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gripefroot · 3 years ago

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A Court of Dusk and Shadows ❲29❳

A young, handsome, powerful High Lord.

Zorem wanted to see it all. See all the world had to offer - and he could. His people prospered on their little, protected island: the sea was bountiful, the mountains and their meadows offering luscious growing seasons for all arrays of fruits and vegetables, animals producing ample supply of milks and meats and hides and wools. And his Council loved the people as much as he did; it did not worry him to leave them to care for the island to explore Prythian and the world.

It was his own weakness that led him to the Cauldron. The promises of more knowledge, more sights, more understanding that ate at his bones, and it began to speak into his dreams. Delicious visions of a world he could rule over; to lead into prosperity the way his lovely home and its people saw such little darkness.

There was so much suffering in the world. He could stop it. Help them. Depose greedy rulers and let the world flourish, freed from its chains and politics.

All the world needed was knowledge.

Bind yourself to me, that voice purred in his dreams. I’ll make you King.

Zorem didn’t want to be king. But he wanted peace, and a king could bring peace.

He tore himself away from the voice and the temptations it offered. Travelled from continent to continent, drinking bloodbane to See through mortal limitations, past the veils draped around reality, to understand - and as he shivered in mighty visions he heard another voice. A bargain. Not a sly promise, but an exchange.

Give me your eye, and I will let you See the way to peace.

He carved it out himself at a temple in the desert, and swam between the future and past for a full cycle of the moon before he returned to his body, retching from thirst and starvation and burned from winds of sand.

The first night he lived in his body again, the Cauldron returned, bearing down with wrath and rage.

I’ll make you pay, it screamed, trying to tear at him from miles and miles of distance. I’ll make you pay -

⚘ ⚘ ⚘

Azriel hated seeing her like this. And he hated not being able to do anything about it.

He’d spent the night holding Elain in his arms as she’d trembled, torn between realities as she mumbled things he didn’t understand in languages he didn’t know. Sweating one minute, frigid the next - he’d tried talking to her, soothing her; the shadows had tried, too, sensing his agony and hers and trying to help.

He’d never been so grateful to see the dawn.

But at the kitchen table - Rumah quietly serving the three of them a hefty breakfast - Elain was little more than a statue in her chair, eyes swimming with dusty stars as she swayed. Her usual, warm brown was gone, replaced by glimmering lights that soared like galaxies.

Azriel held her hand as Lucien watched with disdain.

“That’s not power I recognize,” Lucien remarked, cutting into his bacon as if his mate weren’t burning alive from the inside out. “It’s unlike any of the courts I know.”

“Not helpful,” Azriel snapped, his temper biting at the reins he kept it on. But Lucien just shrugged. It was Rumah that patted Azriel’s shoulder, offering some comfort as he stared at his wife and wondered what battles she fought unseen. “I don’t know,” he said to his mother in a broken voice. “I don’t know if she’s going to last until tonight.”

“She will,” Rumah said. “She has to.”

He couldn’t eat. But he tried to convince Elain to - whispering in her ear, stroking her hair...she came to in a dizzy whirl once or twice, taking sips of water before going under again. Unaware of what went on around her, locked away in whatever frightful place she’d gone.

“It’s like those first months, after she was changed,” Lucien said quietly. He was right, of course - but it only worsened the twisting in Azriel’s gut, the terror gnawing at that his ribs from that hollow place -

It was the longest day of his life. Nothing, nothing he could do would ease the flickering power, the otherworldliness of Elain’s glowing form. Sitting her on a chair in the garden, combing her hair, rubbing her belly with oil as he listened with all his strength to the continued, rapid beat of their daughter’s heart. The only sign that all was well.

Live, Azriel thought desperately, wiping the dampness from his wife’s face with a cool cloth as she quivered. Live.

When the sun dipped below the horizon and Dymas rose, Elain stood from the sofa in her mass of skirts. Azriel leapt up beside her, armored and ready - Rumah merely watched as Lucien walked into the room, his lips pressed into a thin line as Elain held out a hand to him.

Azriel kept back a snarl of jealousy.

Her shimmering fingers wrapped around Lucien’s hand, but they didn’t winnow away as he expected - then his wife turned to him, framed by her lovely curls, and smiled. She was herself again - but for how long?

“You too,” Elain said, and Azriel clasped his hand on top of theirs as shadows clung to him, whirling around as the world faded beneath their feet -

He hadn’t winnowed. Had Lucien?

But when his vision cleared again, Lucien looked as shaken as Azriel felt.

For they were standing on the ledge leading to the bone gates of the Prison, still stained with the dark streaks of his final confrontation with Blue Annis as the pinkish sun turned the rocks around them red. As if they were washed in blood.

And he heard it.

The screaming, the pounding against the stone - it hadn’t been as loud the last time they’d come. When Elain had opened the prison and horrors had walked free.

Elain broke away from them, glowing like Dymas herself as she walked towards the gate. No armor, no weapon - and yet...she was untouchable. Azriel stalked behind her, Lucien more hesitant on her other side...and then she spoke.

“The Cauldron cursed the Dusk Court out of spite for its High Lord,” Elain said suddenly. Sounding more herself than she had in hours - but still her voice was flecked with starlight and power. “Zorem’s final actions were to bind his lands in time and stone that they could be freed one day rather than wiped from existence. He locked the gates to save his people. One thousand years ago tonight - at the peak of Dymas, he died far from here and the Cauldron hoarded the key made from his bone.”

Helion’s son looks ill, a shadow whispered to Azriel, but he didn’t care to look away from his wife - she turned, then, away from the gaping, black maw of the cave entrance to stare at him, to stare at Lucien - to watch the horizon. Her head tilted to the side, as if listening to a far away voice.

“The Cauldron loves me,” Elain said quietly. No emotion crossed her face. “It felt sorry for me when I was baptized in its magic. It...wanted me to be happy. It made me See. And then it said it was going to give me this court as a reward.”

“A reward for what?” Lucien asked, hands behind his back.

But she didn’t answer. She turned back to the cave, as if to let the cries from the stone wash over her.

Azriel flexed his fingers. Every hair on his body was on edge - this was beyond him, so utterly beyond anything he could do - old magic and forgotten spells and he itched to grasp a knife - not even a Made knife like Truth-Teller would do anything here. But the driving instinct to protect his wife, his child...he reined in his fear, and watched.

