118. Azrael
AZRAEL
However separate the consciousness of my shadow form now is, with him in such close proximity, I can feel the whirring of his mind like the many ticking and turning parts of a clock with too many faces, keeping the time of too many realms.
Even if I couldn’t sense this, I’d know he has something planned because, if I still had my magic, I certainly would. A grievance I plan to remedy soon enough.
Violette leads us forward, tugging me, my shadow, and Levi behind her on our leashes. I have every intention of suggesting we use leashes and collars in the future–in the safety of our home.
Abyrion guides us through his palace gates and behind a procession of nude, painted acrobats. Armed guards line either side, behind which an ocean of Abyrion’s people cry out in the hopes of him casting his gaze upon them, though I can’t help but notice they seem oddly focused on Violette.
Abyrion grins broadly, waving in the plasticine, shark-in-a-minnows-glamour way of his. The sight of which makes me lament not having killed him sooner. Though another, equally as volatile and wicked, would have replaced him.
Levi and I exchange a look that tells me he’s thinking the same thing.
Abyrion’s palace is, somehow, however unfathomably, even more gaudy and spectacular than it was some two hundred years ago—the last and only time I’ve been here.
Aerial silks artists swing and spin from the cavernous ceilings above us.
My little seraphim wears an expression that reveals nothing—not an ounce of awe or admiration at the beauty, nor the dismay or hurt that she must feel witnessing the splendor and privilege withheld from her.
I don’t miss the way her father sneaks glances at her. Studies her.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that might actually be adoration in his eyes.
He leads us directly into an enormous dining hall where more revelry is being had.
Instead of the standard, long dining tables, Abyrion has dozens upon dozens of small daises peppered through out where guests lounge, dance, feast, or fuck their concubines; all of whom are similarly leashed and collared.
Abyrion’s is, of course, the largest and most elaborate of all the daises. It’s a stage, really, towering above the rest.
And as if he’d anticipated our arrival, there’s a whole section of it that he seems to have reserved for us, just beside his. Two elaborate thrones sit in the center, one vastly more feminine than the other.
Violette’s eyes linger on it, the confusion and distrust narrowing her eyes unmasked.
Abyrion steps towards the very front of the stage, guiding Violette beside him with his large, bejeweled hand on her shoulder.
His voice booms across the space, silencing the musicians playing at the center.
“Allies and enemies, allow me to introduce to you our most revered, and much anticipated guest!”
The entire room seems to hold its breath. My hackles rise. Levi’s muscles shift and tense. Lazarus takes a subtle step nearer to Violette.
Internally, I’m scorning them as I immediately close the distance and kneel beside her, bowing my head. Thankfully, they both are swift to follow suit.
With my gaze fixed to the pale marble floor, my blood runs cold at Abyrion’s next words.
“After nearly forty years, the sole heir to Sinsól has finally found her way home!”