Dark Light

8. Then Take It

"(Y/n)?" Amren snapped her fingers in your face, making you jump. "I'm sorry, am I boring you?"

You laughed nervously and scratched at your cheek. "No, Amren, of course not! I just — got distracted. Hold on, I'll try again."

Amren simply nodded and crossed her arms, watching you like a hawk.

You took a moment to get comfortable on the blanket and then glanced to your left, where the patio was. Cassian, Nesta, and Azriel were babysitting Nyx because Rhysand and Feyre had been summoned to the Day Court to speak with Mor and the High Lord, Helion.

Amren cleared her throat.

Heat crept up your neck, so you shook your hands and tried to empty your mind, but it was damn near impossible. Just yesterday, Feyre had told you about Azriel — about shadowsingers, spymasters, and Illyrians. You didn't think it was possible, but he'd become ten times more intriguing and mysterious.

You glanced at Azriel one more time before closing your eyes.

You almost wished Feyre had told you about him as a person, as a fae, but you knew telling someone else's story was rude. If you wanted to hear more about him, it'd come directly from him and him alone.

"Any day, girl."

You sighed, frustrated. "Is this really necessary?"

"Yes. Rhysand doesn't want a repeat of Rolant. No one does."

"But we've been at this for hours."

"Do you really want to be caught out like that again?"

You grumbled but lifted your hands, palms to the sky, and then, once your mind was completely blank, you started the breathing exercise Amren had taught you this morning. Slowly but surely, everything faded away, even Nyx's loud laughter.

You straightened, brow furrowing. Because this — this was . . . different.

You were on a blanket in the backyard with Amren — but not.

You were a speck of stardust, trapped in this universe — but not — but slipping between each and every one.

What're you looking for?

You turned but saw only a maw of darkness that resembled a melting pot: a singular, all-knowing eye that cried pure light.

What am I looking for? you echoed. I'm looking for something that belongs to me.

The pot asked, Does it, though? Belong to you?

Yes.

Then take it.

You crouched to scoop up the light, and then—

"(Y/n)!"

Your eyes flew open.

Amren hovered, hands at the ready. Her gray eyes were wide and wild — scared. You thought it was a joke until you noticed Cassian and Azriel behind her, siphons glowing (Feyre had explained that their stones weren't just stones — they had a name and purpose).

"What?" You blinked, letting your eyes adjust to the light. You glanced down at your right palm and then did a double-take. "Oh . . ."

A bead of light sat there, tickling your skin. It took a lot of effort to keep it there, you realized, so you reabsorbed it with a mere thought.

Amren was the first to speak. "What did you do, girl? Where were you? Who were you talking to?"

"This . . ." You trailed off, curling your fingers in thought. "I told this melting pot that I was looking for my power. And then, because it implied that it didn't belong to me, I simply . . . took it."