Dark Light

20. Promise Me

"So." Helion crossed his legs. "Where's the Cauldron, Rhysand?"

When you turned to the High Lord of Night, his expression was pinched together, closed off.

Combined with his stiff posture, Rhysand was the spitting image of a male who, at that very moment, wanted nothing more than to be claimed by the Mother.

"It's complicated," he finally said, exasperated. "It's just . . . complicated."

Helion snorted. "It always is with you."

Azriel, who sat to Rhysand's left and Helion's right, said, "Let's all remember why we're here." When he glanced at you, a polite request flickered down the bond.

You sat up a bit straighter before asking, "Wait. Why are you all here?" The right side of Azriel's mouth twitched up in thanks.

"We were supposed to discuss the Blade of Twilight and all of its . . . abilities," Eris explained. "But now, I'm more curious about the Cauldron and its whereabouts."

"Yes," Helion said, rubbing at his chin. "As am I."

For some reason, you turned to Rhysand again — and saw that he was already looking at you.

"Maybe you should just tell them," you said gently. "If you trust these people enough to meet with them in secret, then surely you can tell them about the Cauldron . . . Right?"

The stars winked out of Rhysand's eyes as he glared at you without an ounce of regret.

If he refused to talk about the Cauldron, then it meant he didn't trust the people in this room. You knew it was a low blow but couldn't help yourself; you wanted Rhysand and everyone else to focus on the greatsword and killing Koschei, not the stupid Cauldron.

So you held Rhysand's glare, unwilling to bend.

Ever since the Cauldron Made you an official High Lord, his oppressive aura had felt less so. But not because he'd grown soft, no. It was because you'd accumulated a similar, oppressive aura — the power of a High Lord.

Now, you were equals.

Rhysand took a deep breath before he turned to Helion. "It's with Drakon and Miryam."

The High Lord of Day cocked his head to the side. "Interesting . . . We may not know where they are, but . . . That's an acceptable answer. For now, that is." And then he turned to you, gaze softening. "They didn't force you, dear, did they?"

Azriel fixed Helion with a glare that promised absolute violence. Your stomach churned at the thought, but you couldn't tell if it was out of fear — or excitement.

Excitement?

Hopefully, Azriel hadn't heard that.

Coming back to yourself, you rushed to say, "No! No, I wasn't forced by anyone here. I was tricked by the Mother."

Helion blinked his amber eyes at you, expression owlish. "I'm sorry, come again? Did you say the Mother? The Mother spoke to you? And led you to the Cauldron?"

Eris pressed a hand to his mouth, looking a bit pale.

"Yes, yes, and yes," you answered, glancing around the table. "It seems that interactions with the Mother are . . . rare here?"

"Rare?" Eris's voice pitched higher than usual. He cleared his throat. "Try completely unheard of."

A shiver raced down your spine, but you steeled yourself, not wanting to appear weak in front of all these males. But when you lifted your gaze and locked eyes with Azriel, you just knew that he'd felt your repressed shiver and fear.