#azriel x reader slowburn

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Sixteen

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Lucien Vanserra could kill me and I would be honored. Cannon typical violence. Some angst. Lots of fun

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Lucien stood in disbelief, mouth opening and closing. Words stuck in his throat.  

You knew as his eyes roamed over your features that he was hunting for some mark of Helion’s that you’d inherited, whether it be the set of your eyes, the curve of your jaw, the slope of your nose, or even the tilt of your sharp ears. But he came up empty. Whatever features you did share with Helion could have easily been shared by two strangers. It was how you’d gotten away with working with him at the Day Court and attending balls by his side. 

But there were some things that went deeper than skin and bones. He could barely make it out in the hum of your power and the faint, charming glow in your eyes. It was something that spoke of warmth and sparkling intellect. A sliver of the sun given form. 

You were Helion’s daughter. 

You were… you were his sister.

You cleared your throat and looked away. “I understand this must be a surprise. Perhaps not the kind of surprise you were hoping for.” 

“You’re my sister,” Lucien finally breathed out, and the wind, so harsh and biting before, ceased.

“Half-sister… technically.” 

“I don’t go by halves.” 

The sharp, sudden rush of cold air into your lungs had you shivering. Lucien noticed and without thinking he reached out with his power, wrapping heat around your body until you may as well have been perched in front of a roaring fire. His magic smelled like woodsmoke and balsam.

“You’re my sister.” He repeated the phrase a few more times, finding it more believable with each swirl of the words around his tongue. 

Elain had known this was coming and had given him a cryptic warning, but that did nothing to lessen the excitement spreading in his chest with each passing second. 

You watched him wearily, hands clasped over your body and eyes furrowed, like you couldn’t tell if he was upset. Which was ridiculous. How could Lucien ever be upset by this?

“You’re my sister!” 

A sharp laugh exited his body that grew and grew until you felt like you were floating on the waves of his happiness. He rushed forward, hoisting you in the air and spinning you around like you weighed nothing. Wind rushed past your ears as the world blurred. 

He gently deposited you back on solid ground.

“How old are you? How long have you known about Helion? Where have you been all this time?” He asked the questions in rapid succession, heart hammering away in his chest. 

He had a sister. A sister. 

“I’m three hundred and forty-three.”

He smiled. He’d always wanted a younger sibling. A younger sister to be exact that he could teach to fight and hunt and ride with more support than he’d ever been afforded. 

“I’ve known about Helion since I was little.” Lucien’s smile slipped at that revelation. “And I’ve been in the Day Court in one of the athenaeums. It was my home up until the point where Koschei burned down my house and I got saddled with Beth’s book. I’ve been here ever since. Although I never expected for any of this—” You gestured vaguely at the House, the sky, at Lucien, “to happen. Not that I’m upset!” You added quickly. 

“What was it like? Growing up in the Day Court?” He looked you up and down again, searching for scars or broken bones that had never healed right. But from what he could tell, you were whole. 

He clenched his fists tightly until you answered.

“It was safe. Lonely, but safe.” 

“Good.” He breathed out in relief. “Good.” 

Azriel watched everything from the deck that wrapped around the back of the house. The wind carried the tang of salt, opening his lungs and easing the pain in his chest that wrapped around him like a vice. He kept his wings pulled in tight and hands clasped behind his back. He was a slice in the fabric of the universe, unmoving and still. 

And he missed you. Gods did he miss you. 

“We shouldn’t stand so close,” Azriel murmured. 

His voice was ragged, filled with more gravel than the walkway that snaked through Elain’s garden. Weighed down with secrets that felt more like anvils. 

Elain dropped the empty bucket onto the deck followed by the clang of her spade. The shovel lay discarded in the field, the ground marked by neat lines of overturned earth. She cupped her hands and blew into them, breathing life back into her stiff fingers. 

Twenty minutes ago he’d seen you run beneath his window, racing towards the Sidra with your robes hiked up to your knees so you could try and keep up with Lucien’s long strides as he pulled you along by your hand, red hair streaming behind him like a bundle of ribbons. 

You’d been calling out for him to slow down, your voice loud and breathless.

And after everything that had happened, the things he’d seen, he couldn’t stop himself from walking down to the deck to watch you. 

Now you stood at the water’s edge with your hands outstretched, dutifully holding onto every stone that Lucien plucked from the river. Your head tipped to the side in curiosity.

His childhood in Autumn had not been kind, but that didn’t mean there hadn’t been happy moments sprinkled in amongst the sorrow. There in the woods with bejeweled treetops and diamond glass rivers he’d learned how to swim and fish and hunt. He’d wrestled with his brothers, fallen in love, and gained the confidence and freedom to eventually travel the Courts and make his own way in the world. 

But you’d been lonely your whole life. Trapped indoors with nothing but your books for company. You’d never learned how to swim. You’d never dug through the soil for slimy worms to go fishing. You’d never fallen asleep beneath a glittering sky, fire smoke curling in the air and the taste of chestnuts lingering on your tongue and filling your belly. 

It had been a different kind of sorrow, but no less real. 

Lucien aimed to change some of that. Your mere presence beside him, as hesitant as it was, filled him with a happiness he couldn’t name. 

He had his trousers rolled up to his thighs revealing powerful legs and freckled, caramel-brown skin. He didn’t mind the cold waters rolling over his hands as he tracked the riverbed for the smoothest, flattest stones. Every time he looked back you were either watching him or examining each stone with narrowed eyes like you’d find some algorithm carved into their edges that would tell you what made them so special for the task at hand. 

Azriel couldn’t hear what you two were saying, and he didn’t send his shadows out to investigate, but soon you were tugging off your boots, then your socks, and tying the long length of your robes around your waist. You gingerly dipped your toes into the river and immediately leapt back. 

Lucien’s laugh rolled over the earth, full of warmth and joy. He was grinning so wide Azriel could see the whites of his teeth and his shaking shoulders.

Inch by inch you walked into the river up to your calves and Lucien dunked his cupped hands into the cold water. 

“Don’t you dare! Lucien!” 

Then you were shaking your head, slapping Lucien’s hands away with a shout when he tossed the water at your face, and threatening to launch the black stones back into the river for him to fetch. Your toes were already starting to go numb.

Azriel’s heart gave a painful lurch, even as he smiled softly at the sight of you. 

“I don’t… I don’t want to give them the wrong idea.” Azriel swallowed and turned his gaze down to where a plump sparrow was digging around in the grasses. 

Elain ignored him, dropping her arms onto the wooden railing and staring out. She let out a lovely, longing sigh and Azriel just knew she was strumming the bond within her chest to feel Lucien on the other side. 

The red-haired male looked up to meet her gaze and smiled softly. You also looked up, and then immediately looked away with rosy cheeks.

“Lucien knows where I stand. He… he’s finally beginning to trust me again.” 

He’d been so eager to give her his heart the first time around, and she’d crushed it beneath her dainty shoes, too angry at the life that had been torn away to look at the one she’d been given. This time around she was determined to earn Lucien’s love, no matter how easy he made it for her. No matter how many times he told her it wasn’t something that had ever needed to be earned.

“It took some time to gain that back.” She shifted. “But then again, we were lucky. We knew what we were to each other. You still haven’t told Y/n you’re mates.” 

“You know about that?”

Elain rolled her eyes as if the answer were obvious, because it was. 

“I don’t think I can tell her, Elain.” 

“And why not?” 

Azriel hesitated. 

Here was a truth he hadn’t been able to express to his brothers — the truth they didn’t understand: They were good, decent males, and when it had come to their mating bonds they’d treated them with the respect they deserved. They’d been patient. They’d never tried to force a hand that wasn’t theirs. 

But Azriel was… wrong. In so many ways he was wrong. 

He either waited too long or he moved without thinking. He fell into obsession like a starling with clipped wings. He scrounged for scraps of affection where he wasn’t supposed to and brooded when it inevitably blew up in his face. He’d been trying to take his time with you. He’d been trying to do it right. He was… 

He was already in love with you. 

He’d been in love with you for some time now.

Elain smiled, still staring towards the river. 

She had loved Azriel once. Not in the way she loved Lucien and not in a way that had been good for them, but still it had been love of some kind. She could feel the waves rolling off his body as he came to his quiet realization, and it felt very different from the way he’d felt about her and very similar to the way she felt about Lucien. 

“I love her, Elain.” He whispered the words like they were fragile as spun sugar, ready to dissolve the moment they left his lips. 

“She’ll say yes to the bond. I’ve seen it.”

Azriel let out a broken, strangled noise and looked at Elain, begging for more. “Even after—”

“Yes. Even after what that boy made you do. Even after what she learned when she touched your hand.” She looked down at Azriel’s hands, leather gloves worn and supple. She gave them a squeeze. “A year ago I had a vision of a white bird flying out of the sun with a golden ribbon tied to one of its feathers. Its wings were dipped in ink so she could leave a trail along the ground for a beast of shadow to follow.” 

Azriel went still as death. “And then what happened?” 

Elain looked up at him, eyes glittering. “She flew to the base of a mountain, laid down, and has been waiting ever since. She’s been waiting for you. For someone who understands what it means to be lonely and what it’s like to hope for more.” 

And Azriel did exactly that. He hoped for more. 

More time with you. More unrestrained touches. More midnight conversations until your eyes were threatening to shut. 

Something changed then. Elain’s brown, doe eyes turned misty and flat. Her voice dropped and the hand she reached out to grab hold of his arm was cold as ice. 

“You need to be careful, Az,” she warned. “Don’t let her go into the mirror. She may not come out.” She clawed at his arms. “Az, you need to be careful. The mirror…” 

He gripped her shoulders, stabilizing her as she swayed on her feet. 

“Elain, what—” But her vision was already gone. No matter how hard she tried to hold on it was like trying to keep water in a cracked cup. 

Lucien kept his arm perfectly parallel with the earth, drew back, and snapped his wrist at the last second. The stone flew out over the glassy river and kept kissing the surface in weakening arches before it was eventually swallowed up in a dollop of salt. 

“Eight.” 

Lucien looked at you incredulously. “I counted nine.” 

“Eight skips,” you argued. “Males always overestimate.” 

“And what experience do you have with males?”

None. Except for that one glorious day you’d clung to Azriel like the world was finally peaceful. It was nowhere near the level of experience you suspected Lucien must have after centuries spent bouncing around from Court to Court. Nowhere near the level of experience Azriel or the others had when it came to touch. 

You bristled. “Enough.” 

Lucien smirked like he knew you were lying and held out his hand for another stone. Soon it too was lost to the river. 

“How many this time?” 

You twisted your lips to the side, but had to admit, “Nine.”

He was grinning. 

“Come on.” He held out his hand for you, beckoning you deeper into the river. “Your turn. Just like I showed you.”

“This is a terrible idea.” 

“Come on!”

“I will kill a fish, Lucien.” 

There was a playful roll of his eyes. “Y/n—”

“I’ll end up throwing a rock so hard into the water I’ll give an innocent, unsuspecting fish brain damage.” So what if you were being melodramatic. That did nothing to counter the fact that your hand-eye coordination was shit. 

“Y/n, you’ll be fine. I promise.” 

Wrong.

You were gods awful at this. 

You tried your best to mimic the bend of Lucien’s spine as he let go of his stone, tried to mimic the way he curled his fingers against its rounded edges. But every single one of your throws was either too strong or too weak. Too high or too low. 

