Seraphim Burning: A Seraphim Resistance Novella, #3

By Stephanie BwaBwa

A crown of lies. A devilish betrothal. And an heiress trapped in the dark webs of Fallen Angels.

 

When Tayurah ended her Emberziene Trial with mercy, she was forced to pay the consequence with brutal violence.

Now her days are spent under strict supervision with a Seraphim who terrorizes her, making it clear she's unwanted in the emerald castle.

Tayurah still thinks she can regain her favor in the castle and have a chance to rule as High Lady. Until the curse of her shadows arise along with the impossible… Flames magic.

When the power of fire rises in Tayurah, she's forced into a betrothal with Clayzon, a feared general of the Fallen angels.

Facing an eternal bond and surrounded by the Fallen with no way of escape, Tayurah has to decide:

Will she break? Or will she burn?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elledelle Publishing
• Release date: Dec 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201582791

Book preview

Chapter 1

One

W here am I headed to this dawn?

Tayurah Wyld looked back at her reflection in the shabby mirror and frowned.

Lunella, the eldest of her Maydins, tossed her a guarded look before going back to brushing out Tayurah’s hair.

Raven noir clung to the Heiress like liquid. Tayurah still wasn’t comfortable wearing anything outside of Conlethelle emerald. It was the color of the castle and a clear distinction of who belonged to High Lady Jrasnyne. Being adorned in anything else felt like being disowned subtly and that wasn’t a thought she was willing to accept.

Bryselle had been the one to fight her into wearing the gown while Mafili kept her distance and focused on Tayurah’s first meal of the dawn.

Lunella, Tayurah drawled.

The veins in Lunella’s neck grew taut. She kept her focus on Tayurah’s hair.

Where am I headed to this dawn?

Tayurah looked around wondering who would respond. None of them did.

Their nostrils scrunched, their winged ears twitching. Bryselle made a show of lifting Tayurah’s plain duvet, shaking it out, then busied herself with meticulously tidying the bedcloud. She kept her wings high as a way of shielding herself from Tayurah’s questions.

Mafili was no different.

She knew Tayurah wasn’t hungry. Still, she worried herself with keeping the mangogo cider warm, the tarts fresh, and made, then re-made, the fruit bowls on the platters. She never grew still enough to be bothered with conversation. If Tayurah addressed her directly, Mafili simply turned around and flew to another corner in the bedchamber.

Not that there was much of anywhere for her to go.

The discomfort of Tayurah’s Maydins was a tangible thing. She didn’t know when the switch took place. Her Maydins were once close to her, almost like friends.

Then her last Emberziene Trial happened.

Tayurah, for all her effort, remembered almost nothing from that dawn. When she transitioned to her new chambers in the Southern Wing, her Maydins changed. Two wèks went by and they hadn’t spoken a single word to her. If Tayurah was honest with herself, their rejection hurt, badly.

Tayurah sighed. Is no one going to answer?

Silence.

Burning stars, Tayurah cursed beneath her breath. Bryselle snapped her head to Tayurah, her cheeks flaming.

She’d always been the more modest of the trio.

What do you care? It’s not like you’re going to say something. Tayurah leaned forward, her forehead nearly touching the mirror’s glass. "Or are you?"

Bryselle blinked her pretty, coral eyes. She shook her head twice, blushed, and turned back to the last fold of the bedcloud. She tucked in the sheets, shook out Tayurah’s pillows, spun around to bow, then flew out of the chambers, tears in her eyes.

Oh come on, Bryselle... oh, never mind.

Tayurah gave up, sinking back into her cloudchair. She wasn’t trying to hurt the Maydin’s feelings. She was just tired of being ignored. If they didn’t like her anymore, why couldn’t they just be plain about it and say it?

Tayurah watched Lunella as the Maydin’s long, nimble fingers glided through her hair. She expertly crossed and twisted the strands, sweeping them into a gorgeous updo that let her hair fall to the sides of her face.

Tayurah scanned the room through the glass and noticed Mafili was gone, too. When had she slipped out?

Tayurah scrunched her nose refusing to let the pain go any deeper than the surface. She watched Lunella hurriedly fly through styling her hair before reaching for thin brushes to doll up her face. It wasn’t long before Lunella was done with her assignment. Without a moment’s hesitation, she bowed, flicked her eyes at Tayurah one more time, spun around, and flew out.

Tayurah could’ve sworn her eyes had flickered with... fear? Trepidation?

She wasn’t left with her thoughts long enough to guess. A tall, muscular seraph, clothed from neck to foot in silver leathers, materialized into her rooms.

What if I wasn’t dressed, Shadowphon?

Tayurah crossed her arms, irritated at the intrusion.

"But you are, aren’t you, Tayurah?" Shadowphon Zazazel asked, smoothly.

Tayurah watched him from her mirror as he barely gave her a bow. Something in his posture was more mocking than reverent.

A flash of darkness cut across her mind from the Emberziene Chambers. She thought she remembered seeing Zazazel, and then... she didn’t. She saw darkness and claws and so much dark majik.

