The Shadows Have No Face || 𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐑

A Lethal Sharp

The silence that followed was deafening. My heart raced a thousand times faster than ever before. There was nothing I could do, no words that could make this right. I just had to endure what would come next. Whether it was death or acceptance, I had to be content with either.

"What?" The General asked, looking between the three of us. Mor placed a hand over mine in an attempt to offer support. To be a lifeline, if needed.

I held my head high and challenged her glare. "I am. What of it?"

She laughed a wicked laugh. I was thankful she had been reduced to a High Fae during the war, but it didn't change the fear that coursed through me. "What of it? You are a traitor."

"Amren," the High Lord warned. "Settle down."

She snapped her head at him. "You want me to settle down? She is dangerous. The people looking for her will kill everyone in this room just to make sure they wipe her clean from this earth."

She looked back at me. "I should just kill you now and finish the job for them."

"Whatever you do to her, you will do to me," Azriel growled, standing with a hand gripping the obsidian dagger at his side. His wings flared out behind him, the scars running up the membrane lit by the light, reminding me of claws. Claws like the shadows that flickered and moved in the surrounding darkness.

I felt my heart skip a beat, and my lungs heaved in a breath. I realized that I had stopped breathing the moment Amren spoke. I looked up at the shadowsinger and couldn't help but feel an intense warmth fill me.

I couldn't believe that any normal person would protect me, would fight for me. In all my life, I was told that I was worth nothing more than a grain of sand. I was supposed to disappear under the water.

Yet, here was someone that looked at me—spoke for me—with every intention of helping me. With every intention of keeping me alive. Because... I was worth more than salt and sand.

Mor stood with him and gave Amren a killing glare. "She risked her life out there to help us. She protected us—trusted us."

Amren was unmoved by them. "And what if she is secretly working with them still? What if this is all part of their plan to take us down?"

"I would never try to hurt anyone," I said, standing. The words started pouring out of my mouth, and I had no time to assess whether I was saying the right thing or not. "Azriel saved my life when we were in the desert. He stood up for me and helped me. Mor risked her life to free us—and she used her time and energy to heal me."

I took a deep breath and looked at the High Lord. He was the only one that could make the choice whether I stay or leave. He was the one in charge. "Yes, I was a Faceless. But I ran away. I ran, knowing the consequences. And I am here now... because I want to help you. It is as simple as that."

"I don't believe you," Amren growled.

Azriel glared at her. "Then believe me. Niana didn't need to help us. She didn't need to go to the Old City—but she did. She risked entering that Tower, not knowing if it was empty or not, and put her life in our hands."

"I saw what that place was," Mor said. "It was hell for her. To think of what it must have been like, trying to escape." She looked at me and smiled, "she is strong, and I trust her."

The High Lord sighed and looked at his mate. Feyre placed a hand over his. Amren waited impatiently for an answer, looking about ready to pounce if his answer was no.

I wouldn't fight back. If they forced me to leave, I would do it. I understood why they wouldn't want to work with a traitor like me.

"You are not a traitor," Rhysand said. I held my breath. Had he read my mind? "The Faceless swear an oath to protect the Cauldron, nothing more. You have not broken it. By being here, risking yourself to find information, you are still protecting it—defending it."