[Infinity's End] The Break of Day 01-12
Sep. 2nd, 2011 11:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
n_wilkinsona/n: At last! I have updated this piece!
Title: The Break of Day
Series: Infinity's End, Prequel
Summary: A friendship that takes everyone by surprise slowly evolves into a deeper bond as Azriel, illegitimate son of the house Celestine, and Kieran, heir to the house Azura, throw themselves into the heart of a building altercation that explodes into an all out revolution.
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Monday dawned grey and dreary. Were Azriel a less practical man, he might’ve thought it a bad omen. Instead, he merely considered it a bad turn in weather and refused to let it infect his mood.
He woke up early, dressed respectably, shared breakfast with his mother, and then stepped into a muggy morning with an odd sense of eagerness. Today was his first day, after all. The first day of his life as a genuine employee rather than a temporary hire during his school years.
Azriel headed for the east end of Grayshire, where most of the buildings were devoted to preserving Meropis' history. The Grand Library was also located there, along with the main archives. In the interest of keeping delicate books and papers in pristine condition, all of the important buildings had been painstakingly shaped with dark stone and stood out against the lighter and more wooden structures.
If Azriel hadn't spent most of his life walking into places where he was more or less unwelcome, the massive stone buildings would’ve intimidated him. Staring up at it, Kieran's words of encouragement dancing in the back of his mind, Azriel squared his shoulders and strode in through the front door. It was his every right to do so, and he believed it.
It was quiet and cool inside, and the first room was a reception area, a half-circle desk taking center stage as hallways jutted out in three directions from the main room. Having accompanied Lord Adair here before, Azriel knew that the documents were arranged by topic and importance. But that was the extent of his knowledge.
He walked to the desk, manned by a woman who looked to be in the stages of preparing for her shift. She paused in the middle of rearranging some documents, head cocked to the side.
“May I help you?” she asked, tone pleasant enough but eyes almost suspicious.
He didn't recognize her, but that only meant she wasn't a first tier noble.
“Ah, yes. I’m Azriel Hadley. This is my first day, and it wasn't made clear which department I would be working in.”
Tilting her head to the side, the woman smiled. “Welcome to the Archives, Mr. Hadley,” she said, and the lack of hesitation in her voice made it clear that she had no idea who he was. How refreshing. “I seem to remember Lord Celestine telling me about a new hire... ah! Here it is.” Deft fingers plucked out a document and handed it over. “I hope you like history.”
He wished he could be surprised. Luckily, Azriel had an interest there, the further back the better.
“I do,” he replied and took the paper, which had his name and his assignment on it. Along with the name of his supervisor.
Braden Lisant.
Azriel considered that. He’d never met the man before, but Master Lisant was good friends with his uncle, so Azriel was inclined to believe that the man was at least willing to tolerate Azriel and keep any comments about Azriel's heritage to himself. Not to mention the tiny but important detail that Lisant was Miss Dryden's – Lyra's – second cousin on her mother's side.
One of these days, Azriel would have to thank Kieran for providing him all of these societal connections. While he liked to bank on the fruits of his hard work, this made it easier to impress someone by displaying his talents, rather than trying to wheedle them into giving him a chance.
“Master Lisant is expecting you. His office is the third door on the right,” the receptionist continued as Azriel glanced over the paper.
But it didn't list the archives as his place of assignment, and Azriel felt a trickle of worry slide down his back. His heart was heavy near his stomach, but he still inclined his head.
“Thank you, Miss...?”
“Regia,” she replied and held out her hand for him to take. “We'll probably see a lot of each other in the future, Mr. Hadley.”
Suddenly uncertain of his assignment, Azriel couldn't return the sentiment. Nevertheless, he shook her hand.
“Perhaps,” he conceded and tossed her a polite smile. “It was nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
Regia returned to her seat, and Azriel continued on, moving to the right where a long, narrow hallway came into view. It was lined with doors, offices most likely, and he followed her directions. Not that he would have needed them with the small etched plates on each.
Azriel knocked and then reached for the knob as a voice bid him enter. He opened the door and slid inside, closing it behind him. An older man, blond hair cropped short, sat behind a desk. He was bent over a scattering of papers and didn't so much as look up as Azriel came inside.
“Master Lisant?” Azriel called out, hoping that he wasn't disturbing the other man's work. “I am here about my new position.”
For a moment, he was ignored. Lisant continued to write, but it seemed he wanted to finish out his thought as the last word was written with a flourish before the quill was set aside. Only then did he look up, blue eyes sweeping over his guest.
“Azriel Hadley, I presume?” the man said, holding out a hand for greeting.
Azriel stepped further into the room. “Yes, sir. It is a pleasure to be working with you.”
Lisant, however, winced. Azriel’s heart slowly sunk to his ankles.
“I asked for your internship,” Lisant explained after a moment, gaze cloudy. “But there are always those who outrank us, yes?” He lowered his gaze, carefully organizing his documents into three neat stacks.
“Yes,” Azriel agreed, though his discomfort had not abated. Lisant was going around the world and back again to answer a simple question.
“Right.” The older man abandoned his paperwork and circled around the desk. “Although I asked that you work here, those above me have decided that you are better suited to start your internship under the Tolpa.”
The judicial segment of Grayshire?
Azriel was completely baffled.
He groped for something appropriate to say, but honestly, he could only come up with questions.
“I don’t… Did they say why?”
Lisant shrugged, gesturing for Azriel to follow him as they left his office. “It's not my place to ask for a reason. I've been assured that within a half year's time, you should be back in the Archives, but until then, you are apparently needed in the Tolpa.”
He supposed he should feel flattered, but honestly, Azriel couldn't be sure this wasn't another means of trying to discourage him. He'd never had any interest in the Tolpa or the judicial system. His interests lay in history, in the forgotten bit of Grayshire that everyone ignored. Not... rules and regulations and punishments.
Speechless, Azriel settled for making a nonverbal noise of agreement, which Lisant took as an invitation to continue.
“Luckily, they want you to work in their records hall which is an attached complex to the Archives,” Lisant went on, leading Azriel down the corridor opposite of the direction he entered and toward a huge set of double doors.
“What sort of work will they have for me?” Azriel questioned, somehow managing to keep his voice pleasant.
“Organization and compiling, for the most part,” Lisant answered as he pushed open the double doors, and they stepped out into a morning already humid and uncomfortable. “They want to set up a system where old cases can be easily cross-referenced along with creating a database of known offenses and their respective punishments.”
It sounded... tedious. Incredibly so. Even more than the scribe work he had done for his uncle. At least Lord Celestine's documents had held topics of interest. Especially ones concerning the past that much of Grayshire thought forgotten.
