A Court of Blood & Mercy || Elriel Dual POV

Chapter 12 - Heaven's Kiss and Hell's Slice

It was dusk and Azriel was pacing between two stone columns in the great room in the front of the Moonstone Palace. The cavernous space was silent, save for his pounding feet on the marble floors and the howling of the wind breathing up and down the snowcapped mountains crowding the balcony. His wings constricted tighter with every step before he released them, stretching the black leathery edges to their full width before letting out a pained groan, his scarred fingers dragging across his stubbled scalp.

The allotted three days had come and gone since Eliezer had handed him that little gold invitation from the High Lady's desk, and he still hadn't made up his damn mind.

At first, he wasn't going to go.

That was that.

He'd even had Eliezer send a mourning carrier dove upon the wind with his regrets to Velaris, informing him that he would be indisposed. But as soon as the bird took flight, he felt his soul screeching, wailing and clawing at his mind as Eliezer left the throne room, the Shadowsinger alone with only one word illuminated behind the darks of his eyes— "COWARD."

An overwhelming sense of dread began to leak into his gut as he slumped down onto the throne.

Elain in Velaris?

After twenty years of absence and that... that fucking kiss Azriel had witnessed... why now?

Had ambushing Eris in the House of Vanserra toppled over the first domino in this series of strange yet apparently fated events? Was this the Vanserra's way of smoothing over whatever disruption Azriel's spying intelligence would most certainly cause?

He shook his head, sitting up straighter as he grabbed a chunk of carved wood on the arm of his throne, unsheathing Truth Teller and wielding the knife to the cedar. He felt his teeth nip at the inside of his mouth as he split a slice off the side, winding and twirling the knife with precision, his mind reeling as he tried to remember.

In his haze of... substances... Azriel had failed to catalog the few times Elain had gotten together with her sisters. Did they not meet in Dawn two summers ago to celebrate the second eldest Vanserra son's mating day? Or was it Adriata with that other son?

Azriel didn't know.

But he did know that Elain never came to Velaris. Had never returned, not for a moment since she left for her own betrothal all those years ago. And he also knew that every member of the Inner Circle had seen her since then: her sisters and their mates had semi-regular holidays in other courts as a family. They had even celebrated Nyx's ascension to Carinthian just three years ago. She'd seen Morrigan at a Solstice in Winter five years ago and Amren in passing on trips to Adriata with Lucien and Penelope when the child was just a babe.

Which meant that the only member of the Inner Circle who had not seen Elain in two decades was Azriel. And spying through her godsdamned bedroom window didn't count.

Which was why refusing the invitation to her welcome dinner was the correct course of action.

Because it would be too awkward. Too weird. Too... painful.

His mind refracted back to the "Eighth Rule" within "The Thirteen"— that a female of Autumn must not leave the land unaccompanied. Would Lucien be at that table with his mate and daughter? But if Elain were to be visiting with her mate, Feyre's invitation would have simply stated that Lucien Vanserra and his family would be arriving. And it didn't.

Who was going to be accompanying her?

And why did Azriel feel that it was not Lucien?

He ground his teeth. And as he peeled another layer off the piece of Cedar, Truth Teller glinting under the pinhole of light streaming from above the mountain, a thought struck him.