by Rosie Scott
Standing tall against the cavern wall on the other side of the overpass was our apartment building. Azazel had a room on the first floor, while Cerin and I stayed on the top. The rest of the apartments were filled with dwarven civilians, and our time in Griswald had allowed us to get to know a few of them on a first name basis. Altan had teased me a few times about living amongst the metalhuggers as he often called them, but as with any land I visited, I thirsted to get to know the people and learn how they lived. It was an odd situation to be in. Taking Hammerton for Eteri had never been one of my personal goals in this war even though it offered me many benefits. Still, my part in this country would not soon be forgotten. Many of the dwarves were friendly enough to my face, but I knew they harbored fear or resentment. I held no ill-will toward the dwarves, but that wasn't something I could easily explain to the people here. The decisions I'd made for the betterment of my goals had, at times, brought other people pain. Hard choices had to be made in war. The fact that I could make these decisions with sound judgment while knowing all of the possible negative repercussions told me that I had grown tremendously over the last decade.
“Kai...” Azazel trailed off, just as we reached the front door of our building. Cerin stopped, his pale hand on its handle. “Do you think you have a few minutes for me? Or are you too tired?”
I was exhausted, but I could never say no to his humble pleas. “I have all the time in the world for you, bud.”
Azazel smiled at that and took the door from Cerin as my lover finally walked in. “I'll deliver her back to you in a bit.”
Cerin looked over me and replied, “That might be best. Nyx's attempts to get her drunk nearly worked.”
I held up a finger. “Nearly. I paced myself. I'm not drunk.”
Cerin chuckled softly. “No, but there are six flights of stairs between you and our apartment. The last thing we need is you tumbling down them and waking our neighbors.”
“Ah. So that's your main concern,” I teased.
“Yes,” Cerin replied, as he started going upstairs on his own. “You've been through worse.”
I laughed softly at that as I followed Azazel to his apartment. He'd chosen the closest one to the front door, as usual. He always claimed he slept little, for his superior ears woke him with the slightest noise. Yet, he insisted on being our watchman. In a way, perhaps keeping us safe made him feel safe. At the very least, he took his role of protector extremely seriously.
Azazel's apartment was dark with shadows save for a cream-colored alteration light he'd cast on a table beside his bed. I waited just inside his closed door as he disappeared into the blackness ahead. When he returned seconds later, he held an oil lamp out to me. I lit it, and the room was suddenly aglow with orange light.
“Sit,” he encouraged, pointing to the edge of his bed. I did so, smirking when I noticed it was made.
“You make your bed?” I asked him, as he set the lamp on the other side of the room from the magic light to keep the whole apartment well-lit.
“Is that odd?” Azazel questioned, glancing up.
“A little. Why do you care? No one sees it.”
“You just did.” He gave me a charming smile. “I like organization. You know that. Besides, when the bed is made, it feels so fantastic getting under the blankets for the first time. It's like I'm breaking them in.”
I huffed with amusement, finding his reasoning adorable. “Ah. Well, my bed is always broken in, I suppose.”
“Was that a joke about all the sex you have?”
I snorted a laugh. “It wasn't, no, but now that you've said it, we'll say it was.”
Azazel pulled his bow from his back, handing the weapon to me. I took it, thinking he just needed me to hold it as he did something else. Instead, he sat down on the bed beside me.
“You've asked me about my bow before,” he said, his eyes rolling over the dozens of screaming men that aligned the black wood on either side of the weapon's grip. “Why?”
I wondered why he was bringing this up now. I'd asked Azazel years ago if he'd forged the weapon, and he told me he hadn't and had left it at that. I glanced over at him while I trailed a finger over the demonic carvings. “Because it is the most beautiful bow I've ever seen,” I told him.
“Even though it is dark?” Azazel questioned, before leaning over and pointing at its carvings. “And perhaps intimidating?”
“Especially because it is dark and intimidating.” I held my left hand out, calling his attention to the ring Cerin had given me years ago in Nahara. The skull on the ring's face was agonized, fearsome, and intimidating. Few people could have said it was beautiful. Even so, I still thought the ring was the most stunning one I owned. “Cerin gave me this for my birthday exactly nine years ago. It is similar to the designs on your bow. Not only is this my favorite ring, but I found the gift to be utterly romantic.”
