Page 15 of Court of Twisted Angels (Cruel Beautiful Angels of Aerasak #1)

15

KYRIE

M y muscles scream in protest as I shift on the thin straw mattress, the coarse fabric of my blanket scratching against fresh bruises and cuts. The wooden bed frame creaks beneath me, a familiar sound in this tiny room I call home. Moonlight filters through the warped glass of my window, casting strange shadows on the rough stone walls.

I close my eyes, but the horrors from the second trial flash across my mind - those twisted illusions of Mother, pale and lifeless, reaching for me with accusatory fingers. The magic-induced visions knew exactly where to strike, playing on my deepest fears of failing her, of watching her waste away while I chase this impossible dream.

A wave of nausea hits as I remember the sensation of running through that shape-shifting forest, the ground constantly moving beneath my feet, trees bending and warping into grotesque shapes. The magic had seeped into my bones, making reality blur until I couldn't trust my own senses. Even now, hours later, sparks of residual magic crawl across my skin like insects.

"You can't give up," I whisper to myself, pressing my palm against the scar on my neck. The raised tissue serves as a reminder of what the xaphan are capable of, of why I need to prove them wrong. But doubt gnaws at my resolve as I think that it will only get harder from here.

Two more trials. Just two more.

The sound of bells tolling in the distance makes me flinch. New Solas, that shining city in the sky, celebrating another day while we suffer. Their crystal spires catch the last rays of sunset, mocking us with their beauty. The same beauty they promise through these trials, through the wings they dangle before us like bait before a trap.

A sharp knock at my door breaks through my dark thoughts. Before I can respond, it swings open with a creak. The morning light catches on his white wings as Azrael fills the doorframe, his presence making my small room feel even more cramped.

"You look terrible, little bird." His ice-blue eyes scan my injuries with clinical detachment.

"Didn't realize this was a beauty contest." I struggle to sit up straighter, refusing to show weakness. "Did you come to drag me to training?" I shift again, suppressing a wince. "I hate to say I don't think I can make it there."

He steps inside, closing the door behind him. His wings fold tight against his back, but still brush the ceiling. "I came to ensure our most promising candidate hasn't completely fallen apart."

Something in his tone - a hint of genuine concern beneath the usual cold facade - makes my carefully constructed walls crack.

"I saw her dying." The words spill out before I can stop them. "In the forest. Over and over. My mother - the magic knew exactly how to break me." My fingers clutch the empty medicine vial. "She's getting worse. The healers in the human quarters can't help anymore, and the only medicine that works..." I gesture bitterly toward the glittering spires of New Solas visible through my window.

Azrael remains silent, but moves closer. The air grows thick with his presence, that strange mix of power and grace all xaphan possess.

"I didn't enter the trials for wings or glory." I force myself to meet his gaze. "I entered because the reward could buy enough medicine to save her. Because becoming one of you means access to the healing houses in the upper city." My voice cracks. "But after today, seeing those visions... I'm not sure I'm strong enough."

"The second trial is designed to break you," he says, his voice unusually soft. "To use your deepest fears against you."

"It worked." I laugh, the sound hollow. "I saw so many die already. Every year so many die thinking that this is their one chance. And here I am, thinking I can somehow be different."

I bite my lip, realizing how much I've revealed. The usual sharp-edged defenses I maintain around the xaphan have crumbled like ancient stone.

Yet, like always, it's different being in Azrael's presence. Something about him is comforting, and I find myself wanting him all over again, even if I shouldn't.

He crosses the room, each step deliberate. My brain screams not to trust him, but the usual instinctive fear doesn't come. Instead, I remain still as he reaches for my hand.

His fingers brush mine, sending tingles of residual magic dancing where our skin meets. His touch is cooler than a human's, like mountain spring water on a hot day. The contrast makes my own magic spark and swirl beneath my skin, responding to his presence.

"Your fears give you strength, little bird." His thumb traces circles on my palm, the gesture oddly soothing. "They drive you forward when others would retreat."

