A Court of Madness and Depth

Chapter 13

I had gone to bed content and fulfilled. There had been cheer in my step and brightness in my cheeks the entire evening. Azriel and I had attended a musical performance at a cider house in Velaris. Upon arriving I was approached by Monet, the beautiful lilac fae. She and her gaggle of friends informed me that the buildings on her street were completed. They invited me to a celebration at the end of the week to christen the new artistic quarter of Velaris. This only gave me more reason to celebrate. I raised a cheers to the artists and bought two rounds of drinks for all of them. 

By the end of the night, altogether, the shadowsinger and I had five rounds of smoky ale and crisp cider. It was the type of night where every sip went down easier than the last and by the time night had pulled her starry blanket across the sky I was stumbling over my feet. But that did not stop me from joining in the dancing.

After a few dances I even managed to drag Azriel out onto the floor. He was hesitant at first, but once the music consumed him he transformed into something strange and pure and beautiful. It was as if music grabbed a hold of him and transformed him into a different being, even the shadow that swirled about him reflected the lanterns around the room and were seemingly transformed into golden flames. He was smiling, truly smiling, pearly teeth on full, prominent, display surrounded by his round mouth. I often caught myself studying that mouth, the curve of his lips, the slight crookedness of his bottom teeth, the way that his lower bottom lip was subtly darker than the other.

"My eyes are much higher than where you are looking," he teased quietly, raising a hand and lifting my chin. I felt the blood rush to my face and buried my head in his shoulder as the musical troupe changed their song to a softer, deeper melody. Despite my embarrassment Azriel gripped me tighter, pulling me against him, I went willingly. Once the singing began the male turned his head towards mine and began singing into my ear. Pure and unadulterated shook overtook me. I didn't dare change an inch of how we stood, for fear he would stop. So as the music played I let my face rest snuggly onto his sturdy shoulder.

A fire within her heart and the world beneath her wings

The great lady shifts and moves

Within her wild eyes lie all made things

Her arms are like rivers, strong and smooth

Mother, goddess, these are her names

We call her nurturer, we call her grace.

As he sang to me the shadowsinger's voice was husky and deep, as if a cello had taken a human form. The song was Illyrian. I wasn't sure if the minstrels knew. I wasn't sure if Azriel knew. My mother had sang the song to me when I was a child and when she was gone, at a court event with my father or visiting her few friends at her village, Rhysand would sing it to me. The memory of my brother singing was the only thing that kept my misting eyes from flooding over, though perhaps they might have from laughter.

Once the song was over Azriel released me. I examined deep into his Hazel eyes and upon inspection I found that it was time to leave. Without saying a word I grabbed his hand and led him out of the crowded room. Once outside we took to the skies.

When we were high enough that no one could hear our voices Azriel turned to me, gliding on his side as we soared towards the House of Wind. He breathed in deeply and then spoke, as if there wasn't enough air in supply that could give him enough breath to speak these words, "Singing is much easier than talking."

"Shadowsinger indeed," I teased lightly, he smiled. I would do anything to make him smile again. But there were other things I wanted to discuss, "That song is Illyrian. How do you know it? Did my brother teach it to you?"

The shadowsinger reached into his pocket and as if of the same mind we both stopped our flying. We hovered there in the middle of the air, high above Velaris, a few feet apart. In the palm of his hand was a small silver symphonia. My eyes widened at the sight. I had seen them upon an visit to the Day Court, but had never seen one outside of their territory. Symphonia were rare, a Day Court gift rarely given. I studied him, curiously, not pushing, but letting him know that if he wanted to share I would listen.

He tapped the top of the smooth surface. From the symphonia a woman's voice glided, mixing as the perfect melody to the harmony of nighttime noises below us. Her voice was woody with a rich tenor. She sang the song we had heard only moments before. Her voice was beautiful and reminded me so much of my mother that tears did spill upon hearing the song. I could not help but imagine that this woman and Azriel would have sounded beautiful together. After the symphonia fell silent it was a long while before the male spoke again.

"My mother," His voice choked on the word, as if it had caught in his throat upon leaving. He swallowed and continued, "She found this in a shop in the North when I was five. She spent nearly everything she had to purchase it for me. I spent much of my life in a cell of a room in my father's house. While locked away I was kept alone in the dark. I could only see my mother for an hour every week. My mother loved to sing. She gave me this symphonia so that when I was alone I could hear her music. So I could always go to bed with a lullaby, like other Illyrian children. It was the only thing that kept me sane as I aged. Sometimes, when I wake up from a nightmare of the blood rite or my father's hateful family I pull this from my pocket and play it to soothe myself. It's like no matter where I go I carry a piece of her with me."

When he finished speaking he immediately tensed, a fearful expression shattering his face. Instantly I was floating before the boy he had been, five years old and curled in the dark listening to the sweet cooing of a mother he could not see nearly enough.

 I had no words. I had no thoughts. I simply was. I existed to listen to him. There was no comfort to offer that he would accept, there was no embrace to throw in his direction that would ease that ache. I touched both of my hands to my chest and nodded at him, a silent thanks for his vulnerable confession. I wrapped myself in the warmth that I wished I could shower him with, but knew he would not accept or appreciate. I only hoped that he could feel it from where he flew a few feet away. Gratitude built in his eyes and I knew that I had made the right decision to keep my distance and keep my silence. There are many times where words and touch can cause more harm than comfort.