You chucked the last rock in your hand but the spin on it — or rather lack thereof — was abysmal. It plopped into the river three yards away with a splash. 

Lucien chuckled, shaking his head as you stomped back onto the beach, swearing with every step as your robes dragged through the water behind you. 

You whirled around and kicked up river water in his direction. 

“Stop laughing!” A smile tugged at your lips even as you said that. 

“You’re doing very well!” 

“Don’t be condescending.”

“I’m not!”

 “I didn’t grow up in the backwoods of Autumn. I’ve never done this before,” you grumbled, your words tinged with embarrassment. 

And thank the Mother you hadn’t. Yes, Lucien had always wanted a sister, but he flinched just to think of the horrors you would have faced if you’d both shared a mother instead of a father. The ways Beron would have bent you until you broke, especially as a female. Sold to the highest bidder and forced to have as many children as possible. A high-end, noble-blooded breeder.

Suddenly he wasn’t laughing anymore. The smile slipped off his bright face. 

You stiffened. Some of the scars on Lucien’s body took on new meaning. 

“I’m sorry, Lucien,” you said. The fun of the afternoon, as embarrassing as it had been for you, fell away. “I wasn’t thinking.” 

You’d only heard whispers of the way Beron treated his children. Which could only mean that they’d endured infinitely worse. 

Lucien shook his head and more of his scarlet hair came tumbling out of his braid. He looked so much like Helion in the sun that you were surprised more people didn’t know. They had the same strong noses, the same build with their tapered waists and strong legs. They even had the same dimple on their left cheeks. 

But maybe Beron and his brothers had known, or at least suspected that he was different, and that had added to Lucien’s torment.

“Maybe one day you could show me though,” you asked hopefully when the silence was on the verge of becoming too loud, “I’ve never been to Autumn — I’ve not been to most places, actually — but I’d like to see it. I could show you the Day Court too.” 

He shook his head slowly, rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t think that would be a good idea — visiting the Day Court.” 

That was the issue you’d been tiptoeing around the last two hours. You both knew about Helion, but he was only aware of your existence, not Lucien’s. And it was one thing for you to be revealed as Helion’s daughter — there’d be gossip, attempts on your life, and countless marriage proposals. 

But for Lucien? He’d suddenly find himself face to face with the weight of a crown and an entire Court on his shoulders. You wouldn’t blame him for trying to avoid that fate.

Still, you couldn’t help but ask, “Lucien… Why haven’t you told Helion yet? Beron’s been dead for years now, and I’ve heard only good things about Eris. That he’s honest and fair. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who’d punish you if you claimed your right to Helion’s Court.”

His bright eyes turned bitter, all laughter disappearing. He dipped his hand into the river, picked up a rock, and chucked it back in. Its edges were too ragged anyway. 

“What makes you think he doesn’t already know?” 

You straightened up as if the answer were obvious. “Trust me, he doesn’t know. If he knew you were his son, he would have found ways to see you grow up. We might have even grown up together.”

 It was a pathetic daydream, but one you’d been thinking about. 

“You’re wrong!” 

The outburst was so sudden, so unlike the Lucien everyone else spoke of that you had to take a few steps back. Smoke rose from his clenched fists and his skin pulsed, glowing with an inner light like he was more ember than fae. 

He blinked rapidly then swore, brushing his salt-stiffened hair back. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, but…” He shook his head. “He wouldn’t have come. He didn’t come. He just left me and my mother there with that monster. He must have known what it was like — the things he did to her and the rest of us — but he never showed up. Not for my mother. Not for me.” 

“He didn’t know.” 

You repeated those words with the same conviction you had for everything else you knew to be true. You stepped closer and with the slope of the beach you could face him eye-to-eye. 

“Do you want to know how I know? My mother wanted nothing to do with him when she found out she was pregnant. He had to hear it from one of the healers.  And when I was born she forbade him from visiting, forbade him from even laying eyes on me, but he couldn’t stay away. He found ways to be in my life and protected me as best he could, and when Mom died and I was left on my own, he gave me projects with purpose so I wouldn’t crumble into nothing.” You stabbed your finger against your chest. “He did that for me. Is he a great father? Absolutely not. Is he a decent father? Maybe? Probably not, he wasn’t there most of the time. But he’s trying. I know it’s not the same and we’re still strangers and I understand if you don’t forgive him for abandoning your mother — I wouldn’t — but he would have gone for you.” 

You were breathing hard now. Lucien just stared with shiny eyes and unclenched fists. 

“And I think after everything you’ve been through, you deserve to know what it’s like to have a father who at least tries.” 

The world was too small right now. It was too big. The Sidra had soaked through your skin and your robes were growing heavier and heavier by the second, weighed down by salt water and time. 

“Would you at least consider telling him? Please?” 

Because another pathetic daydream you’d been thinking of recently was that one day it might be you and Helion and Lucien. An imperfect family, but a family nevertheless. That you might not feel so alone anymore. 

Lucien’s throat bobbed and he turned away from you long enough for the crisp wind to dry his tears. 

“Take off your robes. They must be soaked by now. I’ll make sure you don’t go cold.'” His voice was strangled. He cleared his throat. “And I’ll look for more stones. No sister of mine is going to go through life without learning how to skip stones.” 

He threw that word around so casually — sister — like saying it over and over again would somehow make the hundreds of years you’d both spent on your own disappear. 

Clouds gathered steadily overhead painting the world with a wash of grey. But that did nothing to diminish the faint light that emanated from you and Lucien as you waded through the shallows and finally learned to skip stones. Lucien whooped, red hair streaming behind him, and you smiled as your last stone skipped twice over the river before disappearing beneath the surface. 

You leaned back in the tall, dying grasses and sipped on the cardamom tea Elain brought down from the House, listening to the many stories Lucien had gathered over centuries spent traversing Prythian and the Human Lands. You told him about The Alcove, Cherp, your mother, and the books you read, and he listened like it was the most epic tale he’d heard in his entire life. 

Sometimes you both went quiet. It was sobering to think about what you’d both endured alone without your true family. But still… it was good to have one another now. 

When you walked into the packed dining room — barefoot, salt-stained, and rosy from the cold — Lucien pulled out the seat next to him for you, surprising the grey Ione.

Elain dropped gracefully into the chair across from her mate, a knowing smile on her face. 

“Good day?” 

You and Lucien glanced at one another. His golden eye whirred and his russet eye gleamed mischievously. 

You folded your arms over your chest, forcing down the smile that threatened to make its appearance. “The worst.” 

“You’re just upset because you lost,” Lucien teased, casually draping his arm over your shoulder. 

“It was hardly a fair competition. You must have — what? — five-hundred years of experience against me?”

He clasped a hand over his chest. “You wound me, sister. Although, if you must know, I’m four hundred and seventeen.” 

“I’m surprised you’re not a sack of bones on the floor.” 

“I’m not that old.”

“I think I see a few grey hairs here and there.” 

Lucien scoffed, but everyone noticed when he absentmindedly touched his long red locks as the last of the dinner plates materialized on the table. Feyre reached over from beside Lucien and squeezed his hand tightly under the table. 

It wasn’t the drop of Helion’s magic that caused The High Lady’s eyes to glow so brightly. She was just happy. Lucien squeezed her hand back even tighter. 

Azriel was the last to arrive, appearing in the hallway in a swath of shadows like he was stepping out of one of your dreams. He must have flown home today. Mist gathered into droplets that clung to his skin and hair and eyelashes like a thousand diamonds. Not even the faint shadows beneath his eyes could distract from his beauty, and you felt that familiar wash of comfort flow over your body when you caught his scent. 

There was only one available seat left at the table. The one directly across from you and Lucien… and right next to Elain. 

Your stomach dropped. 

The seating arrangement was truly a horrible coincidence. One that no one seemed to recognize until it was too late and Azriel’s chair was screeching over the wooden floor. Both he and Elain shifted in their seats, quietly pulling them further apart. It should have made you feel better that Azriel was trying so hard to distance himself from Elain, but the only thing it emphasized was that they’d used to be so close. 

Cassian looked over nervously at his brother, but Azriel was as impassive as always. The room fell into uncomfortable silence, punctuated only by the sounds of chewing and the clinking of silverware. If the House was a person, they would be sweating buckets. 

Cassian coughed and sipped his wine. “So… lovely weather we’re having.” 

Lightning cracked across the darkened sky, followed by rain that began plummeting to the earth in heavy sheets. 

Rhysand leaned over and smacked his brother on the back of his head and Cassian couldn’t even feign annoyance at that. 

“You never fail to have incredible timing, Cassian.” Lucien drank his wine deeply and some of the tension seemed to lift from the table when everyone noticed how happy he still was. The terrible things in the world had not lessened, but Lucien felt lighter than he had in decades.

In proper Helion fashion, he kept the pleasant conversation spinning over the table, ensnaring you with the stories he tossed back and forth with Feyre. 

“How was I supposed to know you’d be crazy enough to try and capture a Suriel?”

“What? Like it was meant to be difficult?”

Lucien smirked and crossed his arms. “Beginner’s luck.”

“What were the second and third times then?” 

“The Suriel being a terrible busybody who was bored and wanted to spill gossip.” 

Feyre flipped him off and he winked in return. 

Azriel did what he always did and sat still and quiet as a mouse, eyes tracing over the flow of conversation like he knew who would speak before they’d even opened their mouths. But his eyes kept lingering on you, a smile tugging at his lips whenever one grew on yours. 

Lucien noticed it the third time it happened. Then the fourth. Then the fifth. Until he found himself watching the Shadowsinger almost as intensely as Azriel was watching you. 

His grip tightened around his silverware. 

“I am not nearly as uptight as Gwyn says I am,” you muttered, pushing around the potatoes on your plate. 

You’d sunk into your seat when, to your embarrassment, the conversation had steered in your direction. Azriel had been the one to do it, casually dropping a comment about how much time you spent in Cagniv Library and the ways in which you’d already influenced the priestesses who operated there. It was the first thing he’d said all day. 

“You made a fifth year apprentice cry.”

“That’s a lie, Nesta, and you know it.” 

Nesta did know it, but you’d been so quiet the past few weeks. She wanted to poke fun if only to make you smile. 

“Fine, that was an exaggeration. But you interrogated Farrah like she was a war criminal. Azriel would have been impressed.” 

“She’s the only expert on Cyerion Age Bauldish folklore and she was missing half the citations for her thesis! It took me ages to track down some of her sources.”

“She can’t cite a book that’s over 2,000 years old with no identifiable author. Or title. Or publishing date.” 

You grumbled under your breath. Something about, “Your library gives me anxiety” and “You’re making me look bad in front of Lucien.”

“Hmmm? Sorry?” Lucien tore his eyes away from where one of Azriel’s shadows had slid under the table and was now wrapping around the leg of your chair in an effort to gain your attention.  

You shook your head. “Nesta’s just trying to make me look bad.” 

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Azriel said softly, so softly he probably hadn’t even meant to say the words aloud. He looked up from his plate, shocked to hear his own voice continue on. “Maybe after this is all done, you could take on the task of reorganizing Cagniv. I’m sure you’d be saving the next Librarian more than a few headaches.”  

Your wide eyes met his across the table and for a brief moment it was like you two were alone and teasing each other over tea in the middle of the night like you used to. Two shadows illuminated by candlelight in a Court that never slept.

You sat up a little straighter. “Is that a challenge?” 

Azriel smiled faintly, “Maybe. Although I’m sure Bryaxis would give you a run for your money.”