Elain extended her hands, and though no noise accompanied it - the stone mountain shook beneath his feet, and he flared out his wings to keep his balance. In one palm lay the comb and Key, in her other - the Harp. Called forth from wherever Rhys had hidden them, whatever wards he had hoped would keep them from being used…

It was laughable. No wards had stopped Nesta from calling the Trove. Why would they have stopped Elain?

“Not the Mask?” Azriel asked behind her. “The Crown?”

“No.” Elain didn’t turned as she slid the comb into her golden curls, distant thunder building as if to cleave the world in two. Lucien’s color was all but gone, witnessing with revulsion the unholy power of the Trove. “Death will not bow to me.” Then she did turn, barely glancing over her shoulder at Azriel with a smile on her lips, eyes churning with a nebulas and starbursts. “Life will.”

A pause, and he wondered if any air remained in his lungs -

“Give me your knife.”

He loosened the blade from its sheath at his thigh, stepping forward to offer Elain the hilt. But she didn’t take it, instead holding out the wrist where the Key was clenched in her fist.

“I can’t,” Azriel said roughly.

“You must,” she told him in a clear voice. “And then Lucien. He needs the power inside of me to amplify his spell-breaking.”

Protect her, he thought desperately as he held her wrist in one hand, his knife hovering over her delicate, translucent skin - the glow that swam beneath was like shooting stars dancing through her veins. Shadows rose round her, a pitiful shield they seemed compared to everything emanating from her; the shaking of the earth beneath them…

Azriel took a breath, and slid the blade through her skin.

The dizzying scent of her blood cloyed in his nose, taunting his instinct. He bit his tongue, swallowing the feral snarls from clawing out of him - wordlessly, Lucien approached, tugging up the sleeve of his shirt to offer his own wrist with a solemn expression. The trust this male had in Elain...

Azriel clasped Lucien’s arm, and cut his wrist.

Blood dripped onto the stony ground. And at Elain’s command Lucien laid his wrist over hers, their blood mingling with a sizzle, a spray of power - Azriel jumped back at the acrid scent, stained blade in his hand -

Her lips parted, moving to form words in that ancient language that burrowed beneath Azriel’s skin. Gusts of wind whipped around them, mountain shuddering and groaning as screams echoed in the air from unseen people - the sun brighter, Dymas larger - his ears muffled as he stumbled, narrowly missing shards of falling rock from the broken gates.

“I can’t - ” Lucien was pale, shaking his head against the magic that was spinning out of control. “I can’t do this - ”

Elain’s head turned towards him, thrumming with force enough to rend the skies. But her voice was her own, gentle and caressing as she told him, “You must. Throw it out and free this court.”

Lucien furrowed his brows. Closed his eyes. The mountain rumbled, rocks still falling and scattering around - Azriel reached for Elain with one hand, the rosy light of his Siphons flaring in a shield - but she didn’t need it. She was protected.

And then light.

White, blinding light that silenced the earth. Emanating from Lucien as he groaned aloud, beaded with sweat, ripping away from him in a crest that sank into the very stones of the mountain, down to the empty caverns and roots to sever every ancient bond and chain.

Azriel’s ears popped, and he swore. That power - Lucien must have severed every spell on the entire island and beyond - that was not ordinary power - Cauldron-enhanced and Cauldron-blessed, carried through by a male of two courts still sleeping in his heritage.

The screaming was gone. Lucien sagged, still holding onto Elain’s wrist as the Key dissolved in her hand. And then lifted her fingers and plucked a melody from the Harp - rotten and discordant and hateful. And then it changed - lovely and serene and hopeful as power slithered from her to soak into the mountain as Lucien’s had. But not to cleave - to breathe.

It wasn’t death that sang in Elain’s veins, like it had in Nesta’s. It wasn’t stolen power ripped by teeth and claws; it was gifted, bestowed - lovingly with promises as wicked as the Cauldron itself, but it was beautiful, too. Pale moonlight and pearl-sheened, glowing like Dymas as it sank into the world to fill it with - life.

She was Life.

Azriel felt it, but he didn’t understand it. His shadows writhed as if to an unheard song kept even from him; beneath his boots, shining light grew and spread like roots through once festering halls to remind them of long-ago days, door after door unlocked as the bone gates crumbled to brown shards on the rocks. Age-old wind began to drift from the cave, carrying with it strange voices in whispers and wonder.

The air hissed, but not from the cave, it was -

He whipped back, bloodied knife angled - but none of the High Lords that appeared as if carried by the beams of the setting sun itself seemed to have any intention of attack. In fact, they looked as surprised as he was; Helion was quickly pulling his toga back over his shoulder, Kallias had half a face of shaving oil and a blade in his hand, Eris held a fork from which a slice of meat fell as he stared, slack-jawed, Tamlin bore his claws and Tarquin dripped seawater from his bare chest - even Rhys, ever stoic, went pale at the sight in front of him, the humming of the earth beneath them as Feyre, next to him, dropped a blue-laden paintbrush with a surprised cry.

Rhys did not look at Azriel, and Azriel turned back to his wife. His empty hand on her back, and she turned to gaze up at him with a smile brighter than anything he’d ever seen - because it was her, back to herself as the Harp clattered from her hands to fall to the stone ground.

“It’s done,” she said.

Was it? She still glowed.

“What’s this?” Thesan’s voice rang clearly over the others’ mutters.

But there was no one to answer him - no one knew. Did Elain know?

And then gravel was scattered from the rocks of the cave, and from it strode a robed male with white hair and tears in his eyes - he looked at nothing and no one but Elain. Brisk strides, a choke held back - behind him Azriel saw other faces in the dark, peering out in silence. Old, young, males, females, children - shuffles of animals and the flutters of wings.

The old male stopped in front of Elain, and then sank to his knee, clutching her limp hand in his as he lowered his forehead to her palm and sang in a booming voice,

“Hail Cauldron-Blessed, Heir of Zorem. Hail High Lady of the Dusk Court.”

⚘ ⚘ ⚘

The first male that left was merely the cork of a wine bottle.

