Some centuries ago (Azriel is about 20)...

Aetos, son of Lord Crastus of Ironcrest, knew he was being watched.

He had felt that way for days. There was no hard evidence, save for a prickling feeling at the back of his neck, and the icy clench of his veins whenever he was alone but somehow wasn't.

But most unsettling of all was that there was something wrong with his shadow.

Nothing too obvious. He had brushed it off as his eyes playing tricks on him at first. But for days now, though he hadn't quite been able to put a finger on why - or how anything could be wrong with a shadow - but knew something was off nonetheless. Out of the corner of his eye, Aetos swore it moved in ways he did not, grew and shrank where it should not, just enough to unnerve him.

Like it had a life of its own.

He didn't mention it to his parents, nor his brother. His father would scoff; he was not a very imaginative male, and the idea of telling him that his shadow was beginning to scare him was excruciating.

His mother would either sneer at him as well - and hold it over his head far longer - or would get far too interested and trap him in her library for days trying to research what it could be. Besides, any mention of shadows made Lady Elenora flinch, a tic going in her eye.

His brother Darion, nine years his junior and newly turned twenty, would likely just laugh at him and not take him seriously. Darion took very few things seriously, and treated life like it was one big joke.

And then there was her.

He was so unsettled by the subtle but strange events of the past week, that Aetos actually sought out the female whom his mother had sworn was the bane of her existence. The female who his father resented but could not keep away from; she was his mate, after all, and no matter how Lord Crastus wished he was not bonded so closely to a lowborn whore, there was little he could do to resist being drawn to her. The female who Aetos and Darion had belittled and scorned for so many years; in Darion's case, his entire life.

Aetos, on the other hand, remembered a time before Leona had come to Ironcrest. When his father and mother had still smiled at each other.

He remembered the day she arrived too, shortly after Darion's birth; a tall, coltish girl who couldn't have been older than seventeen. Her eyes had been full of stars, then, and her delight at being taken into such a grand household was obvious. He remembered her as lively, free-spirited, dreamy and warm. She was pale, for an Illyrian, with light brown hair and skin that was not so dark as the rest of them, and her eyes were a vivid hazel, green and brown. Very beautiful, yes, but young and naive.

Even as a child, he thought her foolish. His resentment towards Leona had built from his mother's tears and bitter remarks, though at first the young female had been nothing but kind to him.

Not that she was ever unkind. She would not dare. But the kindness had turned to fear, warm and well-meant gestures turned to flinches and lowered eyes. The light in her eyes had faded within the year, yet still Leona held that hint of vulnerable naivity, as though she could not understand why everyone was so cruel to her. Why her mate treated her in the brutal manner he did.

Despite what was undoubtedly a slow descent into misery, the young female had still been thrilled with her pregnancy, no doubt hoping a child would make Crastus love her, respect her, treat her like a fae rather than an animal. Aetos' mother's resentment had grown with Leona's stomach. None of them had been able to predict how his father would react.

When her child was born, the boy was strong and healthy, with a head of black hair already and large wings that had nearly torn his mother apart. Yet Crastus had barely looked at the baby, and the hopeful smile had slid from Leona's face, curdling to heartbreak. Aetos had seen that expression on her face far too many times. Stupid girl; how did she have any heart left to break?

They saw little of Azriel - for that was what she had called the boy - in those first few years. Leona had her own small room, unlike the other servants who shared, purely so Lord Crastus could visit her at night in relative privacy. Aside from that, she acted as any other servant in the household would. She had chores and duties to be done, along with serving her mate whenever he felt the need to take her, along with caring for an infant in that tiny, cramped bedroom of hers.

Aetos had forced his way into her room once, thinking it a funny joke to give her a fright, though had simply been faced with his bastard brother asleep in an old crate, which Leona had clearly taken from the kitchens and lined with blankets. Azriel had woken up the moment he heard someone enter, yet instead of crying or fussing, the baby simply stared. His eyes - vivid hazel, just like his mother's - were somehow unnerving.