“Lady Dryden speaks highly of you,” the master added, slowing his pace so that Azriel could walk beside them as they followed a graveled path to a smaller building. “I expect you'll prove her good word?”
Lady Dryden? As in Lyra's mother?
Azriel wondered if Lyra had something to do with this. Perhaps she thought she was helping.
“To the best of my ability, I assure you,” Azriel returned evenly enough.
Lisant seemed to think this as an acceptable answer as he pushed open the side door and gestured Azriel ahead of him. Instantly, he was swamped by a dry heat, like someone had left the hearth blazing for too long. It was a stark contrast to the blistering chill of the Archives, which Azriel had dressed for, and left him sweltering in his extra layers.
The hall was narrow and led only to a second door, which Azriel opened at Lisant's bidding. Beyond it was another corridor, marginally wider than the first, barely enough for two men to walk abreast. To the right was a set of double doors, perhaps opening into a meeting room or auditorium, but to the left, the hallway was lined with doors, each with a grouping of numbers on them – dates perhaps? Or catalog numbers?
Lisant slid past Azriel and headed for the right, falling back into conversation once more. “While the library keeps a copy of every published item in Grayshire's recorded history, the Tolpa prefer to have a secondary collection close at hand. It's kept here.”
He pushed open the doors, Azriel following him inside, and blinked when nearly blinded by sunlight. The corridors had been dim, barely lit as there were no windows and scarce Azura-made lanterns. Here, however, there were tall windows that let in great slats of light from floor to ceiling. Rows and rows of bookshelves took up the majority of the floor space with narrow aisles between them. There were few chairs, but then, this wasn't a library for one to sit and quietly read. This was a place for research and for storage. It was a place for gathering dust and boredom.
Azriel half-wondered if he would suffocate here. The smell of age and must was thick in the air, and there was a sense of being closed-in despite the bright windows. They only seemed to accentuate how little space there was.
“Every law. Every rule. Every guideline can be found here.” Lisant clasped his hands behind his back and bounced on the balls of his feet, chest all but puffed in pride. As though he had collected and maintained this library with his own two hands.
“Well, not quite everything,” a quiet voice chirped from behind them.
Both of them whirled, but their abrupt movement startled the poor woman. Her hands flew upward, dislodging her stack of books and sending it crashing to the floor in a noisy clatter.
Azriel winced. Lisant coughed into his hand. The woman turned a soft shade of pink.
“I didn't mean to startle you,” she said sheepishly and crouched to gather her books,.
Lisant scrapped a hand over his receding hair line. “I thought you had taken the day off, Titania?”
Azriel lowered himself to one knee, grabbing a few escaped pages and one of the upturned books. It was only polite. Though Lisant seemed keen on just watching.
“That's tomorrow, sir,” she – Titania apparently – replied with a polite smile, rising to her feet. She took the book and papers Azriel handed her. “Thank you, Mr...?”
“Hadley,” Azriel answered. He would have offered her a hand, but her arms were clearly full. “Azriel Hadley.”
Titania inclined her head, her dark eyes – almost black really – soft with warmth and friendliness. “And I'm Titania Bryson, your resident dust bunny.”
Azriel blinked. “A what?”
“What Miss Bryson is trying to say,” Lisant interjected with a cough, “is that she spends so much time here that she's as impossible to get rid of as the lingering piles of dust.”
Was that supposed to be a compliment? Well, to each his own.
“He exaggerates.” Titania's lips tilted with a smile. “I've only been working here about two years.” She tilted her head to the side, eyes narrowing in thought. “Hadley... that sounds familiar.”
Azriel bit back his sigh. He supposed he should be used to that reaction by now. He often wondered what it would be like to live in anonymity.
“Weren't you the valedictorian for this year’s class?” she asked suddenly.
For the second time that day, Azriel blinked out of confusion. “I... yes,” he replied and found himself struggling for the proper words, his planned speech about his parentage completely unnecessary. “I was.”
Titania scrunched up her nose, but it was amusement that shone in her eyes, not distaste.
“Gave the nobles quite the indigestion from what I heard, too. Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Azriel allowed, still vaguely puzzled.
“I'm glad that you two are getting along,” Lisant said a bit too loudly then. “Titania, you asked for an assistant, and apparently, Lady Dryden was listening.” One hand boldly clapped Azriel on the shoulder with enough force to make him fight a wince. “Mr. Hadley is here for the next six months. Use him as you will.”
Two dark eyebrows crawled upward as Titania looked Azriel over from head to toe. “Are you sure?” she questioned. “No offense, Mr. Hadley, but this kind of work is a bit... beneath your skill level.”
Didn't he know it!
“We all have to start somewhere,” Azriel replied.
And try as he might, he couldn't block the resignation from his voice. He was, after all, only Azriel Hadley. Bastard, unrecognized child of Lord Asher Celestine. He didn't dare think too highly of himself; otherwise, the nobles would take much glee in smacking him down.
Titania didn't look like she believed him completely as she shifted the weight of the books in her hand. But she just moved past both he and Lisant, heading for a desk off to the side where she dropped her load.
“If you say so,” Titania commented. “Are you starting today?”
“He sure is,” Lisant answered before Azriel could get a word in edgewise. “So I leave him in your capable hands, Miss Bryson. Azriel? Good luck.”
With another pat to Azriel's shoulder that he couldn't escape, Lisant swept from the room, leaving the two scribes staring after him.
In his absence, Titania sighed, and some of the tension eased out of her overly formal posture. “He's a whirlwind sometimes, but he's overall not bad for a supervisor,” Titania said apologetically, as though Lisant's behavior were her fault. “It's boring to work here, Mr. Hadley, but it's also quiet. Which isn't a bad thing.”
Azriel shook his head. “No, it's not,” he said and moved toward her desk, looking over the ordered chaos. In fact, it reminded him a lot of what Kieran did to a table during what he called study time. “What, exactly, would you like me to work on?”
Titania chuckled and glanced around.
“Where to start?” she asked rhetorically, resting her hands on the book at the topmost of her stack. “First, you might want to remove a few layers. Otherwise, you'll pass out before noon. It never gets much cooler than this in here.” She gestured to a chair nearby, indicating where he could leave his extra clothes.
Glancing at her wardrobe, which consisted of a pair of linen pants and a short-sleeved over robe, belted at the waist, Azriel had to concede that she certainly knew better than him. She looked to have barely broken a sweat, whereas Azriel could already feel it trickling down his back.
He managed a sheepish look of his own. “I dressed to work in the Archives,” he said as he removed his outer coat and outer robe both.
