A Court of Graves and Flowers

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Callisto poked at her food, the vibrant greens, and yellows of the salad mockingly untouched. Rhysand leaned back in his chair, noting her disinterest with a hint of concern in his purple eyes. "Little sister," he teased, knowing how much she hated the word little. "What seems to be bothering you? Is it Tamlin? Has he done something?"

Although his voice was light, she knew that one word from her could send her brother hunting down the other High Lord. "He's been on his best behavior, Rhysand. You goading him in the sitting room didn't help, though."

Rhysand's eyebrows shot up, skepticism and surprise on his handsome face. Callisto felt a familiar prickling at her mental shields, and her instincts rose in warning.

"Rhys," she said, her voice firm. "Don't pry. If you have a question, ask it."

Rhys chuckled, a rueful sound. "Sorry, Callie. Call it a force of habit. I just wanted to check if your wards were in place. Can't have you falling for that bastard's spell."

Callisto didn't seem to share her brother's amusement. Her purple eyes flashed as she replied, "he's not some monster, Rhysand. Not anymore. And we both know he wasn't always a 'bastard' in your eyes."

Her words hung in the air, a silent plea for understanding. Rhys met her gaze, a flicker of sorrow crossing his face. "Callie," he began, his voice low, "I didn't come here to discuss the High Lord. I came to see my sister, to see how she's faring."

"Training with Azriel is going well," she supplied, noting his effort to shift the conversation. "He's relentless, of course, but I'm learning fast. He's also taught me winnowing, and it turns out, I have a knack for daggers."

"I'm not surprised. Illyrian steel practically sings in your hands, and Azriel is a good teacher. What about the leathers? Do they fit well?"

Callisto grinned, her fingers instinctively brushing against the scales of her armor. "Yes, thank you. They take some getting used to. I've always felt naked in them, with the way they cling like a second layer of skin, but they are durable. When do I get to spar with Cassian? Az says I may be able to put the feared Lord of Bloodshed on his ass."

Another laugh from Rhys. "I'll see what I can arrange," he promised.

And so, the conversation flowed, light and easy, filled with stories of family and laughter. The unspoken tension about Tamlin lingered, but for now, it was buried beneath layers of shared memories and sibling banter.

Rhys's visit was too short, a fleeting respite before he was called away by another urgent matter. Yet, it left Callisto with a renewed sense of purpose. Her world was fractured, her path uncertain, but she wasn't alone. She had her brother, her friends, and even a High Lord, perhaps, who was slowly becoming something more than just a memory of darkness.

The thought of Tamlin made her go in search of him. The echo of Rhysand's words in the sitting room still hung heavy in the air. She knew it had upset Tamlin. He may have had a high tolerance for pain and thick skin, but Rhys had a knack for worming his way under said thick skin. The image of Tamlin's clenched jaw and narrowed eyes refused to leave her.

She checked their usual spots: the library bathed in the warm glow of the late afternoon sun, the music room across from it, the training yard sitting empty outside, and even the rose garden in front of the sitting room.

But Tamlin was nowhere to be found.

A niggling fear wormed its way into her chest. Yes, Rhysand's words had cut deeper than she realized.

Frustrated, Callisto called for a servant, the crisp air of the approaching evening carrying her question. "Have you seen the High Lord?" she asked, her voice laced with a hint of anxiety.