When Blood Runs Cold - Chapter 225

I watch the long limbed fairy stalk out of the room in a dizzying haze, her movements mechanic and never faltering. She looks like a puppet on strings, as though each motion of her body is manipulated by another, each word that is voiced from her lips a noise through a filter of her own cries for help. Azrael hasn’t given anyone a chance in his place, he wants complete and utter control.

If only he knew he was a piece short of the game.

After she has gone, I take a moment to let my composure slide ever so slightly, racking my fingers through my hair as I attempt to make light of the situation, but fail miserably.

As of now, it would seem that Azrael has an entire palace under his command. And not just merely capturing and pillaging everything from it like some on land pirate, but he left all its inhabitants too. More importantly, he left them alive. Although I cannot truly say for what reason this early on into my stay here- for I have barely even taken a glimpse outside this room, there is one thing I know.

If it is true, and Azrael has captured an entire fairy court (and by the dull and far off look in the woman’s eyes, I would presume that at least a few of them are under his trance) then there would be no opportunity for me to slip my façade. Eyes and ears are everywhere, no doubt reporting back to Azrael at every second. I will have to be careful, or by my own pain of death be it. This place has become a living, breathing body, Azrael’s eyes and ears, his means to keep me contained. How he managed such a feat of power I can hardly say, for the last time I saw him his hand had been lopped off and his face was scarred and bloody. But somehow, at some point, he did it. Brought this entire palace under his control. And now I am trapped in it- trapped in his web like a fly waiting for the bite of death.

A little quiver judders through my body.  Exactly what other ‘walls’ have been put up to keep me contained?

If only Ithuriel were here. He would know what to do.

A firm knock sounds on my door, jumping me out of my daze.

“Hurry up and get changed, young Queen,” the faery girl commands on the other side in a tone not dissimilar to Azrael’s, as though his words are spilling out through her. “The master awaits your arrival anxiously. He has much to discuss.”

“Yes, yes,” I mutter irritably, knowing its not really her fault, but finding myself aggrieved any way. Must Azrael be so… insistent?

Grievously, I pull myself back into reality, peering suspiciously at the ruffled array of sheer fabric on the edge of the bed. Gently picking it up, I let the material slide between my fingers, inspecting it with a drawn expression, half hoping that it isn’t what I presume it to be.

To say it is a dress would be a generous statement. In fact, there is barely any material to the garment at all, most of it is merely fine woven lace, and sheer fabric.

Of course, I should have presumed Azrael’s definition to be at least somewhat skewed, being a hedonistic vampire with a gross passion for sex and debauchery, but I did not anticipate just how much that would be.

The material barely covers anything. As I slip the dress over myself, I wonder if there is any use wearing a dress at all to begin with: the material is thin, almost thin enough to see though, a deep lacy red covered in embroidered flowers that blossom down my body. It is a close hugging fit, enough so that I would suspect that Azrael knew exactly what he was looking for when he chose it out, enough so that he could tailor it exactly to meet every curve and bend of my body. Nervously, I fold my arms around myself. It hardly leaves anything to the imagination- which is precisely what I am worried about. Trust Azrael to keep his hands to himself while I am wearing this? Even just thinking about the possibility sounds like a joke.

I am fortunate enough that the embroidered flowers cover everything important, but the whole outfit feels entirely exposing- the cold of the air pricking my skin, drawing goose bumps up on my exposed arms. Hopefully, I will not have to wear it for long.

Hopefully you will not have to be with Azrael long, another part of me adds disdainfully as I give a weak smile. In a brief struggle for power, I let a few sparking flames spiral from my palms. Everything would be so much easier if I could just…

I lower my fists.

I can’t kill Azrael, I remind myself pitifully. Last time I tried to and look how well that turned out.

But,  another part of my mind whispers.  There are other things you can do to him.

A small smile walks over my face. Yes. Other things.

Just to reassure myself that I am not entirely vulnerable before I walk out the door, my hand travels down to my chest, searching over the skin in a brief moment of panic before it meets the cool surface of the invisible pendant. Clutching it in my hand, I let my fingers smooth over the surface, feel the thrum of the blood under the glass capsule, a feeling I have grown so reliant on.

Whatever Azrael intends to throw at this tea party of his, I will be ready for it, no matter what.

Just as I am about to walk out of the door, a breath of wind catches against my neck, raising the hairs on my back with alarm and prickling sensations of fear. A voice sounds against my ears, a distorted hum of words that wavers through the air.

‘Won’t you come and find me,’ it whispers, a coiling sensation travelling over my skin as wispy mist like particles trail down from behind me. Something- a hand perhaps, clamps over my shoulder, causing me to jolt with alarm, but I do not move, my body frozen with a rigid shock.

‘I will be waiting for you,’ it whispers once more, before letting go of my shoulder, leaving me frozen in place. ‘I have been waiting for a very long time.’

Then the voice is gone, sucked away into the void of the room until nothing is left but a swirling darkness and a horrified displeasure whirling in my gut.

Whoever that voice belongs to, they need to learn some basic manners- the first being understanding what it means by ‘personal space’.

Desperately, I try to make light of the situation, but where questions are answered, only more questions come. It could be a trick- a fact I am quick to remind myself off, for Azrael has done far worse in the past. But equally, it could be something else, something greater than simply just a voice.

But now is not the time to linger over such mysteries.

Trying my best to shake off the experience, I creep out of the door into the hallway where the fairy is waiting, wings folded behind herself, her neatly sewn dress of silken petals catching in the gentle updraft of the hall. There are a few other faeries milling about, similarly attired, all with the same dark skin of varying degrees of colour, gleaming black eyes as they hold aloft platters of food and meats that are so red they practically look raw.

I suppose that is for Azrael’s party, then.

As soon as the faery sees me, her eyes light up, glitter as she straightens herself up, beckoning me to follow. I do so wordlessly, not keen to delay any further as I peer outside the large arching windows into the outside world, blinking back the brightness every now and then as the starlight catches in the window frame.

There is very little light overall outside, sheathed by the dense canopy of leaves way above our heads, and the overgrown flowers and toadstools that tower above us like buildings. Perhaps some of them are.

There appear to be no other places of residence aside from this castle, leading me to believe that the location we are in is somewhat remote, well away from the tousle and chaotic joyfulness of the revelries in the Great Forest. From the shadows and the clear solidarity of it, I can tell it is far off the beaten track, somewhere unfamiliar, teeming with wild and curious lifeforms that make me wish I had Ithuriel’s book to identify which ones I should be running with my life from.

The perfect place for Azrael’s schemes to go undetected by the rest of Faey. After all, faeries are one of the most seclusive creatures known to Faey, content to mingle in the shadows, dance through moonlight and giggle maniacally as they watch their concoctions boil and bubble over and open flame. They never have been easy creatures to deal with- at least not many.

Azrael would be right at home here.

Looking over the beautiful lady, the dazed look in her eyes, the rigidness of her form, as though being held up on a pole, I suddenly have the urge to try something.

“What’s your name?”