The old witch eyed him for a moment, waiting as he shuffled his breeches below his hips. “No,” she shook her head. “I’ve seen more than my fair share of frightening things, Aziel Haze, and you are the least of those.” She lowered her hand and took hold of him, not even giving a warning before she pierced the sensitive flesh down below. Her hands worked quickly, and after the first three rods, she handed him a dusty bottle filled with amber liquid. “Do you love the one you are mated to, young man?” She asked.
Aziel wasn’t sure how to answer. If he’d allowed the liquor on his lips to loosen them and all of his heart spilled out onto her table, he wasn’t sure how he’d feel about himself in the morning. He closed his eyes, trying to formulate the words that he wanted to say, but the only thing he could see—the only thing that made any sense was the image of Nymiria Celentas sitting in that dungeon, smiling at him as he handed her the dress for her trial.
He’d done it hoping that Dorid would see her as worthy. He’d hoped that his father would see past her matted hair andswollen eyes, the bruises that hung beneath them. He’d hoped that he would see her as something beautiful, just the way Aziel did.
That image transformed to her, the brief glimpse he’d caught of her earlier that day before Camalia dragged him into her rooms. She was dancing. Smiling. She didn’t even look at him.
If he had any hope left, he would have hoped that Nymiria had been his mate. But it seemed as though Fate had other plans. He decided that he couldtry. He could try to love the person Fate had chosen for him, just as he’d tried to accept the fact that he was a god of a realm he wanted absolutely nothing to do with. HehatedDeath, but he was learning to love it. He couldn’t see why he wouldn’t be able to love the person that Fate chose for him, even if it was not the one he originally wanted. Nymiria Celentas would be a dream to him—an untouchable thing, something he was not worthy of having. And Aziel was very familiar with that feeling.
He would survive.
“I will love her,” he said, finally. Though he’d intended to sound sure of himself, it was hard to achieve the moment a low sob spilled from his lips. “I will love her and she will love me, too.”
Dieve continued working on him. She let him lay there and drink himself to the point that he couldn’t stand on his own. She let him cry. She didn’t say another word, not even as she helped him off of the table and all but carried him to the small sofa in the dusty, dark parlor. There was a window behind the sofa, one that was covered with tattered, moth-eaten curtains. At a distance, one would assume they were lace, given their state. Nonetheless, Aziel peered up at the sky through the holes, eyes flickering from constellation to constellation before finally settling on the moon.
“I don’t know where to go from here.” He whispered.
The clacking of the old crone’s cane against the ground garnered his attention, slowly turning his head to watch as she plopped herself into the chair beside him. She took a long sip of that amber liquid, rubbing her arthritic fingers along her protruding brow. “She will lead you to her when you need her most.” The old woman began. “Her crows will be your companions. You will sense one another, in the way that two halves of a whole always do.”
Aziel was too drunk to understand what she’d meant, at the time. It wouldn’t be until five years later, as he approached a young courtesan with dirt caked under her nails and staining her cheeks, that he would realize the error he’d made—the judgement he’d passed too soon.
He saw the crows perched atop the gates of his mother’s burial grounds, saw the wild look in Nymiria’s eyes as she charged towards him, berating him because she believed he’d ruined her flowers.
His mate.
His enemy.
The reason he’d lost all hope in the world.
Nymiria.
Nymiria.
“Nymiria.”
“NYMIRIA!”
Aziel jolted up from the bar, eyes quickly shifting around the room. The Twisted Willow was already dark, the aura lights having been dimmed, the chairs stacked on top of the tables, glasses and mugs lining the shelves instead of scattered around the bar. He slowly slid from his stool, eyes narrowed into the darkness in search of traces of Trio’s shadows. All he saw, towards the back of the tavern, was a set of glowing eyes staring back at him.
He straightened himself, teeth clamping together. “It’s best if you come forward now.” The creature in the darkness twitched upright, its dark body lengthening. Long, spindly limbs gripping at every surface as it crawled towards him. The hissing screams that came from the beast grew louder as it approached, the sounds of bones cracking and realigning becoming more prominent as it jerked and convulsed into an upright position once again.
Aziel could just hardly make out its features. Though the light of the moon shone through the window to his right and illuminated the majority of its ghastly form, the thing’s face was still slightly obscured by shadow—those silver eyes still aglow.
“What business do you have with me, wraith?” He hummed.
Its jaw popped as it dislocated, its maw spreading wide, revealing a tongueless cavern that echoed with groans and screeches.“The roots of deception run far and through, the creature takes to keep what belongs to you.”
Aziel’s brow furrowed, rage radiating off of him in the form of hellfire. “What creature?” He asked.
The wraith gave a guttural scream, its mist-like body twisting as if caught in a vortex.“There are no tongues that can speak its name, for the truth will vanish just as soon as it came.”
He stepped closer into its darkness, his gloved hand taking hold of the creature. It writhed in his grasp, scratching and clawing at him with skeletal fingers. “Enough with your riddles. Speakclearly.”
The wraith’s body creaked, shrilling loudly as it finally slipped free.“You are bewitched.”The creature wailed.“The root of his nature runs far and through. It has ensnared you with his charm. The God of Dastardly Deeds, The God of De—”
“Aziel!” The voice came from the top of the stairs, a sound that echoed through the tavern. Phantom-like and chilling.
When he glanced back in the direction in which the wraith once hovered, his brow furrowed. And as a sickly sweet scent filled his nose, a scent akin to that of overripe fruit, his body went still. He couldn’t remember. The creature hadjustbeen there… but he couldn’t remember what it said. The rage from its words still remained, but it did not burn quite as bright as it once had mere moments before. It was a dim flicker, pulsing with each step he took towards the staircase.