Then the memory was gone.

She tried to remember the pieces but nothing surfaced. Scowling, she shook her head. When her eyes rose again to the glass, she found the Shadowphon studying her acutely. His silver eyes pierced her own as if he saw straight through her.

Are you alright, Tayurah?

Always Tayurah.

Never Heiress.

Zazazel’s lack of respect for the status she held in the Emerald Castle didn’t go unnoticed. Since the last trial, he’d done this. Addressed her solely by her first name as if sharing some kind of grand joke everyone understood but her.

She hated him all the more for it.

His voice was calm, his tone gentle. But beneath the rumble of his words, she felt a sharp jab of pain shove between her ribs. She choked on a tight breath and nodded. He watched her expression, his eyes clouding. The silver cloak he always wore flowed on a phantom wind like pouring liquid mercury. He hovered over to her side, concern etched on his face.

She wasn’t fooled.

He always got that look before he began poking. Prodding. Trying to sift through her thoughts and see what surfaced for his studies.

You look upset, Tayurah. Is something not to your liking?

She considered telling him she’d rather spend her dusks somewhere that didn’t look like some box xrats relieved themselves in. But then she remembered General Daeyann wasn’t around to keep the Shadowphon’s temper in check.

She swallowed her pride, forcing out something more... polite.

If you really want to know, I’d be more than happy to return to my actual quarters.

Tayurah crossed her arms, jutting out her chin. Few spoke to the Shadowphon carelessly and lived. But she didn’t care. She was sick of him treating her like some Zaur in a pen.

You know I can’t allow that until you’re better.

"Define better, Shadowphon," she snapped.

The Seraphim wasn’t a fan of her tone. Obsidian shadows surfaced in his silver eyes and his lips curled. Zazazel stared at her for a long while before speaking up.

If you could show some self-control, perhaps your maederì won’t have to continue covering for your absence in front of the Grand Assembly at every gathering.

Tayurah flinched. She was working on his words not hurting so much, but she wasn’t succeeding. That blow hurt and the Shadowphon knew it. She’d wanted to return to her affairs with the Grand Assembly. Wanted to get back to her duties as Heiress. But she’d been denied because of her... sickness.

What the Shadowphon implied was a curse.

Tayurah looked to where the skin of her arms peeked beneath the sheer fabric of her gown. Thin tendrils of gray flowed up and down. Tiny rivers of darkness served as a reminder something was wrong with her.

Wrong enough to keep her from General Daeyann. Wrong enough to keep her from Starr. Wrong enough for her Maydins to reject her. Wrong enough for her maederì to refuse to see her.

She didn’t think the shadows were contagious. No one else believed that though.

Tears burned the back of her eyes. She wanted to be in her gardens. She wanted to go to another Zaur race. She wanted to just roam around the castle freely, without having to see the Shadowphon ever again. But that wasn’t happening. Not until these shadows went away, permanently.

I’ve been working on restraining my emotions. On gaining control. The shadows have lessened, I promise—

You’re not working hard enough, Tayurah. Sometimes I wonder if you like being here, secluded from the normal affairs of your life.

Tayurah whipped around, her jaw hanging. You can’t be serious!

"No Tayurah, it’s you who isn’t serious, Zazazel hissed. You think I have you in my wing of the castle because I want you here?"

Tayurah jerked back as if slapped. It didn’t seem unreasonable... Tayurah muttered.

Then you’re a fool, he spat, drawing away from her disgusted. I had hoped being in here would motivate you to figure it out faster. I was wrong. You clearly enjoy self-inflicted torment.

Shadowphon Zazazel, you’re not suggesting—

Enough, he cut in, raising a gloved hand to silence her. Tayurah’s nostrils flared wide. By the grace of Elledelle, she managed to screw her mouth shut.

Let’s go, Tayurah. It’s time for your lessons to continue. Without another word, Shadowphon Zazazel turned around and flew out of Tayurah’s rooms. She had no choice but to silently follow him down the long, deserted halls towards the Shadowphon’s private Lecture Chambers.

Chapter 2

Two

Broken streaks of dawn trickled into the dark chamber. Tayurah couldn’t help but look around, memorizing insignificant details. Zazazel refused to bring her to the biblion. Never mind the grand library was often empty of any angels except the biblionarians. Zazazel swore it was too much of a distraction, and her lack of control couldn’t handle being in such an environment just yet. So she was forced to learn in his studies.

She brought the mug of tea to her lips and scrunched her nose. The drink was horrid. The Seraphim wouldn’t let her sweeten it.

The stronger it is, the more it will strengthen your mind, and resistance, against the shadows.

It was all a load of Zaur crap to her, but she said nothing.

Perched in a small, but rigid, cloudchair, her eyes took in the freshly pressed silver drapes. Strange, astral patterns were woven through them. She noticed the same patterns trickled into the crown molding of the room, and into some of the tapestry hanging on the walls. There wasn’t a shred of color in the space besides silver and obsidian. If Tayurah could voice her opinion, she’d ask Zazazel why he chose to do the bulk of his work in a room that looked like an open grave. She’d get a shadow licking for it but she wanted to know why he was okay with such awful decor.

