The Shadows Have No Face || 𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐑

Prophesies are Never Forgotten

I could barely keep my eyes open, standing outside waiting for Mor to finish getting ready. I thought the cold would help wake me up, and it was working—to some degree.

Amren walked up to me and said, "why are you out here? You're shivering is making the earth shake."

I laughed. "I need to wake up."

"You'll have plenty of time to do that while we walk."

"we're walking?"

She nodded. "The witch warded herself in, so we can't winnow."

I gave a gravely sigh. "Fantastic." Thank the Mother I had these warm leathers on, and boots that cuffed high on my legs.

I looked down at her. "Is... have you spoken to him at all?"

She looked me up and down and said, "no. He hasn't spoken to anyone, except Rhysand."

I took a deep breath. "Amren—"

"I suggest you do the one thing no one ever thinks about doing," she said, smiling slightly. "Talk to him. Tell him the truth."

I shook my head. "I doubt he'll listen to me."

"You'd be surprised."

Mor walked out of the house in a bundle of warmth. She stomped her boots to get her feet in the right spot and came up to stand with us.

"Why are we standing around?" She asked.

Amren pointed across the way to a neatly set up tent. "That is why."

As if on cue, the shadowsinger emerged from the tent, his wings tucked in tight behind him. He adjusted the straps on his hands, making sure the Siphons there were exactly where he wanted them.

Mor groaned in annoyance. "Seriously?"

"Do you want to walk alone in the Illyrian mountains? No, I would like to keep my head," Amren said. "Unfortunately, I am quite fragile now."

"Remember, that was your choice," Mor mumbled.

The Spymaster approached us, and I kept my eyes on the ground. Or, rather, his boots. I tried to keep my gaze down, but couldn't. It was like a magnet pulled me up. Slowly I looked further up, seeing the weapons attached to his belt, the lava-rock handle of a folded steel blade. The obsidian hunting dagger with quite an interesting history.

Up further, to the Siphons decorating dark leather scales. Painfully scared hands carried with confidence. Wings that towered above, trained to never drag across the ground.

To a face that had been cut in marble. Unreadable, with elegant strokes of bone. Hazel eyes that held too much gold. A stripe of emerald green, like a window to a forest.

I wanted him to look at me. But he didn't. I wanted him to. Needed him to.

I needed to see him—beneath his skin. I needed to look past that blank expression, to know what was haunting him enough to terrorize everyone around him. What was forcing his shadows to cling so close to him that they were almost invisible.

Look at me. I wanted him to look at me. See me. Look. Look at me. Look at me. I wanted him to see me. Look. Look at me. See me.

His gaze snapped to meet mine, eyes hanging heavy, but staring with a slight surprise. Dark. Cold. Hurting. Only a second. He looked for only a second before turning to Amren.

"I checked the map, and my guess is an hour," he said.

"I really don't want to walk an hour," Mor said. Her ears practically touched her shoulders.