Sylvie
Hazel stared up at the sky to the place she watched Slaide’s winged form take off and disappear, finding it hard to form even a single thought as shock wracked her body.
All this time she’d thought Slaide was human.
But he wasn’t, was he? Where the Hel was he hiding his wings?
Her thoughts were swimming, and she needed answers.
Night was upon them, and she was not looking forward to being outside the castle walls by herself in full darkness. With no time to lose, she mounted Phillip and charged off in the direction Slaide had headed.
She urged the horse to the forest’s edge and to his credit, he didn’t protest. When she dismounted, he was content with being left to graze.
As Hazel walked down the path, the damp earth soft beneath her feet, thunder rumbled overhead. A warning of another storm, she concluded as she glanced up to see clouds sliding in from the western skies.
A twig snapped beneath her feet, startling her and sending her heart into a gallop as she remembered Nan’s stories about the monsters roaming the Borderlands.
The fact this forest was here, that it was as thick and overgrown as it was, was evidence enough of the magic in this place. And where there was magic… She shook off the thought. Those were just stories. So what if the Striga happened to be real?
But as she trudged on, she was hounded by a feeling she just couldn’t shake—someone was watching, following.
She paused abruptly and heard footsteps that weren’t hers.
She picked up the pace, her head on a swivel, determined not to be caught unaware.
A chorus of howls went up in the distance.
Far enough away for now, but for how long?
Hazel rounded a bend in the forest path and came to a halt when her eyes landed on the silhouette of a creature sitting in the middle, unmoving.
It was a… cat? And a very large one at that.
Hazel cocked her head as it approached her, stalking slowly on giant furry paws.
As he approached, she noticed the orange fur and ethereal green eyes. But it couldn’t be.
He padded up to her, sat at her feet, and proceeded to groom himself. Hazel squatted down beside him, admiring how his coat stood out so brightly even in the fading light. She reached out to pet him, but he froze, eyeing her suspiciously, body tense.
“Right. I’m not allowed to pet you, am I? Well, in that case, I’d better be going. Good seeing you, Cat.” She stood and dusted off her pants.
The orange cat approached her and arched his back into her shins, his tail curling around her calf with a mind of its own. Hazel smiled, happy to still have some piece of home there with her, even if it was a strange cat she’d only recently become acquainted with.
He walked a circle around her before trotting off in the direction she’d been walking. As though he sensed she wasn't following, the cat paused and looked over his shoulder, waiting for her to follow.
She considered for a moment, but decided to follow him since she was headed in that direction anyway. He trotted onward, tail held high, looking back at her every so often as though to make sure she was still there.
As they crested a hill on the forest path, the cat paused and sat on his haunches. He began grooming his paws again, and Hazel wondered if she’d been a fool to follow a cat through the woods.
But then she looked up and found he’d led her to the end of the path and the edge of the forest. She’d successfully left the howling beasts and dark corners of the wood behind. And that wasn’t all.
Well, I’ll be damned.
Up ahead near a small lake, the ground rose sharply into a cliff overlooking the calm waters. The moon had risen in the sky, bathing everything in its milky white light. And at the top of the ridge was the silhouette of a winged man.
She’d found Slaide. The cat had found Slaide.
When she looked back, the cat was gone without a trace, as quietly as he’d arrived.
As Hazel took in his Slaide’s form sitting on a boulder near the cliff’s edge, she sighed. She had so many questions she wanted to ask, and not one of them was appropriate to lead with. The pendant was warm in her fingers, though she didn’t remember reaching for it.
Not wanting to disturb him, Hazel approached quietly, uncertain how best to get his attention. After a few moments in silence, she cleared her throat.
“I’m not going to apologize for what happened back there, so if that’s why you’re here, you’re wasting your time,” he started.
She jumped, taken aback; so much for being civil. “Good thing I don’t want your apology then. You do, however, owe me an explanation as to where you’ve been hiding those, and why you didn’t tell me you had gods-damned wings.”
“Didn’t exactly come up in conversation,” he quipped.
“Well, no, I should think not, seeing as they were hidden. I don’t know what kind of conversations you’re used to having, but where I’m from, we don’t exactly walk up to folks and check them for hidden wings.”
