𝔸 ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕎𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕙 (Book 2)

Twenty-nine

Everyone's eyes sparked with shock as they looked between Amren and I. Her eyes were so wide as she just stared at me with those silver irises. Her chest ceased rising as if she'd just stopped breathing altogether.

    "You—" she whispered, seemingly at a loss for words. Everyone's mouth dropped open in shock then. Even Rhys. I didn't think Amren was surprised often. I raised a brow.

    Amren shook her head, shuffling in her seat and regaining her composure after a moment. When she had gained her bearings, she gave me a wicked smile, but her next words in the language of the ancients sounded like a threat, "You know the holy tongue." her wicked smile didn't falter for a moment, "Who are you?"

I returned the feral grin. A feeble attempt at what was normal to me. "I am who my keepers tell me to be," I leaned back in my chair, grabbing my wine from the table as I looked at her through hooded eyes, "But you can call me a friend..." I looked around at the circle, whose faces had yet to be masked of shock, "for now." I added.

Amren stood, bracing her hands on the table and growling down at me. Her eyes seemed to glow impossibly brighter, "Is that a threat." Her voice was cold as ice. It was then I could truly see the creature crawling beneath her skin.

I hummed as I stood as well, gripping my hands on the table as we just dared the other to do anything, "No," I smirked, "it's reality." I looked at the inner circle, seeing that their brows had furrowed into confusion. It occurred to me then that they didn't understand a word of what we were saying. Odd. Had the language gone extinct in Prythian?

I looked back to Amren, seeing that her smoky eyes had never left me, "I'm here to find out if I'd like to be your ally. I'd suggest playing nice until then." I scoffed, "My certain...skill set could be of benefit to your cause."

Amren growled. A sound so low I barely noticed, "How do you know Leshon Hakodesh." Not a question. A command from the second of the Night Court.

I bared my teeth in another serpentine grin, "I know a great many things." I chuckled, "I am a great many things." I sat back in my seat, twirling my wine around in my hand, "But just so you don't think I'm an enemy and kill me; I learned the language from people who had passed it down over the centuries this world has lived. I only know it because I was taught it." Amren sat down ever so slowly. Still tense and guarded.

I spared her a smile. Not menacing. Not soft. But assuring. "Where exactly are you from?"

She cocked her head, "You wouldn't know it."

I looked at her as I twirled my wine. Softly snickering to myself, "I think you'd be surprised." I said as a challenge.

Amren grinned then. Vicious as though she might eat me. Maybe she would. "Oh, I think we'll be good friends."

"Likewise."

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    I looked around the table once more. Everyone was still just staring. I shrugged. My energy was nearly spent. "What?" I questioned.

    They gaped even more. Amren grabbed her own wine and I held mine up, clinking it with hers before we each took a large sip.

Yes, yes. I think we were going to be great friends.

Someone cleared their throat, "I'm hungry," Mor interrupted the silence that had settled over the table. She snapped a finger and plates suddenly appeared at the table. Filled to the brim with a complete assortment of different foods and wines. They were familiar and yet they seemed different than what I was used to. The plates weren't elegant. More like a family meal than anything. "Amren and Rhys could talk all night and bore out guests to tears, so don't bother waiting for them to dig in." Mor's eyes flickered between Feyre and before she picked up her fork as she clicked her tongue, "I asked Rhys if I could take you both to dinner, just the three of us, and he said neither of you would want to. But honestly—would you rather spend time with those two ancient bores, or me?"

"For someone whos the same age as me," Rhys drawled as the free air of the room finally returned, "you seem to forget—"

"Everyone wants to talk-talk-talk," Mor gave a warning glare towards Cassian as he opened his mouth to say something, "Can't we eat-eat-eat, and then talk?"

I couldn't help but realize how different the Second and Third of the Nigth Court were. Amren was all glares and seriousness, while Mor was all sunshine and party. Though I had no doubt that they could hold their own in a fight.

Azriel chuckled softly at Mor before he took up his own fork and began eating. I hadn't failed to notice the way Azriel failed to act with Mor.

Mor clinked her wine glass with my sisters, then mine. "Don't let those old busybodies boss you around."

Cassian pitched in then, "Pot. Kettle. Black." he looked at Amren, frowning at her untouched food. "I always forget how bizarre that is." He took her plate without a second thought, dumping most of its contents onto his own. He handed the plate to Azriel, signaling for him to dump the rest onto his.

Azriel said to Amren as he slid the food onto his plate, "I keep telling him to ask before he does that."

Amren flicked her fingers in his direction and the now empty plate vanished from his hands in a blink of an eye. "If you haven't been able to train him after all these centuries, boy, I don't think you'll make any progress now."

"You don't—eat?" Feyre asked from beside me. The first words she'd said to the others since she'd sat down.

Amrens' teeth were bared in an unnerving smile, "Not this sort of food."

My lips curled only a little. As the minutes passed it grew harder to pretend. To act. But I'd do it. I'd do it so I didn't look as miserable as I felt.

"Cauldron boil me," Mor said before she downed her wine, "can we not?"

Rhys chuckled from beside me, "Remind me to have family dinners more often."

Family dinners. A word I'd never heard used to describe a court gathering. Tonight...they either didn't know I—possibly my sister as well— were here to decide if we wished to work with them, or they didn't feel like pretending to be anything other than what they were.

Azriel looked at my sister, noticing that shed been looking at the oval siphon on his hand, "They're called siphons. They concentrate and focus our power in battle."

Rhys set down his fork and clarified for my sister, "The power of stronger Illyrians tend toward 'incinerate now, ask questions later' they have little magical gifts beyond that—the killing power."

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A/N: Oml I didn't realize how long this dinner was until like five seconds ago. This is gonna have to be spann