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maisonaime · 3 months

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Ilithyia's Blessings - Part 3

I am posting this in the middle of the night hot off the dome because I am exhausted but want to get this out there. Please forgive any errors grammatical or canonical and go with the flow for me please :) I actually love where this went and I'm excited to flesh out the consequences of this chapter as the story continues to develop. It will likely be anywhere from 8-12 parts in total with epilogues and whatnot. 1.6k words

Warnings: Dark Feyre, blood, unhinged behavior, pregnancy trauma, familial trauma, mentions of illness and death

Part 1; Part 2

Part 3:

Centuries of the Illyrian winds echoing off his wings allowed Azriel to sense the unique shift in the air at the House of Wind as he remained for a few final moments, in blissful ignorance of the circumstances unfolding. For the first time in centuries, the spymaster would be one of the last to know.

Sweat beaded at the nape of his neck and curved a path down his spine as he performed his training routines in the ring. Lost in the movements he had led his body through for centuries, he hardly noticed that his shadows had abandoned him, their relentless whisperings silenced. He would have thought nothing of it; they often slipped away to their own devices when he entered the meditative state his training permitted him. It seemed even they understood that the training ring was one of the few places Azriel could find complete solace from his roiling mind.

Until his shadows were suddenly back and swarming him and howling, their chorus an indiscernible fever pitch. On his next inhale the air tightened, punctuated by sharp bursts of the metallic redolence he knew to be his brother's magic.

On the exhale he tilted his head to the sky, and murmured a prayer to the Mother, siphons flaring as he steeled himself for whatever bloodshed was imminent. Instinctively his mind was both latching onto and pushing away the bolt of dread he felt for the most obvious potential source of this frenzy of wrath from his brother.

As he turned to push himself into the sky and take stock of the tenebrous horizon, Nuala materialized from a haze of smoky shadows with wide eyes and shaking hands.He had never seen such dismay surfaced in his trusted apprentice; dread carved another chunk from his stomach. He nodded towards her, encouraging her to speak.

“Feyre is gone, she – she disappeared from the townhouse.” Azriel’s heart dropped in the pits of his stomach. “Nesta told her about the boy having wings and she unleashed herself on Amren and Morrigan and then she left. Not a trace of her. Rhys has gone absolutely feral, he’s barreling towards Nesta as we speak – along with everyone else. Cerridwen followed them.”

Azriel stood stock still, unblinking as his heart and his fists clenched. This gods damned family would be the death of him, he felt so incredibly tired. At the same time, he just barely noted the relief he felt knowing the next time he spoke to Feyre he wouldn’t be lying to her.

They’ll level half the city and throw the entire Court into question if this unfolds publicly.” she added, earning a knowing glare from Azriel as he reckoned with his next steps.

“Thank you Nuala” he managed to bite out. “Pack a bag for Nesta, Cassian will want to get her as far away from Rhys as possible. Leave it on the balcony, then check every residence they share. The cabin, the palace in the Hewn City, everywhere.”

Nuala was already evaporating back into the ether to do just that, having anticipated the request from Azriel and already running through the mental list of possible dwellings she had compiled.

Azriel took flight and looked towards the city, where churning black clouds thundered towards the center. He drew his shadows around him, prepared to let them carry him on the wind to where his circle of friends was just beginning to converge.

He was winnowing as he had a thousand times before – the thousand time prior was how he knew something was so wrong about this journey through space. He was being pulled towards something, absorbed into a pit of angry, despairing power. He assumed it was from Rhys creating some sort of dismal vacuum of fury, as he yielded to primal and unholy powers alike. Azriel squeezed his eyes shut, silently praying to the Mother that his brother didn’t inadvertently rip him to shreds in his fit of rage.

But when he opened his eyes, breathless and on solid ground. He was not in Velaris. He was not in the Night Court. He was not anywhere near the specter of power he had known and dealt with for centuries, knew like the back of his hand.

No. He was faced with a new beast entirely. And as he met the eyes of his High Lady, he knew he was considerably fucked.

“Hello Azriel.” Feyre’s wolfish grin was empty, her eyes red and puffed. “I think it’s high time I find out how valuable you really are as our resident Shadowsinger.” Any relief he previously felt winked out as the weight of their errors settled on him with her pointed gaze.

