A Court of Rage and Fire

Chapter 8

Azriel had never minded the quiet—he often wondered if that was why Elain had grown to accept his company—but the beat of silence that followed Elain's question was so awkward, his skin crawled.

Elain's face crumpled into a lovely, anxious pout, her doe eyes widening in horror. "I'm sorry! I said something terrible, haven't I? It's just that...I had a dream about it." Her words tumbled out faster and faster. "You had a bunch of different eyes, besides the gold one, and switched them out when no one was looking. It was funnier when I dreamed it. Maybe I've spent so much time in the garden that I've forgotten how to talk to people."

Azriel sincerely doubted that last part, or really anything she was saying, having seen Elain prove herself to be a perfectly charming conversationalist. But he, along with everyone else in the room, visibly relaxed. Vassa's lips, though, remained slightly parted in disbelief at the scene before her.

"No, no, it's alright. I just wasn't expecting..." Lucien trailed off. "I insulted Amarantha, and she took it as punishment. A Dawn Court tinkerer made me the prosthetic."

"That was very brave of you, Lucien. It sounds like not many stood up to Amarantha and lived to tell the tale," Elain said solemnly. "So that was the same tinkerer who made the antidote to Faebane?"

"Yes...it really wasn't brave, though." Gods, the male almost looked bashful as he beamed at the compliment anyway. Azriel felt a horrible sense of deja vu, remembering a near-exact, exquisite expression directed at him so long ago. He squashed the memory as quickly as it came. "I was reckless and angry. Bravery requires a purpose, like when you felled Hybern. That was brave."

Elain smiled thinly but said nothing, her eyes falling to her hands folded in her lap.

"I remember that!" Jurian said, rubbing Vassa's bare feet. "I couldn't hear when I was trapped in that blasted ring. Eyes can't hear, after all. I always wondered what you said to her. When I could wonder, at least."

"I told her to go back to the shit-hole she crawled out of."

At that, Jurian and Vassa laughed, and even Azriel snorted a little, though his shadows dragged his attention toward Elain, who had looked up suddenly at Jurian's interruption.

"You were trapped...in a ring? Just your eyes?" Elain asked, finally reaching for her cooling tea and taking a sip.

"One eye. Haven't you heard any stories about Amarantha? You really must spend all your time in the garden," Jurian said amiably, all initial awkwardness forgotten now. "Amarantha killed me—well, kind of—in revenge. It was war, after all. She cut me up and trapped my soul in my eye, which she had set into a crystal-and-gold ring. Clear crystal, so I couldn't look away or blink or rest. That's how I'm still alive, a 500-year-old human, thanks to the sick necromantic magic that Amarantha stole from Hybern."

Elain's eyes were wide, and Azriel remembered, through the haze of blood and pain and ash wood that clouded his memory of the day, that Hybern had bragged about raising Jurian from his remains right before throwing Elain into the Cauldron. He suddenly felt desperate to change the subject, for all of their sakes.

Sharp-tongued Vassa beat him to it.

"Lucien," she said, somehow both bright and stern. "Why don't you take Elain for a walk in our little garden? It's not much this time of year, but still pretty in the moonlight."

Elain smiled sweetly. "Thank you, but it's a bit too cold for me. I'll have to return in the summer and bring you some night-blooming flowers."

"Lucien, you'll keep Elain warm, won't you?" Jurian asked. "Fire magic is delightful in the winter."