You furrowed your brows. “Bryaxis?” 

Rhys smirked, “He’s the resident shadow demon that lives on the bottom floor of Cagniv. He flew down once on a dare and he high-tailed it out of the abyss white as a sheet. He still doesn’t talk about it.”

“Fuck you for bringing that up, Rhys.” Cassian’s hand trembled as he brought his fork up to his lips, “You’ll never let me live that down will you?” 

“You… you have a shadow demon living in your library?” Your face twisted in horror and you slammed your knife down on the table, “Is that why a third of the catalogue is missing from the shelves? I’ve been searching for ages!”

And there it was — that faint twitch of irritation in your eyes that told Azriel you were already contemplating going down to confront Bryaxis yourself. He could imagine how you’d stand there with a hand tucked into your robes, swinging a lantern from the other as you bullied the monster into letting you move the volumes someplace else. How you’d lecture him on the importance of controlling humidity when it comes to parchment preservation, and perhaps how you’d begrudgingly agree that the creature’s darkness had protected the fragile books from light exposure. 

“I knew that’s what you’d focus on,” Azriel said. His voice was deeper than an ocean, and just as full of hidden meaning. He shook his head in disbelief, a small smile gracing his lips. “You just learned you spent months studying with a monster lurking nearby — a monster that has Cassian trembling in the corner—”

“I am not trembling—”

“And you’re not afraid at all. You’re… you’re incredible, Y/n.” 

You pursed your lips, tamping down the delight that threatened to spill over inside of you like champagne bubbles — light and airy and lovestruck. With only a handful of sentences, Azriel had you wishing that everyone else would just leave. You felt the heat rise in your cheeks as Azriel kept looking at you. It was a quiet, intimate undressing without an inch of skin needing to be revealed. 

A tendril of shadow creeped up your arm and tugged your hair. The rest hovered shyly over a bag you recognized as Azriel’s, as if they knew they’d done wrong by ferrying it over from their master’s bedroom. But the timing was so perfect, how could they not? 

With you watching, they tugged open the strings and spilled the contents on the floor. 

To Lucien’s surprise, Azriel’s notorious stone-face went flush with color when he heard the thud of books and realized what his shadows had done. 

“Wait—Y/n—” His chair groaned in protest when he shot to his feet.

But you were already holding them in your hands. 

The Natural Trials and Tribulations of Leonora Bedroot, Three Knocks for A Kiss, and A Touch of Cinnamon. Your favorite books in the entire world. Two copies each. One brand new, and one whose pages were already flared, leather spines lovingly wrinkled. 

Your breath caught in your throat when you flipped through Three Knocks for a Kiss and saw Azriel’s delicate scrawl on every page. Passages had been circled and underlined with his comments left in the margins. Small tabs of paper poked out with more handwritten notes. 

Azriel’s been reading these over and over again for months now. He bought them a week after you came to Velaris because he remembered you liked books that are well loved and full of memory. The nights he couldn’t sleep and dream of you, he’d perch on his windowsill and read until morning came. You’ve given him a peace he’s never known before. 

A kind of peace you thought you’d been alone in feeling. 

The scent of night-chilled mountains and parchment paper filled your nose. 

Azriel bowed his head ever so slightly, eyes focused on your hands now clutching the books like they were gold. 

“I remembered seeing them in your apartment. I was going to give them to you at some point but…” Azriel trailed off, then whispered. “I remember what you told me about your mother reading them to you.” I remember everything you’ve told me. 

“I can keep them?” Your voice was a hush over the room. 

You cradled them protectively against your chest, as if at any moment they’d be torn away from you. You’d been hesitant to buy new copies after the original ones had been burned down in the Alcove. Part of their charm had always been the memories of your mother reading them aloud like they were flowers growing from her lips instead of words, buzzing and honey-laden. The books felt different now, but they still felt like something. They weren’t sterile and blank. They were filled with Azriel and all the good memories he carried with him. Few and far between as they were. 

“They’re yours,” Azriel breathed, “All yours.”  

Lucien looked back and forth between you two, focusing on the blush of your cheeks and the wetness in your eyes and the thinly veiled adoration in Azriel’s face now that you were looking back at him. A sick, knowing feeling had been building inside of him throughout dinner, but he’d repressed it. He couldn’t repress it any longer.

No. Absolutely not. There’s no way. There’s no fucking way.

He let his shock flow through the bond and looked to Elain for confirmation. 

Please tell me I’m wrong. He begged silently. Anyone but him. Literally anyone but him.

They’d yet to accept the bond, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t read each other like an open book. And right now Lucien was doing nothing to hide his seething temper. 

Elain bit her pale, pink lips and nodded, confirming what he already suspected. Then, in a move of silent permission, she slid her chair six inches away from Azriel’s until she was practically sharing a seat with Nesta. 

“Here we go again,” Nesta groaned and looked at Cassian. You want to get her?

Yeah I got her.

You straightened up, pressing the books to your chest in confusion. What had started off as a graciously uneventful dinner had turned into a moment of beauty that you wanted to preserve for a little while longer.  

But everyone around you parted, leaning back in their chairs and pulling glasses of wine off the table before draining them in one long chug. Even Ione held her plate in her hands, popping a tomato in her mouth with interest. Mor looked nervous clutching a sweaty bottle of wine against her chest. Feyre and Rhys looked resigned and Lucien… Lucien looked livid. After all, he owed Azriel for the Blood Duel.

Cassian hoisted you out of your seat with his arms wrapped firmly around your middle and stepped back and out of the way.

Your eyes widened when Lucien stood up, skin rippling with light and power. He calmly rolled back his sleeves revealing muscular, scarred forearms, then took off his rings one by one and dropped them on the table. 

Clink. Clink. Clink. 

He wanted to feel it when he beat the Shadowsinger to a pulp.

Oh… Oh shit. 

“Wait—Lucien!”

Lucien gritted his teeth and launched himself over the table. 

Azriel didn’t flinch. His hazel eyes didn’t even flicker in surprise. In fact, you swore you saw them flutter closed in acceptance. 

In another fight, Azriel might have had the advantage of wings and height, but Lucien had the wider build and the fucking motive. He slammed into the Shadowsinger’s chest and together they disappeared beneath the lip of the table before landing in a sprawl on the floor that knocked the air out of Azriel’s lungs. 

Cassian winced when he heard the first of Lucien’s blows land. 

“Let me go!” You kicked and squirmed in his grip, but you would have had more luck fighting a mountain. “Cassian, what the fuck?!”

“I’m really sorry, Y/n. But even I have to admit he had this coming.” There was another bloody crack. “Oh damn that sounds like it hurt.”

“Honestly, I didn't know he had it in him,” was Nesta’s only comment. Ione moved to stand beside the eldest Archeron sister so she could get a better view, a faintly amused smile on her face. 

“I did,” Elain said simply. That was one of the many things she and Lucien had in common. Their general patience and understanding could only stretch so far before snapping. “Ione, perhaps you should go upstairs.”

The older woman looked offended. “Why? This is the most fun I’ve had in ages. Such drama.”

When Helion had fought Azriel, there’d been an elegance to it — something altogether noble about the event as the two stared each other down as equals. 

This was nothing like that. 

Lucien was pissed and even Azriel had to admit that he really, really deserved this one. 

Lucien’s chest heaved, every blow of his fists against Azriel’s face punctuated by snarling words. 

“First you go after my mate—” Punch. “Then my sister—” Punch. Punch. “Are you—” Punch. “Fucking—” Punch. “Kidding me?!”

The last blow sent Azriel’s head snapping back hard enough to crack the floor tiles. Blood splattered from his nose like a spray of paint lobed at a canvas and Azriel knew from his sudden inability to breath that it was broken. 

“Lucien! Stop it!”

“We just redid the tiles,” Rhysand groaned, rubbing his temples. 

Lucien growled and grabbed Azriel by the front of his leathers, throwing him over and onto the table. The long mahogany table, shiny and expensive as hell, snapped in two with a deafening bang. Silverware flew into the air, catching the light like holiday tinsel. Porcelain plates shattered and Azriel finally groaned in pain from the harsh twisting of his wings. The fearsome Shadowsinger and Spymaster of the Night Court could only lay there as green peas rolled down on top of him, gravy sinking into his hair. 

“Not the table too,” Rhys whined. He’d had it specially commissioned for the River House. 

Lucien dragged Azriel off the glorified heap of wood chips before tossing him back onto the floor, fist raised in the air. 

“Alright! That’s enough,” Feyre said with a loud clap of her hands. “If you two want to fight, do it outside. I don’t want anyone breaking my house. Again.” 

The River House sighed in relief. 

Lucien paused just long enough for Rhysand to haul the redhead off his brother with little regard for anyone’s pride. 

“Get off me,” Lucien snapped, shoving Rhys away. “I can’t fucking believe this.” 

When Cassian finally let you down, you rushed over to Azriel’s side, swiping the handkerchief Rhys held out for you as you passed. 

Azriel sat on the floor, face impassive despite the brutal angle of his nose and the blood sprayed over his face and neck. You cradled his face, gently nudging it this way and that as you surveyed the damage. 

“Oh Azriel,” you breathed. 

Bruises bloomed over his cheekbones, muddy as paint water. His right eye was almost swollen shut, and his split lips bled anew when he gave you a tentative smile. 

“Hi,” he murmured reverently, leaning against the palm you cupped beneath his jaw.

Lucien gagged. “Can someone rip my eye out again? Both this time, please?”

“Damnit, Lucien!” You held the handkerchief up to Azriel’s nose, trying to stem the flow of blood before it could continue dripping from his chin. “Don’t be an asshole.” 

“Really, Y/n?! You’re defending him?!”

Azriel wrapped one arm protectively around your waist, eyes narrowed in a glare. With the blood coating his face he looked positively murderous. Like he’d done the beating and not Lucien. 

“Don’t yell at her,” he growled, his voice dangerously low. 

“For fuck’s sake.” 

It had been a momentary outburst — a rare occurrence with Lucien that held no anger towards you. But you still felt the flare of Azriel’s power as shadows wrapped around you in a layer so thick you couldn’t see past your waist. 

“Azriel—” You didn’t want another fight. “It's ok.” 

“No. It’s not.” 

Lucien was a mixed bag of emotions and he felt a dozen of them go off at the same time like fireworks. There was rage at the male who had the audacity to lay a hand on you, who’d hurt you if the rumours in Velaris were true. A bitter desire for revenge that still lay heavy on his hands after the utter hell he’d gone through watching Azriel and Elain for years. Protectiveness over you — his sister. And a tiny sliver of shame that grew every time you prodded the Shadowsinger’s bent nose and winced. 

“Do you know?” Lucien’s voice shook. 

“Do I know what, Lucien?” 

He swore and looked at everyone in turn. The members of the Inner Circle were trying their damned hardest not to meet his eyes, nervously angling their gaze towards the ground or out the windows like the evening fog was the most interesting thing they’d ever seen.

Fucking hell. You didn’t know.

Lucien reached down over your shoulder, grabbed Azriel’s nose and shoved it back into place with a loud pop. 

You cringed at the sound, but Azriel didn’t react. He was well acquainted with pain and knew how to hide it. 

He breathed through his reset nose, touching the swore flesh gingerly. “Thank you.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

“Lucien!” 