Her distress was obvious, her outrage palpable. She clutched the swell of her stomach like she might hold the child in her, lest it rip itself out by the talons on its bastarding wings. Azriel gulped as he was faced with malevolence he had not even seen from Feyre in the Court of Nightmares.

Azriel saw instantly that there would be no straightforward path out of this mess, that he along with the rest of them had grossly miscalculated the consequences of shielding Feyre from the truth of her pregnancy. Her pregnancy Azriel repeated to himself, dumbfounded by his own stupidity. Her child they had all lied to her about, intentions set aside.

Though far from possessing the necessary biology to truly understand Feyre’s feelings, he imagined how he might feel if his family kept a secret of that magnitude from him. If he perhaps contracted the rare wasting sickness that caused Illyrian wings to rot and disintegrate from the inside out. Easily detectable, but highly fatal and only symptomatic in its final stages. He imagined he wouldn’t take too kindly to the lack of dignity in having his own fate concealed from him until there was no chance of a say in the matter.

He sank to his knees and lowered his eyes, laying himself prone to her judgement. He said nothing, conveying his submission to her through his posture, yielding to the might of her power without protest.

“Let’s make a bargain.” Feyre sneered, eyes shining with spite. “You will tell me everything that is said about me and this child; every detail of how our family plans to proceed; everything you see, do, hear will be memorized and relayed to me. You will find a way to get the information to me as close to instantly as possible. You will do so without telling or alerting anyone to our correspondence.” Azriel said nothing. “And you will not look for or even consider pondering a way to get out of or around this bargain.”

“In exchange I will consider allowing Rhysand to be a part of mine and this childs life.” dread finally claimed the last of his abdomen as the severity of her words struck him.

He opened his mouth to try to agree, to do anything that might help the situation and preserve a thread of connection with Feyre to her family, her support system. The words caught on his tongue as his fealty to Rhys overpowered his independent will, the betrayal of his vows a physical manifestation of pain ripping through his chest.

He spoke through gritted teeth “Feyre I can’t swear myself to anything that disavows my loyalty to Rhys. I am bound to him, by magic as much as love.”

“And what of a blood oath? Would that usurp your vows to your High Lord?” she spoke without missing a beat and Azriel’s eyes snapped back to hers, gaze narrowing. It was in this moment he realized they stood at the center of a vortex of darkness, the eye of a formidable hurricane that concealed any hint of their whereabouts for Azriel to report if he somehow found a way out of swearing a gods damned blood oath to Feyre. Magic so old it called to the marrow of his bones. Magic that would render him little more than a slave to her will; he would be hers entirely to use and dispose of as she pleased. And yet, and yet, and yet… if it was the only way…

“Yes.” he breathed.

“Yes what.” she insisted.

“Yes I will swear a blood oath to you. Feyre.” he affirmed, only a touch of the lament he felt seeping into his tone.

“Good” she purred, unrecognizable to his eyes. And in a flash she was before him, a slash across her wrist pressed to his mouth for him to drink from. She tasted like life and mountain air and power and fury and something deep in his chest tugged as his life force latched to hers. Then it was his turn to offer blood for her consumption directly from the junction of his shoulder and neck. The bargain was sealed and thrumming in his chest, so much like what he imagined a mating bond to be but so exquisitely wrong in its essence. Even his shadows recoiled from the shift, as if recognizing the parasitic force that had latched itself to their master while simultaneously adjusting to submit to it.

Azriel let out a hysterical little chuckle as he realized Rhysand was going to tear him limb from limb, and Cassian might even help. He had not only swore an oath that usurped the vows he swore to his brothers, but an oath that rivaled even a mating bond in its powers and manifestations. Tricky magic that would not be easily untangled. Magic that compromised every promise he had made to his Court and family. Magic that sealed itself into and across his chest with a tattoo of a gleaming golden band that wrapped around his torso, directly across his pounding heart.

“Wander back home now Azriel, I’ll call on you when you’re needed.” there was nothing in her voice, her eyes; it was the most chilled he had been during the whole encounter.

He blinked and he was freefalling through the sky, careening from the exact spot he had dissolved from minutes earlier. He let himself fall for a moment, pondering how well and truly fucked he was. In the next moment, he twisted, shot out his wings, and dove towards his original destination, praying that he wouldn’t be greeted with the carrion he knew the gathering forces were capable of.

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