Chapter Text
Azriel and Cassian stalked one in front of the other across the shoddy floorboards. The shadowsinger walked backwards with ease, covering his brother should any enemies arise, as the general did on the other side.
The shack was dark, the halls too narrow for two Illyrians to comfortably walk. Still, the building seemed far bigger inside than it had looked when they scouted overhead. No doubt part of the suspicious black magic leaking from this place.
Azriel's head turned side to side as he scanned, seeing no one and nothing but the growing distance between them and the door.
Cassian abruptly stopped, causing Az to bump wing-first into the general's back.
"What?" Az hissed over his shoulder.
"Doors, both sides. You go left, I go right."
His voice wasn't nearly quiet enough, even compared to its usual booming arrogance. Az almost rolled his eyes at having to take his brother on this spy mission, but Rhys had insisted it was too dangerous to be investigated alone.
"Fine. Tell me immediately if you find anything or anyone." Az turned into the doorway on the left.
Green light shone through the darkness, almost cloaking the glow of the Illyrian's Siphons. He wore most of them today, and delved into their power now to prepare for a threat.
In the center of the room was a cauldron, far more ordinary than the one which had created Prythian. But it was far from powerless, as evident by the smoke and fog rolling out of it. Was a spell or potion brewing right then?
The shack-that-was-bigger-than-it-should-be reminded Azriel of the Weaver's cottage. Unnerving and potentially dangerous, even without its owner home.
The Spymaster took a turn about the room, finding vials bubbling and jars of live insects clinking against their glass prisons. The walls were lined with them, as well as odd trinkets and ingredients for other potions and spells. Azriel supressed a shudder seeing a wilting butterfly, its wings flapping in one last attempt to escape.
His shadows swept over the walls, reading the labels on the bottles, either out of their own curiosity or a plan to relay to him later.
"AZ! I found something!" Cassian yelled from the other room.
Azriel spun from one of the shadowed crannies he was investigating and stalked toward his brother, taking long steps around the center cauldron.
Too late, he heard a voice whispering an incantation behind him, and a thick liquid being poured into the smoking pot.
He whirled, and his shadows lifted and shouted, frightened and caught competely off guard. Bright green light flashed like lightning through the room, and a hiss came from the cauldron, which poured over with smoke.
Azriel couldn't catch a glimpse at the person or get out before the smoke hit him, and he was falling down, losing his body, breath knocked out of him-