This time, instead of bursting into Leona's chambers as he had done twenty years earlier, Aetos knocked.

"Milord, I'm tired," Came a faint reply from inside. Leona's voice had never lost its common accent, and had always been soft, though had grown more airy over the years, less warm, like she wasn't really there at all. "And my Azriel needs me - please could you return tomorrow?"

Azriel had not lived at this estate for years. Gone off to Windhaven with the High Lord's patronage, likely taking Leona's few wits with him. She used to scream and cry every time he was taken from her back to the dungeon, but that occassion had been... more destructive. Aetos had heard little of his bastard brother since, which suited him just fine.

"It's Aetos," He said shortly, misliking being mistaken for his father, for whatever reason. "Do as you're told and let me in," He had asked only out of politeness; he would normally not have bothered, but was coming to ask a favour of her and wished her to be compliant.

He heard the sounds of the female moving about, before the door was opened. Leona was still as beautiful as she had been that day she arrived, though she had... faded as the years went on. Less lively, more distant, floating through life like a ghost instead of dancing through it with flowers in her hair. She was only eight years older than he was himself.

She returned to standing by the window, staring out at the mountains with a faint smile on her face, seeming indifferent to his presence and not blinking nearly enough. Her wings - surprisingly large, even though she was quite tall - framed her.

"I came to ask you something," He broke the silence, though she did not look his way. Aetos cursed himself for being hesitant. "What would you say to someone who felt like they were being watched?"

"We're always being watched," Came her less-than-helpful reply.

"Right," He spoke through gritted teeth, realising he'd have to be more specific. Crazy bitch. "What if I told you that my shadow was watching me?"

She looked at him then, for the first time. The swivel of her head was more sharp than any movement he expected from her, and her sudden wide smile was eerie.

"It means my only joy has come back, at last," Leona sighed as though her very heart was warmed the whole way through. "Didn't you know? He was coming to see you too,"

"Speak sense, Leona, or don't speak at all," Aetos ground out, frustrated, though the prickling at the back of his neck had gotten worse at her words.

He noticed then that one corner of the room was rather too shadowed, considering it was still daylight outside.

"He said he'd pay you a visit," She began to unpick her long braid, running her fingers through her hair. "I thought he would have done so already,"

"Who?" The female was starting to unnerve him far more than his father's whore should be able to.

"Why Azriel, of course," She positively beamed, sighing again and throwing herself down carelessly onto her bed, not mindful of his presence looming above her. Where the neckline of her dress had slipped aside, he saw a ring of dark bruises around her throat, as well as bruises on the ankles exposed when her skirts rode up slightly. Father. "I was so glad to see him - my boy has been gone far too long,"

"Azriel's not here," He tried to sound scornful. "He left for Windhaven years ago, remember? You screamed and tried to claw out Father's eyes,"

She had blown up the entrance hall too. It had been a disturbing revelation for everyone, realising how much of the Illyrian's destructive power Leona possessed, an unusual amount for a female, all of it uncontrolled, spilling out at the whims of a madwoman.

"Oh, but I didn't mean to," Her own eyes were wide, innocent still after all this time. Her fingers played with the pale green siphon around her neck; his father had been forced to give one to her after that outburst, to prevent such things from happening again. "I try not to get so terribly angry often. Your poor father - all he had to do was bring me back my boy, and he kept saying no. Why should I listen to 'no'? I say it often enough and he never listens to me," Well that was something unpleasant he could have done without hearing. "Anyway, Crastus made me sorry later. The matter is behind us,"

Her eyes glazed over then, smile slipping from her face, and Aetos tried not to feel a stab of guilt over what had no doubt been a brutal, if well-earned, punishment.

Something moved out of the corner of his eye, then, and when he looked down he could have sworn his shadow was larger than it had been a minute ago, and not quite in the same place. He shivered involuntarily.

"It all you're going to do is ramble, then you're wasting my time," He glowered at her, tone made harsher from his unease, though she did not seem to care.

Leona's smile had returned as she twirled something in her fingers. At first he thought it was a length of ribbon, but no ribbon would move so... ethereally.

