A Court of Desires and Darkness

Chapter 12

Azriel

Rhysand winnowed Cassian and I back to the townhouse in Velaris. Amren was instantly there to assess the damage of Cassian's wings and the hole in my chest. She was questioning Rhysand about Feyre's whereabouts, her anger rising by the second. I could not hear their conversation. Not over the pain in my chest from the arrow. Not over the memory of meeting another Shadowsinger. 

Her hazel, almost golden, eyes still peering back at me as her own shadows consumed her. 

Canna, her name a melody in my mind.

Another Shadowsinger. 

The concept is still beyond belief.

My own shadows remember that night all those years ago in that dark, musty dungeon room. A cloudy magical barrier blocked my eyes from seeing past it, but my shadows... they felt her, felt the darkness that surrounded her, the emptiness that threatened to consume. I knew that feeling all too well. 

Before I had to leave, I made sure to send hope into those wisps of darkness that swirled out of the barrier, beckoning them to return to her. 

I felt her despair that day, her will almost to the point of shattering. Today, it felt mended together, held together by stitching that has been frayed and pulled. 

Mor winnows in front of me, dragging my consciousness away from the memory of the golden eyes. She rips the arrow that is still protruding from my chest and I grunt in response, sucking in a breath of air. A warmth emanates from her hand pressed against my chest as her magic heals the wound. 

I looked to Rhysand, his face almost as pale as the day he returned from Under the Mountain. A deep, invisible wound cuts at his heart. "The King broke the bargain between us. Hard to do, but he couldn't tell that it wasn't the mating bond," he says, his voice rasped. 

"Does--does Feyre know--" 

"Yes," he answers Mor. "And now my mate is in our enemy's hands."

My concern for Feyre rivals that for Canna, a fae I hardly know. Deep in my bones I feel the need--the desire--to get her. To free her. The expression the King gave her when she denied his command... pure wrath. A promise of later reprimand. My nails dig into the skin of my palms at the thought, shadows dancing for vengeance. 

"She is my mate. And my spy," Rhysand said quietly, his gaze fixed upon the foyer. "And she is the High Lady of the Night Court."

We all blinked at him, taken by complete surprise. Feyre... my brother's mate. My High Lady. I should have protected her better. 

I should have protected them all better.

Protected Canna... 

"Until then," he continues, "we go to war."

War indeed.