Trumpeting noises, cries and cheers - clapping hooves as dozens of pegasi left the cavern, snorting and dancing in the open air before leaping into the sky. Helion’s cry of wonder nearly shook the earth. And then winged Fae; carrying themselves with iridescent dragonfly wings, spinning and circles and laughing. Crawling wraiths crusted with salt, disappearing immediately over the edge of the cliffside to find the sea they’d come from - Fae with lemon-yellow skin and foamy hair and dressed in silks of every color - they came and they came and they came, spilling out of their prison to see the sun again as it darkened at the descent of Dymas.

It was as if a glamor had been loosened on the island; where once barren rock stood and vegetation toiled to grow year by year, there were suddenly lush flowers and roads and paths - villages seen from the vantage of the mountains, a city by the bay. Boats appearing in the sea, a marble palace shimmering into view on a mountain peak -

The Fae danced and sang and laughed, all in circles around Elain while Lucien slumped on the ground. The High Lords watched on, stunned, as Elain was kissed over and over again by uncountable Fae, tears running like rivers on the stone as her knees buckled -

Azriel leapt forward, and caught her before she swooned.

⚘ ⚘ ⚘

“All I’m saying,” Eris was whispering across the enormous council chamber, “is that a warning might have been preferred.”

He stood, as the other High Lords did, encircling a round marble table. The male that had led the exodus from the cave was sitting at the right hand of the marble throne, set directly at the head with the sun finishing its course behind them. At dusk, the cresting light would spill over it exactly - but now it was too late, too dark - though numerous stars could be seen between the open pillars.

Elain sat on the marble throne. Fingers gripping the armrests, a vision in blue with her growing womb on full display, and her chin lifted. Still glowing - the residue of the magic, or perhaps it had simply made her its new home.

Azriel stood behind her, half invisible in the shadows. The shadows that crawled up him, whispering in his ear, swirling around him as if purring cats looking for supper. But he merely glowered - Eris quickly looked away from him, at least. The message was clear: Do not touch my wife.

Only allowed near her was Feyre, eyes darting around as if to take in every detail of the room, to gauge the tension, to make an escape plan.

The old male cleared his throat, and stood. “I suppose an explanation is in order,” he said. But he glanced at Elain, deferring to her.

She smiled. “Please.”

“I am Ishari,” the man said. “I was the right hand of Zorem a millennia ago. He - he was the only High Lord the Dusk Court ever had.” Ishari paused, clearing his throat once more. “He reigned for a thousand years. But the Cauldron cursed him, and cursed these lands. I do not know what Zorem did, but he spared us somehow. And as it was happening, I saw a vision that the Cauldron that ripped away our lives would give us the key to free us.” He looked at Elain again, and bowed slightly.

“How did you survive?” Helion asked quietly.

Ishari sighed. “I don’t believe we were meant to. The lower levels began to burn...no soldiers, no attack, and yet such death - I had never seen it's like. But then...it stopped. Ceased within the width of a breath. And then came stone walls and wicked voices and…” Ishari tensed, rubbing his forehead as weariness clouded his eyes. “It has been a very, very long time.”

“The Cauldron generally doesn’t take prisoners over corpses,” Rhys said dryly, his voice soft but echoing across the table. “How did he manage?”

“He sacrificed himself as he spelled a key to his blood and magic,” Elain answered, showing nothing on her face as she turned to her...her brother-in-law. He gave her no expression back. “The Cauldron was displeased, but he gave the Key to it. It forgave him, eventually. And when I was thrown into it a few years back…”

Tamlin had the manners to appear discomfited.

“It told me it would make me a High Lady.”

Lucien had winnowed away from the island almost immediately following its opening. Silence rang in his absence. But - Feyre, saying nothing, reached for her sister’s hand, and Elain smiled at her.

“And it led me here.” Elain gave a delicate shrug. Her poise, her patience...Azriel’s eyes drifted to her face, the lovely planes of it as she stared down seven High Lords from where she sat. “It gave me what I needed to break the spell. Visions of what was to come - a spellbound mate that had the power to sever wards - that wicked Key made from Zorem’s bone to open the gates.”

Rhys looked away from Elain. Though he knew he shouldn’t...Azriel felt triumph.

“But you opened the prison,” Kallias said in an icy voice. “You released those monsters back into the world - did you not? A number of my people were slain by roc attacks.”

“Monsters?” Ishari frowned. Azriel supposed that being trapped in the stone...the screaming and pounding to be allowed out...it was unlikely the members of the Dusk Court had known what was happening on their home island. Interesting.

“I can answer that,” Helion said, rubbing his chin. “When magic is layered - as I suspect this island was layered with many many centuries of magic - each one must be stripped away before you can break the spells below it. To have simply come here and attempt to sever the wards binding the Dusk Court without the other wards that had been put in place for other reasons, the spells would have been tangled rather than unwoven.”

“I am sorry for releasing the inhabitants of the Prison,” Elain said - to Kallias, to the other High Lords. “I did not know it would happen. The Cauldron gave me no indication that it would be a consequence.”

“The Cauldron likes to play,” Helion grinned. “But if it was a gamble, it was a good one - most of the prisoners are dead, thanks to the vigilance of Rhysand and his warriors.” Helion inclined his head to Rhys, and then to Azriel - Azriel dipped his head, Rhys remained silent.

“And so the reward is twofold,” Thesan remarked. “Evil vanquished - and innocents freed.”

“And why,” Eris said, “were we included?”

“Would you have liked to hear about the appearance of the long lost eighth court over breakfast tomorrow?” Tarquin asked with a raise of his brows. “I, for one, am glad to have been summoned. Though I agree with your earlier sentiment - some warning would have been preferred.” With a sheepish smile he indicated his bare chest and legs, having admitted to having been swimming when he was yanked to the island by unfamiliar magic.

“We knew nothing about this court,” Tamlin said with a hint of a scowl, leaning forward to rest his hands on the marble table. “I wonder if it’s some sort of elaborate prank.” He glared at Rhys. Rhys smirked back.

“There are various references to it in some aged books,” Helion said. “Perhaps you should spend less time running wild and more time pursuing delicate hobbies such as reading.”

Tamlin snarled, voice roughened by the threat of a beast.

“I see some things have not changed in the past thousand years,” Ishari said with a smile, as if attempting to cool the various tempers that hovered in the chamber. “In my time, the High Lords threatened war every other year for little more than common insults.”

“That certainly hasn’t changed,” Thesan said.