"No, Azriel, it's fine, truly," She was saying to herself, with a small laugh. "Don't look so angry, my sweet. No one likes us being angry here,"

He realised then that it was a shadow, not a ribbon, swirling around her fingers.

The shadows in that dark corner of the room were swirling too. Faster, darker and stronger, until the shrouded figure of a male appeared on the other side of the room. Aetos cursed, jumping backwards in shock. The male's face was becoming clearer by the second. He would not have recognised him, if it weren't for the telltale shadows.

He had last seen Azriel as a scrawny, pale-faced boy with scarred hands, wide eyes and wings far too large for his stunted frame. Emaciated, skeletal, cobwebbed wings, for the child had never been allowed to fly. Then, his shadows were small, insubstantial things that constantly flitted around him, as though anxious and fretful but unable to do very much aside from brush against people, or obscure their vision slightly.

The male stood before him was anything but scrawny. He was tall - taller than Aetos - a couple of inches over six feet, with lean muscle that was evident even under the dark leathers he wore. No less than seven siphons - even Lord Crastus only had four, and that was an excessive number considering most Illyrians only had one or two - were attached to his body, glowing a cobalt blue. A lethal-looking dagger was strapped to his thigh; Azriel wore no other weapons. That shouldn't have made Aetos even more uneasy, but somehow it did.

There were more than a few traces of their father in Azriel, but he took after his beautiful mother in many other ways; his sharp jaw, high cheekbones and thin lips. His hair was dark, however, and his face was tanned rather than pale. The shadows were menacing, terrifying, as they flared around him, and his eyes... so much like his mother's in colour, but full of what was undoubtedly hate and pure, unbridled rage.

Aetos' eyes fell down to his half-brother's hands and winced. The skin was still scarred, twisted, hideously melted. He remembered that day well. It had been Darion's idea, sadistic little prick that he was, and Aetos had not cared enough to stop him. He hadn't expected it to go quite how it did; the fire had not gone out, and hearing Azriel scream in agony, writhing in the bonds they'd tied around him, had not brought Aetos the joy that it clearly brought his brother.

It was one thing tormenting the boy and his mother with harsh, spiteful words, with humiliation and the occassional slap. They had ruined his own mother's life after all, and continued to do so every day. But it was quite another to set an eight-year-old's hands on fire.

Aetos had run to fetch his father, panicking whilst Darion laughed and laughed. He had never seen Lord Crastus so furious at his sons, though he suspected he was partly picking up on Leona's terror through the mating bond; perhaps sensing that her then uncontrolled powers were likely to blow. His father had bound both of their wings for two weeks, and forbidden them from going down to the dungeons to torment Azriel again.

That was perhaps the nicest thing he had done for his bastard son, which didn't take much considering he had torn him from his mother and thrown him in a lightless cell at the age of three, at the request of his bitter wife. The boy had only been permitted out for one hour a day, and only saw his mother for an hour every week. Every time, without fail, Leona would scream and cry in haunting anguish when it was time for her son to be taken away from her. As though it did not happen every week. Quite irritating really, as it was heard all over the house.

Azriel would not make a sound, though he would savagely struggle against whoever was unfortunate enough to have to drag him away, kicking, scratching, biting. Whilst he was a scrawny rat of a child, he discovered quickly exactly where to strike to make it hurt, vicious thing that he was. They soon learned to take Leona away first, for though she would scream, she would not fight.

Aetos had got the impression that Lord Crastus preferred Leona without her son, preferred to have her all to himself. Even though the male was the one ordering Azriel to be taken away, she still clung to her mate as she sobbed.

"Azriel," He forced himself to smile arrogantly at the unexpected sight of his bastard brother after so many years. "Did they not teach you how to use the front door at Windhaven?"

His half-brother did not smile, stepping forward out of the shadows, or as much as he could do when the shadows followed him. Leona rushed to him, throwing her arms around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder.

