Battle Scars

The Dead Trove

Eve waited along with everyone else for Nesta and Cassian to come. Rhys and Feyre sat on the sapphire couch before the window. Azriel leaned against the mantel, near the chair she had chosen to sit in and Amren had curled herself into an armchair, bundled in a grey fur coat, as if the nip in the air today were a blast of winter.

Azriel was clad in gear today- he was to leave as soon as the meeting was over. Eve stole a glance at him every now and then which did not go unnoticed by the Shadowsinger. He longed to ask her what had made her so happy in the morning that the joy had infiltrated his mind and his shadows too. But for now, in front of everyone, only a smile given to him by Eve would have to do.

He could sense the tense muscles in her back now. See the way she held herself. And so, he knew she either knew why they were meeting today or because she could sense what was about to occur. He had not told them his entire findings last night, after all.

Cassian and Nesta finally came and while Cass was full of his usual jovial and carefree self, Nesta was just as stiff. Azriel had an inkling that Cassian was being extra carefree on purpose today- mostly to put Nesta to ease. He didn't think it was working.

"Really? She's shielded even in here?" he asked Rhys after he tried hugging Feyre. That was another thing Az found he wished to know about. It was strange- his brother shielding Feyre after the war for no other reason than to practice his shields.

Rhys stretched out his long legs, crossing one ankle over the other. "Even in here."

Cassian rolled his eyes and plopped into the armchair beside Amren's, surveying her fur coat and saying, "It's barely cold today." Amren's teeth flashed.

"Keep talking like that and it'll be your pelt I wear tomorrow." The little demon then turned toward Nesta and the tension became palpable. Azriel wondered again what had actually occurred during that day on the boat. Of course, he knew the gist, the fight and its cause.. but the actual conversation- now that was what he wished to know, curious. His shadows had told him enough to know it did not have anything to do with his family or court being in danger of her anger. That would suffice him; he was no gossip.

Feyre cleared her throat. "All right, Az. Let's hear it." Getting out of his lazy posture, he straightened. Sending a covet glance to where Eve was, he started; hating how much of what he was about to say would affect her.

"Queen Briallyn has been busier than we thought, but not in the way we expected. In the week I've been watching her, I ... learned what her next steps are." Learned as in had to torture. He did not like it but it had to be done. By his own bare hands. He tucked them back as he noticed his mate' and the viper's stare.

Ignoring their sad and curious gazes, he continued, "The other young queens indeed fled from Briallyn weeks ago, as Eris said. She alone sits in the throne room of their shared palace. And what Eris revealed about Beron was true, too: the High Lord visited Briallyn on the continent, pledging his forces to her cause." A muscle ticked in Azriel's jaw. "But Briallyn' gathering of armies, the alliance with Beron, is only the auxiliary force to what she has planned." He shook his head, shadows slithering over his wings. "Briallyn wishes to find the Cauldron again. In order to retrieve her youth."

His mate sat expressionless- as if as unbothered by the information as he had to be when he was doing his job. Never showing what he felt. Perhaps Rhysand had told her beforehand but why, he did not know.

"She'll never attain the Cauldron," Amren said, waving a hand gleaming with rings. Too sure and too confident, his shadows hissed. "No one but us, Miryam, and Drakon know where it's hidden. Even if Briallyn did uncover its location, there are enough wards and spells on it that no one could ever break through."