The sunlight flickers across his features, softening the usual sharp angles of his face. This close, I can see flecks of silver in his ice-blue eyes, like stars scattered across a frozen lake. His wings shift slightly, creating shadows that dance across my walls. And I don't flinch from the sight. His, I actually watch, almost wanting to reach out and touch them.

"I've watched countless humans attempt these trials," he continues, his voice low and rich like honey over gravel. "None have shown your resilience."

I study his face, searching for signs of the cruelty I've come to expect from his kind. But it's not there. His eyes, though still that striking ice-blue, hold a warmth I've never noticed before.

"Why are you here?" My voice comes out barely above a whisper. "Really?"

His wings shift, moving like a wall of warmth behind me. One brushes against my arm - soft as silk, yet strong as steel. The touch sends a rush through me, not of disgust or fear but…It's nice. Pleasant. It draws me in even further.

"Perhaps..." He pauses, his thumb still tracing patterns on my palm that leave trails of silvery light. "Perhaps the xaphan are not as infallible as you think. We all have wants, families, just like you."

The admission hangs in the air between us, weighted with implications I dare not fully consider. My scar tingles, a reminder of past violence, but I don't let that pull me away.

For just this moment, I let myself believe. Let myself see him not as one of them, but as something else entirely. Someone who might understand why I fight so hard, why I keep pushing forward despite the odds stacked against me.

But then I remember that he isn't like me. He doesn't have the odds stacked against him. He is free to dream and not be mocked for it.

Shifting, I pull my hand away from his, and he lets it go. His face stays perfectly neutral, and I'm still not sure how to read Azrael.

What am I doing? Mother lies in her bed across town, each breath a battle, while I sit here letting myself be enchanted by one of them. By the very beings who deny her the medicine that could save her.

My throat burns as memories flood back - not the magic-induced visions from the trial, but real ones. Mother's hands, once strong enough to work the gardens, now skeletal and trembling as she tries to lift a cup of tea. Her voice, growing weaker with each passing day. The hollow look in my siblings' eyes as they watch her fade.

"Azrael... I-" The words scratch my throat. I push myself off the bed, ignoring how my muscles scream in protest.

Azrael remains perfectly still, his wings casting long shadows in the moonlight. Their pristine white feathers mock me with their perfection, with everything they represent. Everything that's kept beyond our reach.

The words die in my throat as another wave of guilt crashes over me. Not just for Mother, but for the warmth spreading through my chest whenever he's near. For the way I'm starting to warm to him. For wanting something I have no right to want no matter how I want to deny it.

I turn to look out the window. My fingernails dig into the weathered wood of the windowsill. Behind me, I feel his presence like a physical weight, making it hard to breathe for entirely different reasons than the brutal training.

"I need to rest." The words come out hoarse, barely audible. "The trials were more taxing than I realized."

For a moment, the air is still. He doesn't move, doesn't speak, and I wonder if he'll refuse to leave. if I want him to. Maybe I need him to push me to face what we both really want because I'm too much of a coward to do so on my own.

But he doesn't.

"Of course." His voice carries no judgment, yet something in its softness cuts deeper than any harsh word could. The rustle of his wings fills the silence as he moves toward the door.

His steps land softly against the stone floor. Each sound marks another increment of distance growing between us, not just in feet and inches, but in all the ways that matter. In all the ways I can't allow myself to bridge.

The door hinges protest as he pulls it open. Cool air rushes in, carrying the distant sounds of others who are up and going about their day. How lucky they are not to feel as turmoiled as I do right now.

I don't turn around, but I feel the moment he pauses in the doorway. His magic pulses once, like a goodbye, before he steps through. The door closes with a soft click that echoes in my chest like thunder.

Only then do I let myself move, sinking back onto my bed. I curl up, feeling a cold settle into my bones that has nothing to do with the temperature…

And everything to do with the absence of a xaphan that I can't seem to stop myself from wanting.