"I know you were only hiding for a few minutes," He heard her mumble. "I'm just checking you're still really here,"

It was the sanest Aetos had heard her sound in years. He saw Azriel glance down at her, a flash of warmth going through his eyes, before they went cold again as he looked up at Aetos, who fought the urge to step back.

"They taught me a lot at Windhaven," He answered his previous question. "And the High Lord taught a lot more,"

He knew that his brother had been taken from Ironcrest at the request of the High Lord, Morcant, who had learned of Azriel's shadows and thought to train him as a deadly weapon. It looked like he had succeeded. Which put the rest of them in an unfortunate position.

"Did he teach you to fly?" Aetos sneered against his better judgement, but it was sneer or shiver and one was infinitely preferable than the other for any Illyrian.

"His son did,"

"What about how to use that knife you carry? Or is it just for decoration," He knew it was not.

Azriel smiled then, and it was a horrible thing. He drew the lethal-looking dagger slowly, almost reverently, as though it was the most precious thing he owned.

"Truth-Teller," He named it, gaze sharpening. "There's nothing quite like the feel of someone helpless under your blade. Their life in your hands. Crying, pleading, writhing. Though I'm sure you know that already,"

He tilted his head to the side. Aetos knew his half-brother was not speaking of the kicks and punches they dealt to him, before the fire at least. He glanced at Azriel's hands, long and elegent despite the misshapen scars, and wondered what exactly he had done with them at the High Lord's bidding.

"But do you know what it's like from the other's perspective?" He continued. "Does Darion?" There was no posturing, no twirling of the dagger around his fingers like he was surely capable of doing, but simply holding it was terrifying enough.

Like a fool, Aetos shook his head. Azriel's smile dropped abruptly, a cold look of hatred overtaking his expression.

"Not to worry. You will soon,"

At that, Aetos ran, pride be damned. Or he tried to run anyway, bolting towards the door. But he was too slow. The shadows were upon him before he even touched the handle, then Azriel's knife was at his throat, his arm wrapped around him like steel.

"Who knew all these years, Aetos of Ironcrest was a coward," His half-brother hissed into his ear, the blade digging painfully into his skin, enough to draw blood. That was certainly deliberate.

"You'll have the whole camp upon you if you kill me," Aetos forced his tone to remain dull, even.

"And a word from the High Lord will call them off. But it won't come to that," His voice lowered even further. "I'm going to make this last,"

The last sound Aetos heard before Azriel stepped through the shadows with him was his own scream as the blade dug in even further, and the soft voice of Leona singing the lyrics of a bloodthirsty war song and making it sound like a lullaby.

*

Present...

Her mother was a free spirit, Rhiannon had always known that. Aithusa disliked being tied to one place, disliked the responsibility of being in the Inner Circle of the Night Court, and now her youngest child was almost grown and able to handle herself, the female travelled more and more. She was still in Velaris the majority of the time, of course, but was away more frequently, flitting from Illyria to the Court of Nightmares to the other courts of Prythian to the Continent.

However, Rhiannon had not been expecting her mother back for another few days at least when she next returned to the city. She was surprised to see that she wasn't alone, too. An unfamiliar female was with her, another Illyrian.

"Hello, Mother," She wandered over to the two of them, raising an eyebrow in question at the stranger. "Who's this one?"

The female's wings were clipped. Rhys had outlawed the practice almost as soon as he was made High Lord, ruthlessly putting down any opposition, but every other female who had undergone such mutilation still had to bear the scars. It was only the Illyrian girls too young to be clipped before the new laws were passed who could fly.

She was beautiful nonetheless, however, strikingly so. Tall, slender and unusually pale for an Illyrian, her hair was light brown and her eyes were vivid hazel-green. There was something in her strikingly sharp cheekbones and jaw that was familiar, but Rhiannon could not put her finger on what. The look in her eyes as she took in the House of Wind was fearful, yet distant at the same time; somehow childlike, but haunted, not quite there.

She also didn't blink nearly often enough. It was quite unnerving, actually.

