Private Tales The Fall

[Feyre]

Once again fear found her. It spoke to her in its cold, cackling voice. It told her legs to go weak, her stomach to lurch and her chest to tighten. Adrenaline flooded her so quickly she had to fight the urge to vomit. A tremble of a sound tumbled from her lips as he gripped her hair, her heart a thrum against his chest and the sensation of his skin slick against hers sickened her further.

Feyre let go of his tail immediately, the fear sat on her like a pillow over her mouth and nose, enough air gets by it, allowing my body to keep functioning, but it crippled all the same, paralysing all thought. The impulse for defiance was quickly doused, and she chose to listen to the fear and consider his threats very real. Everything told her to scream, but she believed him and swallowed the breath that she'd intended to throw out of her lungs for help.

Her olive skin paled to the colour of milk against the shock of crimson that lay on top of her. "Let me go." She wouldn't say please, but her voice quivered and she swallowed nervously.

One more night.

 

[Raziel]

It almost stung more to have her nails pulled from the crescent-shaped cuts they left in his tail. He winced once, exposing more of his teeth. The tip of the tail travelled upwards in clear threat.

He tetered on the edge of control. Raziel could have made such artistry of her flesh, delighted in the song of agony from her cracked and broken voice. She had saved his life, he reminded himself. Regardless of anyone else's actions he had decided on a course of action and would stick to it.

"You will stay until I say otherwise," he hissed. Very slowly, his tail uncoiled and his grip loosened.

 

[Feyre]

Her body was rigid with tension as she felt his tail slither over her skin, her eyes squeezing shut under sloped brows as she clenched her jaw, balled her fists, and endured. A tear struggled free as the bone deep sadness she'd kept at bay for those blissful few minutes alone now came rushing back, like pressure against cracking glass.

Golden eyes opened as she felt his grip loosen, and still she refused to look at him. He was still far too close to her, she could still feel the pulse of his heart against her chest, and he could no doubt feel hers, as though it were hammering against him in it's own feeble attempt at pushing him off of her. Feyre tried to breathe calmly, but each heaving breath was shuddered back out through her nostrils.

 

[Raziel]

He let the tension hang there. He savoured it as he would a fine wine. Not the swill that had been dashed across the floor and thrown in his face. This was sweeter by far.

Raziel didn't even touch her as he slipped back to his side. It was the suggestion of touch through slow, deliberate motion. The way he shamelessly drank in the sight of her.

Back he went, until he was draped across his side. His tail hung over the side, angry red marks where she had gripped it visible.

"What was the furthest you were ever from home, before all this?" he asked.

 

[Feyre]

Feyre tried not to look as nervous as she felt as his eyes devoured her, but it was impossible to be comfortable in this situation. She frowned and glanced behind her to the door, a fleeting moment of consideration flashing behind her eyes, but she'd never make it, and she had little doubt that he'd be true to his word.

Her feet slid slowly in toward her as he sat opposite her again, her arms wrapping around her knees as she tried to provide herself with some modicum of modesty.

"Oban." she answered dryly, offering no elaboration nor a question in return. She wasn't particularly in the mood for conversation.

 

[Raziel]

"Oh I went there once," he said conversationally. Once more the window seemed to hold his attention.

"There for some quite simple thievery with my good friends The Crone and The Harlequin," he continued. Raziel stretched out, supple as a cat, placing his feet either side of her.

"Job was a bust but managed to get in on some seriously bloody revenge instead. Glorious. I imagine your trip was different?"

 

[Feyre]

Feyre followed his gaze toward the window for a brief moment before drawing her eyes over him with revulsion and setting her gaze on the hearth instead, barely listening to his reminiscence, she got the gist.

Her eyes shifted to his face and then rolled as he persisted with forcing her into conversation. She huffed deeply, and obliged for the sake of getting this nightmare over and done with sooner. "I was attending a ball with my mother and father, and attending the city's festival." she answered, both her voice and her face void of expression nor interest in her own words let alone his.

The trip to Oban had been by invite of Royalty, and Feyre had known well of the wealth that resided there, she wasn't stupid. More than one possible suitor had been named, and another trip had been subsequently planned. Of course, that plan was thoroughly cancelled.