He clenched his teeth so hard he thought they might crack. Elain chose that moment to quietly slide her hand into his from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder so he was surrounded by the smell of wildflowers. She tapped the center of his chest, right where he’d told her he felt anchored by the bond, and then looked pointedly to where you kneeled on the ground in between Azriel’s legs. 

And Azriel… Azriel looked lost to the world. Centuries spent relegated to the shadows as a Spymaster had wiped away his feelings, at least outwardly. But everyone could plainly see the way he kept his hand on your arm, thumb brushing circles over your warm skin and the settling of his breathing the longer you held onto his jaw with careful fingers. 

Of all the people. It had to be him. 

“The Mother works in mysterious ways,” Elain whispered so only her mate could hear.

“Unfortunately for me.” 

Lucien took in a ragged breath and clenched his fists, waiting for the worst of his anger to fade away before he collected the books back into the discarded bag and held it out for you. 

A peace offering. 

You pulled Azriel back onto his feet, keeping one hand firmly clasped in his, and glared at your brother. “That was completely unnecessary.”

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” And he meant it. 

Your lips flattened. “Shouldn’t you be apologizing to Azriel?”

His mismatched eyes flared with irritation when they flickered to the Shadowsinger. 

Azriel stood quietly at your side, his face a motley of red, purple, and blue. Still handsome though, much to Lucien’s annoyance. 

“I’m not going to apologize for that. He deserved it. I’m just sorry you had to witness it.” Lucien hesitated, then said, “Y/n, I’m not usually like this. I don’t want you to think poorly of me just because of… him.” It was taking everything within him not to use more colorful language to describe the Shadowsinger. “It won’t happen again… unless you ask me to… which I hope you do.” 

Lucien wasn’t sure what to expect. He didn’t know what anger looked like painted on your features, or sadness, and he didn’t want to. So, it was a pleasant surprise when you only rolled your eyes and muttered, “First Helion and now you. Fucking males,” before slinging the bag over your shoulder and tugging Azriel towards your room. 

The Shadowsinger trailed after you without a second thought, heart hammering away in his chest. 

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

LET'S GO BIG BROTHER LUCIEEEEENNNNNNNNN

Y'all I had so much fucking fun writing the Lucien/Azriel fight scene. And to think that for a hot second I considered not writing it because I was worried it would be too repetitive to have Azriel get his ass beaten by both Helion and Lucien. Azriel, you poor, poor man, I'm sorry to have put you through all this. But also I'm not sorry at all.

Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! As always, please feel free to send me your thoughts!

#the shadowsinger and the inkbird #azriel x reader #azriel x reader angst #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #y/n x inner circle #reader x inner circle #reader x lucien #lucien x reader #lucien x y/n #lucien vanserra has my whole heart #i will fight anyone who says anything bad about him #ugh but writing the sibling dynamic between Y/n and Lucien where he's so excited and she's so worried the whole time #SADJF BCALSIGEHRJFKJANDSBHGUFI #just Lucien vanserra

[mother-above]

The Golden Warrior | Chapter 3

Azriel x Reader

Summary: To you, love was a poison that slowly killed. It was something that could make the strongest of warriors and leaders weak and vulnerable. You had successfully evaded romance and relationships for a century until the day you realized it had been plaguing you from within.

Chapters: 3/?

Words: 4.5k

Warnings: suggestive, 18+, violence, and swearing

*masterlist*

a/n: thank you for reading! please lmk what you guys think! xx

Chapter 3

  The moment Night Court winnowed out, you and Thesan made a beeline to his office. You settled onto a seat and propped your feet onto his desk as he plopped onto the leather chair with a huff. Thesan took a moment to check on the wards before he spoke out loud.

  “Did you find out what they want? Rhysand was being such a hard-ass and gave nothing away. All we talked about were treaties and half the time-,” said Thesan as he poured himself a drink. “I was trying to get his interest away from the Golden Warrior.”

 You thought about telling Thesan about the library incident, but you quickly dismissed it. Despite the Night Court being sneaky bastards, you realized that they were a powerful ally you couldn’t afford to lose. If Thesan had heard about the other events, he would undoubtedly wage war. He and the other High Lords had spilled blood for less, so it was in your best opinion to keep your mouth shut.

“A few days after Amarantha was killed, they felt a powerful surge of magic coming from Dawn Court. We must have been so distracted when you came home, that the wards you put up vanished or relaxed. It doesn’t help that I’d been forgetting to wear my jewels and must’ve weakened my hold on my magic in that period of relaxation,” you told him. “When we re-did the wards on the Palace in preparation for the Night Court, we probably fixed the wards that have kept my power hidden.”

Thesan paled as his eyes grew distant in thought. “Shit,” he said. “Ever since you were young, I’ve always helped you dampen your power. I can’t believe I forgot about it—fuck, I’m so sorry Y/n.” Guilt and concern flowed through his body and before he could freak out about his mistake, you reached over and grasped his arm. His glow dimmed as he looked at your hand, “I’m so sorry, no one was ever supposed to feel your power.”

“Don’t forget that I’m a grown female and have successfully protected the Palace and our territory for almost fifty years. I think I’ve proved that I can hold my own,” you said. “Besides, I’m partially at fault because being half-High Fae makes it hard to control my powers.”

“I wished you never had to go through that,” whispered Thesan. You just shrugged at him and smiled. What’s done is done. There were things you never told Thesan, but he found out through the other Peregryns and his sparrows when he returned from Under the Mountain. Some Fae had used the absence of Thesan as an excuse to run rampant and do whatever evil they wanted. It was you who punished and executed whenever it was necessary.

Every single day he was underneath that mountain his first thought would be of you, wondering how you were faring without him, Callon, and the others. He glanced at the scars that ran parallel to your cheekbone, a reminder of those horrid claws that hurt you. When Thesan first heard the story of how the Bogge had slashed through your golden helmet, he shuddered. High Lords were usually the only faerie powerful enough to kill a Bogge but when you told him you managed to slay it, pride and concern filled him. He made sure you were a fierce warrior, but to kill a Bogge… the extent of your magic scared him. In a way, it was better that Amarantha had no idea of your existence. If she caught a whiff of your power and what you could do, there was a good chance everyone in Prythian and the Continent would be under her rule.

You removed the glamour from the necklace to reveal brightly glowing sapphires, the power thrumming and threatening to break free. “While we’re on the topic of controlling my magic—I think I need more jewels.”

Thesan swore as he took a piece of paper and wrote down instructions to Nuan, his best tinkerer, to make you a new necklace with more siphons. With a wave of his hand, the note vanished and appeared on top of Nuan’s worktable.

“It seems Nuan got the idea of storing my power in jewels from the Illyrians,” you continued. “Azriel told me they call them Siphons too; they use it a little differently, but they have similar functions.”

The High Lord of Dawn nodded, his thoughts filled with concern over you and your magic. You were the second-best healer in all of Prythian, ranked behind your cousin. The two of you possessed the power to heal, to stop healing, and to reverse it. While Thesan was a divine and all-powerful High Lord, what made you special was your ability to poison and plague. Thesan and your parents first discovered your dark abilities when you were about 10 years old. You liked to sneak around the palace and one day you overheard an adult insult your High Fae mother for marrying a Peregryn warrior and supposedly ‘staining the High Lord’s bloodline’. The fae started calling your father slurs and before you realized it, you lifted your tiny glowing hands towards the fae and wished a horrible death. You can still remember the screams as the fae’s insides started liquifying, blood coming out of every orifice. That was when Thesan and your parents realized how powerful and dangerous you were. There were evil beings out there who would love to mold a young and impressionable fae. Thesan refused to let his little cousin be taken advantage of, so he made sure you learned to control your powers and knew how to defend yourself.

***

Days passed and so far, there was no major news from Night Court or any of the others. Things were quiet and no shadows were spotted in the halls of the Palace. Nuan had made you a brand-new necklace with 5 large blue sapphires, the biggest stone was in the middle with the other slightly smaller sapphires flanking each side. Putting it on immediately helped the restless energy that thrummed through your body, you couldn’t wait for the day you no longer had to suppress your magic.

You’ve been having dreams that interrupt your sleep, some good and some bad. The nightmares varied, sometimes they were about the creatures or faeries you killed during Amarantha’s reign, your parent’s death, or Thesan dying Under the Mountain. They always felt realistic, so whenever you woke up, it would take a few minutes for you to gather yourself and realize that it was all a dream. The worst hyper-realistic dream you had was when you dreamt of the Bogge and how its claws kept slashing into your golden helmet until it finally reached your skin. You dreamt about fighting half-blind as blood had spilled into your eye. The pain was so real and visceral, that you woke up screaming and clutching the side of your face. Thesan and Callon heard the commotion and because all bed chambers were warded against winnowing, they sprinted to your room. Callon barged in brandishing a sword until he realized you weren’t in danger. He stayed to help calm you while Thesan went to the kitchen to make you molten chocolate.

You were doing some paperwork in your office when a large yawn split your jaw. Another yawn followed and you sagged into your leather chair. You almost wished it was one of your usual nightmares, but last night’s dream was different. You dreamt of a child that you’d never seen before. The room was so dark, it had to be a cellar of some sort, somewhere underground. The soft moonlight that seeped through a caged window was the only source of light. It was a little boy who couldn’t have been more than 8 years old, it was hard to tell because you couldn’t see his face. He was hunched in the corner holding his little hands to his chest. You could have sworn you saw wings behind him, but it was so dark you couldn’t be sure. That was all you remembered from the dream, but it was enough to horrify you. Who could do that to a child? From the looks of it, it seemed like he spent most of his time in that dark place.

You woke up with a start and immediately turned on the faelights, you prayed to the Mother that this was some awful fiction your traumatized brain made up. If this little boy was real, your heart shattered for him. You didn’t get a wink of sleep after that, you kept the faelights on and waited for dawn to arrive.

***

The mysteriousness of Dawn Court was something that consumed Azriel’s thoughts, he reasoned that he couldn’t shake off that feeling of that dark dominating magic. If he was being honest with himself, it was you who his mind kept coming back to. He wasn’t sure why he kept thinking of you, was it your beauty or that incredibly confusing personality of yours? All his interactions with you made his heart flutter either from the smile you’d send him or from the anxiety that shot up when you were confrontational.

Rhys kept him busy with missions and he was more than thankful to do something that kept his mind off you. Whenever he was home in Velaris, that was when things were getting confusing for Azriel. To Azriel, Morrigan was the epitome of female beauty, someone who was strong yet elegant. He has spent 500 years fighting by her side, being her friend, and loving her. He was sure Mor knew that he loved her and unfortunately for him, she never acknowledged it. Azriel wasn’t surprised, how could someone like Mor who was Night Court royalty ever love someone like him? A bastard Illyrian?

Last night, Mor wore a revealing backless dress, Azriel would normally look away to avoid looking at her smooth skin but this time, Azriel stared. He was looking at Mor’s exposed back but not in a sexual way, he was looking because he noticed the lack of muscle and how different you were from Mor. The shadowsinger observed that you favored backless dresses and tops, there were the only things you wore during the Night Court’s stay at Dawn. It was hard not to glance at your body, you were athletic, strong, and incredibly feminine. You were so beautiful even Rhysand had taken his time to appreciate your powerful figure. When he first saw the sun-kissed skin and the dips near your shoulder blades and spine, Azriel felt his heart skip a beat. For a split second, he imagined what it would look like to see you arch and writhe beneath him. He remembered how his eyes widened and his heartbeat skyrocketed, he usually never thought of females he just met in such a lustful manner—or at least not immediately.

