A Court of Whispers and Song

Chapter 10

Az listened, captivated by every word she spoke. Lying flat on her back, hair spread out like a halo of flames, Gwyn gestured to the heavens, naming yet another constellation. The priestess knew her history. Knew every single tale. And not simply the legends of the High Fae. She was well-versed in many cultures, a veritable fountain of knowledge. Surprising for someone who grew up sheltered in a temple.

His eyes drifted shut, savoring the soothing, melodic timbre of her voice and the stories of the stars. Honestly, she could read anything and he would be delighted. Histories. The newspaper. Spy reports. A simple list.

Smut, his shadows teased. He didn't deign that with a response.

Overall, he'd chosen the spot well, and Gwyn seemed to be enjoying herself.

She is quite content, his shadows confirmed. And warmth spread deep in his chest with the knowledge.

He leaned back, using his bicep as a pillow atop the dewy grass. His face twisted toward her, watching her arms move around, tracing a shape in the sky. His focus moved to her mouth, her lips. The way her eyes sparkled in the moonlight.

Azriel didn't know how much he truly needed this. A distraction, and a welcome one from all the current bullshit. The news from Rhysand wasn't as hoped. Mor revealed rumors and rumblings of an impending visit from the High Prick of Autumn himself to Vallahan. Beron Vanserra. Reports from the seasonal court via Eris had not included that tidbit of intel. So either Beron was getting paranoid and better at hiding, as Rhysand surmised. Or Eris flipped. And there wasn't one part of him that would be surprised by the latter.

Either way, this situation was not one to ignore. A secret message had been dispatched to the Autumn Court heir. Nuala was already on her way to the rendezvous point, the border of Spring and Summer. Barring any problems, Azriel should receive word in a couple of days. If Eris was still on their side, then he'd return to meet in a week with more information. If not, Rhysand would be visiting him instead of Cassian. And Rhysand was not in the mood to play courtier.

I'll tear the truth right out of his head, and if I find he's been playing us? Screwing us? He's fucking done. I don't care if he is a better choice than Beron, Rhys had spat during their meeting at the house. The lesser of two evils, be it a necessity, in this case, is still evil. But I swear, I will rip the information from his mind and shred the rest to pieces if we discover a betrayal.

Eris—hell, every single Vanserra—are devious snakes. Nothing surprises me from any member of that court. And no matter what the others believed, Azriel would never trust Eris. Not after what he did to Mor. In his eyes, that was unforgivable—and for centuries, Truth-Teller thirsted for retribution. For blood. All Az needed was a reason. Hell, part of him prayed for one.

An upbeat song and clapping flowed from across the river, lugging him out of his deep thoughts. When Gwyn stopped talking, all he wanted to do was run over and order them to keep it down. The joy in her enchanting voice was the only music he desired. A rhythmic beat pattern drew his attention, searching until he discovered the surprising cause. Her bare feet tapped along the ground, perfectly matching the tempo of a raucous tavern song. Eyes shut, she hummed in concert to the melody, perfect pitch to a tune she probably didn't recognize. A song Azriel was well-versed from many drunken nights with his brothers.

A gentle glow radiated from her skin, reminding him of faelight. It was faint, seeming to dim and brighten with the notes, the tone of her voice.

His eyes went wide. Were they playing tricks on him?

Azriel often wondered, after years left alone in complete blackness, if his eyesight would eventually fail. If the darkness of shadows would become permanent. Was it finally happening?