Chapter Text
The brightness seared her eyes shut.
Elain squeezed them tightly then blinked slowly, shielding her eyes until they adjusted to the brilliant white light. Her lungs seized and she shook.
She had no idea where she was.
The room was immense, at least half the length and width of the river house. Floor to ceiling windows covered most of the two long walls, the light flooding through them reflecting off a room made entirely of white marble. There were no decorations or furniture, only two lines of pillars that ran parallel to the windows.
Elain’s breath turned shallow and quick and impossibly loud in the barren space. Her muscles tensed with the urge to run, to crouch low behind a pillar and make herself as small as possible. Instinct kept her frozen in place. The pillars were spread too far apart; their closeness couldn’t be used to trick the eye and she was sure she'd be spotted if she tried sneaking between them. The massive windows could reflect her location and guaranteed anyone outside saw her. There was nowhere to hide and she needed to find a way out. Remaining where she was in the center of the room gave her the clearest and quickest way to find a door.
She studied the wall in front of her then forced her feet to move. She turned a slow circle.
She didn’t want to alert anyone, or anything, to her presence.
There were no doors, if there were they were built seamlessly into the walls. She was too far from the nearest windows to make out anything in the light.
There was no sound beyond her breathing and thunderous heartbeat that she would have sworn echoed.
The silence, the emptiness were somehow more terrifying than Hybern’s throne room filled with wicked, grinning Fae and hideous creatures, saliva dripping from their sharp, gleaming teeth.
Elain whispered Azriel’s name then flinched when it returned to her like a scream.
There were no shadows to try to speak to in the hope that at least one was alive and could carry a message.
Shadows.
Turning in a frantic circle, she looked down at her feet then at the bases of the pillars. There should have been shadows. Her body and the massive pillars should have created the only darkness in the room.
She ran to look out the window to her left then dashed to the right side of the room not caring that her steps sounded like boulders crashing to the ground. Elain ran past a few more windows then stopped. She raised her hand to touch the glass then quickly pulled back as the air filled with a faint crackle like lightning about to strike and her fingertips tingled. She returned slowly to the center of the room.
There was nothing outside. The windows showed only pure white light.
She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’tbreathe. Shecouldn’tbreatheshecouldn’tbreatheshecouldn'tbreathe. Sheneededtobreathe. She neededto breathe. She needed to breathe. She needed to find a way out. She needed to get out before anyone realized she was here or possibly that she was awake.
Elain’s mind raced. How did she even get here? The last thing she remembered was reading the dullest tome on the history of Prythian in existence that usually helped her fall asleep then she was blinded by the false light. Had someone, something, gotten past the wards of the river house and transported her to this place that made her insides shrivel? Was she dreaming or having a vision? It felt real. The air was warm against the skin exposed by her thin silk nightdress while the marble was cool beneath her feet. Her heart beat so fast Elain thought it might explode, but since being Made High Fae her dreams, visions, and occasionally reality, blurred. Her dreams had become so realistic she sometimes didn’t know she’d been asleep until she woke, and her most hated visions came when she slept because those too always made her feel like whatever she Saw was happening to her. She couldn’t always tell the difference between those dreams and visions either, not even when she reached into the ether to try to find out what they might mean.
She looked around again, her mind searching for a tether or anything that might tell her she was having a vision and found nothing. Elain grabbed her forearm and gave her skin a harsh twist. Pain flared and lingered but nothing else changed.
It doesn’t matter, she told herself. If there was the faintest chance this was real and she’d been abducted again she needed to try to save herself. Elain ran through her training and weapons to combat her growing panic. What did she see? How could she escape? What details could she report back?
Rows of enchanted windows flanked both sides illuminating the room. Everything was white marble, the gray and gold veins so light she had to narrow her eyes to see them. The pillars were a short distance from the windows leaving a wide row through the middle of the room where she stood. The layout … it was like the throne room in the Hewn City and Hybern’s castle but she didn’t see a throne. Did the other Courts have a throne room for their High Lords? Had she been transported to the continent? She knew the answer but fear made her forget if there
were any Fae kings or queens there.
