A Court Of Flowers And Shadows {Azriel Shadowsinger}

Chapter Sixteen

The rest of that night was a bit of a blur. Tamlin led Feyre away so to distract herself, Amara had taken over the music. She had sat down at the piano, playing songs that she had made up herself rather than any songs that people might have been expecting her to play, getting lost in the music with every chord. The majority of their people were shocked to even see her sat there again. Especially after the last time she'd played.

Every single one of Amara's siblings had learnt a different instrument, her mother insisting on it despite her father's claims that it was unnecessary for his sons to bother. Then again, her mother had been almost as stubborn as Amara herself so they had all learnt. Tamlin had picked the fiddle, claiming it was the easiest and quickest to carry around but Amara? She had picked the piano, loving the way that the Ivory keys felt against her fingers and the calm that settled over her the second that she sat down at the piano. It was easy. Comforting. Her mother had been ecstatic when she'd kept up with her training to play, her brothers either not doing it at all or doing it in secret so that they could continue to impress her father.

That's what Amara had been doing when her family had died. She'd been playing the piano. She had been so lost in the music that she hadn't heard the sound of blood dripping to the floor from her brothers' fingers or the body of Rhys' father thudding to the floor. She hadn't smelt that metallic tang of blood in the air, covering the scent of the roses that were blooming outside in the gardens her mother had spent years tending to.

Apparently Rhys had glamoured the room so that none of her playing could be heard, telling his father that she must be staying somewhere else. It hadn't mattered anyway, Tamlin had killed him before Rhys could properly convince him to leave Amara be. The second that they'd both become High Lords, Rhys had fled and the glamour had worn off. Tamlin had searched for his sister and the second he opened that door, the smell of blood had filled the room.

Amara hadn't played since.

That night (just like nearly every night since then), her dreams were plagued with nightmares and she'd tossed and turned, reliving that horrible night over and over again every single time that she closed her eyes. She was so exhausted come lunch time that she barely listened to the conversation that the others were having, though she knew she probably should have.

She was dragged out of her thoughts when she heard an urgency in Tamlin's tone, noting how Lucien helped hide Feyre. She sighed and sipped her tea as she heard footsteps that she knew all too well. The last time that she had heard them had been on Fire Night and honestly she was doing just fine without having heard them in so long. Now all she could think about was him leaving footsteps of her mother's blood on the floors.

Tamlin raised an eyebrow at his sister but she just shook her head to let him know she was okay. If Rhys actually was here then Tamlin had enough to worry about right now. She faded out of caring what was going on until she heard Lucien's voice and then her attention was dragged back to what was happening in front of her. Lucien was always the one to drag her back to reality.

"We were just having lunch," Tamlin told him, his voice cold. Amara always hated hearing that voice. It was even worse when it was directed at her which seemed to happen quite often. It was the voice of a High Lord. She always missed the voice of her brother when she heard it.

"Stimulating," Rhys purred, making Amara roll her eyes.

"Why are you even here? Thought black didn't suit the Spring Court?" Amara asked with an amused smile on her face, ignoring the fact that Tamlin subtly kicked her under the table.

"I wanted to check up on you. I wanted to see how you were faring. If you got my little present. I know Amara would have been fond of it," Rhys commented, not taking his eyes off of Tamlin so she knew that this conversation wasn't aimed at her until she was spoken to.

"Your present was unnecessary," Tamlin told him calmly.

"But a nice reminder of the fun days, wasn't it?" Rhys clicked his tongue as he surveyed the room, his gaze seeming to skip over Amara. "Almost half a century holed up in a country estate. I don't know how you managed it. But," he said, finally facing Tamlin again, "you're such a stubborn bastard that this must have seemed like a paradise compared to Under the Mountain. I suppose it is. I'm surprised though: forty-nine years, and no attempts to save yourself or your lands. Even now that things are getting interesting again."

Amara's gaze shifted over to where Lucien was standing. Apparently Tamlin had glamoured Feyre against her as well which caused her to frown a bit. She was fully aware of the fact that Feyre was starting to mean a lot more to Tamlin than he let on. She wasn't entirely sure where Feyre stood on her relationship with Tamlin though. That was a mystery to them all.

"There's nothing to be done," conceded Tamlin, his voice low which made Amara's gaze go back to her brother. She sipped her tea and sighed slightly, setting the cup back down on the table.

She stopped paying attention after that. The three males in the room were just trading insults the whole time anyway and Amara was fully aware that Feyre was analysing nearly every second of this conversation. There was just something... insanely off about Rhys' behaviour. Almost like he was trying a little too hard to be what everyone expected him to be. Maybe there was a reason for that. All that Amara could think of as a reason was for it to spur Tamlin on, get him to move faster, to not give up.

That was the only reason she could think of anyway.

Amara was drawn out of her thoughts when she heard Tamlin's chair fall to the floor. She noticed his claws come out and she just rolled her eyes at the dramatics. Must be a High Lord thing.

"I remember you," Rhys purred as he watched Feyre. "It seems like you ignored my warning to stay out of trouble." He then turned to Tamlin. "Who, pray tell, is your guest?"

"My betrothed," Lucien answered quickly. A little too quickly but if Rhys noticed, he didn't say anything.

"Oh? Here I was, thinking you still mourned your commoner lover after all these centuries," Rhys said, stalking towards Feyre. That was until Lucien spat at his feet and shoved his sword between the two of them. Amara cringed slightly , already knowing how this whole meeting was likely to end.

Tamlin glanced over at his sister and nodded towards the door, silently asking her to leave. The claws digging in to the table made Amara stop herself from disobeying. After all, he wasn't her brother right now.

He was a High Lord.