Azriel was shocked, he had never ever compared anyone to Mor. Feeling strange and annoyed that you were consuming most of his thoughts, Azriel drank multiple cups of wine and even let Mor convince him to join the rest of the Inner Circle for a night out at Rita’s. While his friends were dancing, Azriel sat by himself in their private booth, the music and drinks did little to distract him. His shadows swarmed around as he thought of how perplexing you were, how your sweet twinkling eyes could instantly turn cold and unnerving. He thought about sending his shadows to spy on you, but he stopped himself, you had the incredible talent of catching him when he was trying to be discreet. If you caught him one more time, he had no doubt you’d come for him in a violent rage.

He watched Mor and Cassian dance together; the Illyrian took Mor’s hands and spun her around as she threw her head back and laughed. It was a sound that Azriel loved to hear. The memory of Azriel holding you as he flew up in the sky flashed in his mind. You were happy and relaxed, your laughs sounding like the chime of bells. Shaking his head, the shadowsinger lifted the glass cup to his lips and took a long drink. Amber liquid burned down his throat and he sighed as he let the shadows entirely consume him.

***

You were eating breakfast with Thesan in one of the courtyards when one of your spies briskly walked toward you. Kerina was half Fae and half water wraith; she was one of your best and had a stern demeanor to her. Kerina bowed to Thesan before handing you her report papers, before you could thank her, she turned to address both you and Thesan.

“I have confirmation that Summer Court had sent 3 blood rubies to the Night Court. My sources are saying that they were addressed to High Lord Rhysand, Feyre Cursebreaker, and Amren.”

Thesan’s eyebrows raised but your jaw fully dropped.

“High Lord Tarquin sent out blood rubies? As in the death sentence rubies?” you exclaimed, wanting Kerina to confirm.

She nodded, “Correct. The water wraiths are telling me that two females had stolen something in one of their ocean vaults. If you need anything else, you know where to find me, my lady.”

Kerina departed and you were finally able to show your true shock to Thesan. You threw your hands in the air and the High Lord laughed.

“I can’t believe the sweet and handsome Tarquin sent Night Court those rubies. Whatever they stole… it must be so precious and important for Tarquin to declare them mortal enemies.”

Thesan looked at you with a sly smile.

“What?”

“I think you’re forgetting that Tarquin is still a High Lord, he may be young and a little naive but he’s the newest and youngest, he has to establish his dominance,” explained Thesan. “Besides, not everyone has had the pleasure to bed and be in Tarquin’s good graces.”

Last month, you had to personally deliver some documents and reestablish court alliances with Summer for Thesan. Since you had to hide your wings and suppress your magic, you became extremely restless. You wore the necklace, but it only helped for a few hours. Tarquin was a charming flirt, and it took him two days to convince you to sleep with him. The High Lord of Summer was attractive, and his personality was just as lovely, the only reason why you were hesitant was that you thought it wouldn’t be appropriate since you were Thesan’s 2nd. You quickly discovered that Tarquin did not mind at all.

You remember the energy in your body made everything feel like static, and the day your resolve faded, you returned Tarquin’s flirtatious advances. You kissed him and then you were suddenly sprawled on his expansive war table with the High Lord of Summer between your thighs. Tarquin took you on the table, his desk, and on the wall, right next to a large map of Prythian. Activities were moved to his bed chambers and that was where you rode him till—

“Ahem,” said Thesan as he cleared his throat. “Can you stop? I can scent you right now, it’s disgusting.”

Your eyes snap up at him, surprised that you had zoned out. Thesan was smirking and you threw a piece of a croissant at him. You wished you never indulged in what happened between you and Tarquin. Scowling, you shifted in your seat and gulped down some juice.

“He’s a good male, I wouldn’t be opposed if this was something you want to pursue in the future,” said Thesan. “I want you to be happy.”

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes for the second time that day. “You know how I feel about relationships. No, thank you. Besides, we agreed that it was a one-time thing that didn’t mean anything. We’re friends and will stay friends.”

Thesan shrugged. “One day you’ll take back everything you say about relationships. You’ll meet someone who is going to knock you off your feet, maybe one day you’ll be cauldron blessed and find your mate.”

You didn’t even answer with words, you just grunted in annoyance. You were never going to change your stance against relationships and romance. Your biggest secret, something Thesan doesn’t even know is you hoped you would never meet your mate. It would save you all the pain and effort of rejecting them.

Later that day you were sitting in your office with Kerina’s report spread out in front of you. Azriel hinted that there was something big happening in Prythian, so you had the spies do some digging and report anything strange happening in Prythian and surrounding countries. So far, there have been only menial land disputes and some horrible management of the dark creatures in the borderlands between Spring Court and the Wall. Looking through the papers again, you confirm nothing suspicious besides Summer Court sending the blood rubies.

Your thoughts drifted to Azriel the shadowsinger, it had been weeks since you last saw him, and you had yet to form an opinion on Azriel. Was he the most handsome male you’ve ever met? Yes. Was he a sneaky bastard who spied on your Court? Yes. To give him some credit, he told you some form of the truth when you caught him trying to sneak into the library but that was only because you threatened to end the alliance with Rhysand. Despite his spying, the male you talked with during sunrise was different. Maybe you saw a glimpse of the real Azriel, the personality he has when he’s at home and not working. As you sent in new orders to Kerina and the others, you couldn’t help but think of those cold and calculating hazel eyes.

***

A couple of months passed, and the sense of impending doom grew stronger every day. Reports of dark creatures roaming the border between Dawn and the Middle came in at a steady rate, there were enough threats that you had to go under your guise as the Golden Warrior to slay these creatures. You were a great warrior without your wings, but you were lethal when your feathers were out. You had to be careful not to use your powers because if Night Court was keeping tabs on your power signature, the others were too. The heavy presence of these creatures only confirmed your suspicions that something big was coming. Even though Callon was the Captain of the Peregeryns, you were still ranked above him, so you had them do extra training along with military exercises with the foot soldiers. Callon may be your cousin’s lover and he saw you as his little sister, but he was also extremely loyal to the Court and its hierarchy. If you told him to do something, he always obeyed without a question.

 One afternoon, you were going over some paperwork when you heard a bird chirping on the balcony. Looking up, Thesan’s sparrow was hopping on the banister and whistling as if it was speaking to you. Lifting your hand, the sparrow flew and perched on your finger as it watched you with intelligent eyes. The High Lord of Dawn was the only one who could communicate with the birds, but you knew this was Thesan’s way of summoning you.

You stroked its feathered head, “Tell him I’m on my way.”

It chirped back happily and took flight. You straightened out the papers on your desk before waving a hand to turn off the faelights. Darkness engulfs the room, and you gasp, the memories of your dream last night flooding back to you. It was the second time you dreamt about that dark cellar and the little boy who sat in it. This time you heard the crying and sniffles before you could even spot his dark form sitting in the corner. The dream was strange, just like the previous one, you couldn’t move and only saw what the dream wanted you to see. It seemed like you were sitting in that cellar for hours, it was only when the boy lay down when you saw the bandages. The boy was still faceless but under the dim moonlight, you saw his little hands wrapped in cotton, blood blooming under the white cloth. All you could do was stare in horror as the pain and exhaustion lulled him to sleep.

It took you all day to forget about the horrid dream and the sounds of his weeping. Ever since the first dream you convinced yourself it wasn’t real. This heavy weight fell on your shoulders the moment you woke up, even though it happened in your sleep, it all felt real. Deep down you knew that room and that child existed, you almost sent one of the spies to do some research, but you stopped yourself. You couldn’t waste any court resources, especially now that Rhysand had called for a High Lord meeting.

Taking a deep breath, you shook your head and swiftly made your way to Thesan’s office where he sat holding out a thick piece of paper to read. Callon was already sitting on one of the chairs and gave you a wave.

“Most of the High Lords agreed to meeting, so now the only problem is agreeing to where the courts will meet,” you said summarizing the letter.

He nodded before resting his hand under his jaw and sighed. He was still so tired of all the hell he experienced with Amarantha, all the news of unrest spreading across Prythian and Hybern gave him a constant underlying headache.  

“What if we offered to host the meeting? Here, in the Palace.”

He scrunched his face in annoyance because he already knew it was the best option. “Why does it have to be me?” grunted Thesan.

Callon made a face, but he didn’t interrupt, he wanted to give you a chance to assert your authority even though he disagreed with your idea.

“Because we’re closest to the middle and there is no way High Lord Kallias is going to offer to host,” you said handing the letter back to him. “Rhysand would have already offered but most of the courts don’t like him and all the other High Lords except for Tarquin seem like jackasses that won’t agree to host.”

Thesan frowned, “When did I become the friendliest High Lord?”

You snorted. “I wouldn’t say most friendly…maybe most tolerable? You’re the only High Lord in existence who has stayed mostly neutral in past battles and disputes. It makes sense for us to be the hosts, there's less of a chance these suspicious High Lords are going to think we’re going to double-cross anyone.”

Feeling the need to raise his concerns, Callon politely cleared his throat. “I don’t know—the security concerns… there could be fights that could level this Palace.”

“We have special wards to avoid magic and ensure fairness whenever all the High Lords come to gather but Callon’s right. I’m sure someone is going to find a way to break through the shields and cause all kinds of trouble,” said Thesan.

You glanced at the gleaming siphons around your neck and then at the two males. “This meeting needs to happen, and Rhysand knows it too, his letters feel so desperate. If a fight whether physical or magical breaks out, I’ll neutralize it,” you said gingerly touching the sapphires. “I’ll unleash my power if I have to.”

  Thesan’s frown deepened. “No—I don’t know, it’s too dangerous.” His rich brown eyes clouded with that overbearing concern.

Your jaw clenched as you stared at your cousin. “You promised me that I would get to decide when I would reveal my powers and the Golden Warrior. Now it seems like the perfect time with a potential conflict coming and someone’s bound to find out. If Night Court noticed, I’m sure the others did too.”

 Thesan looked at you coolly not wanting to lose his temper. You were right, it was only a matter of time before someone found out what you were. He was afraid of the repercussions you would get when people find out that you and the Golden Warrior were the same person. Thesan’s enemies were your enemies and with the added revelation of the Warrior, he was sure that list would double. He wasn’t ready to share how powerful you were, in fear of making that target on your back even bigger but Thesan knew it was no longer his call. He has kept you hidden long enough, it was time for you to spread your wings.

   “Okay,” he said quietly. “You get to call the shots with your powers from now on, you deserve it.”

 With a grin, you lunged at Thesan to hug him before you settled down to help him draft a letter to the High Lords.

***

 The preparations for the High Lords' arrival took all your time and energy and you slept through the night with no memory of the dreams you had. Despite dreamless nights, that dark cellar haunted your thoughts to the point you wanted to find that wretched place and rescue the child and burn it to the ground. Thesan had Callon and other Peregryns do over the security while you and other courtiers who were gifted with magic began enforcing more wards and shields on the Palace. This type of magic was so specific it took all your concentration as you learned from one of the older Fae how to properly enforce specific protective shields you’ve never used before.  When Thesan was available to help with the wards, he sent you off to visit the cities and ensure that Nuan’s compounds that defended against faebane were being produced efficiently.

 The Night Court was also doing their due diligence and making backup plans for their backup plans just in case it turned to shit in Dawn Court. Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand peered down at a map of the Palace and came up with many escape plans. Cassian and Rhysand were anxious about the visit, but Azriel was a little more concerned about the strange female that had been plaguing his thoughts. Shadows pooled over his shoulders and blocked his brother’s view.