Her eyes made it back to her mug and the stretched-out scrolls beyond.

Are you done wandering in that brain of yours?

Her head snapped up, the tea lodging in her throat. Shadowphon Zazazel sat across from her on his cloudchair, the black billows flowing beneath his backside, as his five wing pairs hung off the back, constantly flapping. His expression was blank, but the look in his eyes noted he wasn’t impressed with her distractions.

Tayurah swallowed and nodded. A question surfaced to her lips and she couldn’t help but ask.

Where’s Elector Xafeni? I remember... at least I think I remember... my studies being with her... in the biblion, she added, unable to miss the opportunity to be petty. Zazazel looked at her, bored.

She’s no longer providing you with your lectures. I am.

Why?

Because I said so, he drawled.

She shouldn’t push it, but she did. That’s not a real answer. Why am I no longer studying with Xafeni? Or even Danallele?

Zazazel snarled. Tayurah scowled back, leaning forward. She wouldn’t relent so easily. She wanted to know. She couldn’t stand Danallele but she’d take her over Zazazel any dawn.

Because your High Lady says so, Zazazel quipped. "The Sovereign of Conlethelle thought it best if her only... yënn, was instructed by her closest advisor. Don’t let my scrolls intelligence fool you, elèl. I am still a warrior. Continue to tempt me, and suffer the consequences."

His deep voice rumbled through her chest. Tayurah swallowed, nodding as she sat back. Her lips pursed tight as Zazazel also pulled away, satisfied with her silence.

Now, tell me what you know of the Blessed Discord.

The Blessed what?

Tayurah cocked a high brow. Small chirps sounded outside of the great window in the chamber, opening up to the volcanic lands outside of the castle. Tayurah saw the flutter of orange and purple wings before they winked away. If only she could do the same.

I’ve never heard of such a thing.

Zazazel scoffed. Rolling his eyes, his majik shuffled the scrolls before him on his desk. "But of course. The ignoramus probably told you it was the Great War."

Tayurah huffed, offended on her Electors’ behalf. Elector Xafeni is one of the most brilliant Archim—

I don’t want to hear it, Zazazel waved a hand. Tell me what you know. I need to see how much unlearning you need.

Insufferable brute, Tayurah muttered.

By an unseen force, Tayurah’s head snapped back. Tears flooded her eyes. Her cheek stung with the burn of a fresh slap. By the time she could think straight and look ahead, she couldn’t stop the tears from tumbling down her face. Zazazel was still behind his desk, eyes cast down to his scrolls, shuffling through them as if nothing had just happened. But she knew he’d struck her. As a Seraphim, his speed was unmatched compared to her own as an Anglin. He could knock her unconscious before she could blink and see him move.

You know I don’t take kindly to name-calling. And neither will your soulu.

"My what?"

Tayurah was so shocked by the sudden revelation, she forgot all about her stinging face that would no doubt leave a bruise. She’d have to see a Mender soon before anyone in the castle caught sight of her. What do you mean my soulu?

If I have to ask you about the Blessed Discord one more time, Tayurah, you will force my hand and you won’t like what becomes of yourself.

"I’m the one that will force your..."

Zazazel lifted his head slowly. When his eyes met hers, unnatural evil brewed in the depths. Words fell off her tongue as she choked into silence. He watched her until she started talking again.

"The Great... I mean, the Blessed Discord... It happened six millethium ago between the Raven and the Dove. He seduced a third of the Seraphim throughout the Mihzienien cosms to come together in a blood pact that changed them from Alphaeans to the Fallen. They became Shadowlords, having created a brand new realm birthed from blood and black majik. Axatas was defeated and—"

Tayurah stopped talking when Zazazel slapped his forehead. A disgruntled sigh left his lips as he shook his head. He pulled back, towering over the desk, before slumping backward into his cloudchair. For a moment, with his eyes closed, his brows furrowed, and his lips scrunched, he looked handsome. Like he was someone’s soulu, exhausted after a long dawn of work.

Then he opened his eyes, and the attraction disintegrated.

The menacing darkness she found staring back at her made her shiver. Tayurah scooted back in her seat, nervous to say anything. If he chose to strike her, there’d be nowhere to go. There were no doors. The portal in and out of the chambers only surfaced when he rose his wings to the walls. Though there was a window, she was smart enough to know, she could slam herself into the glass and it wouldn’t break.

Tayurah was stuck.

Zazazel watched her for a long time. The inked patterns carved into his umber face were all the more menacing as he stared at her annoyed.

"You’re telling me, that’s the nonsense Xafeni has been feeding you? He ran a hand down the side of his face, his silver hair trickling down past his shoulders. For the love of the Raven," Zazazel muttered.

He sat up, shuffling more scrolls. He pulled out several blank pieces of parchment, waving his hand. They floated