Page 26 of Court of Twisted Angels (Cruel Beautiful Angels of Aerasak #1)

26

KYRIE

T he silk sheets whisper against my skin as I shift in the enormous four-poster bed. Even after the last few days of recovery at Azrael's estate, I still can't get used to this level of luxury.

Crystal chandeliers drip from gilded ceilings like frozen waterfalls, their magical flames dancing without heat or smoke. The walls shimmer with enchanted murals - scenes of angelic battles and celestial gardens that move and change throughout the day.

It'll be a good rest of the month until I get my wings and can return with my mother's medicine.

I drag myself to the window seat, wincing at the lingering pain in my muscles. Below, perfectly manicured gardens stretch toward the horizon. Floating orbs of light drift between towering silver-leafed trees, their branches swaying despite the absence of wind. Fountains spray streams of water that twist into impossible shapes - dragons, phoenixes, unicorns - before dissolving back into rainbow-tinted mist.

"You should be resting, little bird." Azrael's deep voice startles me. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest.

"I've been resting for days." My fingers trace the cool marble windowsill. "Where I come from, we can't afford to lay about all day."

"Where you come from doesn't have healing springs infused with ancient magic." He crosses the room in long strides. "Or servants who spend hours weaving restoration spells into your bedsheets. And still, I say rest."

I glance at the ornate tapestries adorning the walls, their threads gleaming with embedded enchantments. Even the air here feels different - thick with power that makes my skin tingle. Back home, we were lucky to have basic protection wards around our doors.

"Your family must have ruled for generations to accumulate all this." I gesture at the room's grandeur - the imported rugs that never collect dust, the enchanted mirror that adjusts its reflection to show your best angles.

"We did." His jaw tightens. "Once."

A servant glides in, her feet barely touching the ground as she carries a tray of healing potions. The bottles glow with swirling colors - deep purple for pain, bright blue for tissue regeneration, golden for strength restoration. Another reminder of the vast gulf between my world and his.

I force myself to swallow the bitter concoctions, each one probably worth more than my family's entire house. The thought of home sends a familiar ache through my chest, sharper than any physical pain.

"Since you are up and feeling better…" Azrael wraps his arms around me from behind. "Do you want to meet my father?"

I spin around, looking up at him. "Will he be up for it?"

He nods. "He's doing okay today."

I slide a hand up his chest, leaning into him. "Then I would love to."

The walk to Azrael's father's chambers feels endless. Enchanted torches line the hallway, their blue flames casting dancing shadows on the marble floors. With each step, the air grows heavier, thick with the stench of decay that even the strongest cleansing spells can't mask.

"Father." Azrael's voice loses its usual edge as we enter. "I've brought someone to meet you."

Lord Lucian lies on a massive bed draped in black silk. His wings - once magnificent according to the portraits I passed - now hang in tatters, the feathers grayed and brittle. Dark veins spider across his pale skin, pulsing with sickly green light. The curse's manifestation.

"Forgive me for not rising." His words come out as a whisper. "The magic drains more of me each day."

I clutch the doorframe as understanding slams into me. The map Azrael stole from me during the wing trial, the gemstone he took from me - they weren't acts of cruelty. They were of desperation. I thought I'd already come to terms with it but it hit me so acutely now.

"You'd do anything for your family." My voice shakes. "Just like me."

Azrael nods, his shoulders rigid. "But I would never endanger you. I hope you know that, Kyrie. I did what I did for my family - but also because I knew that it wouldn't bring you harm."

Lord Lucian coughs, and the sound echoes with supernatural resonance. The shadows in the room writhe and twist, responding to his pain. A healing priestess hurries forward with glowing potions, but he waves her away.

"My son carries a heavy burden." Lord Lucian's eyes find mine, still sharp despite his deteriorating body. "Our bloodline fades. The curse ensures each generation suffers more than the last."

"I'm sorry," I whisper, though the words feel inadequate. "I didn't understand before."

He shifts, gesturing as best he can to the chair beside his bed. "You couldn't have." He gives me a small smile. "Now, come. Sit. I want to get to know you."

We talk for an hour before he gets too tired to keep going. Once he starts to fall asleep, Azrael helps me from my chair, giving his father one last look as we walk away.

"You know," I say as we start down the hallway. "I would have helped you if I had known the extent of it."

He sighs, looking down at me. "I know I should've gone about it differently. It was more of a desperation thing."

"I get that." I twine my hand with his. "So did the stones work?"

He shrugs. "I haven't been able to perform the ceremony yet."

I stop moving. "But why not?"

"Because I need you to do it." I raise my brows. "My magic is split between us now, so I need us both."

I start tugging at him immediately. "Why didn't you say so sooner?" He pulls me down a corridor I passed because truthfully I have no clue where I'm going. "Let's do it now."

