remember things. I don't even know when all these cuts appeared. I just woke up one day and they did." she sighs defeatedly, gesturing the cuts cascading their way down her body, deep wounds digging into her flesh, festering and covered in dry and flaking blood. I grimace, holding down the urge to vomit.
"And do you remember what that person looked like at all? Under their façade?" I ask tentatively, to which Ithuriel gives a warning look, an indication that I might be pushing her too far in one day, straining her too much. But Dawn, to her credit, places down the remaining loaf on the grimy cold of the stone floor, and thinks, twisting her face in confusion.
"I don't think I-" and then she stops, her face going deadpan, and as blank as a cover of clouds in the grey of the night. Something between a mix of anger and fear crosses her face, blanketing her features as her face screws up, nose wrinkling in unbridled disgust, lips quivering. I take a small step back, raising my hands against her to soothe her newfound ailment.
She looks as if she is going to explode.
Her fists clench into tight, shaking balls.
"It was a man. With white hair, and a scar across his chest. I don't know why I forgot that."
Ithuriel stops pacing. I stop moving, dropping my hands to my sides as a dead weight consumes me, filling up my body with a heavy defeat- even Dawn seems to realise something is off and ceases to tremble in the black shadows of her cell. In that one tiny moment, the whole world seems to still to a deadly, sickening halt. Fire and flaming rage courses through my veins like a wildfire, sweeping me up in its tidal wave of power, brimming at the edges of my vision and threatening to explode. Ithuriel, sensing something is amiss, nudges me with his head, soothing me in my mind, and easing the golden glow that has begun to circle around me in swirling claws of light to a faint, numb glow.
I breathe out a shaky breath.
Azrael.
"He has been using you," I whisper, clenching and unclenching my fits to keep myself calm, and act which for the most part seems to be completely and utterly useless. I bare my teeth. Part of me debates unsheathing my sword and going back out to find Azrael just for the sheer pleasure of being able to stick it through him, to give him another scar on his pretty, vampire face. I would gladly walk the hallways of this dungeon a thousand times over just for one chance at vengeance.
I recall his words that echo through my mind, a taunt, a mockery of myself and spit on the ground in disgust.
'Say hello to the prisoner for me...'
Bitter loathing courses through me. Angrily, I wonder if he realised that the prisoner- Dawn, would remember, or perhaps, if that was his plan all along, or if he simply enjoyed the thrill of playing games with me: egging me on with hints and little titbits too obscure to figure out alone, but glaringly obvious once the secret has been revealed.
I bite my lip to push down my rising terror.
Azrael is far more dangerous than I had ever hoped to perceive.
Ithuriel and I share a look of concerned understanding. Of course, I could hardly have expected less from him: he is manipulating what people see, and, to some extent, getting into their minds- that is the way of a vampire, but with Azrael's soul, it is his life's purpose. Yet for whatever reason, perhaps lack of proper experience- though as a several hundred year old vampire I would doubt it, he hasn't been able to fully read my mind yet, only what is on the surface.
The gnawing anxiety in the pit of my stomach tells me that that ideal is hardly going to last.
Yet I have no doubt about the words he uttered to me at the masquerade, that if he could, he would crush my mind, if he liked. His power is enough to at least partially contend with Soren, but it is not so much his power that makes him dangerous as to how exactly he choses to use it.
I turn my attention back to the little angel cowering behind the bars.
"You must not talk to anyone, unless you are absolutely certain it is me," I plead to Dawn at last, inclining my head against the bars of the cell, perhaps out of frustration, or disappointment in myself. The soft buttery light of the fire above our heads drifts over her as she nods at me, her eyes wide, but not surprised, as if the information I was telling her is not a new concept to her.
I sit down on the ground opposite her and tentatively reach through the bars, pressing my palm to her hand, letting the pent up magic course through me, tapping out through my fingertips and into her skin, sinking into the flesh with a faint golden glow. Dawn and Ithuriel both watch on under the delicate firelight in silence as I begin to heal her wounds. A spark from the flames pops. Silence ensues.
After the bread has been finished, and Dawns wounds are fully healed, long gone with the smell of rotting flesh and skin, and the sour smell of blood and decay, I arise from the floor, brushing myself off, relieved to at least have done one good thing today. One good thing amongst the mess of Azrael and Soren.