What else? What else was there?
Smell. Elain startled realizing the room had no smell. She didn’t even catch her own scent, not even the tang of her clammy skin.
Holding her breath she listened intently to determine if anyone was near or if she could hear anything that might help her figure out where she was. She only heard her heart beating so loudly she wasn’t sure if it was from fear or if it was somehow enhanced by the room.
Elain risked it and closed her eyes. Her senses were ramped so high she could probably hear her blood move in her veins if she focused.
She breathed in lukewarm, not quite fresh air to a count of four, held her breath for a beat of four, then released it to another count of four. Her breathing evened on the second round; she opened her eyes again on the third.
She was still in the large throneless room as silent and lifeless as Under the Mountain had to be. She might have believed she was there if it wasn’t for the light.
The deafening sound of her softest movement made her hesitate to move at all but she had to find a way out. Squinting, Elain looked behind her again and saw the wall, a solid slab of white stone. She looked to the wall in front of her.
Her gasp sounded like an explosion.
A light gray rectangular shape was embedded in the whiteness.
She wasn’t sure if she was more terrified or relieved.
Her feet began moving of their own volition. They sounded just as loud as before, like a mountain collapsing around her, as she made her way to the gray shape. She prayed to the Mother, forgotten human gods, the Cauldron, anything that might listen and help her that it was a door she somehow missed.
Elain tried to walk on the balls of her feet, tried small steps, tried taking a step then waiting a few seconds before taking another but every move made her want to cover her ears. The rustle of her nightdress sounded like the beating wings of the Illyrian legion. The sounds alone were enough to drive her mad; it was worse than the weeks after she was Made.
An empty pit grew in her stomach gaping wider with each step. The pillars and windows were identical and endless. There were no scuff marks on the floor, no marks on the pillars or streaks on the windows from cleaning. The gray shape seemed to be the same distance as before.
Was she even moving?
Elain forced herself to breathe evenly to the counts of four. He would be looking for her by now. That was the one promise she knew in her soul he would keep. She had to keep her head and be ready for when he found her. The thought calmed her enough to keep walking.
Four, eight, twelve, sixteen, twenty, twenty-four, twenty-eight, thirty-two, thirty-six … she blinked and the shape was visible without narrowing her eyes. A dark gray rectangle in a sea of white, or was it another trick of the light? Her imagination? Elain didn’t care. She started to run, chanting “please be a door” in her mind.
Her stomach twisted and lurched, bile rose in her throat. The rectangle grew in size and detail faster than she could ever run. Faster than anything with four legs could ever move.
It was a throne. A simple, elegantly wrought throne of shining gray on a raised dais. A large stained glass window filled the wall behind it, the colors so vibrant it would make Feyre jealous.
It wasn’t there before. It couldn’t have been. The wall had been white.
Why weren’t the colors reflecting off the floor?
Elain’s head started to throb. She couldn’t make out the images in the stained glass. She knew it was a picture of something like she knew how to breathe or that she had two sisters but it was just a vivid smear of colors.
She had to know what was in the image. Something in her bones, in the ether where her visions came from told her it held an answer to a question she didn’t know to ask yet.
Elain’s head split open in pain that speared down through her body. She tasted blood. Her hands flew to her streaming nose as she staggered backwards into something as equally hard as whatever hit her. She blinked heavily trying to make her eyes focus to see what she needed to protect herself from.
There was nothing in front of her. The throne was still at least twenty feet away.
She half turned to see the new thing at her back that had crept silently behind her. That felt almost warm on her bare shoulders.
There was nothing there, only the empty hall.
She pressed a hand next to where her shoulder touched nothing she could see. When she removed her hand a bloody print floated in mid-air.