“Uh, Azriel… what’s going on?” asked Cassian. “I haven’t seen you this anxious about a meeting before.”

Azriel’s beautiful features stayed neutral, but his crossed arms and taut muscles betrayed him. He didn’t want to admit that he’d been anxious to see you again, it’s been a long time since anyone has taken his mind off the torture of loving Morrigan. He found the last few months to be different. He still blushed every time Mor gave him attention. Like the time she brushed past him and squeezed his arm or when she propped her feet onto his thighs when everyone was lounging around the living room drinking wine. Then there were the times Mor would pull away or avoid his gaze, these moments would usually sour his mood for the entire day, but nowadays everything stung less.

#azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #acotar fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #acotar #azriel x you #slowburn #azriel fan fic #azriel acotar

[immortal-legend]

I think I want to write ACOTAR fanfiction (I love how this urge comes when I am busy) 🥲

#moosh mused #acotar #maybe some slowburn reader x azriel #or some elain x lucien #idk idk idk #writing things

[jeannineee]

Umbra et Ventus

Azriel x Reader

a/n: so I recently wrote a little thing called ‘Devotion,’ and I loved it so much that I wanted to make a mini-fic somewhat based on it.

So, reader is half-fae, from the Continent. She was enslaved during her time there, but managed to escape (we’ll learn how eventually 😉). She’s currently a refugee in Velaris, working alongside Madja as a healer. This fic is a bit of a slowburn, so bear with me.

Also, requests are open for headcanons, and short blurbs/drabbles, but I will be prioritizing this fic!! Love you guys!

PART TWO

warnings: canon-typical themes, allusions to PTSD. Emetophobia warning also at the beginning!!

Sweat dribbled down your face, coated your palms as you hugged the rim of the toilet. Your body shook with the force it took to hurl the contents of your stomach. You stayed there, heaving, for what felt like hours.

Your exhaustion became so rampant that you couldn’t even drag yourself to bed. You laid on the bathroom floor, sighing in relief as the cold tiles embraced your clammy skin.

As sleep beckoned you once again, you prayed that you might be free of nightmares, this time.

~~~~~~~~~

The sound of banging on your door roused you from your short-lived sleep. You pulled yourself off of the floor, hurriedly readying yourself for the day, before answering to a very obviously annoyed Madja.

“You were supposed to be at the infirmary an hour ago,” Madja said by way of greeting, before shoving her way into your tiny apartment, heading straight into your kitchen.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, voice hoarse. “I’ll be on time tomorrow.”

Madja gave you a once-over, before returning her attention to the tea she was already preparing. “I’ll bring you a different tea tonight, to help with the sleep. And the nightmares.”

You blinked. How could she know?

As though she could read your mind, Madja said, “There are dark circles around your eyes, and you’re the most tired female I’ve ever met.” She poured the grey-ish tea into a mug, passing it to you. “How long have you been having the nightmares?”

You sipped the tea, grimacing slightly at the leafy taste. “I can’t recall a time I didn’t have them,” you replied, hating the truth to the statement. “But they’ve been worse since…”

“Since you escaped,” Madja finished your sentence, matter-of-fact.

Madja was one of the first people you came across, when your ship docked in Velaris. She, alongside countless other healers, examined every single refugee that sought haven in the Court of Dreams. You weren’t sure why, but before she’d even cleared you to leave, she offered you a position at the Infirmary. For the last six weeks, you’d spent your days training under her.

You cleared your throat, finally confirming her words. “Yes. They’ve worsened since I escaped.”

Madja nodded. “As I said, the tea I’ll bring you tonight should help. Though you may need to consider other methods.”

“Such as?”

“Talking about your experiences.”

You shook your head, setting the tea aside. “I don’t see how talking about—“

“Y/n, you know as well as I do, healing the mental wounds that a traumatic experience leaves is just as important as healing the physical wounds.”

When you didn’t argue, Madja continued, “You’ve been in Velaris for well over a month, and the only people you’ve spoken to besides me are the other trainees at the Infirmary, and even then, communication is minimal.

“You’re beautiful. You’re young. You need to make friends; create a support system. In fact, I have a friend that holds classes for painting. She’d love to have you. Perhaps you’ll find a friend there.”

“I’m terrible at painting,” you muttered, sipping at your tea.

Madja gave you a look that said it wasn’t up for debate. “You’re attending that class,” she said, walking away long enough to find parchment and a pen. She jotted down what looked to be an address, before passing it to you. “Take today off. The class starts in an hour. She’ll have all the supplies you need.”

~~~~~~~~~

Rain pelted your umbrella as you made your way through the artist’s quarter. People milled about, admiring paintings and pottery and sculptures through glass windows.

As you stood outside of the studio Madja sent you to, you debated going home. As if in response, thunder boomed overhead. Deciding that you didn’t want the Mother to strike you down, you closed your umbrella, holding your breath as you entered.

Oh. This wasn’t so bad.

The studio was small, and cozy. Paint-splattered easels lined the room, in three rows of five. Much to your dismay, the only open easel was at the front of the room.

Directly across from the instructor.

You silently made your way to the front of the room, taking your seat.

“Hello,” the instructor said to you, smiling gently. “I’m Feyre.”

“Y/n,” you replied, returning her smile.

“We were just getting started. We’re working on the basics, today: color theory, textures, value, perception.”

You politely nodded along like you understood, grabbing the same brushes as she did. Within a couple of hours, you had a piss-poor excuse of a mountain range painted. You didn’t dare look at anyone else’s.

As everyone began filing out of the studio, your mind swam with the words ‘I told you so.’ You were almost excited to say those same words to Madja, until Feyre tapped your shoulder.

“Good work today, y/n.”

“Thank you.”

Feyre smiled warmly. “I was told by Madja that you’re new to Velaris?”

Of course Madja told her.

“I am.” Your tone was a bit short, but Feyre didn’t seem at all fazed.

“Well, I would love to show you around, sometime. There’s this really good restaurant down by the Sidra that my friends and I go to often. A few of us are going there this evening, actually, if you want to join?”

No, immediately rang through your mind, but your mouth betrayed you.

“Sure. That sounds nice.”

Feyre grinned, and you couldn’t help but reciprocate it.

~~~~~~~~~

When Feyre had mentioned a “few” friends, you’d been expecting two, maybe three.

You certainly weren’t expecting two abnormally tall Illyrians, a short female who personified the saying “If looks could kill,” a bubbly blonde female who introduced herself as Mor, and Feyre’s mate—the High Lord of the Night Court.

Somehow, in her infinite wisdom, Madja had conveniently forgotten to mention that the woman instructing your painting classes was High Lady.

“So, y/n,” Rhysand drawled, hand interlocked with Feyre’s, “Feyre says you’re a rather skilled painter.”

“Feyre is being generous,” you replied, sipping your wine.

Feyre rolled her eyes. “You might not see it, y/n, but you have a lot of potential.”

“And that, at least, puts you a step above Cassian,” Mor cut in, shooting you a wink.

“A newborn would have better painting skills than Cassian,” the short one—Amren, added.

Cassian, the larger of the two Illyrians, placed a hand over his chest, feigning offense. “Rude,” he said, before turning his attention to you. “You came from the Continent?”

You nodded. “From Vallahan.”

“What did you do there?”

Rhys shot Cassian a subtle warning look, but you still noticed it. You gave Cassian a pained smile. Might as well rip the bandage off.

“I was enslaved.”

All of their eyes were on you, and you silently cursed yourself, praying that you would simply sink into your cushioned chair and never return.

Even the male with the shadows—Azriel—showed a hint of surprise at your reveal. Cassian looked just as embarrassed as you, and the look Rhys was giving him now would’ve sent lesser males running.

Fortunately, Mor cut in. “I’m glad you’re here now. Madja says you’re one of her best students, and we could always use more healers, especially with the influx of refugees Velaris has been receiving.”

You cleared your throat, taking a long sip of your wine. “Madja has been an excellent teacher.”

“Madja also says you have…abilities?” Amren asked, studying you like a predator does its prey.

What didn’t Madja tell them?

“I do. But it’s…dormant. I haven’t been able to access my magic since I was a child,” you explained, suddenly feeling exposed under Amren’s gaze.

“I can smell it on you,” Amren said, her silver eyes raking over you. “There’s power in your blood, girl.”

Your eyes met Amren’s then, part of you recoiling, another part of you curious. Power?

Rhysand cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for my families’ invasiveness, y/n. It seems they have no manners.”

You smiled, though it didn’t quite meet your eyes. “It’s alright. I expected a lot of questions.”

“They did the same to me, if it makes you feel any better,” Feyre said.

It didn’t, but at least the rest of the dinner went by rather smoothly. Rhys paid the bill, offering another apology before leaving alongside Mor, Cassian, and Azriel.

“I hope we didn’t offend you with all of the questions,” Feyre told you as she walked you back to your apartment.

“You didn’t. I’m just not used to it. Honestly, I haven’t spent much time around people since I arrived,” you said, before adding with a nervous laugh, “That’s a bit embarrassing to admit.”

Feyre shook her head. “I’ve been there. Nothing embarrassing about it,” she said, glancing up at the starry sky. “I hope you know that we’re friends now.”

You arched a brow. “After one dinner?”

Feyre laughed. “Absolutely. Someone has to help me deal with my family. And you need someone to teach you how to paint something better than blobs.”

You joined in on her laughter. “I knew you were just being overly-nice about my painting!”

The laughter died down as the two of you stood on your front porch. Feyre smiled. “If you want to, we’re going out to Rita’s, tomorrow night. Just drinks and dancing.”

“I don’t have a dress.”

Feyre’s smile turned into a grin. “Good. We’ll go shopping in the morning.” She pulled you in for a hug before you had time to react. “I’ll be here at ten,” was all Feyre said before winnowing away.

~~~~~~

You settled into bed for the night after finishing the new tea Madja had dropped off. It tasted almost as bad as the one you drank that morning.

You thought of what Amren had said at dinner.

There’s power in your blood.

What did she mean?

And then you thought of the unrealistically attractive males—Azriel and Cassian. Azriel had barely said a word. Odd. Perhaps you’d be able to speak to him tomorrow night.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar headcanon #acotar fanfiction #Azriel x reader #Azriel angst #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #azriel acotar #Shadowsinger #female reader

[helionpegasus]

ceilings part 5

Azriel x Reader

masterlist

summary: Reader always had vivid dreams due her Seer heritage. But things take a twist in her life when she wake up in a world that is not hers and the loving male that were always in her dreams shows to be very different from what she known him to be.

warning: none. but let me know if you find anything :)

words count: 1979

author's note: we're baaaack! now things will start happening more quickly and i'll try not making it too slowburn haha. i'll also include my personal theories in the story. anyway, hope you like it ❤️‍🩹

A whole month had passed.

The dream with little Azriel never happened again, and you didn’t know if this was good or bad. Because it wasn’t the only one to disappear, all the other dreams you used to have did.

All that surrounded your mind was what could that possibly mean. You came to Velaris because of those dreams, so it’s logical that you must need them to go back. So the possibility of not dreaming ever was starting to get the best of you.

The Shadowsinger being so wary of your being was not helpful at all. Once you talked about it with Nesta and she only said that “He’s like this. It’s nothing personal.”, but it feels extremely personal to you.

