A Court of Innocents

31: Transpiring

My first instinct was to write to Azriel. For the last nine decades, I'd reported every bit of information I gathered back to him. It didn't matter who it involved, or how tight-lipped the information was; if I learned of something, Azriel heard about it within the day.

But as I sat at Helion's dining table the next morning, I imagined how I would begin that letter. No words came to mind. How could I speak to him after the finality of our parting yesterday? I'd cut off my ties to the Inner Circle, and there had been nothing but silence in my head since. And perhaps it was childish, but there was a part of me that held onto anger. I was still mad about their alliance with Eris. Sharing this information with Azriel—and, by extension, Rhysand—was more than they deserved from me after what they'd done.

Across the infinitely long table, Eris inhaled his food. The sight was rather surprising. In the few meals we'd been forced to share together, I had only ever seen him eat with trained restraint. Of course, we'd been surrounded by nobility on those rare occasions. Now, Helion's late appearance meant that we had the entire dining hall to ourselves. Eris allowed himself the pleasure of indulging.

The spread before us was grand and appealing enough that I should have had a hard time resisting it. Yet I couldn't bring myself to take a single bite. After the harrowing events of yesterday, I had no appetite. My plate remained empty.

Helion arrived just as Eris finished his second helping. Today, he wore loose pants that must have been spun from pure gold. Once again, Helion had opted out of footwear. His pale shirt was open and revealing, and one glance at his sculpted chest made me wonder if it was required of High Lords to have the bodies of gods.

Eris and I watched him take his seat at the head of the table, clear on the other side of the room. He tried to smile, but it looked more like a wince. I opened my mouth to ask if he was alright—and then the reek of alcohol hit me, and the way he shied away from the light suddenly made sense. He must have drunk half of his wine cellar if he was still struggling to recover. High Lords didn't have to suffer the effects of a hangover the way everyone else did, and Helion Spell-Cleaver had enough healing powers in his pinky finger to heal any ailment.

The sight of his dying son flashed through my son, and I wondered... I wondered if maybe he wanted to feel this pain, just so he would have a distraction. There had been several times when I'd drank too much just so the hangover that inevitably followed could pause everything else in my life. An unhealthy coping mechanism, and yet one I recognized.

Eris said casually, "All due respect, High Lord, but I've seen corpses that look better than you."

Helion glared at him, and I waited for Eris to be dismissed from the table, but Helion simply whispered, "If you would be so kind, I ask that you speak quietly this morning."

And then he reached for the decanter beside the shrimp scramble. He filled his glass a little too high, and my initial suspicion was confirmed. This is what grief looked like.

For Helion's sake, I turned to Eris. Forced myself to look him in the eye and speak civilly. "You mentioned the Dewdrop Plague yesterday."

The High Lord's sipping became notably quiet.

Eris focused solely on Helion as he explained the same thing he had told Rhysand: he'd found a cure hidden inside The Ancient Texts, which Helion had kept locked away in Illumina.

Helion took a long swig before setting his glass back down. "You think I would let this disease continue if I had the answers in my court?"

Eris shrugged. "Perhaps you didn't know. The Dark Elements only reveal themselves to those with the power to wield them."