Private Tales The Fall

[Feyre]

Feyre stared at him, sat there on her father's horse, her father whom he'd seen murdered less than an hour ago, now offering to escort her safely to her uncle's estate. Her gaze narrowed as she wondered how he knew of the man in the first place, whether he planned on taking her there at all and why, after everything he'd done, he'd leave her to grieve peacefully with her last living relatives. He'd murder them too, in front of her like he did Sorcha. If he planned on leaving her alive at all, it would be to suffer. He'd already denied her the mercy of death.

She looked back toward the flickering glow of her burning home, realising what little choices she had, and one last single tear fell from her lashes and ran to drip from the tip of her chin and sting at the open wound on her chest.

"I won't..." she whispered, that much was true. She barely knew the way, but he'd already proven himself far more capable of protecting her than she was herself. How she wished he'd let them take her to the fire, she'd be done with this now at least.

A mage. She needed to find another mage...And as much as the thought made her so repulsively ill to think, she needed him right now. Thunder cracked above, as though the heavens themselves were trying to speak out in warning and she cast her gaze toward the black and orange clouds as the rain started to fall. She blinked heavily, her vision distorting those heinous yellow eyes as she looked back at him and finally nodded, sealing her part in this game with the devil.

 

[Raziel]

Raziel had to wear a carefully crafted mask to hide his amusement. He had not even been the one to kill her father. He had killed the guards and brought the angry mob. It was important that they carried out the deed themselves.

All that impotent rage behind her eyes. The loathing that would inevitable turn upon herself before they reached their goal. Delicious. There would be more sport to be had on the way, he was certain.

There was nothing mundane about his desires. The lesser craftsmen who called themselves torturers worked with such simple tools of iron. He would not even say that he worked with magic, instead of iron, even though he did. Raziel worked with the mind. If the body broke before the mind then the game was done. Breaking people did not mean applying bodily harm.

She was broken. Some of the pieces would need smelting back together to make the game worthy of his time.

"Very well, I promise to deliver you to him."

Raziel brought his little finger to his needle-like teeth and bit down. A single drop of blood welled on the pad of his finger.

"A promise in blood is deadly to break," he said. She would feel the weight of the spell in her bones as the blood sublimated into the magical ether.

Normally there was a two-way pact. Not this time. If she tried to kill him on the way it would be a great source of amusement.

The devil grinned.

"We ride to safety as fast as you can manage and then we tend to your wounds."

 

[Feyre]

She watched wordlessly as he made his garish pact with her, unable to suppress the militia of chills that marched down her spine. As though the skies saw the earth's need for it, the rain fell in thick sheets, fanned by the growing winds. It was the sort of downpour that had people soaked through in seconds, that was so loud as it beat against the land that voices had to be raised over it. A pertinent addition indeed to the horror story that had life had suddenly become.

Feyre had little energy, but they had to leave, and so she would muster what she could to kick at Epione's sides and hold fast as she drove her into a gallop toward the city gates. The wind-whipped rain felt like a thousand needles against her skin and bleared her surroundings. Epione's hooves beat thunderously into the road and she leapt over strewn bodies and debris. Fey could make out the hazy glows of sconces and the muffled jeers of the mob as they raided whatever was left. She continued on, her gaze on the path ahead and narrowed against the rain.

Epione raced through the city gates and onto the dark, tree-ribbed road ahead, and Fey showed no signs of slowing. The contrary, as she heard not the single beat of hooves of her father's friesian behind her, but several more followed suit. She kicked again and urged the mare on in desperate plea. Epione was not a horse bred for speed, and Fey knew it was only a matter of time before she'd be caught up to.

 

[Raziel]

Raziel looked over his shoulder. They did not have simple peasants at their back. Even in bright sunlight their worn armour would not have gleamed, but it marked them all the same as soldiers. Soldiers who must have turned on their Lords and masters in the night.

He was exhausted. Exerting control through the blood whilst casting illusions was draining. The horse beneath him was of exceptional quality, not matched by his riding ability. After making their pact, it occurred to him that the girl might make it out of here without him.