Azazel smiled at that revelation. “You are a unique person, Kai. Little fazes you.” Moving his eyes back to the bow, he asked, “So these designs are part of the reasons you like it.”
“They're the major reason I love your bow,” I corrected. “You better not be telling me you're getting rid of it.”
Azazel chuckled. “I'm not. This bow is a part of me. I do have a gift for you, though. That's why I brought you here. Before I give it to you, I wanted to get your opinion on these designs.”
I tilted my head, trying to follow his reasoning. “Did you get me a bow just like it?”
Azazel shook his head, appearing humbled. “You know, as much as I care for all the Renegades, I've always been closest to you. I find myself opening up to you about things I never thought I'd say aloud, because telling you gets it off my chest, and you always understand. But until we bonded in Eteri, there were things I still kept from you. I've never lied to you, Kai. I've simply not offered up information about some parts of myself because I didn't feel comfortable revealing them. You're always so curious and asking me questions, and there have been some questions you've asked of me that I've tiptoed around answering completely. And then, because you don't wish to make me uncomfortable, you never end up asking again. That makes me feel guilty. Even though I don't lie to you, keeping things from you feels dishonest.”
“You owe me nothing,” I told him. “I promise never to judge you for anything in your past. I want nothing more than for you to be comfortable telling me these things, but I don't expect it.”
“I know.” Azazel shook his long bangs from his eyes. “But I am comfortable telling you now. Only you, really, which is why we're here alone.”
I put an arm around his waist and pulled him close. “Then tell me, Azazel. I'm all ears.”
Azazel swallowed hard and pointed again at the bow. “I told you I didn't forge this bow, which is true. But these designs are my own. I carved them.”
My eyes moved over the screaming faces, paying extra attention to their detail. As I'd noticed years ago in the underground, the faces were elves and humans nearest the grip, and they decayed and devolved into screaming skeletons near both ends. Each of the faces held magnificent detail. Some of the men had the scratches of facial hair, while others had broader jaws or crooked noses.
“Why in the world would you sound terrified to admit that?” I questioned. “If you carved this, you are a brilliant artist.”
Azazel's eyes searched my own for honesty before he looked away again. “Art feels deeply personal to me. I am also a perfectionist. I look at this bow and see nothing but flaws. That's why I asked you what you thought before I told you this art was my own.”
“I've always said your bow is beautiful. You should know I love its design.” I shook my head in disbelief as I fingered the carvings again. “Hell, Azazel, you have serious talent. Each of these men looks real. Like they really existed.”
Azazel nodded. “They did.”
I frowned. “What?”
He pointed at one of the elves nearest the grip. “This was Azmaveth. He was a sex slave who attempted
to escape multiple times. Our sisters decided at one point to make an example out of him and beat him to death like a display in the market square.” He moved his finger to the elf just above Azmaveth. “This was Fraco. He was Azmaveth's twin brother. They slept in the same cell. After Azmaveth's execution, he stole a dagger from a client and committed suicide by slitting both wrists. The sisters left his body in its cell for a couple of days until it started to smell and decompose. They told us it was his punishment for being weak, and our reminder not to try escaping.”
“Dear gods,” I murmured.
“The other faces are slaves who lost their lives to one injustice or another. During their escape, as the subjects of experiments, to set an example.” Azazel motioned up to the screaming skulls. “These represent the men who died from injustice at my brothel who I'd never seen and only heard about. I could not recreate their faces, but I wanted to represent them nonetheless.”
“And the humans?” I asked.
“The humans were Alderi slaves as well,” he admitted. “I just decided to carve human ears instead, so it was less suspicious. If my sisters realized this bow was like a memorial, I could have been sentenced to death for inciting rebellion.”
“It was a good idea,” I agreed. “I think it's a beautiful thing that you've memorialized them here, Azazel. I only wish I could have known about this earlier. In a way, every time you used this bow in the underground, it was for them.”