With a dark chuckle to myself, I begin to wonder exactly how I ever became so entangled with the two most devious Princes in all of Faey, and what I ever did to get one of them to want to marry me.
The council would certainly not be pleased.
I turn to leave, beckoning Ithuriel to my side.
Suddenly, Dawn presses herself against the bars, white hair flung messily across her face, her eyes wide as her mouth opens to cry:
"Wait, Miss Queen, there is something else!"
I still for a moment, attempting to keep my face neutral, professional perhaps, and not let the frown of confusion slink on to my face in its place. It is a look I will have to practise, especially if I want to be among the vampires for the rest of my mortal existence- emotions are a weakness here, at least to those who don't know how to control them.
I edge a little closer to the bars, my heavy steps resounding around the oddly empty corridors and Dawn fishes around in her dress, desperately searching for something among the folds of clothes, her face frantic, eyes wild and almost cat like. Ithuriel and I wait in silence, sharing a puzzled look between us, before Dawn holds up a letter in triumph.
"Its a letter for you, from Elris and Lilyana," she states, offering it up through the bars. I hesitate for a moment. A letter?
"Who gave this to you? How did you get this?" I ask slowly, my tongue heavy in my mouth, unwilling to form the fateful words that are spinning in my head: what if it is a trap?
But Dawn shakes her head, apparently aware of my concerns, and shakes the letter at me again, willing me to take it.
"It was not a vampire who gave it to me, it was a boy, his skin was warm, not like a vampires. He has been visiting me in my cell. He says he knows Lilyana."
In that moment, my whole body freezes as my mind strives to process the information, turning it over the slow cogs in my mind, clicking into place and hitting me with a monumental realisation like a bat out of hell.
Someone in here knows Lilyana?
"The 'other' me..." I say, my breath barely a whisper resounding around the empty cavern of the room, echoing off the damp walls and ringing its way down the multitude of corridors with an unsettling eeriness. I return my gaze back to the small angel, silently searching her for answers. "And did you tell them anything? Did you recognise anything odd about their appearance, other than they looked like me?" I ask cautiously, ever wary of now making myself sound just as suspicious as the look alike themselves. Dawn's face draws in, her hands lingering over the already half finished bread, as if struggling to recall the memory, then, with a tiny, barely audible murmur, she says."No, I didn't tell them anything. There have been so many people outside my cell these past few days that I didn't think it was safe to say anything at all. In fact, I am not sure why there aren't any people now," Dawn muses under her breath, and pops another bit of bread into her mouth, wrapping her wings protectively around her, enclosing her body in a feathery cocoon, and ponders a little more. "For some reason I couldn't remember, but I do now. After I figured out it wasn't you, the figure began to flicker, like my mind was seeing past an illusion or something. I think someone is messing with my mind, Miss Queen, I can't seem to remember things. I don't even know when all these cuts appeared. I just woke up one day and they did." she sighs defeatedly, gesturing the cuts cascading their way down her body, deep wounds digging into her flesh, festering and covered in dry and flaking blood. I grimace, holding down the urge to vomit."And do you remember what that person looked like at all? Under their faade?" I ask tentatively, to which Ithuriel gives a warning look, an indication that I might be pushing her too far in one day, straining her too much. But Dawn, to her credit, places down the remaining loaf on the grimy cold of the stone floor, and thinks, twisting her face in confusion."I don't think I-" and then she stops, her face going deadpan, and as blank as a cover of clouds in the grey of the night. Something between a mix of anger and fear crosses her face, blanketing her features as her face screws up, nose wrinkling in unbridled disgust, lips quivering. I take a small step back, raising my hands against her to soothe her newfound ailment. She looks as if she is going to explode.Her fists clench into tight, shaking balls."It was a man. With white hair, and a scar across his chest. I don't know why I forgot that."Ithuriel stops pacing. I stop moving, dropping my hands to my sides as a dead weight consumes me, filling up my body with a heavy defeat- even Dawn seems to realise something is off and ceases to tremble in the black shadows of her cell. In that one tiny moment, the whole world seems to still to a deadly, sickening halt. Fire and flaming rage courses through my veins like a wildfire, sweeping me up in its tidal wave of power, brimming at the edges of my vision and threatening to explode. Ithuriel, sensing something is amiss, nudges me with his head, soothing me in my mind, and easing the golden glow that has begun to circle around me in