"Head for the bridge and do not slow down!" he called out to Feyre. There was a small river that ran across their path. The bridge was deliberately narrow so that the town's militia could march out to meet any attackers there. It was just about large enough for barges to head upstream to the nearest iron mines.

If they could have clear daylight between them and the riders behind them then one last trick might work.

 

[Feyre]

Fey glanced behind her as she heard the tiefling's call, he wasn't far behind, but their assailants were not far behind him either. She coaxed Epione on, and called back to Kaval, urging the friesian to follow.

She continued on toward the bridge, feeling the mare tense but she snapped the reins against her before she could decide to slow. They crossed the river when Fey heard the soldiers call for her to stop, voices she recognised, men who'd protected her and her family for years. They weren't a wild mob, they were soldiers, and surely chasing her to rid her of the tiefling on her tail..

"Feyre, My Lady! Wait!"

She frowned and turned to look over her shoulder, pulling back on the reins to slow Epione enough to get a clear view of them.. And the crossbows they had aimed at her.

 

[Raziel]

The crossbows changed everything. Raziel turned his horse about to face the soldiers. This was exactly where he wanted to be. His plan had been simple. An illusion of the bridge collapsing to buy them time to escape.

There were several hundred meters between them and the nearest cover. The crossbows would be slow to load, but they would get two shots each.

Raziel liked rolling the dice but only when the stakes were low or he could cheat the game. Dice weighted in his favour.

He made a snap decision.

The sound of a crossbow firing rang out. The bolt struck Feyre square in the gut. Both guards looked to one another accusingly. No one had agreed to shoot yet. Both appeared to have unloaded their crossbows.

That was the illusion. Feyre was unharmed. The extent of Raziel's remaining strength. He charged across the bridge towards them, hoping they didn't have the sense to shake off the illusion and shoot either of them.

And if they did shoot, he hoped they would at least aim for the girl.

 

[Feyre]

As Raziel stopped and turned, so too did Feyre, her hand rising to shield her face and narrow her gaze on the soldiers across the bridge as the rain continued to teem down mercilessly. Even through the haze of it and static noise, she saw the bolt and heard it loose. She drew in a sharp gasp, her body jolting as it braced itself for an impact that never came, but she looked down and ran her hand across her stomach to be sure before letting the breath out.

Illusion.. Another trick. Another reason to fear him for how would she know what was real and what was not? The entire night may have been some elaborate hoax...though she doubted as such.

She watched as the tiefling charged at the pair, and both arrows fired simultaneously, one of which only narrowly missing her. Epione reared unexpectedly, and Fey fell with a splash onto the dimpled road as she was thrown and she looked up from the mud with a grimace as the mare bolted.

"Shit." she groaned, and dragged her attention back to the charging demon.

 

[Raziel]

They both launched bolts across the river. Raziel didn't even look over his shoulder. Their paths were fixed now. There was nothing he could do to change events. If Feyre died then he lost his bargaining chip with her second cousin, once removed. Plans changed.

Raziel rode on, loosening his grip on the straps, standing in the stirrups. He didn't draw a weapon. One of them men had dropped his crossbow and was drawing a sword. The other was trying to reload. Raziel went for him.

He rode to the man's left and leapt from his horse. Raziel never drew a blade, never tried to lash out. As he passed the guard his tail snapped out behind him, wrapping itself around the guard's neck. It hurt to have his tail snap taut like that, but Raziel almost immediately released his grip as he landed.

Raziel turned sharply. The guard hadn't been fully dismounted, but was hanging off the back of his horse, held upside down. Raziel grasped the scruff of his hair with his right hand. The blade quietly whispered as it kissed the air. The sound of it opening the man's neck was far less pleasant. He slapped the horses rump and it raced away. The guard was slowly bled dry like slaughtered livestock.

The tiefling turned slowly as the second guard brought his horse around. He held his basic sword high overhead.

"Run away," Raziel hissed. It worked. The guard looked down at him and rode away without a second thought.

Raziel was relieved. As dangerous as he was, on foot he stood little chance against a man on horseback with a sword.