“Immortality gets tiresome, I hear,” Feyre smiled back at Ishari, and he inclined his head.

“If I may,” Ishari went on, waiting for Elain - Elain nodded, and he straightened where he stood. “There will be a great deal of work to make this island our home again. Yet the prospect fills me with pleasure.”

“I’ve seen the Dusk Court in my dreams,” Elain said, almost shyly. “It was truly beautiful. Whatever I may do to help - ”

“There will be much, I’m sure,” Ishari smiled.

“You’re High Lady now,” Rhys drawled at Elain. “Whether the Dusk Court thrives or suffers, it’s your responsibility. Not something to merely help at your leisure.” Azriel stiffened at once, the subtle mocking in his voice making Azriel’s fingers itch towards a dagger. Even Feyre gave Rhys a glare.

“Yes,” Elain said softly. Not looking away from Rhys. “Fortunately, I have already learned a great deal about how to conduct court business. Or how not to.”

The faintest stain of color in Rhys’s face. Azriel didn’t bother stopping the bare-toothed grin that split his own face. Oh, his minx...his lovely, lovely wife...but not yet his -

Azriel took a step forward, ignoring the glances of the others as Elain’s eyes slid to him. A spark, a smile - he took a deep breath, and unsheathed his sword. Tension ripped through the chamber - but he only fell to his knees, extending the blade to his wife as he bowed his head, shadows licking around his body and face, ruffling through his hair.

A burn on the back of his neck - Rhys.

“If I may be the first,” he said, keeping his voice low as it thrummed through the heavy silence, “I would offer myself and my sword to the High Lady of the Dusk Court.”

In the quiet following, Elain stood. Swaying slightly, her skirt brushing against the floor as she stood above him. But she did not shame him by begging him to stand; she did not extend the intimacy between them - for that, Azriel knew...he knew that she knew how vital this moment would be.

“I accept,” she said in a quiet, reverberating voice.

Azriel slid his palm along the sharp edge of his sword, drawing beads of ruby-red blood as his rosy Siphons stuttered - but he didn’t heal the cut. Instead he looked up to his wife, his lover, his Elain - and gave her a crooked smile as he extended his hand to her. Blood dripped onto the floor, but no one seemed to notice.

She held his hand in her small ones, calluses brushing against his skin...and she lowered her forehead to the blood, marking herself in his oath in a splotch of red against her creamy skin. An anointing. Magic sang between them, a lovely, whispering croon that settled over him warmer than anything.

Elain smiled. And he felt it.

He felt it.

The hollowness in him was ringing with that music between them - grasping and aching and growing and building -

She did not move her eyes from his, the warm brown beckoning like a hearth on a cold night as she placed one hand atop his still-leaking cut, and a singe of power closed it. Elain’s delight at her own power nearly made him laugh aloud, but Azriel was shaking, head to foot as his sword drooped to the ground, gazing up at his wife and High Lady in awe.

Her fingers curled beneath his chin. And she whispered, “Rise.”

Azriel stood. But he didn’t stop staring.

“I’m curious to hear this story,” Ishari broke the silence in his mild voice. “A Shadowsinger and a Seer - the two prized gifts of the Dusk Court.”

“And we will be happy to share it with you,” Elain said, but she was leaning to Azriel, and he wrapped his free arm around her waist to keep her steady, kissing the top of her head as she rested her hand on his chest. But she tilted her head towards Azriel, and he grinned at her smile as she said to Ishari, “Tomorrow.”

Azriel lowered his head to kiss his wife, aware of Feyre’s delight behind them and the collective curiosity of the others. But it was Tamlin who spoke,

“Lost your spymaster, did you, Rhysand?”

Rhys did no more than growl, though when Azriel broke the kiss and looked around again, Rhys was gone, and Feyre cried silent tears. The other High Lords remaining lowered their chins to Elain - just for a heartbeat, some willing and some unwilling acknowledgement of a power that matched theirs - and they were soon gone, too.

Feyre left last. Nudging her way between them, Azriel falling back to allow the sisters to embrace. The words they whispered to each other - they weren’t his business, and he hissed at the shadows eavesdropping until they went quiet. Ishari was watching.

Elain kissed Feyre’s damp cheek, and then Feyre turned to him. Azriel could only offer a rueful smile before Feyre embraced him. Still clutching his sword, it made for an awkward encounter, but he didn’t mind. Not really.

“I’m so happy for you,” Feyre said in a thick voice, though her eyes were darkened and uncertain. “Truly I am. I’ll - I’ll be back and I’ll bring the others. I promise.”

Azriel nodded.

She squeezed Elain’s hand one more time, and winnowed away as silently as her mate.

“Az.”

Elain’s voice was soft, but it tore into him, into his heart - Azriel sheathed his sword between his wings at once, drawing his wife close as she went limp against him. She needed him - it leaked from her as surely as blood had leaked from him. The mark on her forehead was drying in a crusty brown, her eyes closed as if she’d kept herself upright all evening and couldn’t manage any longer. Azriel swept her right into his arms, letting her weight settle against him as he listened to the steady, rapid beat of their daughter’s heart within her.

Ishari was the only one left in the chamber. He smiled, and said, “Let me show you to your rooms.”

#pro elriel #elain archeron #shadowsinger #acotar #elain x azriel

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gripefroot · 3 years ago

Text

A Court of Dusk and Shadows ❲30❳

If Ishari was at all bothered by his High Lady being carried through the halls by her bloodsworn, he didn’t show it. And Azriel kept one eye on the male, letting the shadows skittering from his every footstep to sense Ishari’s thoughts and moods and report them back.

He is tired, a shadow whispered to Azriel. Tired and relieved and grieving.

He supposed that made sense.

“As this was Zorem’s home long ago,” Ishari was saying, between pointing out various rooms or views as they passed them, Elain acknowledging them politely from where she rested in Azriel’s arms, “it is now yours, my lady. The expanse of Penumbra lies below - from the towers you can see in every direction.”

“I am impressed that it was kept safe during the curse,” Azriel said, to spare Elain the burden of speaking, and to learn as much as he could about their new surroundings. “Did you not mention there would be much to be rebuilt?”

Ishari nodded, hands clasped behind his back. “Many parts of the court were burned in the Cauldron’s wrath. But Zorem stopped it. Penumbra was largely spared, though the smaller villages near the bay and coast are now gone.”