How he would stop talking about something once you enter the room, or send a bunch of his shadow to follow you through the House of Wind, and even look at you in a weird way during dinner.

Today you woke up to the rain pouring outside, the thunder humming low. When you enter the dining room to have breakfast, you find Nesta there, with a cup of tea in hand and a book in the other.

“No training today?” You ask sitting across from her and already putting a piece of strawberry pie that you found to be your favorite thing in this world.

“Headache. I’ll take the day off, since dealing with Cas and Az the whole day would only make it worse.” She said, taking a little laugh from you. You can’t even imagine what it was like to work with both of them.

“Well, today seems like a good day to relax. I don’t think the rain is gonna pass too soon.” You took the last bite from the pie.

“You’re right.” Nesta sighs. “I’m gonna give myself the privilege I didn’t have for so long: Spend the whole day in bed.”

“You deserve it!”

“Thank you! See you at dinner.” She took the last sip from her tea and exited the room going directly to the main hallway.

Unlike Nesta, you weren’t feeling so useful lately. So you think the best decision was to take your cup of tea to the library and continue your search, which you started last week but ended up in nowhere.

The floor you use to study wasn't much visited, you assumed the first time you went there. Even after having your presence for a whole week handling books and discovering shelves, all of them still have a layer of dust. And maybe the people who live here simply didn’t hold a curiosity in learning Prythian history, you thought that it would be a better option than the fact that this floor was so close to the darkness under it.

After hours of hard searching, because you are dealing with history and most of the books were written in the oldest language, your mind gets tired of it. Your tea was no longer hot and your eyes hurt from reading.

When your mind starts questioning if it was lunch time already you felt the presence. His presence. You could ignore how much it makes you uncomfortable, like you have been doing for all this time. But, today you were tired of it.

“You know I can feel when you are spying on me, right?” You say closing a book. Your back is still fronting him. “I’m just saying that, in case you didn't know, I think it would be good the information that I knew you were there all those times.” Then you finally turn to face him.

Azriel tried to not show the shock in his eyes, since this was the first time something like this was ever happening. He decides to stay silent, trying to form a sentence that wouldn’t make him sound like a stubborn child.

“Look, I don’t know what you have against me. But I already said a bunch of times that I’m willing to answer any question you have and I also said that Rhysand or Feyre can look in my mind if they want to.” You said looking into his eyes, hoping that he could see the truth in them.

You never stop being surprised with how his eyes could be so different looking at the same person. You.

“I don’t trust you.” He simply said.

Those words cut deep that you wanted to. With his low voice echoing in your head.

“Well…” You start, still gathering the right words to say and not betray how hurt you felt. “If I could help to change that, you certainly know where to find me.” You gave him a small smile that did not reach your eyes, and left the library not in the mood to continue your research anymore.

*

Azriel went straight to the River House after the quick conversation. Calling Rhys through his mind to an emergency meeting.

“You should look through her mind.” Azriel said when they entered the High Lord’s office.

“We already had this conversation a million times, Az.” Rhys says massaging his nose bridge. “She never was suspicious and never made any harm to any of us or the court.”

“Yet.”

“For Mother’s sake, Azriel.” Rhys rolls his eyes.

“I’m just saying that I think we should treat her like any stranger that enters the court out of nowhere.” Azriel said firmly with his opinion. “We gave her a roof the first day she came here. We don’t know anything about her, and I think this decision can put us in danger.”

“I wouldn’t make a decision to put any life in this court in danger, Azriel.” Rhysand's look was not friendly anymore. “And I don’t know what is happening with you lately. This is not the first time I say that you are having weird behavior.”

The Shadowsinger still remembers every word they shared in this same office in the first week you spent here.

“I’m just worried.” Az's voice was calmer this time. “I have noticed some things about her that I found strange.”

“And what would it be?”

“She can sense me around while I’m still hiding in the shadows.”

“She always had a weird connection with your shadows, we’re all working with that and she included.”

“Right. But I noticed that during her first nights, she disappeared.” 

“What do you mean?”

“When she went to sleep, she just disappeared for a few hours and then came back still sleeping. She did this for two or three nights and never did it again.”

Rhys was processing the information Azriel just said, his mind working on how she was capable of doing that on the House of Wind, a place that you could not winnow in or out.

“I can ask if she gives me the permission to look into her mind.” The High Lord says. “But if she doesn't, I will not force her to do so.” 

Azriel let out a sigh of relief, only nodding at his friend before leaving the office.

*

You weren’t expecting a reunion today. So when Nesta knocked on your door saying that everyone would meet in the living room, you needed to take time to fix yourself.

Everyone was already there when you arrived, and Feyre invited you to sit by her side.

“You must be wondering why we decided to do this unplanned meeting.” Rhysand says and you only nodded in confirmation. “We all want to help you to find answers and we need answers as well…”

“You want to look into my mind.” You finish his sentence.

You couldn’t keep your eyes from looking at Azriel for half a second. Remembering the convo early this morning.

“I’m only doing this with your permission and firstly, if you are comfortable with it.”

“You can look at it.” You look into his eyes, transmitting all the confidence you could gather.

Rhys took the spot in the chair in front of you. The first thing he did once he entered your mind was make himself present. He could be sneaky if he wanted to, you knew that from other experiences with Ruhn even if he only entered to communicate.

“I’ll show you everything and some things may need an answer. But I would prefer to answer all questions you may have privately.”

“You have my word.”

And you showed him everything.

The first of your dreams, the work you have been doing with your friends in Crescent City, your life with them and the University. Till what happened the day you came to their world, the fight with the strange creature and your last dream.

“The creature that attacked you was a kelpie.” Rhys said once he left your mind with all the information he needed.

The atmosphere of the room that was thick with expectation suddenly turns into shock and worry.

“A kelpie? In my world they look very different.” You say mostly to yourself.

“What do they look like?” Nesta asks to you.

“They are species that belong to the House of Many Waters. They are shapeshifters that appear mostly as a black horse and sometimes in a human form.”

“If those things were supposed to look like humans they are in the wrong shape.” Nesta says remembering her own fight with the creatures. That got a fit of laughter from everyone in the room.

“Thank you for showing me, (Y/N). Now that we have more details, maybe we can help you more.” Rhys said, offering you a soft smile.

“Since everyone is here, we should all take dinner together.” Cassian says and we all agreed.

“I will take Nyx and be back.” Feyre says going to the balcony with wings already appearing in her back.

“We can talk now if you want to.”  The High Lord offers and you give him a nod.

He leads you to the private library of the house. Much smaller than the one the priestesses work, but as beautiful.

You both sit on a couch near a window. You loved every view of this place, because Velaris was beautiful in every angle and every weather.

“I put a sound barrier and a shadow barrier, so we can talk freely.”

“What do you want to know?” You ask the male in front of you.

“You only dream with Azriel specifically, do you have any idea why?”

“No. I’ve been waiting for this answer and a bunch of other ones for a long time too, but the only one answer was learning his name when I arrived.”

“I’ve dreamed with Feyre before we met each other too…” He says with an expecting look that makes your cheeks warm.

“You think we are mates?” Rhys only smiles. “Well I bet that your dreams with Feyre were not like those, and I am certain that she wasn’t from another world.”

“Well, you’re right. But that can still be a possibility.” He took an invisible dust from his pants. “Warn me if those dreams return, we see what we can do to help.”

“I’ll let you know.” 

“Also, Azriel commented to me that you disappear while sleeping. Do you have any explanation for that? Because people weren’t supposed to be able to winnow from here.”

You gave him a questioning look. A million questions going through your mind.

“Disappear? I don’t have the power to winnow.”

“He said that it happened on your initial nights.”  Rhys was also confused. “You don’t remember exiting in the middle of the night?”

“No. Those nights I only dreamed.”

Then Rhysand started to connect all the points. He also didn’t see you in any other place besides your dreams, so you disappearing did not make sense. And he would know if you manipulated any of the memories.

The fact was that there were only dreams. Vivid dreams.

“I think that your dreams are where you disappeared to.”

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#acotar #azriel acotar #azriel imagine #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar x reader #azriel shadowsinger #acotar imagine #acotar fics #azriel

[autumnshighlady]

I’ve Always Liked to Play With Fire (part 3)

NESTA ARCHERON X FEMALE!READER (future Neris x reader)

summary: You and Nesta have made a plan, and now it’s time to put it into action

warnings: angst, more inner circle slander lmao

word count: 2.9k

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

a/n: sorry this is so short! It’s a bit of a filler chapter but things will pick up soon. It’s a bit slow right now because it’s an extreme slowburn fic but I have so many big plans for it! Eris won’t appear until part 5 probably but I promise it will be worth it

feedback is appreciated, just no hate pls! these are just my opinons, im more curious to see how you all like the writing and characterization and storylines!

part 1

part 2

read on ao3

Spotify playlist

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The first rays of sun crept their way into the room, illuminating the navy sheets with a soft golden glow. You blinked the sleep from your eyes, your surroundings beginning to sharpen. With a jolt, you noticed how Nesta’s head had migrated onto your pillow, gently crooked against your shoulder. Her long legs gently brushed against yours underneath the sheets, cold despite the warmth of the blanket.

You took a moment to gaze at her sleeping form. Her face was relaxed for once – her eyebrows were not drawn together in a glare, nor her lips twisted downward into a frown. That chestnut golden hair you loved had come undone, waving down her shoulders like honey. She snored slightly, a soft sound indicating she was not suffering from the nightmares you knew plagued her throughout the night. She looked like a gift from the Mother herself, an ethereal being sent from another world. Truthfully, you could have spent hours gazing at her, but with a heavy heart you untangled your legs from hers, and gently lifted her head from your shoulder before crawling out of the bed and silently slipping back into your room.

You both knew what you had to do next. Nesta had mentioned that Azriel liked to get up early discreetly and take his breakfasts in the big dining area, rather than sit on the stools at the kitchen countertops like you and Nesta frequently did. You knew he did it to keep an eye on the female but without getting into her space, and it made the perfect stage.

Once in your room, you bathed with lavender-scented soap, careful to wash any trace of Nesta’s scent off of you. You hated scrubbing yourself so viciously, as if her essence was poison to your skin, but you knew that Azriel would pick up on it. The water was so hot it almost burned, but you let it fuel you with fire.

You didn’t want to stage a fake fight with Nesta. Truthfully, you should have planned it beforehand. You had no idea what you were going to say, or her. All you could do was hope that it would fool everyone.

After drying off and braiding your hair back, you slipped on a pink gown from the closet, smoothing the skirt and taking a deep breath before heading to the kitchen. You had no idea if Azriel was actually in the other room or not, nor did you dare peek through the window as you walked by to check. You just had to pray Nesta was right.

Taking a seat at the stool next to the counter, you grabbed a pancake from the stack placed in front of you. Normally you loved the food in the House of Wind, but today it tasted like ash in your mouth as your stomach churned with anxiety. Would you and Nesta really be able to manipulate the Inner Circle and pull this off? Sure, they’d easily believe that you and her would get into a fight, but you had to be careful. If you two moved too quickly to cooperation, they would get suspicious. The fine line you and Nesta were balancing on was tedious at best, and you only hoped you didn’t make things worse.

Silently, Nesta entered the room. Rather than sitting beside you as she had been lately, she simply grabbed a cup of tea and perched herself on the other end of the counter, not sparing you a glance.

This is it. You thought to yourself with a nervous swallow. Showtime.