“Alright, smart ass. Calm down. Yes, I have wings.” He flared them for emphasis. “As for why you’ve never seen them, I keep them veiled. No one sees them unless I allow them to. And before you ask, yes, Magnus and his inner circle all know about them.”
“But, how…” she faltered.
“Hazel, I’m not… like you.” He didn’t meet her eyes.
“No shit, Slaide. But something tells you’re meaning something more than skin deep. So, what, are you going to tell me you’re not human?”
When he met her eyes, she got all the confirmation she needed. Of course he wasn’t human. She should have known.
She backed up a step, shaking her head in disbelief. He really was a monster, and he was having difficulty controlling himself.
“Hazel. This doesn’t change anything,” he said, but his words were hollow.
“What are you? I mean, if you’re not human, just help me work through this, please.” She was ready to beg. For her life, if need be.
Slaide sighed, hanging his head. He spread his wings wide, as though that was supposed to answer her question.
And then it hit her. Perhaps he had answered her after all. “You’re… an angel?” she stuttered, unable to believe the words coming out of her own mouth.
“Yes and no. It’s not that simple.”
Of course not. Nothing ever is. “Well thanks, that clears it up.”
“The problem is, I don’t entirely know what I am myself.
I wasn’t born into a loving family, or really any sort of family.
I was bred to serve a purpose—to be a mindless, ruthless killer—and my mother was discarded after my birth.
I don’t know who or what she was, other than a slave.
My sire was one of the Fallen. Beyond that, even I don’t know.
I’ve heard them describe me as Nephilim, but I’ve never figured out what that meant. Never cared to know.”
He had warned her it was complicated, hadn’t he? But she found herself with more questions than answers. He was right about one thing: she was in way over her head. A change of subject was in order.
“Can I ask you something?”
“You just did,” Slaide pointed out.
“I’m serious.” Hazel crossed her arms to emphasize just how serious she was.
“If I say no, is that going to stop you?” Slaide cocked his head to the side in question.
“Probably not.” She shrugged. It was something she’d wondered about since getting dressed.
“Go on then.” His expression rested somewhere between boredom and annoyance. The face of a parent dealing with a petulant child.
“It’s not overly important, but curiosity is getting the better of me.”
“Out with it.” He sighed.
“Fine. Where did you get fighting leathers in my size? I mean, it’s not a perfect fit, but it’s close. Did you get my measurements from the tailor? It’s impressive considering the short amount of time you’ve had to work with.”
Slaide’s gaze melted into a contemplative stare, rolling over her from head to toe. “No, I suppose they aren’t a perfect fit.” He poked at an anthill between his feet with a stick, sending the ants scurrying in alarm. “I wouldn’t expect them to be, because they weren’t tailored for you.”
“Whose are they then? Do you just go around raiding women’s closets?”
“Bold of you to assume I took them from anyone, especially without their knowledge.” He waved a dismissive hand. “These are borrowed. From a… friend.”
It wasn’t lost on Hazel how Slaide had tripped over that last word, as though friend wasn’t the term he was searching for.
“She no longer needs them.”
Sure, she’d seen a couple of those women in the training yard.
But not a single female warrior she’d observed shared her body type.
They were all tall and broad-shouldered, thickly-muscled, ferociously badass women.
They were everything she was not, and their fighting leathers, no matter how fitted they were, would have sagged off her worse than a burlap potato sack.
So instead of quelling her, his response had piqued her interest even further.
“That doesn’t explain where this came from, though,” she said, gesturing to her attire. “I know you think I’m gullible and stupid, but we both know I wouldn’t fill out a true warrior’s fighting leathers. So, whose clothes am I wearing?”
And his eyes were once again ablaze with unspoken rage. That question, and pushing for an authentic answer, had crossed a line. She should be used to this by now.
“Someone who would be insulted to see you wearing them while insinuating she couldn’t possibly be a warrior due to her size. But you know what? You’re right. You don’t deserve to stand where she stood, playing dress up in her clothes. She’d kick my ass for even considering it.”
After getting that off his chest, his gaze cooled and he looked almost remorseful. Almost. He returned to his quiet, brooding demeanor then, pivoting on the boulder and turning his back to Hazel.