“Where are the people that lived there?” Elain asked, barely above a whisper.

“Many died,” Ishari bowed his head gravely. “Perhaps even most.”

“I cannot sleep tonight if my people are left out - ”

“My lady,” Ishari said, narrowing his gaze on her - Azriel stiffened, but said nothing. “For us, a night sleeping beneath the stars will be no sacrifice after those centuries locked in this mountain. We have not seen the sky since the day we were locked away.”

Elain nodded. Each of her movements grew more feeble, tightening the worry in Azriel’s chest. “I am sorry,” Elain said softly. “Tomorrow - tomorrow we shall see about making sure everyone has a place to be for the time being. Until things can be...repaired.”

“Yes,” Ishari said. “We will. But for now - ”

He stopped at a tall set of doors; moulded and carved wood, looking as though it had been washed white by the sea. Azriel could hear gulls and crashing waves far below -

“Rest is in order,” he went on as the door swung open on silent hinges. “I cannot imagine the strength today must have seeped from you...and carrying a child, as well.” Ishari bowed his head. “I will see to the immediate needs of the court.”

“But - ” Elain started, lifted her head from Azriel’s chest.

“But nothing,” Azriel said gruffly. “You need rest.”

Her sullen glare only made him smile.

“Quite right,” Ishari said with a flicker of humor dancing in his eyes as he gave Azriel a grateful look. “There will be time for all wounds to be healed, my lady. I - and the other members of Zorem’s council - will be at your disposal.”

“Thank you,” Elain mumbled, already gone lax again.

“I bid you good night, my lady - Shadowsinger.”

Ishari bowed, and backed away before making his way back in the direction they came - but Azriel didn’t linger to watch which direction the male went, instead stepping into the chambers that welcomed them inward, Elain hiding a yawn behind her hand.

The sea seemed nearer here, with the opened glass windows and fluttering curtains. Zorem had had good taste, Azriel thought, taking in the sight of panelled walls painted in pale mosaics of birds and flowers, a stunning balcony beyond glass doors left open to the elements. But there would be more time for exploration later - Azriel’s eyes honed in on the plainly-clad females setting the bed with fresh sheets, who had jumped back at their appearance.

“My lord,” one said in a trembling voice to Azriel - he half-listened as the shadows crept around the room, searching and scuttling in a lively way. As if knowing this was their new home. “We thought to set fresh sheets - whatever my lady requires.”

“She needs food,” he said. “She has not eaten at all today.”

One female left at once, disappearing through a hidden door - he’d have to examine that later - but the one that spoke was quick to explain,

“It seems the court was preserved in the exact state for these centuries. Everything in the kitchens is fresh - the embers in the fireplaces are still warm, even. Crops still grow. The animals still give milk.”

“That is truly amazing,” Elain said, and at her wriggle Azriel let her go, albeit with regret - setting her down on her slippered feet as she swayed, but stayed standing. And gave the female a beaming smile. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

“My lady,” the female said, her voice suddenly choking - tears spilling out as salty as the sea and Azriel blinked, hiding his alarm, “we have you to thank. This is the least we can do.”

“What is your name?” Elain asked.

“I am Sariah, my lady. And my sister is Sabel.”

“Sariah. I would like to hear more of your story,” Elain’s voice stayed sweet and even, but Azriel quickly put a hand on her lower back to brace her. “For now - I hope you will enjoy your freedom.”

The female lowered her head. Too overcome to speak, and leaving through the same door as her companion.

Everything went quiet. Waves below the palace crashing into the mountain, lulling and steady…

“I am not sure,” Elain said suddenly, a wrench in her voice, “if I am capable of this, Az.”

“You are,” he told her. Steered her towards the bed, the sweet-smelling bedsheets folded back for them. “Let me help you settle. Food and sleep will sort you out.”

Though she hummed in response, she was nearly as catatonic as the night before, though this time it was from exhaustion rather than magic: Azriel stripped her of her dirtied dress stained with dirt and blood - hers, his, and Lucien’s - and set her against fluffed pillows in that massive bed. Elain did not protest, though her smiles for him were stilted and weak as she tugged at the neckline of her shift.

Sabel returned with a tray of food, and he took it from her with a murmured request for another meal early in the morning for his lady. The female smiled and assured him it would be done before disappearing again.

Elain ate quietly. Fresh breads and cheeses, cured meats and sliced fruits. She tried to share with Azriel but he shook his head and ignored his own hunger - she needed it. Needed to restore her strength, to ingest nourishment for their child. He’d indulge his curiosity of the unfamiliar fruits another day; for now, he watched her carefully as he stripped himself of his weapons, tucking a dagger under a pillow when she was looking the other way.

“It’s a lovely place,” she commented.

“It is,” Azriel agreed. “We’ll explore more tomorrow.”

“Your shadows are dancing,” Elain said. “I can see them.”

He cast his eyes around the bedchamber. And smiled. “They seem to enjoy this place,” he said.

“Ishari said that the power to sing to shadows came from here,” Elain mused, swirling her glass. “Somehow I’m not surprised. Shadows lengthen at dusk, after all.”

Azriel hummed, wrenching his belt free to lay atop a carved trunk. “Then I wonder how I came to be,” he said wryly.

“You were meant to be here,” Elain said, and his head jerked up, alarmed, at that otherworldliness in her voice again. But her eyes remained soft and brown, fully present. “The shadows spoke to you because they recognized the fate burned into your skin - that you would bring them back where they belonged. Their home.”

“And do you think,” Azriel began, wandering back around the bed to sit beside her, “that that means you and I were meant to be together?”

She smiled. “I don’t care.”

He blinked, and then laughed. “I suppose I don’t either. I’d love you whether it was fate or not.”

“And that,” Elain said softly, “is why I love you. Come to bed.”

Azriel was smiling as he scooped up her tray to set on a sideboard, shucking off his tunic before crawling into bed beside her. The faelights that glowed in the scones on the wall began to wink out, one by one, leaving them bathed in the rich darkness of night, speckled stars gazing in from the open windows.

Elain yawned, and curled herself against him. Kissing the top of her head, Azriel shifted to hold her against him, letting a wing drape over her.

She was asleep within moments.

Azriel was not.

