Vel, an Oracle older than Prythian itself, visits the Autumn Court at the request of its High Lord. While there she gets swept up in the court's political scheming, with Eris trying to win her favor using any means necessary. But all is not what it...
In this game of cat and mouse that we play – her disappearing, me chasing after her. I always thought I was the hunter. Yet I realize now, that I only ever found her because she wanted to be found. Perhaps she was the cat all along, toying with her food.
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It was the last place she wanted to be. The Hewn City had always felt too oppressive and the Solstice decorations did nothing to soften it. The entire throne room was bedecked in black candles, evergreen wreaths and garlands, and holly berries – poisonous, as this court was wont to be. But she had come anyway, wearing yet another skin, to warn them. Because no matter what had or had not happened between her and the Night Court, she wanted them to be safe.
Unfortunately, Eris was also there. He stood proud and tall at Keir's side, clad in Night Court black. Vel had been aware of his efforts to forge this alliance, but she hadn't realized the depth of his involvement until Rhysand gifted the heir an ornate box. Vel didn't need to be able to see its contents, the hum of whatever weapon was inside was enough to let her know it had been Made. Before long, the ruby-encrusted dagger at Eris's hip would be replaced with something better, stronger. The only remaining connection between them, the twin dagger strapped to her thigh beneath the gown of midnight black, would soon be severed.
Vel couldn't watch as Nesta took the arm that Eris offered. As they halted at the edge of the dance floor, a formidable pair, proud, regal. Eris slid his broad hand over Nesta's waist, tucking her close. He'd once danced like this with her in a similar court, under another mountain.
She couldn't watch and yet, she did. Some sick masochism to douse any last spark of hope that her stubborn heart still held. They were beautiful together, like two twin flames dancing in the hearth. Beautiful and deadly and perfectly matched. It was that unyielding little flicker in her heart that reminded her that Nesta was Cassian's mate, not Eris's. Her mate. Vel finally managed to pry her eyes away from them even as her throat tightened at the thought. Between the beats of the drum and the plucking of the harp, Vel fought to swallow back the wave of grief that threatened to overtake her. Shoulders squared and back straight as she turned away from the dance floor, her feet carried her to the foot of the dais, to the two Illyrians who stood there.
"Would you care to dance, shadowsinger?"
"I don't dance."
Azriel didn't even bother to glance in her direction, his eyes glued to his brother, tight as a drawn bowstring about to snap. Vel lingered. Shadows crawled over Azriel's shoulder and coiled around his ear, whispering. Then finally, his head snapped to her, jaw tight, nostrils flaring. She released the glamour on her scent and gave him a strained smile, letting some of the gold seep into her now black eyes.
"Dance," Vel repeated, more order than question.
Azriel offered his arm, his face unreadable. They had once been friends, lovers even. Now he was a wall of stone at her side. How had everything deteriorated so quickly?
