A Court of Innocents

29: Truth Teller

The Vanserras were not known for their looks. Even draped in finely pressed clothes of the deepest autumn red, Eris looked cold and unappealing. But that fiery hair, those amber eyes—they were mirror images of my own features. Everything recoiled in me at the reminder of how much we shared. I could spend decades in the Night Court, tanning under the bronze sun and shedding my Autumn Court paleness, but I couldn't change my eye color or the thinness of my lips, or the sharp nose—all the details that tied me to my heritage. All the details that now stared me down on a smirking face.

My only thought was to run, to shove him into the street and run for my life while I still could. But I ignored that instinct. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of my fear.

"Time hasn't done you any favors," I sneered at him. "I didn't think you could get any uglier. Clearly, I was wrong."

He took his time scanning my body, noting the clothes that weren't mine, no doubt scenting an Illyrian male on the fabric. And yet, of all the things he could have said to me, it was, "Have they been starving you?"

I didn't bother with an answer. Let him think of the Inner Circle as savages, just as the rest of the world did.

My fingers itched towards the blade at my side, and I strategically crossed my arms. It gave off the air of casual relaxation while still allowing me the peace of mind that settled over me as my fingers rested on the hilt.

This was Azriel's blade. I'd found it hidden in the back of his closet, suddenly grateful for his tendency to leave a weapon in every room. He'd be pissed when he realized I'd taken one of his weapons, but that was a problem for later.

Eris's gaze shot to my fingers, not missing a single detail. "This will end with you attempting to stab that dagger in my gut, and a simple thought of my power is all it will take to stop you. Or this can end with you peacefully coming with me."

He didn't know what that word even meant, and now he was throwing it in my face like it meant something.

"I'll take the third option."

He raised an unamused eyebrow. "We don't have time for jokes, Yara. Come willingly or not. Either way, we're—"

A shadow shot between us, sending Eris stumbling back. I didn't bother reaching for my blade. I already knew where that shadow had come from. Who had sent it shooting down the cobblestone street.

Eris had just regained his balance when Azriel was suddenly between us. He gripped his own blade with white knuckles as he pressed it against my cousin's throat. Eris, to his credit, was wise enough to look scared.

Azriel, stop, I thought, but couldn't bring myself to speak.

"Get her name out of your mouth," he snarled, digging the knife in deeper. I could count on one hand the number of times I'd heard Azriel sound like that, and the fact that he was using that tone now...

The Spymaster of the Night Court was infamous throughout Prythian. His control of the shadows gave him a reputation, but it was his quiet fury that put fear in the hearts of his enemies. He wasn't loud and roaring when he got upset. When he was truly angry, he became quiet and still. The silence before a storm. It made his opponents underestimate him, and by the time they realized that his silence was just another lethal weapon in his belt, they were already dead.

Eris grinned from ear to ear, like he enjoyed being at the sharp end of Azriel's blade. "I wondered where Rhysand had hidden away his shadowsinger."

The sound of my High Lord's name in Eris's mouth made my stomach knot.