A Court Of Shadow and Blood

☆ A Thorned Rose ☆

Eblis sat across from him, hands tight in her lap. They regarded each other seriously.

“Now,” he said. A wall of darkness lashed before her as an arrow of cobalt blue shot forward, his siphons flaring. The magic shredded against magic, and his bolt disappeared. He watched in surprise. “Amazing.” Azriel was incapable of forming anything hard with his shadows as she was, and he guessed her ties to Rhysand made that difference. 

He stood as her shadows drifted away as if on a wind. “Alright, that’s enough for today. I think you’ll be able to protect yourself well enough tomorrow.” 

She nodded before drawing her knees to her chin. She seemed small; fragile. “Are you ready for it? For the ball, I mean,” she asked, violet eyes searching his. Her scent of myrrh and darkness was strong within the room.

“I am. Unless you’d like to practice being doe-eyed,” he replied, smiling dryly. She returned the smile.

Unexpectedly, she stood as if to make good on his joke. She said, however, “I have not danced in many years. And I am not sure how to practice.” 

He thought for a second. “You could dance with a training post.” She frowned. “Or a shadow puppet of some sort,” he added, sensing her disliking of his previous idea. 

Eblis gave him a very tired look, a tendril of darkness resting on her shoulder as if in emphasis. “I and my shadows are tired from your grueling exercises.” 

“You sat on a couch for a few hours.”

“But my shadows didn’t,” she quipped. He found himself grinning once more, and he shook his head, dark hair swaying.

With a wave of his hand, a dark mass equivalent to that of a body rose before her. Her eyes widened. “Until we dance tomorrow night, you can practice with this.” Almost hesitantly, she stepped forward and poked a hand through its chest. The shadows parted around her arm in a smoky haze. “Be careful with it.”

Her hand darted back out. He laughed softly and left the room.

***

Azriel’s scent wrapped around her as she grabbed the shadow male’s hands and stepped closer. As if in answer, the shadow quivered and rose to the same height and build as it’s master. Though murky and indistinguishable, Azriel seemed to stare down at her.

She grinned, and initiated the dance. 

Dark coat tails twirled much as her loose shirt did, the memories of many night’s out and dancing flowing through her mind. The steps came to her like a distant dream, and the furniture that’d been pushed out of the way was suddenly too little room.

Her feet swept across rug and wooden floor, the paneled walls and faelight sconces flashing in her peripheral even though she watched the shadow puppet to gauge it’s movements. One of its hands separated from hers and wrapped around her waist. She waited for the pull of nausea and disgust—the need to get away and quick—but it did not come. Not for the disembodied form she danced with, which conveyed the same scent of the male just in the other room. 

It’s touch was a whisper of coldness, and she was careful to not squeeze her hand through its own. For all intents and purposes, she was dancing with air, just one that had a shape. 

After what felt like forever, hunger dragged her away from the shadowed form. In her place, her own shadow puppet rose like a fog and clasped hands with the other. She watched the figures weave steadily before ducking into the kitchen. Azriel was there, enjoying a midday meal without her as Nuala and Cerridwen continued to bake. The smell of fresh bread made her stomach gurgle, and she settled down quickly before eating.