He smiled softly at me. “That's how I felt about it, too. I'm sorry I didn't tell you this until now. As usual, I spent all this time worrying about your response, and now I only feel relieved.”
“I find your art even more beautiful now that I know the meaning behind it,” I told him. “You truly have talent.”
“I'm glad you think that, Kai,” Azazel said, exhaling slowly as he stood up, taking his bow from my grasp. He leaned the weapon against the wall beside his bed, before walking over to a small table and opening a drawer. Before he pulled anything out, he glanced over at me. “I'm still terrified to give you this gift. If you find it inappropriate, please be honest with me and let me know.”
I watched as Azazel pulled a piece of rolled parchment out of the drawer. He sat back down beside me and carefully handed it over. It had a string around it, which I promptly started to untie.
“You drew me something?” I asked him, hesitating to unroll it.
“I did,” Azazel replied, looking like a nervous wreck as he waited for me to see it. “I've always done carvings because paper was rare underground, but seeing Malachi's sketches back in Eteri inspired me. Cyrus helped me find good parchment and art utensils in Olympia. I spent many hours on this in that watchtower.” He hesitated and chuckled nervously. “There were a few times I had to hide it quickly since you came up to see me.”
“You are endlessly endearing,” I teased like it was a complaint. Finally, I unrolled the parchment.
My heart thudded against my ribs so hard that I jerked forward a bit. Immediately after my eyes found the sketch and its subjects, they teared up so bad I could no longer see. An unintentional sob rolled forth, and the parchment snapped back into a roll as I pulled a hand away to clear my eyes.
“Oh, no,” Azazel tugged the sketch away from me and pulled me into a hug. “I'm sorry, Kai. I'm so sorry. I had no idea it would hurt you. I meant to make you happy. You told me you wanted all of your friends memorialized.”
“No, I...” I held Azazel tighter as I tried to overcome the sudden emotion. The sketch had been so unexpected, so sudden, it hit me like a punch in the heart. “I do. I'm sorry. I didn't...” I swallowed back another sob. “Please, let me see it again.”
Azazel pulled back from me, and his eyes were both saddened and concerned. He delicately handed the sketch back to me, and I unrolled it again.
Jakan and Anto were sketched perfectly on the parchment, every detail just as correct as if they were once more standing before me. Azazel had drawn both of the men in fighting stances. Anto walked forward with both arm blades spread out in an intimidating invite. Everything from the shade of his green skin to the height of his black top knot haircut was correct. Nearby, Jakan had his left arm up ready to shoot his one-handed crossbow, while the second hand held a ball of coral-pink energy as if he were prepared to charm a foe. From his belt hung a Naharan scimitar. The thief had a look of both concentration and playfulness that was portrayed in a half-grin. His long brown hair was pulled up in a high ponytail, and the hair tie was solid black, proving it was Anto's.
The parchment shook as I looked over it, unable to keep myself from releasing more waves of emotion. Azazel rubbed at the small of my back to comfort me as I continued to stare at it. When I finally spoke, my voice was hoarse and croaked out words with extra syllables.
“I never thought I'd see them again,” I managed before I devolved into more tears.
“You told me in Welkin you wanted everyone who lost their lives for you to be memorialized,” Azazel repeated from earlier. “Perhaps it was selfish of me to think I could be the one to do it, but I knew them both. I thought I had a greater chance of getting them right than someone who'd never met them.”
“You got them right,” I told him. “This is perfect.”
“I want to eventually sketch Ricco, Vallen, and Ciro as well,” Azazel went on. “I thought—if you wanted to—you could tell me more about Bjorn and Theron. If you tell me what they looked like and about their personalities, perhaps I could sketch them all.”
“Do you think you could learn how to make sculptures?” I asked him, tearing my eyes from the sketch to look once more at his bow. “It would be like your carvings, only on a bigger scale and out of stone.”
“If you bring me the stone in Chairel, I will learn to sculpture,” Azazel replied.