Her arms shook like branches in a wind storm as she turned back to the throne. Now she saw the burst of red where she hit. She reached forward, after half a step she felt the same solid, translucent wall. Saw the same floating handprint beneath the spot where her nose had broken.
Her head cleared as she turned in a circle running her hand along the walls that were not there. A trail of thinning, dripping blood hung in a perfect square.
She was in a cage.
It was hot, far too hot for an early evening so far north when spring had barely slipped into summer.
The heat had arrived early with the sun and quickly overstayed its welcome, thickening the air until it was nearly visible and clinging like a second skin. By mid-morning all the windows and most of the doors in the river house had been opened in an attempt to catch the breeze from the Sidra. They’d closed them again a little after mid-day, switching to magic to cool the two levels. For a house built next to the water the lack of air felt like an odd betrayal.
Elain dragged her eyes from the window overlooking the river; it lay as flat as the worktable where she and Nuala finished preparations for dinner. She hadn’t seen a boat pass by in hours.
Blotting the sweat starting to bead on her upper lip with her shoulder, Elain reached for a particularly plump strawberry and began slicing. Her pile of fruit was smaller than it should have been; instead of cutting she kept staring out the large window over the kitchen sink, willing her mind to be as calm as the river.
She was failing miserably.
“Would you please pass me the rolling pin?”
The strawberries were as red as the blood in her dream.
“The rolling pin, please?”
It had to have been a nightmare; she’d dreamed of being trapped before. Held prisoner before.
With a tiny shake of her head Elain pushed the slices into the pile at the top of her cutting board then took another strawberry. She couldn’t stop thinking about the nightmare. They were so frequent she’d become adept at blocking them from her thoughts and locking them away until they vanished, forgotten, but she couldn’t rid herself of this one. She’d kept herself busier than usual to occupy her mind since it was no longer an option to be comforted by a deep, velvet voice but the memory of the barren room and glass cage kept returning like a weed whose roots she hadn’t managed to completely tear out of the soil. It unsettled her; it was her visions that usually remained with her.
“Elain, can you pass me the muscaliet?”
She stared at the red juice vibrant against the pale wood grain of her cutting board. It wasn’t a vision. She could tell when she had a vision while she slept.
“Hmm?”
Most of the time.
Delicate black wisps edged into Elain’s sight moments before they brushed against her bare skin, sending a chilly, invigorating shiver racing up her arm. Beneath the smoke and shadow a hand grasped the rolling pin set just in front of her. Nuala, her thick brows lowered in a look of exaggerated annoyance, returned to the end of the work table where the large, pale yellow ball of pastry dough that Elain made that morning waited to be rolled out. Holding Elain’s gaze, Nu dropped the pin. Instead of landing with a soft thud on the dough it crashed onto the flour dusted table top. Nu stifled a cough as a small white cloud erupted in her face.
Elain and Nuala stared at each other in surprise. Time stilled for a few seconds before the demi-wraith’s nose twitched and like a dam bursting she loosed a high pitched giggle that Elain had never been able to resist. She broke into a sharp, pealing laugh, then nearly doubled over when her friend snorted. Only luck kept her long, golden brown waves from spilling onto the cutting board as she lost herself in a moment touched only by happiness.
“Are you sure you’re not part banshee?” She asked between gasping breaths.
Nu squealed indignantly and a fresh round of laughter filled the kitchen until she straightened, and with a deep, centering breath, pointed to the ceiling. Clutching her aching side, Elain looked up to see a filmy darkness float down into the kitchen. The light from the large window filtered through it like the sun through leaves as it landed in front of the sink. The mist pulled together, thickening into the solid form of Nuala’s twin, Cerridwen.
“Feyre’s feeding him,” she announced as her shadows slipped into her preferred position close to her body. She’d been watching Elain’s nephew, Nyx, while her sister Feyre tried to nap. At almost three months old the boy was such a terrible sleeper that Elain’s family and the twins took turns watching the babe to ensure he and his parents got enough rest. As High Lord and Lady of the Night Court, Rhys and Feyre needed it.