"Have you not seen a house before?" Rhiannon asked; though her tone was pleasant enough, her mother narrowed her eyes at her obvious sarcasm, though the female barely seemed to notice.

"Be nice," Aithusa warned her sharply, in her tone that meant she was not to be argued with, one she rarely used anymore with her children. She then turned to the stranger, who was holding her arm in a vice-grip. "This is Rhiannon, my daughter. Don't pay any mind to her words - she talks too much for her own good, and her bark is worse than her bite,"

Rhiannon glared at her at that. The female did not let go of her mother.

"Rhi, this is Leona," Aithusa continued. "An old friend of mine. She's come to live in the library,"

She understood immediately, and finally let her face soften, her posture becoming less challenging, all traces of mocking leaving her smile. After meeting a mysterious, hooded priestess named Clotho, Rhys had recently turned the library under the House of Wind into a sanctuary for females who had suffered violence at the hands of males. Curious, Rhiannon had spoken to those of the priestesses who did not mind female strangers visiting, and had realised exactly how sheltered she really was after hearing some of the things they had to say.

"Have you come all the way from Illyria?" She asked Leona cheerfully, letting her own wings appear and flare out behind her in solidarity, so she didn't think she was some stuck-up high fae who'd look down on her Illyrian blood. Rhiannon was perfecly capable of being charming when she wished to (usually she did not). "The journey is beautiful, isn't it? Tiring, though,"

Clearly her mother had flown both of them the whole way. At her raised eyebrow at taking such a risk, Aithusa just shook her head. Not now.

"It was lovely to fly again," Leona's voice was airy, like a wisp of mist. She was so delicate she looked like a gust of wind would blow her away. "Lovely to be outside," 

"You can spend as long outside as you wish here," Rhiannon assured her, not letting herself blink at the implication that she hadn't been outside in a long time.

"That's nice," Leona smiled faintly, turning to her mother. "Crastus never let me outside for very long," Her smile faded abruptly then, eyes widening in sudden panic. "He won't like that I'm here. What if he comes looking for me? What if he finds me? Oh, he'll be so angry I left,"

"No one knows this city exists, Leona," Her mother was more gentle than Rhiannon had ever seen her, yet firm at the same time. "And Rhysand enhanced the wards of this house himself, which had already stood for millenia before him, strengthened by every High Lord of Night. You could not be safer,"

She nodded rather tremulously.

"And you said my Azriel is here?" My Azriel?

"He'll turn up at some point," Her mother said. "He'll be so glad that you finally agreed to leave. That vile male was draining the life out of you. Already you're sounding more sane, and we've only been gone from Illyria for days,"

Leona gave a soft laugh, finally letting go of Aithusa's arm, though hovered close-by.

"My mind and wits are long gone. The last ones fled when they took my son,"

And suddenly Rhiannon realised, and it hit her like a punch to the stomach. No wonder Leona looks familiar. For whatever reason, she had always thought that Azriel's parents were dead, his mother yet another tragic tale of a female in Illyria, his father killed by Rhys, Cassian and himself when they grew powerful enough to take vengeance for the untold horrors he'd forced Azriel to go through as a boy. 

"Well it was a good thing they took him to me, wasn't it," Aithusa was saying. "Much better than letting him rot alone in the dark,"

"My Azriel is never alone in the dark anymore," Leona smiled vaguely, and the words were somehow chilling.

Living as she did in the House of Wind, it was easy for Rhiannon to go down into the library and seek out Azriel's mother. Partly because her own mother had told her that the female needed more friends than just Aithusa, and partly out of... curiosity? Half of what the woman came out with was rather insightful, masquerading as utter nonsense, and Rhiannon found her fascinating. 

Leona did not know how to read, as her mate had never given her the time to learn - forcing her to do servant's duties instead, and spend her nights with him - which was unfortunate, seeing as she now worked in a library. Clotho was not an ideal teacher, either, as she only communicated by written words, so Rhiannon was happy to take on the responsibility. The older female was a quick learner, and soon discovered a love of stories. She didn't care much for non fiction, but sappy romances, epic fantasies and particularly mysteries were her favourites. Rhiannon helped her work through them, until she could do it herself.

