A Court of War and Sacrifice

14. Golden Hatred

The artwork above is not mine.

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Seren's nausea was growing steadily worse, even though she was following Amren's advice. She'd felt so sick one morning that Cassian had been the one to tell her to stay at the hut until she felt better. It wasn't as though they were desperate for her help anyway. Only four females, including Jorah, attended the lessons now.

Seren nursed a cup of tea and sat near an open window. The fresh air seemed to help her a little bit. The door creaked open and Feyre stepped inside. "Cassian said I might find you here."

"Two steps out the door and I threw up," Seren chuckled. "I think Cassian is on the brink of sending me home."

"I'm surprised Az hasn't asked you to already."

"He hasn't said anything about all of this," Seren replied with a shrug. "He's definitely noticed, though."

"Has Cass or Amren asked about a baby?"

"Cassian hasn't, but Amren figured it out. She found me the first time I threw up and proceeded to lecture me, then told me what kinds of tea might help."

Feyre smiled and sat down beside her. "She researched that when I was pregnant."

"I wondered why she knew something like that." Seren drank the last of her tea and took her cup over to the tiny dish pail. "Come on. I want to go outside for a little while." Feyre followed her out the door.

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Azriel trailed Erebus through the Illyrian Mountains. The Warlord was traveling on foot, for once. He picked his way over stony paths, muttering to himself. Shadows clung to Azriel, muffling the flap of his wings.

Feyre and Rhys should be here by now, Azriel thought. I wonder if Seren went with Cass and Amren today. They hadn't talked about her recent sickness, but Azriel knew Cassian had made her stay at the hut a few times because of it. If it meant what he hoped it did, he wondered if Seren would agree to go home when Rhys and Feyre did.

Azriel banked down as Erebus reached a mountain clearing. Three Illyrian males were waiting there. Azriel drew closer and perched on the face of a mountain and watched them. There was something familiar about the three newcomers.

"Well? Can you help me with my little dilemma?" Erebus asked, getting straight to business.

"Make it worth my while. He may be a bastard child, but his power and rank has brought me some level of respect and influence amongst our people," the oldest male said. Azriel's heart stopped in horror. He did know this male. He hadn't heard that voice since he was eleven, but he remembered it well.

"Help me, and you'll be an Illyrian prince when the war ends. Your sons will be lords."

The male nodded to his two sons. Their amber siphons flared with power. Each son wore only two siphons, compared to Azriel's seven. "It's been a long time since we saw our little brother," one of them sneered.

Azriel dug his fingers into the side of the mountain. Shadows flitted around him, picking up on his rising panic. "You mentioned he has a mate now," the second son added. "It would be wonderful to meet our sister."

Azriel thrust off the mountain and flew towards Ironcrest. He didn't care that the shadows had faltered because of his sudden movement, revealing his presence. He didn't notice the chunk of rock that crumbled from the mountain side, landing in a billow of dust in the clearing below. He couldn't make sense of what the shadows were whispering.