A Court of Magnolias and Ash

Nineteen

Azriel:

I stood in the corner of the townhouse study, half in the shadows just as Rhys stood half in the sun. Silent but for the clock ticking above the fireplace mantle. Night terrors had made their mark on him; deep purple circles, above normal alcohol consumption. A piece of him missing since his encounter with death.     

"Any word from Drakon and Miryam?" Rhys asked, before taking a slow sip from his dark brandy. He leaned against the window, peeking out at the children playing safely in the cobbled stone streets of Velaris. His face, usually donning a scowl these days, relaxed into a peaceful smoothness I hadn't seen in months.

All of us, at some point or another needed a reminder that the bloodshed was necessary to keep our loved ones—our innocents, safe. 

"Nothing. I've sent..." My ears twitched upwards, hearing heavy footsteps heading towards us with a sense of urgency.

A moment later, Cassian threw open the carved wooden doors. "There you are," he huffed, catching his breath. His skin was as pale as I had ever seen it—as white as ash, like the specks of Illyrians that fell from the heavens.

My gut twisted as I thought of them. Of a thousand soldiers raining down on us like the first snowfall. I couldn't imagine what Cassian felt. Guilt weighed far more on one's shoulders than anything else.

"I spoke to her—I, I saw her in the dungeon. Eris walking towards her..." Cassian shakily exhaled, trying to recover, his golden irises disappeared entirely.  "I have to go. I need to go."

When we didn't immediately respond, he stared us down with reckless determination. The damaged warrior shedding his skin, unveiling an Illyrian made of fire and steel. I did not doubt him. I never have.

Rhys turned his attention to where Cassian stood, his violet eyes scanning every inch of him. "Azriel will check it out first," he sternly replied. His tone then softened when he saw Cassian's look of bewilderment. "I cannot risk anymore lives," he said solemnly.

As Cassian turned to stare into the roaring fire, I felt Rhys push into my mind.

How would he know? Rhys pushed into my head. Desperation lingering in his voice, he needed the truth.

They must dream of one another. Communicate in another realm that is foreign to us, I explained.

How is that even possible?

Draumtala, similar to the way you and Feyre communicate as mates. However, it's limited to only speaking in dreams...or nightmares. Either way, you can't stop the dream from happening, everything feels real—in a sense it is real. Just in a different reality. It's been mentioned in Illyrian mythology...Azrielus, the God of Truth.

Is that who you're named after? I could feel his silent chuckle travel through our connection.

If only. 

Turning away from the fire, Cassian's nostrils flared, his back straightening, "she could die, Rhys. If we wait..."

"You're insulting Azriel's efficiency," Rhys took another sip, sucking in the bitter air as he waited for Cassian's blow to land.

"It could be a trap," I offered, both of their eyes darting to where I stood. "We can't risk it. Not now, Cass." It was true, we couldn't risk anymore lives. We barely had half an army remaining—risking Prythian's best warrior was not a move we could afford to make. 

Not only that, but I needed to visit the Autumn Court anyways. It was too quiet which could mean my spies were compromised. I always chose the unexpected, the least likely person in the room. The fly on the wall, who saw all and reported. A bystander with a taste for secrets and stealth.