"Is that a siphon?" She asked one day, nodding to the large pale green jewel that hung on a chain around her neck.

Leona's hand rose to it almost unconsciously, a faint smile tracing her lips.

"It is. They didn't want to give me one - barely any females have them - but they had no choice," At Rhiannon's raised eyebrow she continued, tone light. "When they took my Azriel, to send him away, I got upset. Then they gave me my siphon," She chuckled slightly, the sound at odds with her words. "And a necklace of purple bruises to match," Green and purple don't match, was Rhiannon's first intrusive thought.

"Upset? Dare I ask,"

"Three people died," Came the casual, airy reply. "Some more got hurt. Then they told me I had too much power for a female, and was too mad and weak to control it myself. They had to give me this, as a last resort," She played with the siphon around her neck.

Despite the depressing subject matter, Rhiannon had to laugh.

"I read once that Illyrian females often have as much destructive power as the males, they just keep it much better controlled - less aggression and posturing, most likely - so tend not to require siphons to keep their magic in check. Seeing as your son is one of the most powerful Illyrian warriors alive, your own power must be rather impressive. Hence why you couldn't control it,"

"Really?" Leona looked surprised that she was being given such an informed explanation; likely she was used to be treated like she was simple, both for her gender and her supposed madness. 

"I'm sure Azriel or Cassian would show you how to use your power," Rhiannon was rather intruiged at the idea. "If you want to, of course,"

"Perhaps," The female thought for a moment, considering, then seemed to shake herself. "We should do more letters. I want to hear more about that human princess and the monster," 

Rhiannon laughed but obliged.

She had not been present for Leona's reunion with her son, but had seen the two of them interact later on. It was strange, seeing Azriel with his mother. The female had given birth so young they were pretty much the same age, less than thirty years between them. Much like Rhys and Mother actually, but Leona and Azriel had been separated so early on that the dynamic between them was very odd. More like brother and sister, or two cousins, than mother and son. At times it even seemed like Azriel was the parent and Leona the child. 

The female somehow maintained a naive, innocent air about her, despite the horrors she had undergone most of her life. She looked haunted at times, and there were plenty of bad days where she drifted around like a ghost, distant and staring. But on other days she delighted in things like flowers, rainbows and sunshine; in pretty dresses that flared around her when she spun. These days became more and more common the longer she stayed.

Rhiannon had been practicing dancing with Cassian - she was determined not to show herself up at the next official ball, yet her pride made her choose him as a partner because his lack of dancing skills would make her look good - when Azriel walked into the room. Leona had jumped up and grabbed her son before even the Shadowsinger could react.

"Mother, really - " He protested as she took one of his hands, placing the other on her shoulder, but a smile was spreading across the female's face.

"I loved dancing when I was young," Leona said. "I'm sure I still do. And no son of mine will be too dull to dance,"

"Dull," Cassian snorted. "You can't take that lying down, Az, not from your own mother," 

Rhiannon was smirking at the look on Azriel's face; disgruntled, reluctant, mildly panicked. 

Of course, he could not say no to that. Azriel could dance, though from what Rhys and Cassian had said, he only did so after a sizeable number of drinks.

They made an odd pair. The tall, broad warrior, dark-haired, tanned, in dark leathers and with Truth-Teller strapped to his thigh; and the slender female in a floaty yellow dress. Yet Azriel and Leona shared a common gracefulness, in the smooth, silent, almost eerie way they could move. 

Eerie was the right word. Rhiannon had once asked her what exactly had happened to the stepbrothers who set Azriel's hands on fire. Leona had smiled serenely, eyes shining, and said in her soft voice,

"My Azriel carefully carved the skin from their bones, and their screaming was sweet music,"

From that, Rhiannon had no doubt that Azriel's often unsettling nature had come from his mother rather than his father.