The rightness of this place didn’t soothe his nerves. It was still new; still unexpected; still chock-full of unknown dangers. He could sense where he’d placed his dagger beneath his pillow. It was within reach, should any threat come creeping through the dark. Though the shadows grew, assuring him they would watch, they would guard - Azriel didn’t dare close his eyes.

His wife and High Lady - she was his responsibility, he was her first defender. And their child. And not only because of the blood oath. He couldn’t risk relaxing his vigilance. Not yet. When he knew the layout of the palace better; when he knew the servants and the court and the Council - then he’d sleep.

This was the second night in a row Azriel laid awake to watch over his wife. And he would do it for a hundred more.

Near dawn, Elain flopped over in her sleep, freeing him from their embrace as she slumbered on. Smiling, he leaned over to kiss her mussed hair, drawing back his wing slowly to leave her against the pillows. He tucked the covers around her, and slipped from the bed as shadows snapped to guard her in his place. He’d allowed them to take his place - for a little bit.

Azriel stretched his arms and wings as he wandered across the bedchamber, loosening the tension from laying in one position for so many hours. The sky was turning grey, many of the night stars smothered in the growing light. He stood at the glass doors that led to the balcony - distantly he saw the depths of the sea, and he lifted the latch noiselessly to slip outside.

Cool ocean air kissed his face, salty and fresh. He rested his hands on the railing, taking in the sight of the jagged cliffside that went straight down from where he stood - he suspected, though he’d have to ask to confirm - that wards prevented any from falling to their deaths from the palace. Tuffs of greenery and grasses and wildflowers jutted from the rocks. And below, a half-moon bay could be seen already swimming with white-sailed boats and the shoreline dotted with buildings. Some blacked and burned, some whole and hale - Azriel clenched his jaw, and wondered what had caused the Cauldron to lash out against these people, this court.

An island wrapped in mystery for so long...it would take time to unravel all its secrets.

A shadow curled around his shoulder, whispering in his ear - Azriel turned away from the view to return to the bedchamber where Elain’s quiet breathing was a better song than any symphony. He nodded to Sariah and Sabel, clearing away the tray from the night before and leaving another with fresh food and a steaming pot of tea. Sabel was laying out a few piles of neatly folded clothes, speaking softly when he approached,

“We found some things for my lady to wear until she can outfit herself properly. Ishari told us that you two arrived with nothing.”

“We’ll bring our belongings later,” Azriel said, just as quiet as he heard Elain began to stir behind him. “Thank you.”

The two females smiled and curtseyed. Sabel left through the hidden door first, but Sariah pointed to a door at the opposite end of the bedchamber. “The bathing room is through there,” she told him. “There are soaps and towels - if you require anything else, there is a bellpull by each fireplace in every chamber.”

“Azriel?”

Elain’s groggy voice drew him to her side at once, her hand reaching for his above the covers as he crouched beside the bed, smiling at the lovely, sleepy expression on her face as she blinked at him. All contentment. She must not have had any dreams.

“You left,” she mumbled.

“I wanted to see the view,” Azriel said. “The sun is just rising - would you care to see it beam over your new home?”

A huffy laugh, but she held out her arms anyway - he scooped her up against his bare chest, carrying her to the balcony that was beginning to glow golden as the sun continued its course. The sea now sparkled in the light; more boats in the harbor as his hearing caught on the cries and shouts of the people far below. Zorem had had excellent taste, Azriel mused as he perched Elain on the rail to sit with his arms around her belly to keep her steady, his wings flared for extra balance. The Night Court was beautiful, of course - there were no shortage of wondrous views in the world - but this...this felt different.

“It’s lovely,” Elain said after a while, her feet swinging from where they dangled. “I’m still not quite sure what to think.”

“You’ll have time.” Azriel kissed the back of her neck. “I’ll fly you around later.”

“Have you gone yet?” she asked, tilting her head to give him a wry smile.

“No,” he laughed. “I’m not leaving your side until you send me away.”

“Is that because you’re my husband or because you’ve sworn yourself to me by blood?”

Teasing laced with real curiosity - and uncertainty. Azriel rested her cheek against her arm, gazing up at her with a lopsided smile as the sea breeze danced in her hair. Gilded by the sunlight, Elain looked as part of this landscape as the endless sky and its boundless beauty.

“Was it truly necessary?” she asked, her uncertainty overriding all else. “You already made a bargain to always protect me.”

“It was necessary,” Azriel told her. “That bargain was between you and I. But the blood oath...that was a message to anyone else as much as it was to you. You have my protection, today and always. And I’d like the whole world to know it.”

A softer smile grew on her face as she touched his - fingertips on his chin, scraping against his whiskers. Hopefully Sariah and Sable had thought to include shaving equipment in the bathing room. Azriel kissed his wife’s palm, and she sighed.

“I’m hungry again,” Elain said mournfully, and he barked out a laugh as he picked her back up and carried her into the bedchamber for breakfast.

After a lingering bath to wipe away the grime of the day before - including the last flecks of dried blood on her forehead - Azriel played ladies’ maid to dress his wife in one of the clean frocks the servants had provided - an airy, pale-green dress with a waistline high enough to keep from constraining her stomach. It must have been made for someone taller; Elain had to scoop up the skirts to walk.

To his surprise, tunics and trousers had been left near his size. The tunics he didn’t bother with - they had no panels for his wings, and so he’d make do with his shirt from the day before. He did choose clean trousers, however, layering his armor on top and strapping weapons to his body as Elain pinned back sections of her hair with pearl pins.

“Do you think there’s danger for us here?” she asked quietly - he glanced up, and saw her eyes on him through the mirror.

“No,” Azriel said. “But it’s more than that.”

Elain said no more. He suspected that she understood him, beneath it all. Beneath her worries. The deep thrum of knowing between them - he could feel it as surely as he could feel the bandolier across his chest. And something leapt inside of him - Azriel swallowed thickly, wondering at the sensation - that hollow place between his ribs - it was shrinking, it was...it was humming with light.

She turned to him with a final pat of her hair; cleaned and curling on its own. A smile that ripped through him like magic, and Azriel grinned right back.

“How do I look?” Elain swished her too-long skirts, a spark in her eyes.

“Like a High Lady,” he told her. “You’re still glowing, you know.”