“What’s set you off now? The tart should be ready to go in the oven.” Cerri’s mouth twisted in dismay. “Are you covered in flour?”
Nuala’s shadows grew in size to wipe away the white specks freckling her face and shirt before retreating back into small waves that rippled across her deep umber hued skin.
“Nu accidentally dropped the rolling pin in it, then she snorted,” Elain tried to explain.
Cerri sighed looking unamused.
“She called me a banshee,” Nuala added, tossing a small piece of dough at Elain, who leaned to the side to avoid being hit. “Ooh, good reflexes.”
“Well, you do laugh like one. Oh, the potatoes aren’t in yet either? Why do I leave you two alone? Hey!” Cerri abruptly turned back to Nu, shadows rising along her shoulders like hackles as the piece of dough that bounced off her cheek rolled out of sight.
Elain hid her smile; sisters were the same whether they were human or faerie.
“What’s a muscaliet?” She asked, her natural instinct to soothe any tension mixing with genuine curiosity. In the months after the war she’d spent time learning about the Fae and Prythian but she didn’t recall encountering the word before.
“What?” The twins rounded on her at the same time, identical quizzical looks on their faces.
“Oh!” Nuala exclaimed. She shrugged and started rolling out the pastry dough. “I just picked something. It’s a small beast. Body like a hare, tail like a squirrel, and tusks. They’re fairly rare; they were hunted for their tusks and because they can be quite destructive. Their bodies create enough heat to dry up trees and vegetation. The Winter Court bred them for that reason, they had tricks to keep the heat in check, but I’m not sure if they do it anymore.”
“They still do, but they keep it quiet now. There’s supposed to be a colony of them in the Middle as well.” Cerri added snapping the oven door shut.
Elain wondered what she held back. The twins rarely spoke of the work they did as spies but she knew Winter was one of the three Courts that Cerridwen was an expert on.
Cerri settled across the worktable from her with the smile that meant she wasn’t actually angry as she took up another knife and the untouched stack of rhubarb. Elain began slicing the strawberries as quickly and neatly as she could. She would have remembered to add the side dishes to the oven and finished the tart by herself like she was supposed to if it wasn’t for the damn dream. Without thinking, her eyes went to the window and the garden she so meticulously created, the curve of the sapphire river beyond it.
“Is everything all right, Elain? You’ve been a little distracted today.” Nu asked.
The rapid snick of Cerri’s knife paused then resumed.
“It’s nothing, I slept a little worse than usual. Bad dream.” Elain replied lightly, returning her attention to her dwindling pile of uncut fruit.
In the silence she realized her mistake. It was far from reassuring to hear that a seer had a bad dream in a Court on the cusp of another war. Not when her last vision while she slept was of Eris Vanserra being attacked and abducted by his own soldiers under the control of the human queen Briallyn.
The dream had truly distracted her; while she was more open with the twins than almost everyone else in her life she was still cautious about what she shared. They had enough worries.
“It wasn’t a vision, just an old nightmare that made me sleep poorly. Nyx also woke me a few times, so those things combined with this weather is making me woolgather.”
Saying the words out loud made Elain see the truth in them. While she hadn’t had a full night’s sleep since before Nyx’s birth, his frequent wakings and cries that could probably be heard in the human lands had been fraying her, really everyone in the river house’s, nerves more than usual. In that light it wasn’t surprising she fixated on the unsettling new version of a once frequent nightmare. The unseasonable heat only made it worse, casting an additional pall over the day that seemed to affect everything. The Palace of Bone and Salt had been as slow as the winter market in her old village. Even the birds that congregated along the river and in the gardens sang halfheartedly.
The twins nodded, familiar with her bad dreams and the increased inattentiveness and irritability of the house’s occupants. Nightmare, Elain decided, pushing the memories to the back of her mind.