 

[Feyre]

Fey got herself to her feet and stumbled under the cover of one of the ancient oaks that lined the road into her burning city. Her muddy hands splayed out on it’s rough skin and she held onto it as she watched the scene unfold.

Golden eyes narrowed and she grimaced as she saw the waterfall of crimson pour from the first soldier. How adept the tiefling was at opening throats, she thought with her jaw clenched as she thought of Sorcha, her guard and friend that she’d left lying in the rain. She vomited instantly as the thought churned in her stomach and pulled her into a pit of guilt, that she was now willingly travelling with the devil who’d murdered her friend and orchestrated her entire life’s destruction.

But, as he had proved and was proving still. She wouldn’t make it to safety without him, and she had until then to come up with some sort of plan. She’d have to wear a brave face, grit her teeth and get on with it, push the images and burning rage aside and bite down her scorn if she could. She’d have to play the game, if she had any chance at all of winning.

Her wrist dragged across her lips and she leaned her brow against the tree’s craggy surface, reaffirming herself, trying to find her strength of will. She was shaking now, whether it was shock, fear, cold, she wasn’t sure but at this rate she’d have been surprised to last the days it would take to walk to another town.

“Bring the horse!” she called without looking up, savouring the few moments under shelter from the heartless rain as she caught her breath.

 

[Raziel]

It took longer than he would have liked to fetch her father's horse back. They were pushed for time and the haughty tiefling was left chasing after the friesian through a wet field. The blood was washed from his heavy leather cloak, but the rain was merciless on every patch of exposed skin.

He walked the horse back across the bridge, muttering complaints and keeping his hands tight around the reins. For a moment, he thought she might just have laid down to die.

"Which way did your horse go?" he asked tersely. "We need to make some distance under darkness."

His piercing, yellow gaze dropped to the blood stains that were her own. Raziel was no vampire, but his fascination with bloods was almost without limits. What he was immediately aware of, was that she might have lost too much.

 

[Feyre]

Feyre had slid sluggishly into the tangle of roots at the base of the tree, unable to summon the energy to stand any longer. Her eyes snapped open as the tiefling finally spoke to her and her body jolted in fright, her pale face turning to him and her eyes blinking heavily under her furrowed brow. "She bolted down the road.." she groaned and dug her fingers into the tree's bark to pull herself to her feet.

She was, for the first time in her life, a mess. Her body shook with pain, with cold and exhaustion and she was saturated with rain, mud and blood that hadn't all been her own. She pushed away the stray locks of fiery hair that stuck to her ashen skin and she staggered toward him. She didn't have to be a genius to know that her chances of surviving the journey were getting slimmer by the minute. Dirty wounds were never a good thing.

Her fingers curled into Kaval's mane and she held onto him for some sort of stability. "How far?..." she asked in a desperate groan.

 

[Raziel]

Raziel turned his gaze to the road ahead. They needed to find somewhere deeper into the woods where the road was hard and dry and didn't leave prints. Then they needed to forge a path into the woods to be well away from sight.

The town was going to be tearing itself apart for the next few days. Without the Magister, he doubted there would be any concerted effort to find them. However, they needed to be well out of view.

"Maybe an hour. Hopefully we will find your horse on the way."

There was little of the cruel humour to be found on his face now. He was looking at the situation with a cold logic. That train of thought decided she was worth keeping in one piece for now.

Raziel slid from the horse. He looked back towards the bridge. The haze of rain swept across his view, but there was no one coming yet.

"Show me the wound."

Raziel drew his knife. He pulled up his sleeve and drew it slowly across the back of his forearm.

 

[Feyre]

Ah hour... She could manage that, or at least she hoped she could. She gave a brief nod, her gaze narrowed against the rain, and she'd been about to ask for help up when he asked to see her wound. Golden eyes fell dubiously on his blade as it sliced along the skin on his arm. She had already seen what he could do with his magic, the way in which he controlled her was a sensation that made her squirm, and she felt her skin flush with a cold sweat despite the lashing rain that soaked her through.

