Page 10 of Court of Twisted Angels (Cruel Beautiful Angels of Aerasak #1)

10

AZRAEL

T hrough narrowed eyes, I track the little bird's movements as she weaves between shimmering barriers of pure magic. Her auburn hair whips behind her like a battle standard, determination etched into every line of her face. The other candidates fumble and hesitate, but she moves with purpose.

"Faster." My voice cuts through the chamber. "Your enemies won't wait while you dance around."

She shoots me a venomous glare but picks up her pace. The magical barriers pulse with increasing intensity, their ethereal light casting strange shadows across the stone walls. Several crystalline orbs hover at different heights, each one a potential stepping stone - or a deadly trap.

"Three steps left, then jump." I bark out the command, watching her muscles tense. "Now."

She follows my instruction perfectly, launching herself into the air just as a wave of crackling energy sweeps beneath her feet. Her landing is graceful, practiced. Too practiced.

"Again," I say as she comes up to a stop before me. "This time blindfolded."

The other instructors exchange concerned glances, but I ignore them. She's stronger than they realize. I've seen it in the way she carries herself, in the steel behind those green eyes.

I tie a length of black silk to cover her vision, and I reset the course with a wave of my hand. The magical barriers shift and realign, their patterns more treacherous than before. Crystal orbs pulse with deadly intent, the barriers set to react to her. I want to see if she can feel them like she did in the void.

"Five paces forward," I command. "Feel for the traps."

She hesitates for only a heartbeat before moving. Her steps are measured, precise. The void trap whistles as she passes, hungry for a misstep that never comes.

"Good." I fight a smile as I watch her. "Keep going."

An arc of pure energy sizzles over her head as she drops and rolls. The scent of ozone fills the air, magic crackling against ancient stone. Other candidates press against the far wall, their faces pale with fear or awe - I care little which.

"Up. And stop hesitating."

This time she leaps, her hand finding the crystal orb with uncanny accuracy. Raw power courses through the chamber as she channels the magic to stabilize herself. Impressive. Most humans would have been thrown back by now.

But I'm not done testing her limits. Not by far.

Her next move leaves me breathless. The little bird twists through a complex lattice of magical energy, her body arcing between three pulsing barriers that would have incinerated a lesser candidate. Magic ripples around her in waves of azure and gold, responding to her innate power in ways I've never seen from a human before.

Pride swells in my chest, foreign and unwelcome. My fingers tighten on the ornate railing of the observation platform, its cold metal grounding me against these... feelings. What am I doing? This human is nothing but a means to an end, another stepping stone toward breaking my family's curse.

And yet, I want to see her do well.

"Thread the needle," I command, my voice rougher than intended. "Feel for the obstacles."

She moves like liquid shadow, navigating the deadly maze with a grace that speaks of something beyond mere training. The air grows thick with magical residue, making it harder to breathe.

Or perhaps that's just the effect she has on me.

Ridiculous.

I force my thoughts back to the mission, to generations of my noble bloodline wasting away under this curse. I cannot afford distractions, no matter how captivating they might be.

This time when she finishes, I take the blindfold off of her. "You didn't quite impress me," I lie, desperate to maintain distance. "I want to see you do it again."

I send her back to the platform where all the traps and barriers now move, all follow and track her. Let's see how well she does when the magic is focused on her.

Unsurprisingly, she executes a perfect pivot between two void traps, her magic harmonizing with the ancient wards in a display that sends shivers down my spine. Raw power dances across her skin like starlight, and for a moment - just a moment - I forget about curses and artifacts and family obligations.

"Enough." I lower my hand, and the magical barriers dissolve into mist.

She turns to me, chest heaving from exertion. Sweat gleams on her skin, and residual magic crackles in the air around her like lightning before a storm. The other candidates whisper among themselves, their voices echoing off the chamber's ancient walls.

"Your performance was..." I pause, searching for words that won't reveal too much. "Acceptable. Your control over void magic shows promise."