“Are you nervous for tomorrow?” Cerridwen asked.
One corner of Elain’s mouth twitched up at her friend’s gentle inquiry. It would make sense for her to be anxious about her first visit to the Illyrian camp of Windhaven since before the war. Her family was going so Rhys, Feyre, and Cassian could meet with all of the camp war-lords. After Briallyn’s interference in their sacred tradition of the Blood Rite earlier in the spring the warrior clans set aside their own feuds and lingering resentment at the High Lord for all the lives lost in the war with Hybern and were now clamoring for revenge. Rhys and Cassian had been making frequent visits to the camps to quell their rage and keep them in line enough to prepare for another possible war.
As Nyx’s main caretakers outside of his parents Elain and Mor were going too because Feyre and Rhys were also meeting with the camp’s matron/midwife. As excellent as the family’s healer in Velaris was, Madja wasn’t familiar with the quirks of raising a babe with Illyrian wings. Having been stationed away from Velaris for most of his sister’s infancy, Rhys knew only a little more. Since Cassian and Azriel’s knowledge was similarly limited, Feyre and Rhys thought it best to speak with the matron, Ajkuna.
She hadn’t voiced it out loud, but Elain thought they were also hoping to learn a way to ensure Nyx slept more than two or three hours at a time. A wave of eagerness swept through her; the surprise she planned to share at dinner would hopefully result in uninterrupted sleep for everyone.
“No. I’m actually looking forward to it,” she said, sweeping the mound of cut strawberries into the large bowl where Cerri deposited the sliced rhubarb.
“There’s a first for everything,” Nuala quipped. She examined the disc of dough with an exacting eye then moved it onto a baking sheet.
Cassian was the only one Elain knew who didn’t mind the camps. Rhys tolerated them; everyone else only went when necessary. From what she heard and read the lands were unforgiving and the inhabitants just as inviting. Though they’d treated her well at each of their base camps, Illyrians weren’t known for their fondness of the High Fae, females, or outsiders.
“It will be nice to see Ajkuna, and I’d like to see Windhaven again.”
Elain had become friendly with the matron when she’d helped with the wounded after the last battle. They’d exchanged a few letters but Elain had not seen her in almost two years. After the war she’d only left Velaris to go to the Hewn City. She was eager to see another part of her new homeland and at some point, the rest of Prythian. In her desk she kept a growing list of places she wanted to visit and things she wanted to do, and unlikely as it was, Windhaven was on it. Her memory of the camp was like an old, faded painting; she’d been too distracted by the legion readying to move out and her vision of red rain and winged males falling from the sky to take it in. She wanted to see where her new brothers and Azriel spent most of their youth.
“Do you -” Cerri stopped as if reconsidering her words. “It will be a change at least. Now that everything’s in the oven and the fruit is macerating, we should start cleaning up. Nu, you can clean up the mess you made."
Nuala looked down at the flour stippling an expanse of the black marble table top and pulled a face. With a near silent sigh she turned to the sink for a washcloth and Elain and Cerri began collecting the utensils, bowls, and cutting boards for washing. They flowed around each other easily as they cleaned, a seamless unit after so many hours together in the kitchen.
When she met the twins Elain never expected they would become so close. After being Made their silence, and Azriel’s silence, had been a balm to the images and sounds in her mind. They’d eventually opened up to each other and now Elain thought they were closer in some ways then she was with her sisters. There was no history coloring everything. No expectations or boxes to fit herself into. They accepted who she was, how she’d been broken and who she was becoming, the woman, female, she wanted to be but was afraid to wholly embrace when she was human. Feyre accepted the changes in her easier than Nesta, but she knew it was because they were not close growing up. Her younger sister never quite seemed to know what to make of her, and while their relationship had greatly improved since both became High Fae she would never be Feyre’s first choice when she wanted to spend time with a friend. Nesta … she was thankful they were overcoming their estrangement and that her older sister was finally trying to curb her overprotective nature and see Elain as her own person.