It was not all laughter and dancing, of course. For every day that Leona spent in good spirits with Azriel, or Aithusa, or the other priestesses, Rhiannon, Cassian, Mor, even Rhys, there was just as many days she spent staring out of the window in her chambers blankly, or woke up screaming, or terrified one of the other priestesses by sleepwalking at night. Often during the day she would panic at certain reminders of her cursed mate, either begging them to keep her away from him, or begging them to return her to Ironcrest.

The latter occassions were usually only helped by Rhiannon's mother, who had also lost a mate, if for differing reasons. Yet some things, Leona did not even confide in her oldest friend.

"I was so very jealous of Aithusa," She told Rhiannon one day. "At first our stories were similar. But her lord married her and made her his lady. He let her keep her wings and fly wherever she pleased. Mine made me a servant. He despised me, hurt me, used me in the worst possible way, then took my child to lock away in the dark,"

Aged fifteen, having never even been with a male, there was very little that Rhiannon could say to that. Leona had only been two years older than she was now when she first met Lord Crastus of Ironcrest. The thought was rather frightening.

"You promise me, Rhiannon," Leona got that intense, unblinking look in her eyes, grabbing her hand with a surprisingly strong grip. "That you don't let any male treat you that way. Even if you love them with all your heart,"

"I would never," She breathed, and meant it.

"You're stronger than I was. Prouder," The older female seemed to relax slightly at her words. "Luckier. If any male tried to hurt you, your brother would let you kill them, wouldn't he?"

She had bristled slightly at the implication of privilege, but then realised that she hadn't even considered the possibility of Rhys doing anything else. The female was right.

"Even if he didn't, I'd rather suffer the punishment for murder than stand for that,"

"See. You're braver than me. When Morcant died, I could have left whenever I wanted. Aithusa came to find me, begged me to leave, and I waited this long before taking her up on it. Even before, Azriel visited so many times to persuade me to go with him. But Crastus is my mate, and I couldn't. Not even for my son,"

Leona was right. Rhiannon would never be so blindly attached to a male. She could never imagine being so devoted to one who had treated her so badly. The idea was so foreign to her that for once she struggled to find words that didn't sound insulting.

"Well, you're out now. That counts for something, doesn't it?"

"I suppose," Leona's tone had shifted, become airier and more distant, a clear sign that she was sinking again. The female's head tilted to once side. "Sometimes I wish I never left. An ache in my heart calls me back to him even now, even when I hate him. I'm glad my wings are clipped, otherwise I don't think I'd have the strength to resist that threat pulling me back,"

Mating bonds truly were twisted things, sometimes. The idea of being bonding so intimately, so intensely, to someone you weren't even guaranteed to get along with, but were predestined to love with all your heart, was horrifying to Rhiannon.

"Mother's mating bond is tugging her towards a dead male, but you don't see her wandering towards the edge the veranda with her wings tied," 

For a moment she thought she had gone too far, been too insensitive. Yet to her surprise, that seemed to snap Leona out of whatever she'd been sinking into, as the female smiled slowly, eyes clearing a little.

"That's true," Leona seemed amused. Apparently she shared the same dark humour as her son, to some extent. "You're more like Aithusa than you think. She'd tell me to toughen up too,"

"I didn't mean - " She did, so was glad when the older female cut her off.

"You did. I need to be told, every now and again. To remind myself I made the right choice,"

"I do believe that's the most sane thing you've said since I met you,"

Leona actually laughed at that; a surprisingly beautiful, tinkling laugh.

"Don't become too used to it,"

*

My inspiration for Leona is (please don't laugh) Drusilla from Buffy. Not so much in looks but in general demeanour and creepiness; Az had to get it somewhere. I guess that would make Aithusa Spike haha. The whole story of Azriel's mother fascinates me, especially as she is still alive in canon. I really hope we get to meet her in the next book.

Obviously there is a significant change in tone from the first part of the chapter to the second. The first part I actually wrote as a creepy little one-shot but it fit nicely in this story and likely wouldn't have been published otherwise, so I included it here.

Anyway, thanks for reading! I love all your comments, they make my day, so please take a few seconds to tell me what you think.