He stops, cupping my face. "You feel well enough?"

"I feel fine."

Azrael's eyes evaluate me as if looking for a lie. Then he nods. "Okay. Then let's go."

Azrael's study smells of ancient parchment and burning sage. Crystalline shelves stretch to the ceiling, filled with artifacts that pulse with otherworldly energy. The gemstones we collected rest on a pedestal of black marble, their surfaces catching the light from enchanted candles that float overhead.

"The alignment must be precise." Azrael traces glowing sigils into the air. They hang suspended, casting eerie shadows across the room. "Each stone represents an element of the curse."

I position the crystals according to the diagrams in the spellbooks spread before us. My hands shake as I place the final stone - the one Azrael took from me during the trials. Its surface ripples like liquid mercury.

"Channel the energy through your conduit." Azrael's fingers brush my palm where the metallic band wraps around it. "Let it flow naturally, like water finding its path."

Power surges through the conduit, making my skin buzz. The sensation reminds me of climbing trees back home - working with something alive and ancient rather than controlling it. The stones begin to hum in harmony, their light pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat.

"Good." Azrael places his hands over mine. His magic floods the circle, raw and potent. The stones lift into the air, spinning faster as their energies intertwine.

My legs buckle from the strain of maintaining the connection. Sweat drips down my back as I fight to keep the power flowing smoothly. One wrong move could shatter the delicate balance we've created.

The stones' light intensifies until it's almost blinding. Ancient words appear in the air around us, written in fire. Azrael reads them aloud, his voice resonating with otherworldly power. Each syllable sends shockwaves through the room, rattling the artifacts on their shelves.

"Don't let go," he commands as the magic reaches a crescendo. The curse manifests as writhing shadows that try to break our circle. "Focus on the flow, little bird. Like you're navigating a storm."

I grit my teeth and push through the exhaustion. The conduit burns against my skin, but I maintain my grip on the energy current. Together, we weave the spell that will begin unraveling generations of darkness.

I trace my fingers along the spines of ancient books in Azrael's library, breathing in the scent of leather and parchment. Magical lights dance between the towering shelves, casting warm pools of gold across the floor. Through the arched windows, I watch zarryn graze in the meadow below, their silvery manes catching the late afternoon sun.

"Lost in thought?" Azrael's arms slip around my waist.

"Just... processing everything." I lean back against his chest. "Weeks ago I was scraping by in the slums, dreaming of wings while watching the xaphan soar overhead. Now here I am."

"Here you are." His lips brush my ear. "One of two humans to survive the trials."

I turn to face him, studying the sharp angles of his face - features that once seemed so cold now warm with affection. "You're different too. That first day, when you I bumped into you-"

"I thought you were just another desperate human." His thumb traces my jawline. "I never imagined you'd change everything."

We settle onto a plush window seat, enchanted cushions adjusting to cradle us perfectly. Outside, the magical gardens shift and transform as evening approaches, flowers closing while luminescent night blooms unfurl their petals.

"Tell me about your childhood," I say, playing with his fingers. "Before the curse."

"I used to race the wind." A rare smile crosses his face. "My wings were strongest in summer storms. Father would take me up above the clouds where lightning danced."

The mention of wings makes my shoulder blades tingle. Soon I'll have my own, earned through blood and determination rather than birthright. But the victory feels hollow without my family to share it.

"We'll get them the medicine they need," Azrael says, reading my expression. "Your mother will recover. Your siblings will never know hunger again."

I nod, throat tight with emotion. In the quiet moments like this, away from the politics and power plays of New Solas, I see the man beneath the cold exterior - the one who risked everything to save his family, who taught me to channel magic through my conduit with infinite patience, who looks at me now like I'm something precious rather than beneath him.

His fingers thread through my hair, and I close my eyes as he draws me closer. The magical flames in the library dim in response to his mood, casting us in soft shadows. Here, in this peaceful moment, I can finally admit to myself how completely I've fallen for him.

And I couldn't be happier now.

All that's left is to get my wings. Tomorrow, I'll have them, and that will fundamentally change me in a way I never wanted. But I'm not afraid like I thought I'd be.

"Are you nervous about the ceremony?"

"No." The lie tastes bitter. My heart hammers against my ribs like a caged bird. I've survived the trials, mastered the conduit's magic, helped break an ancient curse. Yet this final step terrifies me more than all of those combined.

The wing ceremony itself is shrouded in mystery. Even Azrael won't tell me exactly what happens, only that the process involves powerful magic that will forever alter my body and soul. The few texts I've found mention searing pain as bones reshape and muscles form. Some candidates don't survive the transformation.

"You shouldn't be," he whispers. "I'll be right there with you. The whole time."

I grin at him. "That's all I need."