 

[Raziel]

"Oh I imagine that left quite the impression," Raziel mused. "They have some quite grand ballrooms. Lots of political intrigue too. That lot will send a rival family to absolute destitution without a second thought."

Raziel twisted his head to look at the fire. The flames were always enticing, but they would always burn. He briefly looked back at Feyre, curled up so defensively.

" There is soap. Clean this wound for me. Gently. "

 

[Feyre]

Feyre's jaw remained clenched tight shut as he spoke in effort to refrain from letting her thoughts tumble free from her lips. There were no questions to answer and so she continued to watch the flames as mused to himself.

She felt him look back at her, and his demands caused her brows to slope, her expression quite obviously affronted by the request. "Clean it your damned self. I am not here to entertain you, nor am I here to wash you." she sneered and returned her focus to the fire with a shake of her head.

 

[Raziel]

His laugh was always disconcerting, even when it was sweet and melodic as it was now. Nothing that amused Raziel could be pleasant.

As far as he was concerned she certainly was here for his entertainment. Raziel drew himself up and leaned over the edge of the tub.

There was a pressed bar lying on a tray beside the tub. It carried no scent at all. He recognised the pressed marking from Alliria. They made two colours, the darker one for clothes that would give you a mild caustic burn if you picked the wrong one.

"Maybe," he said as he washed, "you should look to get away from these country towns to somewhere like Oban."

 

[Feyre]

A chill spider-walked up her spine as that laugh of his seemed to creep over her, menacing and tangible. She glanced at him as he moved, clearly wary of whatever movement she caught in her periphery. The water wasn't pleasant anymore, what had been a blissful respite had become a bitter pool, the water turned thorny and afflictive as it only served to remind her of how exposed and vulnerable she was forced to be in front of him. The fact that he was enjoying it caused that rage to burn through her veins like acid she was so desperate to spit at him.

"Should I.." she replied, unable to hold back the bite in her words. As though she would ever be able to make her own choices or move freely about the world. The world terrified her, as of late, and she had very quickly realised that she did not have the slightest clue of how cruel it was, or how just how ill equipped she was to survive in it. She wasn't like Sorcha. And Gods she missed her.

"Are you almost done? I'd like to retire for the night." she muttered dryly.

 

[Raziel]

"I'll just rinse and leave you to it," he replied. He seemed far too pleased woth that sentiment. The reason became clear a moment later.

Raziel put the soap down and dropped into the water to wash off and soak his hair. It brought him rather closer to Feyre than she would ever have liked.

A final smirk and he stood up out of the water, which receded back to a comfortable level.

"We are paid up for breakfast too," he told her, turning his back to her to towel off. His tail swished from side to side as he tried, never letting its owner hide the moments of mischief he enjoyed in life.

 

[Feyre]

She hadn't realised it was possible to be more tense, but again he proved her wrong. She pressed herself so hard against the edge of the tub that the wood dug into her back and creaked under the pressure. She held her breath, and her eyes closed over as once more she endured and refrained from comment.

Her eyes opened to settle her gaze on the hearth as he stood, refusing to look at him as he stepped out of her bath. She could see that tail in her peripheral vision however, and she felt her stomach churn over.

"Wonderful." she frowned, keeping her knees pressed against her and her arms wrapped tightly around them. He was taking his time, and it was pissing her off, but she refrained from snapping, knowing he'd only draw out her suffering that bit longer if he got a reaction.

 

[Raziel]

He could almost taste the tension sitting in the air between them. As tempted as she was to let a verbal barb fly, he was thinking of pushing the limits a little further.

There was always an edge he had to draw himself way from. The great maw of a chasm that would swallow him whole. In this case, just the predictability of her furious response. In this case, far more amusing to let her stew. Raziel knew that when he met his end, it would be glorious and lost certainly his own fault.

"See you at breakfast then," he replied sweetly. He stepped out of the door. It creaked as it fell shut, because he allowed it to. The lock went thunk as it fell back I to place.

