A Court of Blood & Mercy || Elriel Dual POV

Chapter 15 - I Have a Game

Elain stepped across the iron widow's walk, her hair dragging over her face and sticking to her mouth as she squinted, shielding the sun from her eyes with her hand, her gaze traveling the length of the Sidra out to the sea.

The salty tang of the waves tickled her nose and she felt herself smile, imagining her father on those seas so many years ago, his fleet of ships coming to their aid in the war, or travelling the blue fields as the Prince of Merchants. The smell of saltwater always made her miss her father, and she felt her heart squeeze as her gaze shifted across the sparkling horizon.

She felt her gut twitch down on itself as the image of seawater and conch shells manifested in her mind, the feel of their soft edges on her thumb as she stroked her mate's woven braid, the rusted hair tangled with seashells and beads chosen by another.

Lucien.

She hadn't heard from him— not since they arrived in Velaris three days ago.

Not that she expected to.

The mates often went weeks, sometimes months, without ever crossing paths in Autumn. He'd make time for Penelope of course, but in the olde way that ancient fathers seemed to do— between battles and adventures, squeezing in a hug or a horseback ride before leaving again to far-off lands.

Her mind fell back to the early days, when she had been wound into her mate's arms like ivy on a chimney. Back when she couldn't bare to be separated from his touch: worrying that he was her only tether to this world.

A thick strand of curls dragged across her nose, causing her to sneeze as she gripped the iron railing, steadying herself.

It was strange to be back here in Velaris, so far from her estate and the Big House and the law and the monks... away from her mate. It almost made her feel like she was being uncaged, set free into the rest of Prythian to fly and stretch her wings.

It had taken two days to get used to looking her male relatives in the eye and three to stop reaching for a scarf to tug over her hair whenever she left the mansion. Though, her daughter seemed to have adjusted well.

Penelope appeared to be skilled at the art of omitting the truth, a fact which Elain rolled over her tongue with a faint layer of distaste. Her daughter happily fell into conversation and joking with the Inner Circle while concealing the law of Autumn. It seemed she was willing to obey her mother closely in a bid to follow the path of least resistance out of Autumn and toward adventure.

Penelope was sweet and thoughtful like Feyre with a wild hunger for adventure like her travelling high-fae father. She seemed to have an observant countenance like Elain with a sacrificial edge like her human grandfather. Elain often felt like the dark raven hair must have been from someone on her mother's side, though she couldn't remember her maternal grandparents. Truthfully, it was strange to see Penelope sharing a table with Cassian and Rhys in the morning, her raven black curls blending into her cousins' as they broke apart cinnamon rolls and loaves of bread. Though it was somewhat distant, you could tell they were related by blood.

She blushed as another thought entered her mind— the image of another tumble of curls she had been longing to see.

Only the curls were now shorn and apparently not visiting the river mansion again.

At least not while Elain was here on holiday.

Because Azriel had not returned to the mansion, not since their conversation in the corridor.

She had hoped, somewhat foolishly and rather distantly, to see him the next morning, wondering if he would be sitting at the kitchen island, his hazel eyes peeking out from behind a plume of steam above a coffee mug, but he was not. And he was not across from her at lunch or dinner, or any other meal or activity since then. He did not arrive at the House of Wind to have cocktails with Cassian and Nesta, and he did not appear at the training ring when Nesta displayed her Valkyries' newest training formations to the Autumn visitors.