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CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

T he blackouts started so quietly and without fanfare that Azrail didn’t even notice. Maybe he’d lost a few moments before the ship and Kraeva and the vessels. He was sure he’d lost time last night after he’d been with Maia. He fell asleep in the corner with his face pressed to Jaromir’s warm fur and awoke standing against the wall opposite him. What he’d done in between, he couldn’t say, but Jaro had only eyed him with worry, not pain, not fear, so he’d tried to put it in the back of his mind.

This morning alone, he’d jolted in his body twice, like he’d woken up from a deep sleep. But he’d been wide awake, sitting on the cold stone floor. The stone was stained dark now, where the Brightwrath had cut him over and over.

The second time he jolted back into himself, it was to find himself walking through the door back into the cell, the heavy door winging back into place with a resounding bang.

What did I do? He tried to ask Jaro, but his lips wouldn’t move, pressed into a flat, unmoving line. He tried to fight his feet as they lifted, carrying him back to the wall where he stood, arms at his sides, back straight, facing the wall opposite. Like a soldier trained to follow orders. Every bit as unemotional as those golden fae that hurt Maia in Vassalaer.

Thinking of Maia was like a dagger twisting in his soul, serrated edges grating against—

Azrail jolted, his arms swinging into his side as he marched beside Samlyn, the sensation of his hands knocking into his bloodied trousers ripping him out of a deep, sticky well of darkness. Unconsciousness clung to him like tar, trying to drag him back down, to drown him.

“Oh, that’s annoying,” Samlyn sighed, casting a sideways glance at him. He flicked his fingers and the darkness surged, swallowing Az whole.

He didn’t surface again.