She looked at him hesitantly, she could find absolutely no form of trust for the devil, she couldn't help but suspect ulterior motives, and if he intended on using his blood to aid her in some way, she wondered what it might do to her. Fey chewed on her lip, and a brief spell of dizziness caused her knuckles to pale as she gripped a tighter hold on Kaval's mane, causing the horse to nicker irritably. Whatever he did to her, it had to be better than the slow descent her life was currently falling into, and she let out a sigh as she turned to face him.

Feyre peeled the blood-soaked and mud-spattered shirt apart to give him a better view, the deep wound scored in a ragged, diagonal slope from above her left breast to where her cleavage disappeared inside her corset, rivulets of rain slowly washing away the soil, but the blood still flowed fresh and bright. She clenched her jaw and stared at him expectantly, a rigid sort of tension biting at her muscles that only worsened her shaking.

 

[Raziel]

"Deep enough," he muttered. In these conditions the chance of infection was high. Not deep enough to kill quickly. Enough to kill slowly. The last thing he needed was a feverish girl babbling by the fire.

There was no kindness in what came next. It was no a comforting magic either. Magic in the blood burned. The red line evaporated from his arm. The blood of the guard hissed as it turned to smoke and dissipated in the rain. Death had a power all of its own.

Raziel grimaced as the pain seared up his arm to the shoulder. It would start in her heart, then flash across her skin and settle around the wound. Blood bubbled up from her wound, but spread across her skin in an unnatural fashion.

The crimson settled, sank back into her very flesh. Where the wound had been ragged and open it became a neat line. The scar tissue was an angry pink, but as the rain washed it clean only a few droplets of blood rolled down her chest.

"Now you won't die," he hissed, trying not to let her see how tired he was. "Up."

 

[Feyre]

Her nervous expression was a sudden contortion of pain and a shuddered moan ripped its way out of her throat as she clutched hold of her chest. It felt like her heart had ignited behind her ribs, sending molten blood rushing through her body, wracking her in agony. Her legs buckled and she dropped to her knee, her teary eyes opening to look down at the searing wound and widening at the sight of the bubbling blood, the way it moved over her skin.

She felt her saliva thicken at the back of her throat as once again, nausea threatened to empty her stomach, but she clenched her jaw and squeezed her eyes closed, breathing short, sharp breaths through her nose each laced with a whine and whimper in pain.

The lack of warning had made it difficult to be grateful, difficult not to scowl at him as she shakily pulled herself back to her feet only to sway unsteadily, blinking the black spots from her vision. Up, he said, as though it were simple enough.

Fey reached a tremulous hand to the reins and took a single step forward before the stormy world fell away, her eyes rolled, and her body fell limp toward him.

 

[Raziel]

"Shit," went Raziel.

The horse barely moved as she collapsed against it, but he had to take a fistful of fabric behind her shoulder to keep her from collapsing into a heal below the horse.

Raziel was exhausted. He barely stayed upright on the horse as she hung from his grip. With some effort, he managed to maneuver himself down to the ground.

With little regard for her personal space. He grabbed, yanked and heaved until she was thrown over the horse in front of the saddle.

This was becoming more effort than it might be worth. If he had an axe to hand and a decent bag...



He found her horse a short distance down the road. He very nearly missed it, but she wickered at the familiar stablemate. At least tomorrow Feyre could hopefully ride herself.

Without seeing a soul, he found a good place to turn off the road. The horse walked slowly through the trees, Feyre's head and arms dangling off the left side.

"I don't suppose you're considering waking up so I don't have to drag you back down?" he asked. His tail snaked around her head, gently lifting it a fraction. He flicked her cheek.

 

[Feyre]

There was nothing. No pain, no worry, no memory of what had happened or discomfort from being so unceremoniously strewn across the friesian’s back. Her mind was only blackness, entirely shut down and giving her body some much needed rest.

The sonorous tone of his voice stirred her consciousness and she made a throaty sound in disorientation, her brow furrowing as she tried and failed to open her eyes or move at all. The tail, though. The prehensile limb that snaked around her head made her blood chill and freeze her muscles into rigid tension. It took her a moment to realise that was what had been touching her and she jolted and lifted a hand to bat at it with a repulsed groan.

