A Court of Dreams and Promise

Chapter Twelve

Azriel

"Interesting," Azriel said, watching the prisoner struggle against his bondings, which were made out of Tarquin's magic. "You say that he's possessed?"

"Not quite possessed," Tarquin said. He crossed his arms over his simple white garment, pale brows furrowing over ocean eyes. "Something – or someone – is inhabiting his body and making his decisions for him."

Azriel watched the fae carefully. "And where exactly did you find him again?" he asked.

"He was wandering along the coast, attacking people and screaming the same phrase over and over. Justice for Spring," Tarquin recalled, closing his eyes. "I have no idea what this is or what is happening, but this certainly has Tamlin written all over it."

"We recently learned that Tamlin has powers of illusion he has kept hidden," Azriel told the High Lord of Summer. "This could be a product of such powers."

"I know of Tamlin's powers," Tarquin said, shaking his head, "but his powers are too underdeveloped from a lack of practice. He just isn't strong enough to do so."

"Do you mind if I interrogate him?"

"Go ahead."

"You may want to leave." Azriel's gaze was set on the prisoner as he threw the words over his shoulder in a cold tone.

Tarquin only raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. He seemed content to watch.

Azriel took a deep breath, shifting into the mask of Rhysand's spymaster. His surroundings melted away until all he could see was the prisoner in front of him. He ripped the tape off of his mouth and let his wings flare. "Hello, prisoner," he murmured.

The fae stared at Azriel with a piercing amber gaze, his hair white and his skin dark brown, just like Tarquin's. "I know of you, Shadowsinger," he spat, struggling against his bonds. "You're the lost princess's mate. That little princess of Night."

Azriel leaned back, leveling a bored gaze with the fae. "That I am," he said coolly. "I am glad to know you have heard of me."

"Are you here to torture me until I die?" A snarl ripped from the prisoner's throat. "Or perhaps you're here to interrogate me with your powers. I won't speak, no matter what you do to me." Before Azriel could speak, he continued, "Justice for Spring will prevail. You and your little court are doomed."

"Tell me about Justice for Spring, and you can live." Azriel narrowed his eyes at the fae. "Sound fair?" He began to toy with Truth-Teller at his waist, knowing its hilt glinted at the perfect angle in the dim lighting overhead.

"I'll never talk, bastard." The fae spat at Azriel's feet. "You and that Night Court bitch can go to hell."

A savage snarl tore its way from Azriel's throat and he crossed the room before he even registered he was moving, wrapping a scarred hand around the fae's throat and constricting. "Say that again."

The fae smirked. "What would your mate think of you now, Shadowsinger?" he rasped. "If she could see you now, what would she do? How would she react to the monster you are?" He waved his hand.

And Velaria appeared in the middle of the room. An illusion.

Azriel shut his eyes, tightening his grasp on the fae's throat. Velaria wasn't here; she was safe in the Spring Court. This was just an illusion. His mate wasn't here.

The fake Velaria widened her eyes, terror swimming within them. "What are you doing, Az?" she whispered in a broken tone.

"You are not real," Azriel growled, watching the prisoner in front of him. "You are an illusion."