bloodlust

14

The castle was quieter than usual. Feyre had begun to recognize its moods over the past few weeks, and there were mornings when servants bustled through the halls carrying armfuls of linens and nights when distant music echoed through the stone, mingling with the crackle of fireplaces until the whole mountain felt strangely alive.

Today, though, silence settled over the palace like fresh snowfall.

It suited her.

She wandered without destination, fingertips skimming along cool obsidian walls polished smooth by centuries of passing hands. The stained-glass windows flooded the corridors with fractured ribbons of violet, sapphire, and gold that spilled over the marble beneath her bare feet. Dust floated lazily through the shafts of light, turning the empty halls almost dreamlike.

She hadn't slept well.

Every time she closed her eyes, she remembered Rhysand's pleased smile.

Not when he'd cornered her or when he'd threatened her.

After. After she'd tried to help. She should have known better.

She'd walked into his office convinced that if she explained humans well enough, if she made him understand them instead of dismissing them, he might approach this coming war differently.

Instead, she'd handed him another weapon.

She hugged her arms tighter around herself. She'd spent hours replaying the conversation, searching for some way she could take it back. Some explanation she could offer that he couldn't twist into another strategy.

She found none. That frightened her more than she cared to admit. Without realizing it, her feet carried her toward the library. The scent of old paper, polished cedar, and smoke from the ever-burning hearth greeted her first.

This library had quickly become the closest thing she had to a sanctuary inside the Night Court. The towering shelves muffled every sound until even breathing felt intrusive.

She drifted toward the back corner where her favorite over-sized chair waited beside the fire. Before she got there, she froze. Someone was already there.

Azriel sat near one of the windows, a thick leather-bound book resting open across his lap. Morning light poured over one shoulder, illuminating the dark wings folded neatly behind him. He looked carved from the shadows themselves.

His scarred fingers slowly turned a page and he glanced up, those impossible hazel eyes meeting hers.

"You've finished the book."

It wasn't a question.

Feyre looked down at the book tucked beneath her arm. "I have."

"And?"

She smiled despite herself. "I think she deserved to be free. And deserved to keep her powers after all she'd done."

One dark eyebrow lifted on his handsome face. He was dressed in his usual leathers, and the dark garments made him look intense. 

"For slaying the Spider Queen," she explained.  "I also think the villagers were incredibly ungrateful."

Azriel blinked. "They built a statue of her, was that not sufficient praise?"

She shrugged a shoulder. "Not one person offered to help clean up the giant dead spider."

Silence followed for a long moment. Then Azriel did something strange. 

He laughed. A genuine laugh that seemed like it came from somewhere hidden away inside. It was a quick sound, but it struck Feyre. 

"You noticed that?" He chuckled at her like she was ridiculous for ever having the thought.