She held out her hands, looking at them front and back. Fondly twirling his opal ring on her finger. And then she gave a delicate shrug of her shoulders, as if dismissing the luster of power still snaking through her veins. “I don’t think that’s going to go away.”

“Nor I.” Azriel offered her an arm, which she took - the doors to the hallway opened as they approached, and he leaned his head closer to her ear to say, “If you’re High Lady, I would wager you’ll be able to winnow now. And other powers will surface - you healed my hand, yesterday.”

“It seemed natural,” Elain said. “As easy as breathing. I didn’t think anything of it.”

“Indeed.” He patted her hand. “And I can truly, honestly say - I look forward to all the surprises you have to offer.”

Her lips twitched, and she laughed - it rang through the marble halls, and they wandered on as birds began to sing in the alcoves, the sun bursting through windows at the start of a new world, and a new life.

⚘ ⚘ ⚘

In the council chamber, the eleven members that had not joined the meeting with the High Lords each approached Elain in the marble chair, lowering themselves to one knee and swearing themselves to her. And each one gave Azriel an apprehensive look, followed by a respectful nod. He didn’t smile back. Kept his shadowy vigil beside his wife, and cataloged every face and name and tic as secrets were whispered in his ear.

He could trust these Dusk Court males and females. Eventually. But for now...Azriel had centuries of practice wilting the ambitions and dangers of those around him. He would use them to protect his wife at any cost.

Once the vows were made, the council took seats at the table, Ishari at Elain’s left - she turned in her chair to lock gazes with Azriel, a smile playing on her lips - and she pointed a slender finger at the empty chair to her right.

Sit.

She needn’t command him aloud for him to understand what she wanted - he grinned and obeyed, awkwardly folding in his wings to splay to the side. The others were staring. Well - why wouldn’t they? He was Illyrian. Illyrians weren’t native to the Dusk Court.

“So,” Ishari said. “We’ll begin.”

The hours droned by in that chamber. It would have grown hot, still clinging the to last threads of summer, were it not for the wind from the sea lazily drifting through the marble pillars. A variety of foods were brought from the kitchens as the general layout and economy of the Dusk Court was explained by the council members; all of Elain’s quiet, patient questions addressed as she basked in the information as beautifully as she would a field of wildflowers.

She had been raised for this, Azriel thought. By a mother hoping to wed Elain to a lord or duke - cultivating her daughter to be a perfect lady. To fulfill the duties demanded by such a position with poise and delicacy.

His heart swelled to see her. To watch her.

He could scarcely believe it, even smelling the air of this lost court and seeing its people - that it had been lost for so long, and that the Cauldon had given it to Elain. Not without toil and sacrifice, no. Not without her blood and suffering. But it had seen something in her; something that made her worthy to break a thousand-year old curse.

Azriel smiled. It had seen her. And that was enough.

Ishari called a halt to the meeting in the late afternoon. He watched Elain as closely as Azriel did; sensing her tiredness and restlessness in the hard chair as work and duties were divided between them to replenish lost homes, to count the population, to take stock of the crops for the winter.

“One last item,” a female said, straightening her robes as she met Elain’s gaze. “If you are not adverse to the idea, it might be prudent to have a...court presentation of sorts. A party, a ball - whatever you prefer. An event for you to meet more of the citizens in the city and hereabouts.”

“The last night of Dymas would be the best time,” a male added.

“I am not adverse to the idea,” Elain said. “If such a thing can be arranged in...two days' time.”

The female smiled - a wicked sort of smile that reminded Azriel of Mor when she got an idea into her head. He nearly grinned. “Last minute celebrations are a speciality of mine,” she said, to the obvious chagrin of the other council members.

“No live fish tanks this time, please, Orla,” Ishari said with a great deal of long-suffering.

Azriel caught Elain’s eye - saw her dancing amusement, and grinned back at her. His fingers crept across the table towards her, rosy Siphons glowing, and she reached back for him. Fingers twining on the marble as chairs scraped around them, tiffs over the party and what it would entail loudly debated as the council members left the room.

He opened his mouth to speak - but more faces filled the doorway, curiously peeking in. Servants, he suspected - and glowered as a male stepped inside with a bow, drawing Elain’s attention.

“My lady,” he said, eyes darting nervously over her shoulder at Azriel. “If it would please you, we can set out a supper in one of the formal dining rooms for yourself and your consort tonight.”

Consort. A shiver skittered up Azriel’s spine. He liked that, but he hid his gleam of pleasure.

��Thank you,” Elain said, heaving herself out of her chair - immediately Azriel was there, holding her hand as she adjusted her balance. She placed a hand on her belly, as if to give an excuse for her teetering. “Will you show us the way…?” Her voice trailed off. The servant bowed again.

“Vint, my lady.”

“Vint. Thank you.”

So, Azriel supposed, there were disadvantages to a palace swarming with servants and, it seemed, well-wishers. They were stopped in the corridors by no less than a dozen individuals wanting to greet their new High Lady and to kiss her hand. Though he wasn’t particularly hungry - the council was kept well-fed - frustration began to nibble at his bones. For the first time, he remembered Rhys and thought of the informality his old brother carried his court with.

Azriel wondered if Elain would do the same. But he supposed that either way, he would be here, and he’d love her.

The formal dining room was a mauve-pink, sparkling lights in crystals making the walls blush and gleam. Through the windows the sun was setting, warmly adding to the scene, and at Elain’s quiet, not-quite-timid request, the two chairs at the table were set nearer to each other. Within reaching distance - after helping his wife to sit, Azriel kissed the top of her head, and sat in the chair beside her.

Someone had sawed off part of the chair to accommodate his wings. He kept back his laughter, and hoped he wouldn’t get any splinters.

“Well,” Elain said softly, setting a napkin in her lap as servants bearing trays began to trail into the room. “There’s no doubt we’re well taken care of here, is there?”

Azriel chuckled quietly, shadows crawling to the corners of the room to lengthen and spread. “I suspect that you have only to snap your fingers and your every wish will be granted.”

“And what if my wish is that we’re left alone?”

Her brown eyes shone over the rim of her glass, sipping a pear cordial that Azriel had discovered he quite liked. Something hungry and hot bloomed in his gut, and he grinned over at her as dish after dish was uncovered and placed in front of them. Wafting aromas of spice and meat and breads filled the air. Servants hovered, as if to serve the meal - but Azriel thought better of it, and gave Vint a glower and a jerk of the head. The male jumped, shooing the rest of the servants out of the dining room, the door closing behind them with a click.

