Dance of Fate

Chapter Sixty Nine

 I could do nothing but stare in utter shock as Azriel pinned Tamlin down with shadows, his hands gripped around the High Lord's neck.

Cassian cursed, rushing towards them- but was met with a wall of blue light. Azriel had locked them in.

Azriel, I tried. No response. Azriel stop, I said more harshly. He only tightened his grip, Tamlin thrashing frantically under him. And then he locked me out as well.

I glanced at Rhys, who was watching Azriel calmly. Do something, I snapped. But Rhysand did nothing. No, Rhysand almost looked... amused. He didn't want to stop Azriel. He was enjoying this.

The other High Lord's and their companions watched the scene with varying expressions. Helion looked as amused as Rhys. Kallias's face was blank. Beron looked disgusted. Tarquin still looked hateful. Thesan's lips were pursed tightly, disapproval written on his features.

I turned my pleading glance on Feyre, who watched the brawl with wide eyes. She met my eyes, and nodded almost imperceptibly.

Azriel dug his knee—and all his weight—into Tamlin's gut. He was silent, utterly silent as he ripped the air from Tamlin's body. Oh gods, he was going to kill him-

Feyre rose calmly, and everyone's attention turned to her as she walked unhurriedly toward the shadowsinger. My heart thundered in my ears as Azriel's grip tightened, his knuckles white. Tamlin's face became a shade of light purple.

Feyre put a tattooed hand on the hard, near-invisible curve of the shield and said, "Come, Azriel."

Azriel stopped. I loosed a trembling breath.

Tamlin gasped for air as those scarred hands loosened. As Azriel turned his face toward Feyre.

I had never seen such rage on Azriel's face. Not when he had spoken of his brothers and what they had done to him. Not when he had killed Orion. The frozen, utterly ruthless wrath on his face was nothing I had ever seen before.

Azriel's eyes slid to Tamlin, the High Lord panting beneath him. And the shadowsinger leaned down to whisper something in his ear that made Tamlin blanch further.

But the shield dropped. The shadows lightened into sunshine.

Azriel took Feyre's offering hand and rose. I swallowed, unsure if I should say something to him. Azriel didn't look at me, or even in my direction.

A wing brushed against my arm, and I turned to see Cassian shaking his head softly with stern eyes. I clenched my jaw, but obeyed.

I watched as Feyre led the shadowsinger to the empty chair beside hers, that I hadn't noticed had been placed there—then walked to the table to pour him a glass of wine.

No one spoke until she offered it to him and sat down.

"They are my family," Feyre declared to everyone at their raised brows. Feyre met Tamlin's fuming gaze, her voice as cold as Azriel's face as she said, "If you insult my friend again, I won't stop him the next time."

Despite everything, her words warmed my heart.

I turned my gaze to Azriel, but he kept his on Tamlin, the look on his face that of the spymaster. The look that so many had cowered and broken under, one that promised a slow, painful death.

Tamlin grunted, his gaze flashing to me.

Thesan rubbed his temples. "This does not bode well."

But Helion smirked at his retinue, crossing an ankle over a knee and flashing those powerful, sleek thighs. "Looks like you owe me ten gold marks."