“Keep that thing away from me..” she snapped and carefully pushed herself back to let her feet drop the short distance to find the ground. She was still coming around, still struggling to keep her eyes open and fighting a pounding headache. Her body sought to remind her of her aches and hunger, and of her grim reality all at once and she had to hold on to the horse again until the grogginess subsided.

After a few heavy blinks she cast a glance up at him, her brow knit as she turned to look around. She had no idea where she was, and fear gripped her. She would never return home again...

Epione whinnied and Fey’s head snapped around, her heart leaping in her chest as she rushed to greet her, hands stroking attentively at her cheeks and an affectionate kiss pressed to her nose.

“Thank you.” She whispered under her breath. She didn’t have much to be thankful for, particularly not to the tiefling, she had everything to hate him for. But in that moment, she’d needed something to stop her breaking down, and now Epione was all she had. Even her clothes were not her own. And so she was so grateful to him for finding her that she cried silently.

 

[Raziel]

"That thing..." he muttered under his breath.

Raziel wasn't always caught by such simple barbs, but he was not silent in suffering his pride. His tail gave a particularly irritated flick as he got down from his horse. It was his now, her father had no need of any possessions.

Despite the thanks he felt no empathy for the girl. She was bloodied and broken all the way through. For all her spirit she was almost helpless. Not even any entertainment to be had. Just a token on the board for those that played the game.

He felt little for those swept up in his schemes. He often thought of life as a river following a meandering valley. Most were content to simply paddle hard enough to keep their heads above water. They lacked the conviction to climb the valley, to see all the possibilities if one could forge their own path.

They paddled at the waterfall, at their doom, blindly.

"It is just a tail," he finally snapped, unable to hold his tongue. "The horses must be tied. Even if we could find dry wood we cannot have a fire."

 

[Feyre]

She knew she'd annoyed him, dented his pride a little with her disgust, and it gave her some modicum of pleasure to have done so. How feeble she was, her tongue could do no real damage, her body even less, but to hurt his feelings was some tiny victory even if it was nothing in comparison to the pain he'd caused her. A grain of sand at the foot of a mountain.

"It's beastly." she muttered back at him.

No fire.. Her brow knit and she had to stop herself groaning like a petulant child. She had been soaked to the bone, and though it had stopped raining, the frigid air cut through her damp clothes and bit at her skin. She could barely feel her fingers or toes as it was, and all she had were more damp blankets to wrap around her to keep her cold.

She didn't complain, she only sneered and turned to lead Epione slowly and steadily to a nearby twisted oak with a low hanging bough to tie her reins.

 

[Raziel]

Taking the torn shreds of a torn up painting and throwing it on the fire would bring Raziel no joy. It was the same with the girl. If a work of art had already been broken, then crushing the last pieces to dust were not worth his time.

If she could manage at least a little verbal sparring then there was some fight left. If he could build her back up, put the pieces back together, then there was still some fun to be had.

All the other marionettes of this world were for his amusement. He had met just a handful of other puppeteers. Money and riches were fine. Providing that which he enjoyed for no more effort than reaching for his purse was little sport.

He would rather die a brutal, brief death and leave no one behind than expire as an invalid in his bed. His glory days would run until he took his last breath.

"Wicked, but not beastly. I do not know how you balance or live with just two hands. Take my coat, at least you might survive the night."

 

[Feyre]

"No. It's beastly." she bit back as she wrapped the leather around the branch with a glance toward him. "Tails are for animals and demons. The beasts." she sneered. "One more thing that separates you with the more civilised beings of society." she grumbled as she glanced at him and ran her fingers through Epione's mane.

She resisted a laugh at his offer of his jacket.. "How chivalrous. I'd rather freeze to death." she spat and pulled a damp blanket from the horse's back and threw it around her.

Feyre stepped into the tangled root at the base of the tree and lowered herself into them like an aspwerous cradle. An uncomfortable night's sleep was the least of her worries.