“As cold as the fifth circle, aren't they?” Titania replied with a sympathetic noise in her throat. “To be honest, I prefer Tolpa's compendium. I'd rather suffer the heat.”
Some of the tension in Azriel's shoulders seeped out of his body. Titania hadn't given him a single critical look, hadn't snubbed her nose. In fact, she was rather easygoing, which was a much preferable outcome to what he had anticipated.
“Did you ask to be placed here?” he asked with genuine curiosity.
Titania nodded. She slid two books out of her stack and handed both to him before choosing a loose sheaf of papers for herself.
“I'm fascinated by law. When I was younger, I aspired to be an Advocate.”
Azriel's brow furrowed. “Why not become one?”
“Do I look like a Dryden?” Titania retorted, shooting him a sidelong glance as she edged around her desk and headed toward the aisles of bookshelves, prompting Azriel to follow her. “I'm the furthest you can get from nobility without being a commoner. This is as close as I could manage.”
There was a note of wistfulness to her voice. Azriel sympathized. Now was a good time to change the subject though.
“What, exactly, are you working on?” Azriel asked, hoping to change the disappointed sheen to her eyes.
Hoping that his future wouldn't find himself echo the same.
Titania brightened, however. “I'll show you. Just follow me.”
o0o0o
August 15th, 1979
“You're distracted, Azriel.”
He sighed, slipping out of his meditative state all too easily, not even jarred by Manah's voice. He couldn't focus at all.
“I am,” he conceded and unfurled his limbs from his careful balance on the mossy log. He rose to his feet, turning toward Manah. “My thoughts are elsewhere.”
Her bright eyes watched him, as expressive as any human's. “Pray tell, dearest?”
Azriel folded his arms, tilting his head back. He could barely see the stars through the thick forest cover. The moonlight broke through in weak streams, casting just enough illumination that Azriel didn't feel drowned in darkness.
“I’ve graduated, but little seems to have changed.”
He lowered his head, watching as Manah stepped off the soggy bank and into the shallow waters of the marsh. Her long legs barely made a splash.
“Did you expect different?” she asked softly.
“I shouldn't have.”
He wanted to. More than anything. He'd wanted to think that his hard work would bring all the answers.
Manah hummed quietly. Such a human response, so incongruous to her form.
“Humans, for all their evanescent existence, are slow to accept change.” Her bill came to rest on his shoulder and rubbed against the cloth before easing away. “Do you feel your efforts are a waste?”
“Sometimes.” Azriel’s gaze shifted to the dark underbrush. The lighting was too weak to make out the shape of the leaves, though he knew from experience that they were a blackberry bush, soon to be ripe with berries. “Grayshire has become so stagnant. Regressive almost.”
Manah dipped her beak toward the water now, delicately selecting a scrumptious leaf of aquatic vegetation.
“What makes you say that?” she inquired after swallowing her snack.
Azriel chewed on the inside of his cheek. “My internship is with the Tolpa. I now have open access to certain records, judicial records. The data I've found is... worrisome.”
Straightening, Manah stretched out her wings. As though intending to take flight or trying to catch the moon beams with her pale feathers.
“How so?”
“Tolpa also handles the consensus, probably because it's easier to capture dissidents if they’ve a full database,” Azriel answered slowly, letting his mind slide over the details even as he spoke. “The number of magically strong births are dwindling. Worse, those that are emerging with talent have a narrow grasp.”
Ruffling her feathers, Manah turned back to him. She waded silently through the marshy water.
“Yes, I have noticed the decline in magical ability. It's... troubling. But not unexpected.”
He paused at that. “Why not?”
“You know the answer to that, dear heart. Grayshire abandoned us and by proxy their connection to the magic,” Manah replied as she emerged on shore, idly shaking a few strands of marsh grass from her feet. “Only those with renewed ties will reinforce their magic. I suspect your children, however, will be quite strong. Especially if they truly take after you.” She tilted her head at him for a moment, eyes so human but also so other. Looking at him in a way that no human ever would or could. “You are also a mixed blood. Stronger blood. Far more so than those who only breed with their own. Even without our connection, your line would’ve remained powerful for some time.”
Azriel fell silent for a moment and processed her implications. His mother, Neorah, did carry commoner blood; one of the many reasons she’d been beneath Asher Celestine and not offered a marriage when they learned of her pregnancy. But he’d never heard Manah state quite so plainly why she felt him so much more powerful than the supposedly superior nobles. On some level, Azriel had always known that he was. Had seen it time after time in his classes when his fellows would tire after a handful of spells but Azriel was still going strong. He – and they, most likely – had assumed it was the Celestine part of him. The blood of a great noble line. But was it really the common in him? Could it be?
After all, Kieran had incredibly strong magic, too. And he was pure high noble.
But then, Tegan was also very powerful, and if he had even an ounce of nobility in him, Azriel would eat his shirt. The others of their group had been brought up with magic from infancy, so it was hard to tell what was them and what was the training. But Azriel had noticed them struggle. Misae in particular.
Was it really because she was so distant from the spirits? She was the most outspoken in their group against them. Truth be told, the only one to bring them up at all and then only to disparage them.
Was that the reason?
“What happened, Manah?” Azriel asked then. “What set the humans against the spirits? Why have we become enemies?”
It was a question that had been burning at him for quite some time. He didn't like the direction his research was starting to take him. He wanted Manah's truth, not whatever washed out lies Grayshire's history fed him.
Manah sighed, and her eyes turned dark and troubled. She sidled up beside him, resting her head on his shoulder again, her aether a calming fluctuation against his own.
“That, my dearest, is a long story. One we haven't the time for tonight.”
Reluctantly, Azriel must admit she was right. He'd been out here too long already, trying to force a focus that wasn't coming. He was probably past curfew as well. Not that Azriel hadn't slipped in under Grayshire's nose before.
“Another time then?” He rubbed a hand across her face in something like a caress.
She nudged him affectionately before stepping away, movements as graceful and elegant as always. “If you haven't forgotten. Your visits are too few, Azriel.”
Guilt sat heavy on his shoulders.
“I apologize. Before now, it was hard to find time to slip away. Kieran, also, complains.”
“Kieran?” Manah repeated, humor rich in her voice and her gaze far too knowing. “I still would like to meet this Kieran of yours. Perhaps one day, I shall.”
Azriel smiled. “Maybe one day, we'll have the freedom for that luxury. I know you two would get along.” Much like Kieran had charmed Azriel's mother in fact. “I'll try to visit sooner. My training isn't complete, after all.”
“No, it isn't.” Manah chuckled and gave him a love that wouldn’t have been out of place on Neorah’s face. “Now go before you are any later.”
