A Court of Watchful Shadows

The pottery shop

Azriel

~40 days since Hybern~

The dawn court sunlight was softer than I expected, a muted gold that stretched across the bustling cobblestone streets. I couldn't help but feel the sharp sting of bitter sweetness.

It reminded me of her.

Not the sarcastic, cold Ziláa that she showed the world, but the small glimpses of warmth that broke through her icy exterior when she let her guard down. Like when her sultry laughter would fill the room, sending goosebumps up my arms.

The golden sunlight felt like her. Bright. Inviting. But fleeting.

My shadows were another story entirely, they hated it here- or rather, they hated what it was doing to me. They surged and writhed, slinking between stalls and buildings, grabbing hold of anything that might remind me of her. The flashes of fabric, the whispers of jasmine. It was unbearable. Every sight, every sound, every scent was a phantom of her, and it was driving me insane.

"Az," Rhys said sharply, pulling me out of my spiral.

"What?" I snapped, my voice harsher than intended.

Rhys sighed, his hands in his pockets as he surveyed the marble streets around us."You're barely holding it together."

"I'm fine." I ground out, though my shadows betrayed me, twisting in agitation around my shoulders.

"Clearly" he said dryly. "Look, I'll smooth things over with Thesan. He's not thrilled about us being here unannounced, but he'll listen. You find the pottery shop and see if you can get any answers."

I nodded tightly, already turning away.

"And Az?"

I paused.

"Keep your temper in check." He said, his violet gaze heavy with warning.

I didn't respond, didn't trust myself to. Instead, I walked toward the part of the city my shadows insisted on leaning me to. The pottery shop was easy enough to find, tucked between two elegant buildings, its sign slightly swaying in the warm sea breeze.

As I stepped inside, the scent of clay and glaze washed over me, and my chest tightened. My shadows swarmed the room, darting to the shelves lined with plates, vases and bowls. I forced them to retreat as my eyes landed on the woman behind the counter.

She was working the clay, her hands deft and practiced, shaping it into something beautiful. Her gaze flicked up to meet mine, wary but polite.

"Can I help you?" She asked, wiping her hands on her apron.

I stepped foreward, placing the plate I carried onto the counter. "Did you make this?" I questioned, my voice low and strained.

Her eyes widened as she studied it, her fingers brushing over the intricate design. "Yes," she said softly. "It's one of my older styles. Why have you brought me this?"

I didn't answer immediately. My shadows writhed, curling toward her like they knew she was important. Like they knew she held the answers I needed.

"Ziláa bought it," I said finally, watching closely for a reaction. "Do you know her?"

The name was like a lightning strike. Her face froze, her fingers curling up against the counter.

"Ziláa?" She echoed, her voice barely above a whisper. "You know her?"

"Yes," I said. "She's missing."

Her hands trembled as she gripped the edge of the counter, her expression crumbling into something raw and unguarded. "Missing? For how long?"

"Almost two months," I said, the words heavy.

Her breath hitched, and she sank into a stool behind the counter, her face pale.
"I... I haven't seen her in years. Not since before Amarantha."

"What do you know about her?" I asked, my voice tight.

She hesitated, her eyes dancing between me and the plate. "I know she didn't let people in. Ever. Not really. But that didn't mean she didn't care. She just didn't trust anyone enough to show it."

I swallowed hard, her words digging into me. Ziláa's walls, her biting remarks, her refusal to let me in—it all made a terrible kind of sense now.

"What else?" I pressed, my shadows twisting impatiently.

Orelia's lips thinned, and she looked down at her hands. "Her mother was from here, maybe that's why she bought the plate, as a reminder of home, even if she'd never admit it." Her expression grew sadder as she continued "Amarantha killed Ziláa's mother within the last stretch of her reign."

My stomach turned at the mention of Amarantha. Ziláa had never told me that.

"She also has a father from the winter court," she stated, "He wasn't a very good male." Orelia said, her voice low. "She never talked about him much, but I know enough. He was cold, controlling. He wanted her to be something that she wasn't. When she refused to conform to his standards, he made her life hell."

Her voice faltered, and I gripped the counter to steady myself. "Why didn't she tell me?"

Orelia looked up, her eyes hard. "Because she doesn't trust people. Not really. She wants to but every time she tries, she can't."

The words hit like a blow to the chest. She hadn't lied about her past because she didn't care. She lied because she was terrified of being vulnerable.

"And her father?" I asked, my voice rough. "Is he still in the winter court now?"

Orelia's expression flattened "I'm not sure, but I don't think he'd go as far as to kidnap her." She began to pace behind the counter. "Winter Court is probably the best bet to look for her though, to at least find something."

"We'll find her" I said, my voice hard.

Orelia's gaze locked onto mine, her face crumpling. "Please...I want to come with you. I was her best friend here, if you find her, she'll need someone she trusts. Someone who knows her."

My instinct was to refuse—this wasn't her fight. But the look in her eyes, the clear love for Ziláa, stopped me.

"You can come," I said finally. "But you stay behind me and Rhysand when he gets here. No arguments."

Orelia nodded quickly, her expression determined. "Thank you."

As I left the shop, my shadows coiled tigher around me.

Ziláa

Winter court

They whispered away, louder than ever.

She hadn't told me the truth, but I understood why now. She wasn't just fighting her captors—she was fighting herself, her fears, her past.

But she wasn't alone anymore. And when I found her, when I brought her back, I would make sure she knew that.