So that was it then. Big bad Slaide Elias, witch hunter and monster slayer, had taken a lover and something had befallen her. His mood was understandable, and pity bloomed in her chest. But was it too much for him to just be up front about those things?
They sat quietly for a while, accompanied only by the evening chorus of crickets and bullfrogs in the nearby marsh.
It wasn’t long before Hazel couldn’t take it anymore, and she broke the silence.
“I’m sorry for offending you. It’s obvious you cared deeply about her.
” She took a step closer. “Would you care to talk about her? Tell me what she was like?” She knew she should just let it go, but she couldn’t find it within herself to do so.
How long had it been since anyone asked about her?
Slaide shifted, but didn’t speak.
“Can you just tell me her name? Is-is she alive?” she prodded.
He tilted his head to the sky and ran a hand through his hair.
“Sylvie,” he ground out. “Her name was Sylvie. And no, she isn’t. At least not here in the physical realm. I try to keep her memory alive as much as possible. It’s… difficult. They expected me to just move on. To forget her as they did. But I didn’t. I can’t.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine.”
“No, you really can’t. No one can. We were soul-bonded—two halves of the same whole. Those who care to remember say the entire continent shook when her soul was torn from her body. The only thing that keeps her tethered here is the small strand of her being living within me.”
Hazel had heard of bonds and tethers to the soul before, though she admittedly had never thought much about it.
Most humans didn’t have those sorts of connections with one another.
Some of the fae and other magical creatures were said to take mates instead of spouses, and while it was much the same concept as a marriage, it was on a deeper level.
The souls of mates were destined by Fate, and once the bonds were acknowledged, the souls became tethered for eternity. So, maybe…
Hazel took another step forward and raised her hand to place on his shoulder. “Was she… your mate?” she asked tentatively.
That almost got a laugh out of him. More of a choking-scoff, but she’d take it.
“No. No, it wasn’t like that. She was more than that. Closer to my own soul than any mate could ever be. She was blood of my blood, as they say. My twin sister. She was murdered.”
Oh, this was so much worse than she’d thought.
“I-I’m so sorry. I just thought… never mind.
Did you find the person responsible? I’m assuming they’ve been dealt with?
” He shook his head no. “But Slaide, she was the only family you had. And they just… got away?” She shouldn’t care.
This wasn’t her problem. Pleading with him was more dangerous than playing with fire, but she couldn’t stop.
Common sense and her warming locket be damned, she reached for him.
Slaide’s body rumbled with a sinister growl as it rolled through him, and Hazel’s hand froze in midair.
“And why do you care? You just want to go home, remember? Not only are you unskilled, untrained, and utterly useless, you’re clueless as well. You don’t seem to get it. We can’t avenge her. Perhaps someone else could. Come to think of it, maybe they should. But I can’t.”
“Maybe I don’t understand having my family murdered, but I can understand having your life turned upside down,” she snapped.
He spun on her, rising and putting his face mere inches from hers, eyes burning with the heat of a thousand suns and the sorrow of a thousand and one deaths. He was so tragically handsome.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Hazel. There are forces at work here far beyond your wildest nightmares. Maybe I was foolish to think I could help prepare you against them.”
Defeat and heartbreak carved their way into her soul. Strong feelings for someone she barely knew. And if it was a ploy to gain her sympathy, to let her guard down? It was working.
“You’re so intent on forcing me to face my fears, but you’re too scared to face your own. Hypocrite.” The words were out before she could stop them.
In a flash, his fangs were bared and hovering at her neck, just above her collarbone.
The amber in his eyes had given way to those endless pools she’d seen once before.
He sniffed up her neck and along her jawbone, stopping at her ear.
She didn’t dare move. Hardly chanced breathing for fear he might snap.
Nothing could have prepared her for what he said next.
“You want to know who did it so you can, what, help me avenge my sister?” he whispered against her ear with hot breath that made the hair along the back of her neck stand on end. “Then take this dagger and plunge it into my heart. Avenge Sylvie and right the wrongs I’ve done in this world.”
The confusion written into her features must have been question enough, for his next words were in answer to that which went unspoken…
“It was me.”