Azriel trailed his fingers over the downy feathers of her neck in a parting show of affection and made himself scarce, plunging into the dark underbrush which surrounded their meeting place. One of many, to be honest, as Azriel hadn't wanted to establish too traceable a pattern. It was already a risk to meet with Manah, and he didn't want to put her in too much danger by making it easier on those that would do her harm.
He would also admit wanting to keep himself safe.
Still, he'd traveled this path often enough that he could navigate back to the limits of Grayshire without having to constantly check his position. There was no noticeable path carved into the thick vegetation of the forest, which was for the best. It was a twenty minute walk back to the city, longer if he took care not to make too much noise. There were always patrols around the borders, and Azriel had no desire to run into any of them.
Azriel always entered through Moriarty first. It wasn't surrounded by a fence like Grayshire, and people paid little attention to anyone entering or leaving the forest. Foraging, berry picking, nut gathering, even just a stroll... all were common activities for the so-called lower class. The residents were more likely to look out for each other rather than turn one of their own over to the guard. Unlike in Grayshire, where it was every man for himself.
The difference was always striking.
Patrols were also less likely to watch the boundaries of Moriarty. Unless the commoners were creating a noticeable stir, the nobles in Grayshire tended to ignore them. This worked to Azriel's advantage.
The cramped streets were quiet and dark, the buildings and homes the same. It was late, too late really. Azriel was going to be exhausted tomorrow, but it was worth it. He rarely had time to spend with Manah as it was.
From Moriarty he could enter Grayshire through one of the smaller passages, left unguarded at night save for a lock that Azriel had learned to pick when he was still a boy. His mother would not approve of such a skill, but it became an unfortunate necessity. For Manah, Azriel would risk much. Learning how to pick a lock was hardly the worst of it.
Grayshire was just as silent and still as Moriarty, if not more so. The wider streets were completely empty, the moon beaming down and offering little cover. Azriel did his best to flit from shadow to shadow, heading straight for home as quietly as possible. Again, he never took the same route.
Sliding between two buildings set close together – one an establishment that sold only fabric and the other in the middle of construction – Azriel emerged into a narrower street. One that he knew would lead straight to his neighborhood.
Here, however, was where his luck ran out.
“Stop right there.”
The gruff command cut through the night. Azriel froze mid-step, shoulders slumping.
Running was not an option. It would only make the situation worse, like he had something to hide. He did, but Azriel couldn't let anyone know that.
He turned around slowly, hoping the speaker was someone he could easily outsmart. His heart sank when he discovered it was the last person who would grant Azriel some mercy.
Holmes.
The broad-shouldered old man strode down the road as though he owned it, face set with distrust and annoyance. His eyes narrowed the moment he recognized Azriel.
“Sneaking in after curfew, Hadley?” Holmes held a note of triumph in his voice as he closed the distance between them. “Tsk, tsk.”
Lies danced on the tip of Azriel's tongue, all carefully constructed beforehand and too thin for someone like Holmes to believe. As much as he wanted to stand tall, hold his head up, Azriel knew it would be pointless.
“I apologize, sir,” Azriel said, the respect tasting like ash on his tongue. “I lost track of time.”
“I'm sure you did.” Cold eyes raked Azriel from head to toe. Holmes' mouth stretched into a wide sneer. “Visiting Moriarty, were you?”
Better to let Holmes believe the logical worst than the treacherous truth.
“I--”
“You should be careful, boy,” Holmes interrupted, his voice a mockery of concern. “I'd hate for Lord Adair's prized nephew to acquire a foul, commoner's disease.”
Azriel's brow furrowed in confusion before comprehension stormed through. It was followed immediately by outrage.
“I was not visiting a... a...”
He couldn't even form the word.
“Whore?” Holmes supplied for him and stalked closer. “Then what were you up to? Why else would you sneak to Moriarty? Nothing good, I suspect.”
I have nothing to prove.
Azriel longed to spit that in Holmes' face, to turn up his nose and stalk away, all offended pride. But he couldn't. He was trapped by his rung on the social ladder, so near the bottom he might as well be a foot stool. Which was why curfew applied to him and not someone like Miss Dryden or Kieran.
More’s the pity there.
Azriel sighed, shoulders slumping, forcing himself to blend lies with the truth. If Holmes thought him an immoral bastard with insatiable lust, it was perhaps better than the alternative.
“There is a lady,” Azriel admitted, thinking of Manah and hoping she wouldn’t be offended. “But no... woman of ill repute.”
Let Holmes believe he had a lover of some kind in Moriarty. He’d be branded for having low taste, but it was better than being executed for treason. For participating in dark arts with the demons of the forest.
Holmes loomed with all the subtlety of a hammer to the head. His active hatred had always been a point of puzzlement, but Azriel couldn't see himself asking the old man why.
“Whatever you call it, Hadley, you're out past curfew,” Holmes snarled. “I've half a mind to drag you in, but I'm feeling generous tonight. I'll let you off with a citation.”
It was a relief but not by much. Citations were expensive, easily most of Azriel's income for the month. He hadn't tuition to pay anymore, but that didn't mean he had no expenses. He'd be forced to rely on his mother for his needs after paying.
Azriel forced a calm breath and respect into his tone. “That is very gracious of you,” he replied and tipped his head in a respectful bow, as much as he loathed to do it.
“It wasn't out of kindness,” Holmes spat, and his voice went lower. “I'm going to be keeping a close eye on you, Hadley. I'm going to find out whatever it is you're doing. And I'll make sure it's enough to drag you down so far, your precious uncles won't be able to save you.”
Comprehension stirred. Of course, Holmes wouldn't bother trying to ruin Azriel on such a minor infraction. Not when his uncles would protest and sweep it under the rug. Holmes would come off worse than Azriel himself, especially since it wasn’t unheard-of for nobles to go dabbling into Moriarty. Everyone would brush that off as Azriel truly being his father’s unacknowledged son.
No, Holmes would need something much damning than that.
Azriel took a step backward, putting space between them. Holmes just glared across the distance.
“Yes, sir,” Azriel replied, acknowledging the threat.
He received a curled lip in response.
“Now get out of my sight.”
Azriel obeyed, unwilling to argue and invite further suspicion. Having already been caught once, he didn't bother with subtlety. He headed straight for home, never once looking over his shoulder at Holmes, all the while rage burned within him. His hands formed fists at his side.
No, nothing had changed for his successes. Nothing at all.
He dreaded to think that nothing ever would.
*****
a/n: Wow. I just realized that there was no Kieran in this chapter. For shame! Slowly but surely this piece of lengthy backstory unwinds from the spool. I hope you enjoyed reading!
