Wind Wielder

Chapter 6 - Spilled Tea & Final Dances

The Shadowsinger and Spymaster of the night court had had enough of this peculiar down court female, and he had only met her thrice.

Well, perhaps four times if he counted the split second he had first seen her on that secluded balcony before the high lords meeting. But Azriel had drawn a veil over that encounter. Had forced himself to forget it completely, or at the very least chosen to separate it from memory, digging it deep deep down at the back of his mind until it was hardly there at all.

Compartmentalizing his emotions was a trait of his that tended to worry Rhys and Cassian about him most over the years, and yet during times like this in the middle of a war, Azriel was convinced it was one of his greatest assets. Or at least, when trying to help his brother navigate the delicate dealings of this female. Who not only was a great deal more powerful than any of them had ever expected, but also single handedly seemed to have his brothers emotional well-being by the balls.

Especially after Azriel had broken the news to Rhys that she had been using him for years yesterday morning, and then she had proceeded to help save Cassian's life that evening.

It was a deep burning love Azriel held for his brother that had him bowing his head and turning for the exit of the tent, as Rhys wordlessly turned his tired overwhelmed eyes to Azriel and silently asked him to show Zara to her tent for him. Having his mate go missing, his best friend nearly die, and discovering an entire friendship was a ruse all in the same day was enough to make any male go mad. And so Azriel may or may not have aimed some of his compartmentalized, repressed anger at that dawn court female as he met her outside, followed her a ways, and then opened his fat mouth and demanded to know why she was helping them.

Azriel had learned within two interactions that this so-called wind wielder had little control over her emotions, and was prone to letting them run far too rampant over her as her eyes flickered with hurt, quickly covered by anger as she retorted sassily back at him. Poking him hard in the chest with a jolt of static electricity and self-assuredness that set his hairs on end. Anger was her crutch it seemed, her safety blanket to throw over any other negative emotion she might have been feeling.

Standing before him in an utterly ruined dark rosy pink dress, blood smeared down the entirety of her front from her tanned neck to her swaying skirt clad knees, and her bare muddy feet, she should have looked an utter mess. Should have been ashamed of her bedraggled state. Azriel was no fool, and knew that most females often either cowered away from him and his shadows, or chose to look past them at his face, giving him their best bedroom gazes. At the very least she should have been flushed with embarrassment, or fear, or perhaps both as he glared down at her with centuries worth of ire.

This female did neither.

Instead, she glared right back, full lips pulled up into a snarl. Those emerald green eyes flashing like a freshly cut jewel, beautiful but too sharp to touch. For a woman who was clearly groomed by her superiors to believe looks were everything, she didn't seem to give a damn about the way her curly wet hair clung to her cheek bones, or that she was covered in grime and mud and blood. Zara Aphelion gazed back at him like a Queen demanding justice. Arrogant and outraged and confident. Not at all like a female just caught in a web of her own lies. Azriel would have been lying if that look hadn't stared right through his soul, enough to rattle him, making that icy mask of composure slip even further. When he had left her in her tent that evening, he was glad to be rid of her.

But then she had gone and cast things all to hell even further. Assuredly, the wind wielder was the least of his worries as Nesta's scrying that night went to hell, and Elain had been taken.

 There wasn't a question, not a single doubt in his mind to go after Elain. And when he and Feyre had gotten her back, it had been worth all the pain and ruination of his wings, his body. If only to see her safe, and that soft kiss Elain had pressed to his cheek.