A Court Of Shadow and Blood

☆ Extinquishing the Embers ☆

Azriel slipped from the Townhouse silently, his shadows alerting him that Eblis was asleep.

“Good luck,” Cerridwen whispered, the wraith barely visible in the darkness but for little shining bits of her jewelry. And the door shut behind him.

His wings shivered, loosening out. The scaled armor his siphons bore twisted free and wrapped over his skin, the metal icy in the night. With a single beat of his wings, he was airborne.

Velaris swirled far below him until he hit the granite walls that protected the city, and then the world became a lot darker and colder. The wards zapped his skin but he was allowed through; if he looked back, he would see nothing but unending mountains and gnarled trees clinging to the rock faces.

Wind whipped at his face, but it hardly bothered him as he flew. Following his inner compass, he soon found himself in snow-capped peaks and an even more blistering wind. His wings folded and he dove forward. At the last second, those wings popped out and caught the wind, and he landed smoothly before the massive gates to the Hewn City.

The two Nightbringers at the gate slide coal eyes to him before looking away, allowing him to enter. His face became a mask of cool indifference as he entered, blinking away the brightness of the fires and lights within the hollowed mountain. The gates swung shut with a heavy bang, but no one looked as he slipped into the shadows and searched for his High Lord and Lady. He could’ve winnowed there, but he figured that one last flight before he became Spymaster would do him good.

He found them within seconds.
His High Lady wore a dress of the purest black, as if she wore the void on her shoulders with indifference. Rhysand wore his typical attire, and Mor had gathered herself into a tighter dress than the one she’d worn earlier that night, this one shimmering gold. He didn’t bother to dress himself, instead staying within his armor.

Rhysand dipped his chin toward him, the only sign of his annoyance at the situation being his tight lips. At once, it was wiped away and the door to the chamber they stood before opened.

It was cavernous and surprisingly wide, the whispering of water in the walls echoing faintly. Carvings graced every surface, even the smoky glass table in the center. Harsh faces stared down at Eris, one of the Lords of Autumn, as he ate. The clinking of his cutlery filled the stilted silence.

“Have you already eaten?” the male asked, flickering a russet gaze up. Mor settled against the wall with a disinterested air and Azriel sidled along beside her.

Rhys and Feyre sat on the opposite end of the table. “We have. Is there any particular reason you are here?”

“Cutting to the chase, I see.” Eris grabbed an embroidered napkin and wiped his cruel mouth. His molten hair glinted in the cold light. “A little birdie informed me that a Queen is within Hybern?”

Azriel’s shoulders tightened, but no one else reacted. Rhysand said, voice cool, “And I suppose the birdie was Keir? He is a very loyal lap dog, would you agree?”

Eris raised a red brow. “Very loyal, thank you for the alliance with him. The information I get is so much better than anyone else’s.” The male adjusted his tunic of sharp burgundy, gold thread shimmering with the movement. “How is your sister doing, Rhysand? Well, I hope.”

Feyre seemed to mirror Azriel’s tightening of fists, but she replied, in a feather-light tone, “What does she have to do with you?”

“It’s an interesting story, is all. Given that there was so much bloodshed over their deaths. However would dear Tamlin react? Perhaps he would make sure he did his job well this time.”

“Stop poking the beast or it’ll bite,” Azriel growled, unwisely. Eris’s eyes danced, and he glanced between Mor and him, then to Rhysand.

“Protective,” he murmured. He waved a disinterested hand. “When were you going to call a High Lord’s meeting for this information?”