Feedback is always welcome and appreciated.
Title: The Break of Day
Series: Infinity's End, Prequel
Summary: A friendship that takes everyone by surprise slowly evolves into a deeper bond as Azriel, illegitimate son of the house Celestine, and Kieran, heir to the house Azura, throw themselves into the heart of a building altercation that explodes into an all out revolution.
(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20)
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Part One: Chapter Twelve
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June 5th, 1979----------------------------------------
Monday dawned grey and dreary. Were Azriel a less practical man, he might’ve thought it a bad omen. Instead, he merely considered it a bad turn in weather and refused to let it infect his mood.
He woke up early, dressed respectably, shared breakfast with his mother, and then stepped into a muggy morning with an odd sense of eagerness. Today was his first day, after all. The first day of his life as a genuine employee rather than a temporary hire during his school years.
Azriel headed for the east end of Grayshire, where most of the buildings were devoted to preserving Meropis' history. The Grand Library was also located there, along with the main archives. In the interest of keeping delicate books and papers in pristine condition, all of the important buildings had been painstakingly shaped with dark stone and stood out against the lighter and more wooden structures.
If Azriel hadn't spent most of his life walking into places where he was more or less unwelcome, the massive stone buildings would’ve intimidated him. Staring up at it, Kieran's words of encouragement dancing in the back of his mind, Azriel squared his shoulders and strode in through the front door. It was his every right to do so, and he believed it.
It was quiet and cool inside, and the first room was a reception area, a half-circle desk taking center stage as hallways jutted out in three directions from the main room. Having accompanied Lord Adair here before, Azriel knew that the documents were arranged by topic and importance. But that was the extent of his knowledge.
He walked to the desk, manned by a woman who looked to be in the stages of preparing for her shift. She paused in the middle of rearranging some documents, head cocked to the side.
“May I help you?” she asked, tone pleasant enough but eyes almost suspicious.
He didn't recognize her, but that only meant she wasn't a first tier noble.
“Ah, yes. I’m Azriel Hadley. This is my first day, and it wasn't made clear which department I would be working in.”
Tilting her head to the side, the woman smiled. “Welcome to the Archives, Mr. Hadley,” she said, and the lack of hesitation in her voice made it clear that she had no idea who he was. How refreshing. “I seem to remember Lord Celestine telling me about a new hire... ah! Here it is.” Deft fingers plucked out a document and handed it over. “I hope you like history.”
He wished he could be surprised. Luckily, Azriel had an interest there, the further back the better.
“I do,” he replied and took the paper, which had his name and his assignment on it. Along with the name of his supervisor.
Braden Lisant.
Azriel considered that. He’d never met the man before, but Master Lisant was good friends with his uncle, so Azriel was inclined to believe that the man was at least willing to tolerate Azriel and keep any comments about Azriel's heritage to himself. Not to mention the tiny but important detail that Lisant was Miss Dryden's – Lyra's – second cousin on her mother's side.
One of these days, Azriel would have to thank Kieran for providing him all of these societal connections. While he liked to bank on the fruits of his hard work, this made it easier to impress someone by displaying his talents, rather than trying to wheedle them into giving him a chance.
“Master Lisant is expecting you. His office is the third door on the right,” the receptionist continued as Azriel glanced over the paper.
But it didn't list the archives as his place of assignment, and Azriel felt a trickle of worry slide down his back. His heart was heavy near his stomach, but he still inclined his head.
“Thank you, Miss...?”
“Regia,” she replied and held out her hand for him to take. “We'll probably see a lot of each other in the future, Mr. Hadley.”
Suddenly uncertain of his assignment, Azriel couldn't return the sentiment. Nevertheless, he shook her hand.
“Perhaps,” he conceded and tossed her a polite smile. “It was nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
Regia returned to her seat, and Azriel continued on, moving to the right where a long, narrow hallway came into view. It was lined with doors, offices most likely, and he followed her directions. Not that he would have needed them with the small etched plates on each.
Azriel knocked and then reached for the knob as a voice bid him enter. He opened the door and slid inside, closing it behind him. An older man, blond hair cropped short, sat behind a desk. He was bent over a scattering of papers and didn't so much as look up as Azriel came inside.
“Master Lisant?” Azriel called out, hoping that he wasn't disturbing the other man's work. “I am here about my new position.”
For a moment, he was ignored. Lisant continued to write, but it seemed he wanted to finish out his thought as the last word was written with a flourish before the quill was set aside. Only then did he look up, blue eyes sweeping over his guest.
“Azriel Hadley, I presume?” the man said, holding out a hand for greeting.
Azriel stepped further into the room. “Yes, sir. It is a pleasure to be working with you.”
Lisant, however, winced. Azriel’s heart slowly sunk to his ankles.
“I asked for your internship,” Lisant explained after a moment, gaze cloudy. “But there are always those who outrank us, yes?” He lowered his gaze, carefully organizing his documents into three neat stacks.
“Yes,” Azriel agreed, though his discomfort had not abated. Lisant was going around the world and back again to answer a simple question.
“Right.” The older man abandoned his paperwork and circled around the desk. “Although I asked that you work here, those above me have decided that you are better suited to start your internship under the Tolpa.”
The judicial segment of Grayshire?
Azriel was completely baffled.
He groped for something appropriate to say, but honestly, he could only come up with questions.
“I don’t… Did they say why?”
Lisant shrugged, gesturing for Azriel to follow him as they left his office. “It's not my place to ask for a reason. I've been assured that within a half year's time, you should be back in the Archives, but until then, you are apparently needed in the Tolpa.”
He supposed he should feel flattered, but honestly, Azriel couldn't be sure this wasn't another means of trying to discourage him. He'd never had any interest in the Tolpa or the judicial system. His interests lay in history, in the forgotten bit of Grayshire that everyone ignored. Not... rules and regulations and punishments.
Speechless, Azriel settled for making a nonverbal noise of agreement, which Lisant took as an invitation to continue.
“Luckily, they want you to work in their records hall which is an attached complex to the Archives,” Lisant went on, leading Azriel down the corridor opposite of the direction he entered and toward a huge set of double doors.
“What sort of work will they have for me?” Azriel questioned, somehow managing to keep his voice pleasant.
“Organization and compiling, for the most part,” Lisant answered as he pushed open the double doors, and they stepped out into a morning already humid and uncomfortable. “They want to set up a system where old cases can be easily cross-referenced along with creating a database of known offenses and their respective punishments.”
It sounded... tedious. Incredibly so. Even more than the scribe work he had done for his uncle. At least Lord Celestine's documents had held topics of interest. Especially ones concerning the past that much of Grayshire thought forgotten.