Good. He could still frighten people. He certainly wouldn’t mind showing his teeth to make sure everyone knew their High Lady was his, first and foremost. It was his duty to love and cherish and care for her before any of them. She was his lover long before she was their High Lady.

She was his and he was hers.

“What would my lady care to eat tonight?” he asked, pushing his chair back. “I’ll be serving her tonight.”

“Selfish of you!” Elain laughed.

“I intend to be wildly selfish with my wife,” Azriel told her in a bland voice, picking up her silver plate and casting his eyes over the victuals - she’d want the potatoes and the fish, the green salads and spiced grains. And she’d want a lot of it. So he hummed to himself as he scooped her plate full, her shining delight raking over his skin like gentle fingernails. When he put her plate in front of her again, watching her raised, unimpressed brows, he added, bending over to speak more softly into her ear, “No servant will serve you when I’m around.”

“Ridiculous,” she enunciated, but picked up her fork to stab at the salads. “But you’re very handsome when you bend over the table like that. So I’ll allow you to continue.”

Azriel laughed, making sure her view was lingering and indulgent as he served himself before he returned to his seat. And refilled her glass with cordial, and then his own.

The stiffness of the council was lost between them. Then again - the comforting way they understood one another had always pushed aside other concerns. It was so, so easy to speak their minds; to speculate about the rest of the Dusk Court, to wonder what the markets would sell, to discuss whether her sisters would come to Orla’s party.

And when they were satiated with supper, Azriel pushed back his chair and patted his leg, watching his wife with a crooked smile as she stood, sweeping herself with great dignity to set herself on his lap, looping her arms around his neck.

Now this - this was home.

“I’m getting heavier,” Elain said, smiling as she pushed hair from his face.

“I’m strong,” Azriel said. Stroked the circular swell of her belly, stretching out his legs and wings as she sighed, and kissed him.

“I wonder if there’s a sweet course,” she murmured into his mouth.

He held back a grin, letting her lips acquaint themselves to his - and a moment later a shadow opened the door to admit Vint and a few others, this time carrying trays of cakes and fruits and creams. Elain straightened, but didn’t leave his lap - if the servants were scandalized, they said nothing. Merely displaying the bounty and clearing the supper dishes and then, once more, leaving them alone.

A shadow clicked the lock on the door.

“Alright,” Azriel said, holding her around the waist as he leaned forward to pluck a glass layered with custard and berries. “Looks like we’ll have to eat all of this ourselves - we’d better start.”

“Oh!” Elain laughed, but when he propped a laden spoon at her mouth, she obediently parted her lips. After swiping a messy swirl of custard he’d somehow made - and he’d somehow been too slow to clean with his tongue - she said, “I’m sure that what we don’t eat makes up meals for the staff.”

“I’m sure,” he said absently, feeding her another bite - messier, this time, and he was prepared - leaning forward to lick it off of the corner of her mouth as she squirmed and giggled, nearly upsetting the glass and spoon in his hand.

“I may have to feed myself if I’m to have any dignity left,” Elain said starchily. Azriel laughed, but attempted a more subservient mein to offer her another bite. Her lips closed around the spoon, eyes darting up to fasten on his - and she slowly dragged her mouth off of the spoon, leaving him too stunned to tease as he sat, frozen. She laughed, plucking the spoon from between his fingers for another bite, but this one for him: he didn’t hesitate to open his mouth, the sweet and tangy lemon custard coating his mouth deliciously.

“Elain,” he said hoarsely, running his free hand up her thigh. “Did you...do you feel any different? In here?” He laid his hand against her ribs.

“Yes,” she told him, but her lashes were lowered. “It’s been...feeling different.”

“I think,” Azriel whispered, and her warm, brown eyes bore into his, “that when Lucien Vanserra threw out his power, he severed every spell within miles. Including…”

“Including that false bond,” Elain finished quietly.

He swallowed thickly, nodding his head. She said nothing as she set the dessert dishes aside, then melting back into his chest as she traced the shape of his jaw with her finger, setting warm across his skin like a breath. Azriel slid up his hand to rest on her belly, the baby’s faint heartbeat a beautiful background.

“You feel it,” she said.

Azriel nodded again, his throat closed over.

“Whenever I felt Lucien,” she said, laying her palm against his heart, “it was like a thread. So...flimsy and breakable, though I never considered why. When I compared it to what Feyre and Rhys have...it seemed like it could have been broken by a sigh. But this...what I feel now - ” Elain lifted her head to gaze at him, “it’s completely different. It’s...impenetrable and strong and beautiful. More than a thread. More than ten thousand threads.”

“I feel it,” Azriel breathed. “And…”

“And I just fed you.” Her eyes twinkled.

“So that means - ”

“Not just bloodsworn,” Elain smiled. “Not just protector or consort, or even husband.”

“Mate,” he said. The word rang through him with a bittersweet wrench; choking in his throat, drying his mouth. Humming in his veins and rattling his bones as the truth of it sank like a stone in a pond. “Mate,” she said. “Even the Cauldron acknowledges us now. You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

“I’m yours,” Azriel said, and sat forward, squashing his nose into hers to breathe her words into his mouth, to breathe his into hers - “and you’re mine.”

“I didn’t expect this.” Elain was stroking the side of his neck where his heart pumped as fast as if he’d been flying for hours. “I...always knew there was something between us, but I didn’t expect to - to have a mating bond. To get it back.”

“Nor did I,” he murmured, resting his forehead against hers. His very soul was singing; its melody was her voice and its word was her name. “For all the Cauldron put you through, I can be grateful that at last - we're here. That I have you, and you have me.”

“Yes.” A brush of her lips against his cheek. Azriel squeezed his eyes shut, willing the burning tears to stay back. “And we have a bedchamber, Az - why don’t we leave the rest of the desserts for the hard-working staff and find something sweeter?”

He chuckled, grasping her beneath her knees to haul her into the air as he stood. And kissed her lemony mouth. “My little minx,” Azriel said fondly, already walking towards the door as shadows stretched the way ahead of them.

#pro elriel #elain x azriel #shadowsinger #elain archeron #acotar

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