swirling claws of light to a faint, numb glow. I breathe out a shaky breath.Azrael."He has been using you," I whisper, clenching and unclenching my fits to keep myself calm, and act which for the most part seems to be completely and utterly useless. I bare my teeth. Part of me debates unsheathing my sword and going back out to find Azrael just for the sheer pleasure of being able to stick it through him, to give him another scar on his pretty, vampire face. I would gladly walk the hallways of this dungeon a thousand times over just for one chance at vengeance.I recall his words that echo through my mind, a taunt, a mockery of myself and spit on the ground in disgust.'Say hello to the prisoner for me...'Bitter loathing courses through me. Angrily, I wonder if he realised that the prisoner- Dawn, would remember, or perhaps, if that was his plan all along, or if he simply enjoyed the thrill of playing games with me: egging me on with hints and little titbits too obscure to figure out alone, but glaringly obvious once the secret has been revealed.I bite my lip to push down my rising terror.Azrael is far more dangerous than I had ever hoped to perceive.Ithuriel and I share a look of concerned understanding. Of course, I could hardly have expected less from him: he is manipulating what people see, and, to some extent, getting into their minds- that is the way of a vampire, but with Azrael's soul, it is his life's purpose. Yet for whatever reason, perhaps lack of proper experience- though as a several hundred year old vampire I would doubt it, he hasn't been able to fully read my mind yet, only what is on the surface. The gnawing anxiety in the pit of my stomach tells me that that ideal is hardly going to last.Yet I have no doubt about the words he uttered to me at the masquerade, that if he could, he would crush my mind, if he liked. His power is enough to at least partially contend with Soren, but it is not so much his power that makes him dangerous as to how exactly he choses to use it.I turn my attention back to the little angel cowering behind the bars."You must not talk to anyone, unless you are absolutely certain it is me," I plead to Dawn at last, inclining my head against the bars of the cell, perhaps out of frustration, or disappointment in myself. The soft buttery light of the fire above our heads drifts over her as she nods at me, her eyes wide, but not surprised, as if the information I was telling her is not a new concept to her. I sit down on the ground opposite her and tentatively reach through the bars, pressing my palm to her hand, letting the pent up magic course through me, tapping out through my fingertips and into her skin, sinking into the flesh with a faint golden glow. Dawn and Ithuriel both watch on under the delicate firelight in silence as I begin to heal her wounds. A spark from the flames pops. Silence ensues.After the bread has been finished, and Dawns wounds are fully healed, long gone with the smell of rotting flesh and skin, and the sour smell of blood and decay, I arise from the floor, brushing myself off, relieved to at least have done one good thing today. One good thing amongst the mess of Azrael and Soren.With a dark chuckle to myself, I begin to wonder exactly how I ever became so entangled with the two most devious Princes in all of Faey, and what I ever did to get one of them to want to marry me.The council would certainly not be pleased.I turn to leave, beckoning Ithuriel to my side.Suddenly, Dawn presses herself against the bars, white hair flung messily across her face, her eyes wide as her mouth opens to cry:"Wait, Miss Queen, there is something else!" I still for a moment, attempting to keep my face neutral, professional perhaps, and not let the frown of confusion slink on to my face in its place. It is a look I will have to practise, especially if I want to be among the vampires for the rest of my mortal existence- emotions are a weakness here, at least to those who don't know how to control them. I edge a little closer to the bars, my heavy steps resounding around the oddly empty corridors and Dawn fishes around in her dress, desperately searching for something among the folds of clothes, her face frantic, eyes wild and almost cat like. Ithuriel and I wait in silence, sharing a puzzled look between us, before Dawn holds up a letter in triumph. "Its a letter for you, from Elris and Lilyana," she states, offering it up through the bars. I hesitate for a moment. A letter?"Who gave this to you? How did you get this?" I ask slowly, my tongue heavy in my mouth, unwilling to form the fateful words that are spinning in my head: what if it is a trap?But Dawn shakes her head, apparently aware of my concerns, and shakes the letter at me again, willing me to take it."It was not a vampire who gave it to me, it was a boy, his skin was warm, not like a vampires. He has been visiting me in my cell. He says he knows Lilyana."In that moment, my whole body freezes as my mind strives to process the information, turning it over the slow cogs in my mind, clicking into place and hitting me with a monumental realisation like a bat out of hell.Someone in here knows Lilyana?