“Lady Dryden speaks highly of you,” the master added, slowing his pace so that Azriel could walk beside them as they followed a graveled path to a smaller building. “I expect you'll prove her good word?”
Lady Dryden? As in Lyra's mother?
Azriel wondered if Lyra had something to do with this. Perhaps she thought she was helping.
“To the best of my ability, I assure you,” Azriel returned evenly enough.
Lisant seemed to think this as an acceptable answer as he pushed open the side door and gestured Azriel ahead of him. Instantly, he was swamped by a dry heat, like someone had left the hearth blazing for too long. It was a stark contrast to the blistering chill of the Archives, which Azriel had dressed for, and left him sweltering in his extra layers.
The hall was narrow and led only to a second door, which Azriel opened at Lisant's bidding. Beyond it was another corridor, marginally wider than the first, barely enough for two men to walk abreast. To the right was a set of double doors, perhaps opening into a meeting room or auditorium, but to the left, the hallway was lined with doors, each with a grouping of numbers on them – dates perhaps? Or catalog numbers?
Lisant slid past Azriel and headed for the right, falling back into conversation once more. “While the library keeps a copy of every published item in Grayshire's recorded history, the Tolpa prefer to have a secondary collection close at hand. It's kept here.”
He pushed open the doors, Azriel following him inside, and blinked when nearly blinded by sunlight. The corridors had been dim, barely lit as there were no windows and scarce Azura-made lanterns. Here, however, there were tall windows that let in great slats of light from floor to ceiling. Rows and rows of bookshelves took up the majority of the floor space with narrow aisles between them. There were few chairs, but then, this wasn't a library for one to sit and quietly read. This was a place for research and for storage. It was a place for gathering dust and boredom.
Azriel half-wondered if he would suffocate here. The smell of age and must was thick in the air, and there was a sense of being closed-in despite the bright windows. They only seemed to accentuate how little space there was.
“Every law. Every rule. Every guideline can be found here.” Lisant clasped his hands behind his back and bounced on the balls of his feet, chest all but puffed in pride. As though he had collected and maintained this library with his own two hands.
“Well, not quite everything,” a quiet voice chirped from behind them.
Both of them whirled, but their abrupt movement startled the poor woman. Her hands flew upward, dislodging her stack of books and sending it crashing to the floor in a noisy clatter.
Azriel winced. Lisant coughed into his hand. The woman turned a soft shade of pink.
“I didn't mean to startle you,” she said sheepishly and crouched to gather her books,.
Lisant scrapped a hand over his receding hair line. “I thought you had taken the day off, Titania?”
Azriel lowered himself to one knee, grabbing a few escaped pages and one of the upturned books. It was only polite. Though Lisant seemed keen on just watching.
“That's tomorrow, sir,” she – Titania apparently – replied with a polite smile, rising to her feet. She took the book and papers Azriel handed her. “Thank you, Mr...?”
“Hadley,” Azriel answered. He would have offered her a hand, but her arms were clearly full. “Azriel Hadley.”
Titania inclined her head, her dark eyes – almost black really – soft with warmth and friendliness. “And I'm Titania Bryson, your resident dust bunny.”
Azriel blinked. “A what?”
“What Miss Bryson is trying to say,” Lisant interjected with a cough, “is that she spends so much time here that she's as impossible to get rid of as the lingering piles of dust.”
Was that supposed to be a compliment? Well, to each his own.
“He exaggerates.” Titania's lips tilted with a smile. “I've only been working here about two years.” She tilted her head to the side, eyes narrowing in thought. “Hadley... that sounds familiar.”
Azriel bit back his sigh. He supposed he should be used to that reaction by now. He often wondered what it would be like to live in anonymity.
“Weren't you the valedictorian for this year’s class?” she asked suddenly.
For the second time that day, Azriel blinked out of confusion. “I... yes,” he replied and found himself struggling for the proper words, his planned speech about his parentage completely unnecessary. “I was.”
Titania scrunched up her nose, but it was amusement that shone in her eyes, not distaste.
“Gave the nobles quite the indigestion from what I heard, too. Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Azriel allowed, still vaguely puzzled.
“I'm glad that you two are getting along,” Lisant said a bit too loudly then. “Titania, you asked for an assistant, and apparently, Lady Dryden was listening.” One hand boldly clapped Azriel on the shoulder with enough force to make him fight a wince. “Mr. Hadley is here for the next six months. Use him as you will.”
Two dark eyebrows crawled upward as Titania looked Azriel over from head to toe. “Are you sure?” she questioned. “No offense, Mr. Hadley, but this kind of work is a bit... beneath your skill level.”
Didn't he know it!
“We all have to start somewhere,” Azriel replied.
And try as he might, he couldn't block the resignation from his voice. He was, after all, only Azriel Hadley. Bastard, unrecognized child of Lord Asher Celestine. He didn't dare think too highly of himself; otherwise, the nobles would take much glee in smacking him down.
Titania didn't look like she believed him completely as she shifted the weight of the books in her hand. But she just moved past both he and Lisant, heading for a desk off to the side where she dropped her load.
“If you say so,” Titania commented. “Are you starting today?”
“He sure is,” Lisant answered before Azriel could get a word in edgewise. “So I leave him in your capable hands, Miss Bryson. Azriel? Good luck.”
With another pat to Azriel's shoulder that he couldn't escape, Lisant swept from the room, leaving the two scribes staring after him.
In his absence, Titania sighed, and some of the tension eased out of her overly formal posture. “He's a whirlwind sometimes, but he's overall not bad for a supervisor,” Titania said apologetically, as though Lisant's behavior were her fault. “It's boring to work here, Mr. Hadley, but it's also quiet. Which isn't a bad thing.”
Azriel shook his head. “No, it's not,” he said and moved toward her desk, looking over the ordered chaos. In fact, it reminded him a lot of what Kieran did to a table during what he called study time. “What, exactly, would you like me to work on?”
Titania chuckled and glanced around.
“Where to start?” she asked rhetorically, resting her hands on the book at the topmost of her stack. “First, you might want to remove a few layers. Otherwise, you'll pass out before noon. It never gets much cooler than this in here.” She gestured to a chair nearby, indicating where he could leave his extra clothes.
Glancing at her wardrobe, which consisted of a pair of linen pants and a short-sleeved over robe, belted at the waist, Azriel had to concede that she certainly knew better than him. She looked to have barely broken a sweat, whereas Azriel could already feel it trickling down his back.
He managed a sheepish look of his own. “I dressed to work in the Archives,” he said as he removed his outer coat and outer robe both.