“I can finish dinner, if you’d like to go home?” Elain offered as they put away the last of the dry dishes.
Nuala perked up, the dark mist around her moving faster.
“Are you sure?” Cerri asked.
Hating the delicate balance she sometimes had to take with her friends, Elain smiled reassuringly. They were employed by Azriel, Rhys, and Feyre, and as she lived in the river house they were technically her servants too. “If they didn’t say you were needed later, then I can take care of everything myself.” She said, hoping as always that her words didn’t sound like orders.
Nu looked to her twin, a natural deferral to her more serious sister who’d been born minutes first. Cerri’s high cheekbones bloomed with color alongside a small, bright smile. “I might see if Priya is available.”
“Oh, you must, Cer! That’s so much better than staying here.” Elain exclaimed.
Cerri’s flush deepened. “I thought we could all get together soon?”
“Please let me know when, I can’t wait to finally meet her.” Elain replied, her excitement bubbling. She’d heard so much about the High Fae female that stole Cerridwen’s heart. The feeling must have been reciprocated for Cerri to bring her to Velaris.
Cerri nodded, her eyes distant and a smile lingering on her lips. Elain felt her own cheeks warm and pretended to brush a crumb into the sink.
“I am going to take a long bath and go to bed.” Nu announced happily.
Flowers that Elain cut for them in hand, the twins departed as they always did, darkness swirling around them like storm clouds before the wind swept them away. After checking the clock, Elain found herself staring out the window again. She thought of Cerri’s small smile for her lover as her eyes followed the path through the garden that would take her to the far off spot with a bench built for a large pair of wings only visible to the river and the sky above. She tried to ignore the fluttering in her chest like she’d swallowed a small bird. The beat of its wings raced beneath her skin as her thoughts turned to something more dangerous than her nightmare.
Azriel was staying for dinner. It was the first he was attending without the whole family, only the fourth he’d attended at all since Winter Solstice.
She shouldn’t have given it any thought. Her mother would have snorted and called her a fool, but Elain allowed herself the frisson of anticipation as she gathered four sets of plates and utensils. Something had changed between her and Azriel again the day Feyre, Nesta, Nyx, Rhys, and Cassian nearly died. He no longer avoided the river house or stayed on the opposite side of the room when their family gathered. Instead of not quite meeting her eyes and silence he looked at her. A few days before he asked if the section of the garden where she planted only night blooming flowers was faring as well as she hoped. They hadn’t spoken of it since the day in early autumn when she’d drafted the list of seeds to purchase while he sunned his wings next to her, half dozing off while he read a report.
It wasn’t much but it was everything when Azriel’s shining hazel eyes met hers and he gave her that slow, almost shy smile. Simply being near him made Elain’s heart thrum and something within her settle, it was like everything in all the worlds had settled. If there was a chance, even if they only became friends again … she had lived for years where hope was merely a spark she held onto.
Enough of that for now, Elain thought. As tightly as she held onto her hope she knew better than to rely on it alone.
With the table set she checked the time again then headed towards the sitting room for the knitting she’d left there earlier. The fruit needed to soak a little longer and she could work on making her edges neat while she waited. At the rate she was going the blanket she planned for Nyx would be done the Solstice after next.
Elain was nearly to the basket with her supplies when the door to Rhys’ study opened with a faint creak. Her feet froze, the small bird in her chest started fluttering again at the familiar sound of a near silent tread heading her way. Elain quickly brushed her hair behind her shoulders then smoothed the waist of her pink linen dress. Should she grab the skein of wool so she looked occupied?
She didn’t have time to move. The bird stopped dead and her stomach dropped as the footsteps paused then sped up as they continued to the front door.
The shadows must have told him she was there. He was trying to avoid her.
