A Court of Fallen Heroes

Decisions. Part II.

Chapter 6

Decisions. Part II.
( +18! )

Prythian

Author's POV:

          To Azriel's dismay, it took three whole days for the witch's stench to dissipate almost completely from his skin. He changed several rows of clothes, most of which he gave to the people who suffered after the war. During his little free time, he volunteered to go and help reconstruct buildings, where strong men for tough work were needed. He even found some time to go and make other pairs of suits at his favorite tailor. It was quite difficult to find attires in his measurements, so he resorted to other methods

          It almost always happened in the middle of a training session to find his pants ripped between his wide thighs or to wake up with the sleeves of his shirts too short. Or maybe they were too narrow to fit the entire base of his wings. He took even his Illyrian skins to be adjusted. There were far too many belts and laces to do and undo, so he tried to make everything as comfortable as possible for his spymaster duties.

          In the few days when the amber seemed to dissipate into the air around him with every beating of his heart, Azriel had the urge to replace the skin from his bones. It felt like rubbing sand against him. A strident odor that unfazed his senses, weakening his spy assets. He felt desperate.

          It was pathetic how such a little problem threw his cosiness upside down. Maybe it was so derranging because he wasn't used to the smell. It was uncommon for this places, so it ruined his routine, his rules. Maybe it was the fact that it remembered him of his failure from the Summer Solstice night. Or only the mere thought that a witch's odor imprinted on him, and not the flowery one he wanted. 

          But, to his dismay, it looked like his entire body had been submerged in a cauldron of amber. It wasn't going away so easy.

          Of course, the rational part of his brain knew that it was very likely that the lack of sleep drove him crazy. But it was not in his nature to deceive himself. He was a master of concentration and self-control, but this breach in security sat like an abscess on his nerves.

          Not only had someone been clever enough to get past the sophisticated protection of Velaris, but apparently he'd made both the magic of the house and his shadows submissive. If she was capable of such control over immaterial things, he didn't want to know what she could do with material ones.

          Azriel's blemished fingers traced his tanned temples. The ambiental temperature became too hot for his strict preferences and the darkness that cocooned the chamber unsettled him. With a few large steps he crossed the room and pushed aside the heavy, blue cotton curtains, then opened the windows wide.

          A shy breeze blew through his white, linen shirt, caressing his intercostal muscles and exposed collarbones, then kissed the rounded tattoos on his neck. With the help of his sensitive and trained hearing, he perceived the voices downstairs and the muffled laughters from the city. The precipitous atmosphere had subsided and Velaris fell back into comfort and routine.

          Barefoot, the Shadowsinger made his way back to the cluttered office, looking at the diagrams and information he gathered. He already passed the time limit Rhysand gave him to make up his mind. Even so, they both already knew the answer to the challenge. It was a matter of time until he was going to put into action what he decided to do. Azriel couldn't wait any longer, he couldn't ignore or pass on the mission when another war was knocking at their door. No one knew between who the final battle was to be fought and what the costs were.