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42. Walking on Eggshells

Thankfully, it only took a few minutes to tell everyone about Eris (and his godsfire), Anima (the beginning of everything), Miriro (your and Azriel's "spirit guide"), the Robe (also known as "Anima" [the Trove, not the place]), Azur (the former High Lord of Twilight), and Koschei's second horcrux (his diary).

Once you and Azriel finished talking, you took a deep breath and straightened. "Any questions?"

Hal cleared his throat, making everyone look at him.

You raised your brows at him. "Yes, Hal?"

"So shadowsingers . . ." He trailed off, grimacing, and then pushed his dirty blonde hair back. His gray-green eyes twinkled in the dim faelight. "What are they?"

You scratched your cheek. "That's a good question."

When you looked to Azriel for an answer, he smirked ever so slightly. "We're not quite sure, to be honest . . . All we know is that when the Robe was destroyed, pieces of Anima and the Mother's essence were cast across worlds."

This time, Cassian spoke up, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "But the Robe was destroyed forever ago. How did you end up with its essence?"

You and Azriel shrugged at the same time, making a few people smile.

Blood rushed to your head, but you said, "Miriro said Anima saw Azriel through his darkest days, but I don't . . ." You trailed off when everyone looked away, uncomfortable. "What? What's wrong?"

"Later," Azriel whispered to you. You wanted him to look you in the eye, but he wouldn't, and for some reason, that hurt. Raising his voice, he continued, "We don't know how I ended up with the Robe's essence."

Cassian held your gaze for a second, nervous, and then looked away. "Right. Okay."

Your throat thickened around a nameless emotion. You'd always known you'd been missing a part of Azriel's past, his story, but he didn't want to share it. And you didn't want to hear it from anyone else.

"Right," you echoed Cassian. You didn't want to think about it too much, so you looked at Rhysand and Feyre to see how they were doing. The High Lord of Night was tight-lipped as if he didn't want his emotions to get the best of him, and his High Lady was wide-eyed and had a hand over her heart.

"Az," Feyre said, her eyes watery. "This is . . . amazing. You're like . . . a god."

The Illyrian males who'd wanted to meet you whispered to one another.

You didn't know if it was something to worry about, but when you glanced at Devlon, you did a double-take. He didn't look happy.

When he caught you staring, he shook his head ever so slightly. He mouthed, "Later."

Oh, goodie, you thought. Another problem.

"He could be High King," Marko said, making everyone stare at him wide-eyed. Even you were caught off guard. "Or . . . High Emperor? If he's really of the Mother, then our world is his, not just Prythian."

Hal touched Marko's arm and then looked at the Illyrian males. Marko followed his friend's gaze, and then he pursed his lips.

Shit. Devlon was worried about them, and now so are Hal and Marko.

The shadow around your thigh disappeared, so you looked down, confused, but then— Azriel's hand replaced it, squeezing.

You forced yourself to look back up, feeling feverish.

Mother above.

Now was not the time.

The Illyrian males were restless, and— Devlon nodded at someone, and then Cassian was walking over to them. As if he were a chaperone, the males stopped talking — stopped breathing, really.