Azriel stiffened. Let his cold rage rise to the surface, the rage he only ever let Rhysand see, because he knew his brother could match it. "What if the Cauldron was wrong?"
“I never knew you were a stickler for manners, Az.”
Azriel only released Cassian’s hand, and stared at his wineglass.
Elain swept in, apron gone and hair rebraided. “Please don’t wait on my account,” she said, taking the seat at the head of the table.
Rhys's voice thundered through him, halting him mere inches from Elain's sweet mouth.
'Azriel.'
Unrelenting command filled his name, and Azriel looked up.
Rhysand stood atop the staircase. Glowering down at them.
'My office. Now.'
She hadn't bought her mate a present. But she'd gotten Azriel one last year -- a headache powder he kept on his nightstand at the House of Wind. Not to use, but just to look at. Which he'd done every night he’d slept there. Or attempted to sleep there.
Then his gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain’s breath caught slightly, and she gave him a shallow nod of greeting before brushing past, leading Nesta into the room.
She opened her eyes, hurt and confusion warring there before she whispered, "I’m sorry."
“You don't-- Don't apologize,” he managed to say. "Never apologize. It's I who should…” He shook his head, unable to stand the bleakness he'd brought to her expression.
Azriel's hand slid up her neck, burying in her thick hair. Tilting her face the way he wanted it. Elain's mouth parted slightly, her eyes scanning his before fluttering shut.
Offer and permission.
Too many razor-sharp thoughts sliced him any time he grew still long enough for them to strike. Too many wants and needs left his skin overheated and pulling taut across his bones. So he slept only when his body gave out, and even then only for a few hours,
Elain just linked her arm through Nesta’s and led her toward the family room, Azriel stood in the doorway, monitoring them. As if he’d heard Elain’s sharp laugh and wondered what had caused it.
Azriel strode to the lone window at the end of the room and peered into the garden below. “I’ve never stayed in this room.” His midnight voice filled the space.
“She doesn’t need anything,” Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien.
Elain was staring at the spymaster now—unblinkingly.
“We’re the ones who need …” Azriel trailed off. “A seer,” he said, more to himself than us. “The Cauldron made you a seer.”
Rhys lunged for Azriel, taking Elain from him and gently setting my sister down. Azriel rasped, swaying on his feet, “We need Helion to get these chains off her.”
Yet Elain didn’t seem to notice them as she rose up on her toes and kissed the shadowsinger’s cheek.
It had never gone this far. They'd exchanged looks, the occasional brush of their fingers, but never this. Never blatant, unrestricted touching.
Wrong -- it was so wrong.
He didn't care.
Azriel gently removed the gag from her mouth. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, devouring the sight of him as if not quite believing it. “You came for me.” The shadowsinger only inclined his head.
Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.”
Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows.
Nesta said, “Then you will die.”
Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”