Elain’s arms wrapped around her stomach like she’d been punched. They’d stopped this dance. Azriel had stopped politely running away. Why was he doing it now? He was supposed to stay for dinner. Where was Rhys?
Azriel passed by the sitting room so quickly Elain barely had time to notice his furrowed brow or the way his wings tilted slightly forward over his head. Shadows curled around the obsidian talons and along his wings, draping down his body like a cape.
He only held his wings that way when he felt anxious. Was it because of his meeting with Rhys, or because of her?
A hint of cedar in the air broke Elain out of her stupor. She hurried after him, grateful for the ridiculous immensity of the river house.
“Excuse me?” Elain called. She couldn’t say his name, it made her heart beat too fast. It meant too much.
Azriel stopped in place, his wings tipping back until they were as straight as the sword that was normally tucked neatly between them. He turned three quarters of the way towards Elain and gave her a deep, unseeing nod, his eyes dark and fixed just beyond her shoulder. She stopped a few feet away from him, swallowing hard at the muscle feathering his jaw. It was so sharp she might have cut her hand if she dared to touch him. The shadows flashed, swirling quickly around Azriel’s wings before they disappeared with a whisper.
Black worry hurtled through Elain’s body. Her throat went dry; she didn’t know what to say anymore. Azriel remained still and silent as ever, waiting for her as he used to. She blinked back the tears stinging the back of her eyes. He was supposed to stay tonight. He won’t even look at me.
Elain inhaled sharply, wincing at a sting on her index finger. A small, pin thin line screamed red against her too pale skin. She hadn’t realized she was rubbing her knuckle or that she must have torn her thumbnail earlier. Her hands fell to her side, her thumb covering the scratch so she couldn’t accidently stain her dress.
Azriel’s eyes flicked over her hand so quickly Elain almost missed it. He saw everything as always.
Her hand brushed against the hidden pocket in her dress, the oblong shape tucked inside suddenly heavy against her thigh. The memory of a broad, brilliant smile made her straighten like she had her own Illyrian blade running along her spine. Calm, confident.
“I thought you were staying for dinner?” She asked, her voice betraying her with how small it sounded.
Azriel exhaled softly, deeply. If she hadn’t studied him so much Elain would have missed the tensing of his shoulders, the twitch of his fingers. His eyes might have been studying her ear.
“Feyre said you were staying after your meeting with Rhys? There’s a strawberry and rhubarb tart, with cream?” She tried not to cringe at how pathetic she must seem, her voice quiet and wavering a little, offering him a dessert she knew he loved and made specially for him as though they were still friends. She didn’t know what they were.
Gods he smelled good.
The tension in Azriel's shoulders softened a little. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply and silently; she shouldn’t but Elain hoped he was taking in her scent like he used to. His fingers twitched again, flexing. She wanted to push her fingers between his, to feel their strength and the comfortable warmth of his skin. She wanted to place his palm against her cheek and lean into it.
Shifting on his left foot to fully face her, Azriel’s eyes dipped down to her hands again and frowned. His arm raised a little then fell as if he caught himself.
“I’m sorry; I cannot stay.” Azriel hesitated. Was he thinking of an excuse? “There is still work I need to do before tomorrow.”
“Oh.” Elain pushed the jagged edge of thumbnail into her palm and let the sharpness center her. She smiled brightly. From the way his mouth thinned she knew Azriel could tell it was false. “Of course. You must be very busy; it’s rare to have all the camp lords in one place. I’ll make sure to save some of the tart for you if you’re able to stay for a little while tomorrow.”
Azriel’s smile seemed wistful. “I’m -” he stilled abruptly, his smile vanishing. “Thank you. I should be going now.” Turning on his heel, Azriel swiftly headed for the door.
“You need to rest more; you’re favoring your right side.” Elain said.
He paused, hand on the intricate black metal knob of the front door, and she might have sworn that his wings and shoulders sagged. Azriel walked through the door, his steps perfectly even and silent.