I step forward, extending my hand toward her shoulder - almost without thought. I want to touch her, to praise her, and I don't even know why.

The moment my fingers near her skin, she jerks backward. Those green eyes wide with terror, like a wounded animal facing down a predator. Her chest heaves as she shifts into a defensive position and it all happens so fast that I'm shocked.

The rejection hits harder than any physical blow. My hand falls to my side, fingers curling into a fist.

But now it all makes sense. Why she stepped away from every xaphan who came too close to her. How she didn't want me to touch her when we were flying - even when I caught her she was out of my arms right after.

My eyes drift to the scar on her neck. I knew instantly it was from magic, and now I must assume it was from a xaphan. The curse pulses against my chest, as if laughing at my moment of weakness.

"Kyrie-"

She shakes her head. "Just don't…" She heaves another breath but straightens. "Don't touch me."

I swallow hard, nodding. "Got it. No touching."

It shouldn't hurt me that she says that like I'm her enemy, like she can't trust me. Because she can't. And I need to remember that.

I find myself hovering around the arena now instead of going home. Even though Kyrie has left to shower and rest, I'm still walking the tunnels.

The moons cast shadows through towering windows, their light catching on the crystalline formations that grow from the ceiling. My wings ache from holding them rigid all day - a reminder of my weakening bloodline.

Voices drift from the council chamber ahead. Not the usual political discourse, but something more furtive. I press against a column, its cool surface grounding me as I listen.

"Theron has found a map," one of the trainers says. "But the trials don't match up. I wonder if the Praexa have planted it."

Another scoffs. "Why would they?"

"Why would they put them in the trials at all?" A third chimes in. "Because they are bored and want to watch the houses fight."

I pull back as they argue, thinking over what they said. Does Theron really have the wrong map? The thought fills me with hope, and I turn, rushing home now that I have this information.

Ancient wards shimmer as I pass through the estate's gates, recognizing my bloodline despite its tainted state. Golden fountains line the path to the main house, their waters tinged with magical essence that once glowed bright as starlight. Now they flow dim, another sign of our family's decay.

The moment I push open my study door, the scent of medicinal herbs hits me - sharp and bitter. Gavreel stands by the hearth, his light gray wings drooping. Shadows dance across his face from the magical flames that never need tending. His presence here, uninvited and at this hour, can only mean one thing.

"How bad?" The words scrape past my throat.

Gavreel flips a blade in his hand - a habit he's had since we were children. "The healers tried a new enchantment today. Your father's wings..." He swallows hard. "The primary feathers began falling out during the attempt."

Ice spreads through my veins. Wing decay is the final stage before death claims its victim. I've seen it before, in the portraits of ancestors who succumbed to our curse. Their once-magnificent wings reduced to skeletal remnants, magic leaching from every quill until nothing remained but dust.

"The council believes we have weeks, at most." Vale's voice cracks. "The void crystals in his chambers - they're supposed to slow the progression, but they're failing. Even the ancient healing runes aren't responding anymore."

"I'll find the stones." My voice carries the weight of centuries of noble blood, even as that same blood runs corrupted through my veins. "I…think I have found a way to have the trials searched for them."

Vale's wings rustle with uncertainty. "The Praexa will want to make a spectacle of you. They won't want you to be able to plan to extract them easily."

I wave away his concern, moving to the arched window that spans floor to ceiling. New Solas spreads before me like a tapestry woven from starlight and dreams.

"The stones will be mine," I say, but the words taste hollow. In the distance, the arena rises at the center, almost like it's beckoning back. And yet… I can only think of one reason I want to return. And she has auburn hair and green eyes.

My reflection stares back at me from the window - proud wings already showing hints of gray at the edges despite me trying to ignore it, ice-blue eyes haunted by generations of failure. The curse thrums in time with my heartbeat, a mocking reminder of everything at stake.

A flock of messenger birds sweeps past, their wings trailing streams of spelled light as they carry communications between the noble houses. Their effortless flight makes my own wings ache with envy. How long before they too begin to decay?

How much longer do we have?