Fennrin is a shadowforger, a type of az-ari who have mastery over shadows. But all it's ever brought him is misery. People are afraid of the power that he himself barely understands, seeing his shadows as omens of bad luck and death.
Forced to bare...
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Ain glared at the Orinovan chained up in front of him in the palace dungeons. He couldn't believe assassins had just gotten inside the palace. What the sunder had security been doing? This shouldn't have happened, and he'd already given an earful to the captain of the guard.
They hadn't even managed to apprehend any of them aside from this one. The one that had stabbed him in his damned shoulder. The healing tonic Petre had given him had worked some of its magic already, but it was still hurting, and it would take a while to heal properly, which mean that his abilities were a little limited until then.
At least it was just one of his arms that was affected, though. Could be worse.
Then again, the healing tonic had helped with his drunken haze, as well, and while he wasn't hungover thanks to it, he also remembered painfully well that he'd called Fenn his future husband. Ain sensed there was going to be a likely agonizing talk in his future about that, but right now there wasn't time for it, and Ain was incredibly grateful.
"So you were sent here to kill me and Fenn?" Ain asked, scowling at the man. He usually didn't put on an angry front for interrogations, no matter how much he wanted to because he hated torturing people. But this misborn had attempted to kill Fenn, and Ainreth would be damned if he let that fact go. Yes, the assassin hadn't gotten anywhere close to attacking him, having struck up a conversation with the shadowforger in, presumably, an attempt to get him to go somewhere more private where the Orinovan would try to stab him to death.
Assassins. Ain had had his fair share of assassination attempts, but none at the blighted palace. Even though the other assassins had set the palace on fire as a distraction, it was still embarrassing that they'd managed to get away. Stupid, useless palace guards.
"I already said I will not tell you anything," the assassin spat at him. Ain took a proper look at him, then, noting his black eye, the dried blood under his nose, and judging by how carefully he was breathing, he'd no doubt been hit in the chest as well. He was wearing a tunic, but Ain could still see a bruise peeking out from beneath it on his collarbone.
"Was that white-haired soundsmith here with you as well?" Ain asked, ignoring what the man had said. They always said they'd not tell him anything, but that usually didn't last long once he started burning them.
This time, instead of denying anything, the man frowned at him, his one open eye full of confusion. "Soundsmith? What are you talking about?"
Ainreth folded his arms over his chest, scoffing. "Right, you don't know about the soundsmith from Orinovo that tried to kill me a few months ago."
The man frowned harder. "No, I don't. We have no soundsmith priori in our ranks."
Priori. Ain hated that term. They were az-ari, not priori. He wouldn't care that much if the Orinovans didn't always say it with so much contempt. As if their existence was somehow offensive to them. Then again, az-ari in Orinovo were actively oppressed, so that made sense. No wonder there were so many az-ari in Lys-Akkaria that had Orinovan roots, like Petre.