“As cold as the fifth circle, aren't they?” Titania replied with a sympathetic noise in her throat. “To be honest, I prefer Tolpa's compendium. I'd rather suffer the heat.”
Some of the tension in Azriel's shoulders seeped out of his body. Titania hadn't given him a single critical look, hadn't snubbed her nose. In fact, she was rather easygoing, which was a much preferable outcome to what he had anticipated.
“Did you ask to be placed here?” he asked with genuine curiosity.
Titania nodded. She slid two books out of her stack and handed both to him before choosing a loose sheaf of papers for herself.
“I'm fascinated by law. When I was younger, I aspired to be an Advocate.”
Azriel's brow furrowed. “Why not become one?”
“Do I look like a Dryden?” Titania retorted, shooting him a sidelong glance as she edged around her desk and headed toward the aisles of bookshelves, prompting Azriel to follow her. “I'm the furthest you can get from nobility without being a commoner. This is as close as I could manage.”
There was a note of wistfulness to her voice. Azriel sympathized. Now was a good time to change the subject though.
“What, exactly, are you working on?” Azriel asked, hoping to change the disappointed sheen to her eyes.
Hoping that his future wouldn't find himself echo the same.
Titania brightened, however. “I'll show you. Just follow me.”
August 15th, 1979
“You're distracted, Azriel.”
He sighed, slipping out of his meditative state all too easily, not even jarred by Manah's voice. He couldn't focus at all.
“I am,” he conceded and unfurled his limbs from his careful balance on the mossy log. He rose to his feet, turning toward Manah. “My thoughts are elsewhere.”
Her bright eyes watched him, as expressive as any human's. “Pray tell, dearest?”
Azriel folded his arms, tilting his head back. He could barely see the stars through the thick forest cover. The moonlight broke through in weak streams, casting just enough illumination that Azriel didn't feel drowned in darkness.
“I’ve graduated, but little seems to have changed.”
He lowered his head, watching as Manah stepped off the soggy bank and into the shallow waters of the marsh. Her long legs barely made a splash.
“Did you expect different?” she asked softly.
“I shouldn't have.”
He wanted to. More than anything. He'd wanted to think that his hard work would bring all the answers.
Manah hummed quietly. Such a human response, so incongruous to her form.
“Humans, for all their evanescent existence, are slow to accept change.” Her bill came to rest on his shoulder and rubbed against the cloth before easing away. “Do you feel your efforts are a waste?”
“Sometimes.” Azriel’s gaze shifted to the dark underbrush. The lighting was too weak to make out the shape of the leaves, though he knew from experience that they were a blackberry bush, soon to be ripe with berries. “Grayshire has become so stagnant. Regressive almost.”
Manah dipped her beak toward the water now, delicately selecting a scrumptious leaf of aquatic vegetation.
“What makes you say that?” she inquired after swallowing her snack.
Azriel chewed on the inside of his cheek. “My internship is with the Tolpa. I now have open access to certain records, judicial records. The data I've found is... worrisome.”
Straightening, Manah stretched out her wings. As though intending to take flight or trying to catch the moon beams with her pale feathers.
“How so?”
“Tolpa also handles the consensus, probably because it's easier to capture dissidents if they’ve a full database,” Azriel answered slowly, letting his mind slide over the details even as he spoke. “The number of magically strong births are dwindling. Worse, those that are emerging with talent have a narrow grasp.”
Ruffling her feathers, Manah turned back to him. She waded silently through the marshy water.
“Yes, I have noticed the decline in magical ability. It's... troubling. But not unexpected.”
He paused at that. “Why not?”
“You know the answer to that, dear heart. Grayshire abandoned us and by proxy their connection to the magic,” Manah replied as she emerged on shore, idly shaking a few strands of marsh grass from her feet. “Only those with renewed ties will reinforce their magic. I suspect your children, however, will be quite strong. Especially if they truly take after you.” She tilted her head at him for a moment, eyes so human but also so other. Looking at him in a way that no human ever would or could. “You are also a mixed blood. Stronger blood. Far more so than those who only breed with their own. Even without our connection, your line would’ve remained powerful for some time.”
Azriel fell silent for a moment and processed her implications. His mother, Neorah, did carry commoner blood; one of the many reasons she’d been beneath Asher Celestine and not offered a marriage when they learned of her pregnancy. But he’d never heard Manah state quite so plainly why she felt him so much more powerful than the supposedly superior nobles. On some level, Azriel had always known that he was. Had seen it time after time in his classes when his fellows would tire after a handful of spells but Azriel was still going strong. He – and they, most likely – had assumed it was the Celestine part of him. The blood of a great noble line. But was it really the common in him? Could it be?
After all, Kieran had incredibly strong magic, too. And he was pure high noble.
But then, Tegan was also very powerful, and if he had even an ounce of nobility in him, Azriel would eat his shirt. The others of their group had been brought up with magic from infancy, so it was hard to tell what was them and what was the training. But Azriel had noticed them struggle. Misae in particular.
Was it really because she was so distant from the spirits? She was the most outspoken in their group against them. Truth be told, the only one to bring them up at all and then only to disparage them.
Was that the reason?
“What happened, Manah?” Azriel asked then. “What set the humans against the spirits? Why have we become enemies?”
It was a question that had been burning at him for quite some time. He didn't like the direction his research was starting to take him. He wanted Manah's truth, not whatever washed out lies Grayshire's history fed him.
Manah sighed, and her eyes turned dark and troubled. She sidled up beside him, resting her head on his shoulder again, her aether a calming fluctuation against his own.
“That, my dearest, is a long story. One we haven't the time for tonight.”
Reluctantly, Azriel must admit she was right. He'd been out here too long already, trying to force a focus that wasn't coming. He was probably past curfew as well. Not that Azriel hadn't slipped in under Grayshire's nose before.
“Another time then?” He rubbed a hand across her face in something like a caress.
She nudged him affectionately before stepping away, movements as graceful and elegant as always. “If you haven't forgotten. Your visits are too few, Azriel.”
Guilt sat heavy on his shoulders.
“I apologize. Before now, it was hard to find time to slip away. Kieran, also, complains.”
“Kieran?” Manah repeated, humor rich in her voice and her gaze far too knowing. “I still would like to meet this Kieran of yours. Perhaps one day, I shall.”
Azriel smiled. “Maybe one day, we'll have the freedom for that luxury. I know you two would get along.” Much like Kieran had charmed Azriel's mother in fact. “I'll try to visit sooner. My training isn't complete, after all.”
“No, it isn't.” Manah chuckled and gave him a love that wouldn’t have been out of place on Neorah’s face. “Now go before you are any later.”