I smiled through my emotion at his instantaneous affirmation. “If you do, I'll hire you to create sculptures of everyone. I've always imagined a big statue of Jakan and Anto in the middle of the harbor. Letting people know their contributions and history. There's a statue to my birth father in the village of Kilgor because the town was named after him and he founded it. Similarly, Jakanto Harbor will be named after them.” I peered back at the sketch.
“Hire me?” Azazel questioned. “I'll agree to do the sculptures, but I don't want to be paid.”
“Art is immensely time-consuming,” I replied. “Sketches, books, sculptures...they all require so much time and effort to complete. I want to support that effort. And if you do this for me, you'd be saving me the time and gold from hiring someone else.”
“Kai.” Azazel dipped his head lower to encourage me to look over. When I met his eyes, he continued, “Let me do this. Art is time-consuming, yes, but it is also calming and satisfying for me. The fact that you love this sketch as much as you do brings me so much joy, and that's not even considering that I feel like I'm also doing something for Jakan and Anto. If you wanted me to decorate Sera with sculptures of our friends and allies over hiring someone else, I would not only be flattered, I'd be honored.”
I exhaled slowly before offering a compromise. “Be honored, Azazel, but also be paid.”
Azazel chuckled breathlessly at my stubbornness. “I will be paid. You've offered me land and prestige, remember? I'll have so much shit I won't know what to do with it.” He mimicked my playful words from before our attack of Olympia, which only made me smile now.
“You are a stubborn bastard.”
“Yes, but so are you.” Azazel smiled warmly and nudged me in the side. “Good birthday present?”
I held the sketch in one hand and hugged him again. “The best.”
Thirty-eight
21st of Red Moon, 428
Griswald was taken in mid-New Moon 428, and within half a year, we had already left it. The armies of Chairel were marching east, and if we stayed put, the chances of taking Hallmar easily were thin. The intimidation of facing Chairel's armies meant we were rushing through the latter half of our campaign here, w
hich put us at a disadvantage. We'd been forced to leave some troops behind in Griswald to continue running it in our absence. Eteri's next shipment of reinforcements and settlers would not arrive until early next year. Originally, we had planned to wait in Griswald until the settlers were delivered and moved west from Olympia, but we did not have the time.
Our armies consolidated and moved south along the Quakes. Within a week of traveling, we left the Griswald Forest behind us and re-entered the southern plains of Hammerton. Once we circled around the south outreach of the Quakes and moved west, the feeling of foreboding was so tight in my chest I couldn't ignore it. The grasslands here stretched from Hammerton's impressive mountain ranges all the way through the Chairel border and to the Cel Forest. Over a decade after fleeing Chairel, I was willingly walking straight toward it with the knowledge that their armies were marching. Not only was that an intimidating prospect for obvious reasons, but I couldn't shake the feeling that Eteri would soon abandon us.
The assassins of Hazarmaveth had continued their attempts on Tilda's life. Calder had been visited by his messenger when he'd received his third and final army of reinforcements from the underground in Griswald. Dozens of attempts were being made, and Mistral's castle had increased its guard force in response. The messenger told us that Tilda was alive and well, but the assassins had started to get craftier with their methods. Now that many Alderi women had access to the elements and shapeshifting, they had decided to use their new skills in more brash attempts to finally weed out Eteri's hard-to-reach queen.
Calder had feigned concern to Altan about the assassins, but he'd continued to tell the first Sentinel that he could not track the culprits. Altan should have found this suspicious, but he'd become good friends with Calder and tended to believe him. Though using illusion magic on Altan had clued us into the fact that he looked down upon Cyrus using such methods, he didn't waste much time worrying over Tilda's well-being. Kirek, on the other hand, had been mostly silent since our meeting in Griswald. This was typical behavior when it came to speaking with my Renegades, but Kirek made it a point to dissociate from the other Sentinels as well. Oddly, I understood why; she was alone in her attempts to stay true to Eteri's laws and systems in Hammerton, and none of the other Sentinels had shown the same support. Though I disagreed with Kirek's loyalties and methods, I respected her refusal to abandon her beliefs even when she found herself alone. Kirek was intensely unhappy in Hammerton, and she could not relay her concerns to the queen.