Song of Shadows

Chapter Thirteen

Azriel 

Sometime in the darkest part of the night, the breeze morphs from a soft whisper into a horrific wailing. Ancient and cold and powerful. My shadows begin to whip around madly, their voices drowned out by the cacophony of the wind. I pull on my pants and step into a pocket of darkness. None of the soldiers stir from their tents, no calls of alarm.

Rhysand and Feyre stand outside of their tent. Nesta appears, her eyes wild. Amren comes around the corner of a tent in a male's shirt, Varian close on her heels. The males look to the females, eyes wide. The wailing intensifies for a moment, grating against my ears. I go to them, stepping out of a shadow just as Feyre says, "What does it want?"

"What is it?" I ask as I step out of the shadows.

Her eyebrows shoot up. "You hear it?"

"No, but the shadows... the wind... they recoil from it."

The air returns to a quiet breath blowing across the camp. The tendrils of shadow are still wild and out of control. The others begin to speak, but I send my awareness out towards the edges of the camp. Nothing but the sleeping army surrounds us.

"So you three were Made so you can hear it?" Varian asks. His words send frozen horror down my spine. Three are here, but four were Made. Elain. "Sense it?"

Amren tugs on the arm of the Summer Court male. "It would appear so."

I take a step towards the other tents, towards Elain. "What about Elain?" I ask.

Both Archeron sisters gape at me in mute horror before they race away on bare feet, ignoring the chilled mud as we hurtle through camp. "Elain!" Nesta calls desperately. "Elain!" The tent flap is ripped open to reveal an empty cot.

"No. No, no, no!" Blankets are thrown from the cot, every surface checked under. Her flower and springtime scent already is fading. Rhysand looks at his mate once before winnowing away. I squeeze into the tent to feel the blankets. A faint warmth lingers there. I must say this out loud because my High Lady's face crumples as she recounts what happened in her dreams.

Cassian's voice can be heard around the camp, issuing orders for a search party. I follow Nesta and Feyre to the edge of camp, dodging between the tents towards a small patch of vegetation. Rhys appears in front of us, the expression on his face carefully blank. Our eyes meet, and I feel my heart dropping into the dark abyss of my power as a blue cloak appears in Feyre's hands. Elain's scent pours from the fabric.

Something inside of me snaps, releasing icy fury into my veins, my bones. Rhysand suggests we return to our war tent to plan our next step. I move through the shadows towards the center of camp, needing a few moments to compose myself. The anger in my body clears my mind of all distractions and hones it into sharp focus.

Only Cassian, Nesta, and Feyre come into the tent. "We will get her back," Cassian says firmly.

Nesta curls her lips as she settles into a chair, wrapping herself into a tight ball. I allow the shadows to crawl along my armor, obscuring my face from the others as I listen to them. Nesta's sharp retort is met with my brother widening his stance and baring his own teeth. Feyre paces the tent, absently chewing on her thumbnail.

Before Nesta or Cassian can snap at each other again, I step forward. "I am getting her back." All three eyes turn to me, two wide with fear and the other a smoldering glare.

"Then you will die." There is no malice in the words. Just simple resignation and lost hope. I meet my High Lady's terrified gaze. Contemplation has softened the fear, but I see her exhaustion in the circles under eyes, the slump in her shoulders.