A Court Of Flowers And Shadows {Azriel Shadowsinger}

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Azriel had been so caught up in trying to find out if Amara was actually okay that he hadn't noticed Feyre's gaze flicking to his siphons every now and again. Well, that was a bit of a lie, he was able to pay attention to both at the same time but he had been putting more focus on to Amara than anything else that was going on around him. He had been taking in everyone's movements and changes in body language since the moment that he had stepped foot in to the house again, he just had been paying more attention to Amara's movements than anybody else's.

When it finally broke through to him that Feyre had been looking at his siphons, he moved the piece of shadow that was around Amara's wrist back to her hair and held his two hands up to help Feyre get a better look. "They're called Siphons. They concentrate and focus our power in battle."

Thankfully, Rhys came to the rescue a bit to help clarify everything when Feyre's gaze flickered to the ones that were on Cassian's hands. Cassian, however, wasn't paying attention because he was too busy trying to steal Amara's glass of wine without her noticing since Mor refused to hand him the bottle.

Rhys set down his fork and turned to Feyre a bit more. "The power of stronger Illyrians tends towards 'incinerate now, ask questions later.' They have little magical gifts beyond that - the killing power."

"The gift of violent, warmongering people," Amren added. The shadows around Azriel darkened slightly as he nodded in agreement with Amren's statement. Amara kicked Cassian in the shin for the look that he sent Azriel's way.

Rhys continued, subtly keeping an eye on both Azriel and Cassian, "The Illyrians bred the power to give them advantage in battle, yes. The Siphons filter that raw power and allow Cassian and Azriel to transform it in to something more subtle and varied - into shields and weapons, arrows and spears. Imagine the difference between hurling a bucket of paint against the wall and using a brush. The Siphons allow for the magic to be nimble, precise on the battlefield - when its natural state lends itself toward something far messier and unrefined, and potentially dangerous when you're fighting in tight quarters."

Cassian flexed his fingers, admiring the red stones adorning the backs of his own hands. Amara rolled her eyes at his next words. "Doesn't hurt that they also look damn good."

"Illyrians," Amren muttered which put a slight smile on Amara's face.

Amara was sipping her wine and swirling the small piece of shadow that was always around her between her fingers when Feyre spoke again... and what Feyre said next was one of the worst things that Amara had ever heard in her entire life.

"How did you - I mean, how do you and Lord Cassian-"

Cassian spewed his wine across the table, causing Mor to leap up and swear at him while she used a napkin to wipe it off her dress. Amara choked on her wine and had to have Amren clap her on the back so she would stop choking. Amara wiped away a couple of tears from her eyes as the piece of shadow wiped one away from her cheek.

"Those two words together are the worst things I've ever heard. Can you imagine Cassian as a Lord?" Amara asked with a soft laugh, pouring herself a new glass of white wine. She kept her gaze away from Cassian so that she couldn't see the wine that was now on his leathers since Mor had transferred it there from her dress with a flick of her wrist. If she looked too long then it would start to look like blood.

"Cassian," Rhys drawled, "is not a lord. Though I'm sure that he appreciates you thinking that he is." His eyes shifted over his inner circle as Amara set the now empty bottle of wine back on to the table. "While we're on the subject, neither is Azriel. Nor Amren. Mor, believe it or not, is the only Night Court pure-blooded, titled person in this room. Amara's title comes from the Spring Court of course, which I'm sure you already knew." Feyre's look turned quizzical so Rhys quickly added. "I'm half-Illyrian. As good as a bastard where the thoroughbred High Fae are concerned."

"So you - you three aren't High Fae?" Feyre asked him, glancing at both Azriel and Cassian as well. Azriel was raising an eyebrow at Amara who sent him a slight smile, the best she could muster while seeing the wine stains on the white table cloth near her leg.

Cassian finally calmed down with his howling laughter long enough to answer Feyre's question. "Illyrians are certainly not High Fae. And glad of it." He hooked his black hair behind his round ear to prove it, moving Amara's blonde hair behind her pointed one to further prove his point. She swatted his hand away and moved her hair back in to place. "And we're not lesser faeries, though some try to call us that. We're just - Illyrians. Considered expendable aerial cavalry for the Night Court at the best of times, mindless soldier grunts at the worst."

"Which is most of the time," Azriel clarified.

"I didn't see you Under the Mountain," Feyre said softly.

The room went silent...

Silent was not good. Silent took her back there. Amara's glass froze an inch from her lips and she set it back down with a slight clearing of her throat. She set her glass back down and felt a couple of extra shadows reach out and twirl through her hair. Letting out a shaky breath, she stood and leaned her hands against the cold wood table.

"I um... I'm going to go get more wine. I can't stand red," she mumbled before she quickly fled the room to the kitchen.

She leaned against the kitchen counter as she took in a shaky breath. She closed her eyes to try and help calm herself down but that was a mistake. Then all she saw was a flash of a knife and she could have sworn that she heard someone screaming.

She'd been acting like she was fine all evening and she had been so hopeful that it had been true; that she actually was healing. That scar had stopped being a scab and it wasn't red and glaring... it was soft and pink and new and it was healing. She had thought that had meant that the rest of her was healing too, that she just had to find the splinters and everything would be okay.

Now she wasn't so sure.