A Court of Light and Shadow

Chapter 4

THE HEIRESS

Sleep never came easy. Especially not now. I had slept on hard, cold cobblestone floors for over two hundred and fifty years. A bed was foreign. Unfamiliar.

I did not even dare to give it a try, so as the clock ticked on the mantel, I sat by the windows. Admiring the night sky. The way the moon lit up the room, the only light I adored nowadays.

Most of the time, night was the one thing that brought me comfort. Along with the shadows and the darkness. Fast, good friends. The closest I've had.

Though being alone, it was overwhelming. The thoughts that went through my head, sometimes they overpowered the reality that sat right in front of me. The opportunities would be overruled by thinking. Overthinking.

Was I not good enough for my father?

The question that haunted me most the past centuries. What was it about me that made him despise me so much, and not my sisters? The first born was always the failure, wasn't it?

My fingers curled up into my palm, my nails pressing moons down into my skin. What is it about me, dear father, that made me so incapable of being your heiress? Why was I so unwanted?

Was it my existence that warranted the punishment? Tell me, father. Tell me.

I stood from the chair I had been occupying for the past hours. I hadn't kept count, though I knew well enough that it had been a while. Hours upon hours of gazing.

My eyes at last found the sight of the bed. The silk sheets and pillows, beckoning me to curl up into them. No. I could not. I would not.

You need to sleep.

Yes, I did. I really, really did. But— wait.

I whirled, scanning the room. Who said that?

My eyes squinted against the darkness of the room, trying to find the source.

There they were, the dark wisps. The shadows that had called to me at the Steppes, in the camp. The shadows that had told me what the male in front of me had been. Shadowsinger and Spymaster to the Night Court.

They crawled over the cold tiles of the bedroom floor, towards me, like they had when I first arrived here. I let them, ready to embrace them once more. Though they lingered just in front of me, and a soft hue of cobalt came to life.

I lifted my gaze, and there he stood.

Azriel.

His fighting leathers were as magnificent as they had been before, but only now that I realize how they looked. A sheathed blade by his side. A knife, from what I could see. A syphon on his chest. One on each shoulder, and on each hand. His knees too. Seven in total. Oh gods.

He was trouble, but it was alluring. He stood so incredibly still, like a trained statue.

An Illyrian warrior.

His wings tucked in tight behind him, yet still gorgeously humongous. They made my own feel like a joke.

"They are not." His voice was sudden, and it was deep. Yet smooth. Only when the words dawned on me, did my eyes widen in surprise.

How could he possibly-

"The shadows speak to me." He stated, his eyes piercing my very soul just like Rhysand had done. "As they did to you."

Right.

It was no secret now that the shadows were just as much a friend of mine as they were to him. Maybe he shunned them, but they flowed around him despite those efforts. He didn't seem to mind them, and neither did I.

"What do they tell you?" I dared ask. The first and only question that came to mind.

A hint of amusement filled the air, followed by the slight tilt of his head. "Everything."

Cauldron safe me indeed.

I dared step forward. I was daring many things, stepping out my own comfort zone for the first time in my entire life. The male before me did not falter either. He stood his ground.

"Age?" I asked, and he nodded. "Names?" And he nodded again. Names.

"Do they know my name?"

The male stepped forward, his body nearly pressed flush to mine. He held out his hand, a wisp of shadow pooling in his palm. I looked into his eyes, before back down at his palm. I watched the shadow writhe about, and a faint smile tugged on my lips once more.

Only then did I notice his hand, the skin beneath the wisp of shadow. Scarred and mauled. By what I could not guess, but I could only begin to imagine.

Both my hands stretched out to his. One placing on the back of his hand, while the other was placed into his palm.

This was strange. Something about this male felt comforting, like he understood my silence and my need for solitary.

The wisp curled up onto my hand, curling around my fingers like it had done earlier. I looked up to meet his eyes once more. His hazel eyes pierced into my own.

The wisp curved and twirled up my arm, leaving a path of cold in its wake. The male watched.

It twirled over my shoulder, feeling lighter than it had been on my hand, and over the back of my neck. Into my hair, and to my ear.

My lips parted, a near silent sigh leaving them while my eyes stayed ever fixated on those of the male before me.

"Azriel." I whispered.

His hand gripped mine, but stayed gentle.

"You're-" He was in disbelief, the look on his face gave it away. Wisps of darkness circled his ear, like it was doing to mine.

"Amaya." Azriel said in a near whisper.

"What?"

"Amaya. Your name."

I must've been gaping, because Azriel stepped back. Maybe he felt like he had overstepped a boundary but- oh my gods.

He knew my name. He heard my name.

As Azriel retreated, the shadow gliding over my arm returned to its master. Though what I glimpsed before it reunited, was the fact that it was white.

The damned shadow was white.

My eyes met those of the Shadowsinger, the hazel that turned oh so dark in the shadows of the room. Those membraneous wings positioned proudly at his backside. Tucked in tight still, but so gorgeous. My head tilted at the sight of the male before me, the calm he brought with him. The quiet. Though underneath all of that, there was something brooding. Like what he portrayed wasn't what he was underneath those leathers. Those beautiful syphons.

"Maurelle." He spoke again. "Your family name."

I cringed at that. The man whom sired me. My father, the horrid version of an Illyrian warrior. I hoped, deep down, Rhysand and Cassian had given him the lashing he deserved. Flogged him until he begged for mercy.

The Shadowsinger seemed to pick up on the tension that could now be cut with that blade of his. His chin tilted up slightly. "Amaya Maurelle." He spoke.

I shook my head. "Just Amaya." I told him.

He nodded, and he stepped back once more. "Goodnight, Amaya." And he disappeared into the shadows from which he came. Leaving behind nothing but dread in his wake.

Shadowsinger.

Azriel.