Azriel trailed his fingers over the downy feathers of her neck in a parting show of affection and made himself scarce, plunging into the dark underbrush which surrounded their meeting place. One of many, to be honest, as Azriel hadn't wanted to establish too traceable a pattern. It was already a risk to meet with Manah, and he didn't want to put her in too much danger by making it easier on those that would do her harm.
He would also admit wanting to keep himself safe.
Still, he'd traveled this path often enough that he could navigate back to the limits of Grayshire without having to constantly check his position. There was no noticeable path carved into the thick vegetation of the forest, which was for the best. It was a twenty minute walk back to the city, longer if he took care not to make too much noise. There were always patrols around the borders, and Azriel had no desire to run into any of them.
Azriel always entered through Moriarty first. It wasn't surrounded by a fence like Grayshire, and people paid little attention to anyone entering or leaving the forest. Foraging, berry picking, nut gathering, even just a stroll... all were common activities for the so-called lower class. The residents were more likely to look out for each other rather than turn one of their own over to the guard. Unlike in Grayshire, where it was every man for himself.
The difference was always striking.
Patrols were also less likely to watch the boundaries of Moriarty. Unless the commoners were creating a noticeable stir, the nobles in Grayshire tended to ignore them. This worked to Azriel's advantage.
The cramped streets were quiet and dark, the buildings and homes the same. It was late, too late really. Azriel was going to be exhausted tomorrow, but it was worth it. He rarely had time to spend with Manah as it was.
From Moriarty he could enter Grayshire through one of the smaller passages, left unguarded at night save for a lock that Azriel had learned to pick when he was still a boy. His mother would not approve of such a skill, but it became an unfortunate necessity. For Manah, Azriel would risk much. Learning how to pick a lock was hardly the worst of it.
Grayshire was just as silent and still as Moriarty, if not more so. The wider streets were completely empty, the moon beaming down and offering little cover. Azriel did his best to flit from shadow to shadow, heading straight for home as quietly as possible. Again, he never took the same route.
Sliding between two buildings set close together – one an establishment that sold only fabric and the other in the middle of construction – Azriel emerged into a narrower street. One that he knew would lead straight to his neighborhood.
Here, however, was where his luck ran out.
“Stop right there.”
The gruff command cut through the night. Azriel froze mid-step, shoulders slumping.
Running was not an option. It would only make the situation worse, like he had something to hide. He did, but Azriel couldn't let anyone know that.
He turned around slowly, hoping the speaker was someone he could easily outsmart. His heart sank when he discovered it was the last person who would grant Azriel some mercy.
Holmes.
The broad-shouldered old man strode down the road as though he owned it, face set with distrust and annoyance. His eyes narrowed the moment he recognized Azriel.
“Sneaking in after curfew, Hadley?” Holmes held a note of triumph in his voice as he closed the distance between them. “Tsk, tsk.”
Lies danced on the tip of Azriel's tongue, all carefully constructed beforehand and too thin for someone like Holmes to believe. As much as he wanted to stand tall, hold his head up, Azriel knew it would be pointless.
“I apologize, sir,” Azriel said, the respect tasting like ash on his tongue. “I lost track of time.”
“I'm sure you did.” Cold eyes raked Azriel from head to toe. Holmes' mouth stretched into a wide sneer. “Visiting Moriarty, were you?”
Better to let Holmes believe the logical worst than the treacherous truth.
“I--”
“You should be careful, boy,” Holmes interrupted, his voice a mockery of concern. “I'd hate for Lord Adair's prized nephew to acquire a foul, commoner's disease.”
Azriel's brow furrowed in confusion before comprehension stormed through. It was followed immediately by outrage.
“I was not visiting a... a...”
He couldn't even form the word.
“Whore?” Holmes supplied for him and stalked closer. “Then what were you up to? Why else would you sneak to Moriarty? Nothing good, I suspect.”
I have nothing to prove.
Azriel longed to spit that in Holmes' face, to turn up his nose and stalk away, all offended pride. But he couldn't. He was trapped by his rung on the social ladder, so near the bottom he might as well be a foot stool. Which was why curfew applied to him and not someone like Miss Dryden or Kieran.
More’s the pity there.
Azriel sighed, shoulders slumping, forcing himself to blend lies with the truth. If Holmes thought him an immoral bastard with insatiable lust, it was perhaps better than the alternative.
“There is a lady,” Azriel admitted, thinking of Manah and hoping she wouldn’t be offended. “But no... woman of ill repute.”
Let Holmes believe he had a lover of some kind in Moriarty. He’d be branded for having low taste, but it was better than being executed for treason. For participating in dark arts with the demons of the forest.
Holmes loomed with all the subtlety of a hammer to the head. His active hatred had always been a point of puzzlement, but Azriel couldn't see himself asking the old man why.
“Whatever you call it, Hadley, you're out past curfew,” Holmes snarled. “I've half a mind to drag you in, but I'm feeling generous tonight. I'll let you off with a citation.”
It was a relief but not by much. Citations were expensive, easily most of Azriel's income for the month. He hadn't tuition to pay anymore, but that didn't mean he had no expenses. He'd be forced to rely on his mother for his needs after paying.
Azriel forced a calm breath and respect into his tone. “That is very gracious of you,” he replied and tipped his head in a respectful bow, as much as he loathed to do it.
“It wasn't out of kindness,” Holmes spat, and his voice went lower. “I'm going to be keeping a close eye on you, Hadley. I'm going to find out whatever it is you're doing. And I'll make sure it's enough to drag you down so far, your precious uncles won't be able to save you.”
Comprehension stirred. Of course, Holmes wouldn't bother trying to ruin Azriel on such a minor infraction. Not when his uncles would protest and sweep it under the rug. Holmes would come off worse than Azriel himself, especially since it wasn’t unheard-of for nobles to go dabbling into Moriarty. Everyone would brush that off as Azriel truly being his father’s unacknowledged son.
No, Holmes would need something much damning than that.
Azriel took a step backward, putting space between them. Holmes just glared across the distance.
“Yes, sir,” Azriel replied, acknowledging the threat.
He received a curled lip in response.
“Now get out of my sight.”
Azriel obeyed, unwilling to argue and invite further suspicion. Having already been caught once, he didn't bother with subtlety. He headed straight for home, never once looking over his shoulder at Holmes, all the while rage burned within him. His hands formed fists at his side.
No, nothing had changed for his successes. Nothing at all.
He dreaded to think that nothing ever would.
a/n: Wow. I just realized that there was no Kieran in this chapter. For shame! Slowly but surely this piece of lengthy backstory unwinds from the spool. I hope you enjoyed reading!
Feedback is always welcome and appreciated.