 

[Feyre]

Feyre didn't move until the water was cold and her mind was numb. Perhaps she was afraid that the moment she did, the moment she thought she was safe and alone he would come back and laugh in her face because she was stupid enough to believe he'd grant her peace at all.

A loud crack from the hearth dragged her back into the room with a flinch, a cold chill rolling over her back as she realised how cold she was and just how long she'd been sitting there. Moonlight spilled into the little room, it's cool light overpowering that of the hearth. She stood from the water and snatched the linen from the floor to wrap around herself before climbing into bed.

He didn't let her sleep, regardless of whether he left her alone or not. Every time she drifted off, her mind played his tricks, her snuck into her room every time her eyes closed, plaguing her mind, his tail wrapping around her throat and robbing her of breath until she sat bolt upright in a cold threat, the echo of his laughter raising goosebumps over every inch of her fair skin.

She spent the rest of the night bundled in blankets and sitting in the chair by the window, watching the hill in the distance, waiting for the Baron's men to come for her, and hoping it would be with haste. By the time the golden sunlight spilled over the horizon, Feyre blinked heavily, ignoring her hunger and resisting the urge to fall asleep.

 

[Raziel]

The lock made plenty of noise this time. The key on her side turning as if held by an invisible hand. Raziel wanted it to make noise this time.

The tiefling walked into her room carrying a bowl and a wooden mug. He had a new coat on. Not as fine as what he had been wearing before, but apparently he had been around the small town at first light to replace it.

"And here I assumed you were still in bed," he purred, pushing the door mostly closed with his boot.

"You should eat," he said, instead of asking if she was hungry.

 

[Feyre]

Her eyes slowly closed as the sound of the metal key scraping and clunking inside it's lock made her blood run cold. The lock felt like more of a joke to her, a humorous reminder that there was nowhere he couldn't be, nothing he couldn't do. Her jaw tightened and her eyes opened on that hill again as he purred at her.

"I'm not hungry." she lied. Her stomach had expected to be fed hours ago and reminded her with hollow pangs every now and then, her mouth dry with thirst. She'd had enough of him, she just wanted to be collected and removed from his custody so that she could work on forgetting. No amount of wine would do it now, but in her mind she pictured some fabrication of a mage, one who could give her some tincture or tonic that would erase him and everything else from her mind entirely.

It would be like a new life, and it was the only shred of hope she could hold on to.

"They should be here soon." she said quietly, her voice gritty with weariness as she blinked heavily at the hill.

 

[Raziel]

"If they chose to ride hard," he agreed.

Raziel gave an air of being distinctly disinterested in her again. All mildly amusing things came to an end. She was lucky she hadn't piqued his interest any further.

"In which case they may choose to ride hard back."

Ignoring her, he placed the bowl and mug down on a table within reach. It was simple buttered bread, dried fish and wine.

He also drew a very simple knife from his coat. It had a sheath and a strap. He had plenty, but he still didn't give up one of his own. He'd bought it from the village as well. It was used, but sharp steel.

Raziel took a step back, canting his head to one side as he waited to see if she would even react. She looked as if she hadn't slept a wink.

 

[Feyre]

"They will.." Feyre answered, her tone dreamy as though she were hardly awake at all. She had requested that they come with haste. They had to. Her mind was fractured, she could feel it crack a little more with each hour that passed, and it was only a matter of time before it shattered completely and allowed everything that she was trying to repress flood out and drown her.

Her fingertips traced idly over the scar on her chest, her eyes distant and unblinking as she continued to ignore his physical presence. She took no notice of the meal, nor the blade, all that mattered was that hill as she willed the Baron's men to appear on it's crest. She would be boring him, no doubt, but she'd had more than enough of being there for his amusement. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she sighed, finally smelling the dried fish.

"Thank you..." she muttered, disingenuous and dismissive.

 

[Raziel]

Raziel stepped behind her so that he could look out of the window. He also wanted her to feel perhaps just a glimmer of fear to have him at her back.

"They will," he said. He was worried instead that it would be blades in the night. He watched the empty hill for just a moment before stepping away and leaving her to sullen silence.