 

[Raziel]

Raziel had to hold back his wicked tongue. Tired as he was, he was tempted to issue a sharp retort. Instead he amused himself with picturing the moment she was presented to her second cousin, once removed. The ally of her father, her salvation. The moment when she realised it was her doom.

Might not even be that bad a life. Could be married off to one of his sons to seal his claim on the region. No worse than any life she might have expected.

"Sleep well," he hissed.

Civilised. There was so much he could say on the matter. Of the men and women who dressed so dainty and were civilised because the blood they spilled never touched their hands. The Magister, a man her father had put in charge of law and order, was more a fiend than Raziel would ever be.

Exhaustion claimed him quickly. Raziel slept lightly. With the kind of people he worked with he could not afford otherwise.

On those rare occasions his mind sank into a deep sleep he was a haunted man. Blood magic took its toll. It was control and knowledge, but also a piece of the life forces he controlled or took crossed the threshold. When he was not cautious, the souls of those who had wronged could haunt his dreams.

 

[Feyre]

Feyre’s jaw clenched as he told her to sleep well. It’d been the worst night of her life, and she was unlikely to have a night like it again. How much worse could it get? Now she was cold, damp and dirty, and the scraggy roots prodded and scratched at her. Still, she was exhausted, and soon the cold dragged her to a dreamless sleep.

It was still dark when she woke to the sound of whispering evergreen and her heart pitched as for one short moment, she’d forgotten everything that had befallen her and wondered how she’d gotten here. She remembered quickly, but her heart didn’t slow, it seemed to revel in the panic and her breaths tightened. Her eyes widened and she cast her eyes over the sleeping devil, her hand clutching to her chest as it ached. She was dying, she had to be, and like fuck she was about to die without taking another stab at the creature who’d ruined her life.

She tried to move as slowly and as quietly as she could despite her desperation, and like an animal she crawled on her hands and knees to where he slept. A tremulous hand reached toward one of his knives, Arethil’s moons spotlighting her as she’d attempt to slip one free and run it across his throat without a moment’s hesitation.

 

[Raziel]

A hot line of blood was drawn from one side of his neck before the blade came to a jarring stop. Raziel wasn't a heavily built creature, but the grip he had around her wrist was like a vice.

The tiefling had moved so quickly that his hand had gone from at his side to around her wrist in the blink of an eye.

Raziel opened his eyes. Golden orbs slowly turned towards her. The slightest twicth of his lips betrayed the sharp pain he felt. Two beads of scarlet blood ran down his neck.

She would feel a gentle caress between her shoulder blades. The tip of his tail trailed gently over her shoulder. Like a cord of thick rope it snapped around her neck and pulled itself tight.

"That was bad idea," Raziel said. Each work was carefully enunciated. Malice tumbled off every word, hanging in the air between them. The light trembled on the blade, the sliver of steel caught between them. The tipping point of balance. Life and death. All that was worse that could come between.

 

[Feyre]

The second his fingers snapped around her wrist, her gaze widened and she drew in a sharp gasp. The conscious, logical part of her mind seemed to wake in realisation of what she had actually been about to do, the tight constriction in her chest eased and let the air flood into her lungs and her heart rattled so hard against her ribs she could feel it flush her entire body with adrenaline.

Fey paled, a shuddered breath escaping without words and the golden hues darkened as they watched the blood trickle from the incomplete wound, and then fell on the blade clutched tremulously in her hand..

"I.." she didn't know what she'd been about to say, but whatever it was was held in her throat along with her breath as she felt his tail wrap itself around her throat. Her lips parted in effort to drag in another lungful of icy air but she failed, and so too did her fingers of her free hand as they tried to pry the ghastly thing from her throat.

No. She wasn't going out like this. He'd taken everything whilst all she'd drawn from him was a trickle of blood. Her life was slowly ebbing, her muscles grew weak and she felt every heavy beat of her heart as it tried to keep her alive, the sound like thunder in her ears. Fey rode another wave of adrenaline, and her free hand gave up trying to loosen her living noose and it reached to take the dagger from the hand still ensnared in his and she lifted it to slam it down. There was no aim, other than to save her own life, for whatever it was worth.