Raziel's fears were misplaced. He collected her breakfast things and then later brought a simple meal for lunch. It was after that when they appeared. High on their horses they cast long shadows as they came riding down that hill in the afternoon light.

 

[Feyre]

The back of her neck tingled as he stood behind her, but she couldn't bring herself to react otherwise, if he was going to hurt her he'd have done so already. He seemed far happier tormenting her mind, and her mind was simply too fucking tired to bother with fear.

She hadn't touched her breakfast, nor had she moved from the window. She did spare a tired frown as he brought her lunch and her body ached with hunger as she cast a glance over the meal and begrudgingly pulled it into her lap to eat silently.

The sight of riders on the hill seemed to spark her awareness, and the empty plate clattered to the ground as she stood to press her hand against the glass, staring wide-eyed at the group. "It's them." she let out an involuntary laugh under her breath. "They're here." she assured herself and turned to rush around the room to get herself ready to leave.

 

[Raziel]

Mansell Bletchley-Farrington was at the head of the group of riders coming down the slope. He hadn't bothered to rouse any of the rabble to ride out for his uncle. They were his close group of hunting friends. The well-born who knew how to ride properly.

Some of the country locals nearly got ridden down. Their fault in his view for dawdling in the middle of the road despite the commotion they made.

He remained mounted to question one of the locals for the inn named on the letter. With a deep frown, an elderly woman pointed to the obvious - and only - inn.

He left half the group with the horses and took four of his men with him. Dressed as they were and wearing sabers at their hips, the boy serving tables took one look at them and vanished deeper into the building to fetch the owners.

Raziel remained in his room, stood by the door and listening intently.

 

[Feyre]

Feyre was a mess. Her fiery hair had dried in a mass of unruly curls, and though her skin was now clean, her clothes were still in a state. She was sure they'd know, sure they'd understand and not judge her for her bedraggled state. She tried to make herself as presentable as possible, her hair scooped up into a neat enough knot, leaving a few stray curls to fall, framing her pale face.

A gentle rap of knuckles on her door. "Lady Feyre?.." The sonorous sound of his voice was a delight to her ears, like soft rolling thunder, elegant and strong. It didn't make her skin crawl like the tiefling's did, it wasn't laced with venom or amusement.

"Yes." she answered as she stumbled toward the door to pull it open. She was quite obviously flustered, her chest undulating at the speed of which she'd thrown herself from the chair to get dressed. She tried to compose herself as she studied the man before her, a glance behind him to the others who waited.

"Thank you for coming with such haste. My horse is in the stables." she smiled, clearly eager to get going.

 

[Raziel]

"I expect you were not able to leave with much for us to carry?" he asked. It sounded quite an astute observation from Mansell. In truth he had told the men to get ready to pack several cases, because he could not imagine a Lady travelling with less.

They had reminded him of the circumstances under which she had left her home.

"We'll get your horse ready and on the way as soon as possible. This place..." he looked around at the quaint Inn, "...does not suit you. Do you have any servants that need to come along?"


Raziel took a half step back from the door. They wouldn't have sent some chisel-jawed idiot to do murder. This was the end of the journey.

 

[Feyre]

Feyre offered a sheepish smile and her head shook. "I was lucky enough to leave with the clothes on my back, and my horse for that matter. I'm afraid I have nothing else." Nothing but her name. What a sad thing to have to admit to.

Her chin dipped gratefully as he assured they'd be leaving as soon as possible, but the small smile she wore faltered and fell at his next question. Sorcha hadn't been a servant, she'd been her guard, her protector for the past few years. She should have been here with her, and she felt the spark of rage in her chest which caused her to lift her chin.

"Sadly the staff of my father's household are all dead." she informed, the words forced from her lips hurt her as much to say as they did to hear. She noted that the Tiefling was suddenly nowhere to be seen, but she had no doubt he'd be skulking around somewhere nearby.

"I am ready to leave when you are, I'll understand if you and your men need rest after your journey.." she nodded, but there was no question of how desperate she was to leave, she was merely trying to be polite. She recognised him, vaguely, the last time she'd seen him he'd been a boy, but the years had been particularly kind. He seemed strong, as did his men, and finally she felt safe again.