“You ok?” You began carefully, unsure how to initiate the fake fight. Nesta ignored you, not even blinking once to acknowledge your presence.

So you tried again, knowing where it was heading. “I just wanted to say thank you for standing up for me last night. Against Rhysand. I appreciate it.”

Nesta was quiet for a moment, then laughed bitterly. It was cold, utterly heartless. “I didn’t do it for you.”

“What do you mean?” You asked, acting puzzled. Finally, Nesta turned to actually face you. There was no trace of warmth in her gaze, no evidence of the soft, gentleness in her features that was there this morning. Slate blue eyes stared at you like chips of ice, unfeeling.

“That dinner was meant to humiliate me, not you.” Nesta snapped. “So don’t pretend you’re the victim of all of this. I wasn’t about to let them walk all over me like dirt.”

“I never said that,” You insisted. “I just meant–”

“I don’t care what you meant,” She interrupted sharply. “I’m not your shield to protect you from them, so don’t treat me like one.”

You kept reminding yourself over and over again that this fight wasn’t real, that it was all just temporary. But you could not keep the bite out of your voice.

“I didn’t ask for you to challenge him like that,” You hissed. “So don’t blame me for your choice just because it’s going to have consequences like you being stuck up here for even longer. I stuck up for you too, you know. And I don’t see you bitching about it.”

“Am I supposed to thank you?” Nesta laughed sharply.

“Friends look out for each other, so maybe, yeah!”

“We are not friends.”

The words hit you like a ton of bricks. You went still, not having to fake your reaction. You knew this was planned, but her words cut you nonetheless. It’s just pretend, you kept telling yourself.

“We aren’t friends, are we?” Your voice was full of venom, not all of it forced. “Who else do you have, Nesta? Who have you not pushed away yet? I am the only person who likes you right now, but you’re making it really fucking hard.”

“I don’t care if you like me or not.”

“Do you care if I hate you?”

“Go ahead, everyone else does. Maybe you can join them now.”

“I see why they do now.”

This time, it was Nesta’s turn to flinch. You regretted the words as soon as you said them. You and her had not discussed how far to push, what limits were in place. Something told you that her flinch was not a planned reaction – your words struck hard, visibly twisting her expression into something else. The fire in her eyes was quenched momentarily, overwhelmed with hurt for a split second before her cold gaze returned.

“Well next time they come to force you to help them, don’t come crying to me about it.” Nesta’s voice didn’t have the same bite to it as it did before – it wobbled slightly at the end, her chin lifting higher as if she could keep at bay any tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. She stood up, leaving her untouched cup of tea on the counter and storming out.

You watched her go, anxiety pooling in your stomach. Had Azriel heard your fight? Did he believe it was real? You really hoped so, for the thought of having to redo an argument with Nesta filled you with dread. Picking at the food on your plate, you told yourself over and over again that none of what you guys said was real, that neither of you actually meant what you had said.

You couldn’t get the image of Nesta’s face out of your head as you told her you can see why the Inner Circle hates her, the way it changed from anger to sadness as if she wasn’t acting at all. You knew something had happened between her and Rhysand’s court that had made those specific words twist her gut like a knife – either that or she was just a really, really good actress.

We are not friends.

That phrase Nesta had spat out congested your thoughts like a swarm of bees. You knew she said it for the sake of the fight, but was there an extent of truth to it? The two of you only crossed paths because you were both prisoners of some sort to the Night Court. You doubted that you’d have met her otherwise, or if she even would have given you a second glance. All your time spent reading books in silence or sipping tea on the balcony, you wondered if it was only because you two just happened to be the only females in the House of Wind.

Did Nesta see you as a friend? You couldn’t figure out your dynamic still – it had only been a short amount of time since you met her, yet it felt like you had known her your whole life. Part of you felt something else for her though, something like friendship but different. You felt like a crushing schoolgirl, but for some reason it felt deeper than that. The fierceness with which she stood up for you at the dinner, the way you two got comfortable with each other so easily, and how you could just tell if she was in the library or not… there was something between you two that you couldn’t figure out what it was.

You weren’t stupid enough to believe that she reciprocated whatever strange feelings you had towards her. Stories of Nesta and Cassian during the way with Hybern crept into every village on Prythian – how she and the war general shared a kiss during the end of the world, wishing they’d had more time together. How Nesta had covered Cassian’s wounded body with her own, preparing to die with him. It was clear that there was something between the Cauldron-born female and the Illyrian general.

What you didn’t know, however, was what happened to them after the war. Whatever had been blossoming between them showed no signs of being present now. Nesta had not spoken about Cassian specifically, snapping at him whenever he tried to tease her around the House. If you hadn’t known about their moment during the war, you’d have thought she hated him. No trace of a promise to die together lingered between the two, only cold empty space. You could tell Cassian was trying with her, in his own unhelpful way. You respected him for it, but wanted to shake him by his obnoxiously broad shoulders and tell him that trying to mold her into a warrior to fight side by side with him was NOT the way to get Nesta to open up.

Cassian was part of the Inner Circle, yet he didn’t appear to be sticking up for Nesta, even after what apparently happened between them during the war. He was Rhysand’s good little soldier, doing his bidding whenever asked. You felt bad for him in a way, having caught glimpses of Cassian looking longingly at Nesta when she turned away from him. It was evident he cared for her in his own way.

But if he truly cared for her, he wouldn’t have let his High Lord and Lady lock Nesta up against her will.

After forcing yourself to eat another bite of your breakfast, you dumped your plate's remains in the bin and placed it in the sink. As you turned to leave, you didn’t dare glance in the direction you suspected Azriel was hidden. He gave no indication of his presence as you trudged up the hallway to your room.

*********************

It had been a few hours since your fake fight with Nesta, and you had remained in your room, sitting by the fireplace with a soft blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Part of you wondered if this plan was a bad idea. As much as you hated them, the Inner Circle was not stupid – they were a group with immense power and knowledge, who were used to sniffing out enemies.

You had felt Rhys and Feyre try and scrape the edges of your mind with their daemati abilities. Luckily, you had been taught from a young age how to shield your mind from such powers. But given what you had heard about the High Lord and Lady, if they really wanted to break your mind they probably could.

Then there was the Morrigan and her power of truth, whatever the fuck that meant. You had no idea what her abilities were other than winnowing and being unable to mind her own business. You had heard of how she fought in the war all those centuries ago, but that was it.

Amren, who you had grown up fearing, was no longer a threat apparently. She had lost her powers in the war, becoming just a high fae – you weren’t sure what she brought forth to the inner circle other than a bad attitude. And Cassian and Azriel were a whole other puzzle entirely.

You prayed none of them would figure out what you had planned with Nesta. Surely they’d believe easily that Nesta would eventually snap at you and damage whatever friendship you had, making it easier for them to swoop in and dig in their claws. That was the easy part, and now you had to keep up the act.

The hard part would be getting to Eris. Somehow, he was involved in the Night Court’s scheming. But you had known him since you became friends with his brother – he hated the Inner Circle, and surely was not working with them for any reason but his own secret agenda.

You guessed you and Eris had that in common, which would make him more inclined to help you. The stories of his cruelty made you uneasy – Lucien had always told you that his brother was too much like his father, relishing in the torment of others. But you had never seen that side of him. Sure, he was cold and untrustworthy, but he had never brought you any harm.

You had no choice but to trust him inevitably.

It would take a while before the Inner Circle would believe your act. They knew you and Nesta wouldn’t just change your minds overnight about working with them. It would take a few weeks, you suspected at the least. Nesta would gain Cassian’s trust, which left you with Azriel.

That’s where you were a little nervous. The spymaster was intimidating and hard to read, known for his unfeeling ability to pry information from enemies with Truth Teller. With Cassian assigned to work with Nesta, you did not doubt Azriel would be tasked with you. Rhysand would likely want to use you as a spy for the Spring Court, making you keep an eye on Tamlin instead of making Lucien do it. Azriel would likely be the one to oversee this, which made you nervous.

But you were willing to do whatever it took to get out of this situation. And maybe get a sense of justice, payback to Feyre for manipulating your own court.

As the fire began to die out, you took a look outside the window. The sun was beginning to set, which meant it was time to leave your first note for Nesta in one of the books. You two had agreed upon a system where you each pick a different book every week and leave notes in the chapters for the other. This week, Nesta would pick a smutty romance book with a red cover, and you would pick the same genre with a blue cover.

You knew Cassian and Azriel would be at dinner now. No doubt would Azriel be telling Cassian about the fight he overheard this morning – Cassian would insist on checking up on Nesta, and Azriel would convince him to give her, and you, some space. Neither Illyrian would be looking for you two, which made the perfect opportunity.

You crept down the hallway, treading as softly as you could. You did not know what spies and systems Azriel and the House had set up, but you wanted to move without being caught if you could. Holding your breath, you entered the reading nook you had shared with Nesta, note in hand. It read:

Nesta, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I hated that fight, even though it was fake. I should have gone a different route with the argument. I care about you, and I don’t hate you and I never will.

Grabbing a blue cover from the romance section, you carefully inserted the note into the first chapter. While no other person in the House showed interest in the reading nook, you were nervous that someone would end up finding the note.

You scolded yourself for thinking like that, and shook your head. You had to trust that the plan would work. As quick and quietly as you entered, you left to return to your room.

When morning came, you forced yourself to sit through breakfast. Nesta was nowhere to be found, and you were itching to race to the bookshelf to see if your note was gone. But you had to wait until a bit later, when you normally took up residence in the reading nook. The wait was excruciating, but finally it was time.

As you scanned the shelves, your hand found a smutty book with a red cover – Nesta’s book. You didn’t even check to see if the note within your own book was gone, you just reached for this one like it was calling to you. Prying open the first couple pages, a piece of parchment slid into your palm. You practically tore it open.

It’s ok. You said what you needed to say. I think it worked, but we’ll find out tomorrow. Let’s get out of here together.

And so it began.

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#nesta archeron x reader #acotar #acosf #nesta archeron #nesta archeron supremacy #nesta archeron x eris vanserra #eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #neris #nesta x eris #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #sjm #nessian #nessian friendship #acotar fic #spring court #tamlin #pro tamlin #anti inner circle #inner circle slander #anti feysand #anti rhysand #anti feyre archeron #anti morrigan #anti mor #anti amren #lucien vanserra #night jourt #elucien

[bloodycassian]

Home is for the Heartless - (DEVOTION AND DESIRE PART FOUR) - PART ONE HERE . PART TWO HERE . PART THREE HERE 

Az landed with a huff of exertion, deep in the forests outside Illyria. His chest ached, not in the normal way. This was intense, it was like a searing stab of a hot brander. A spike going straight through him and embedding itself in his lungs. He writhed on the ground, clutching at himself as he fought for air. 

 He had to go, he had to move. He had to get help. "Ahh-" He hissed, holding back the trembling his body wanted to fall into. He was dying. He was sure of it. A darkness soft as velvet stroked something deep inside his mind, something calling to him. He pushed, and pushed against it with all he had. It was alluring, he fought it though, fought as best he could. He found the strength to get up, just for a moment. But when he tried to fly, he found his wings were quivering with exertion of just standing. 

 He tried to move his legs, his feet...anything. Yet he found he couldnt get a damn inch on them. He could barely see through the tears. His fingers dug deep into his tunic, as if he could rip out his own heart. He fought his shadows that had been building. they swarmed him, Az tried to get them to stay away so he could fix himself.

 Yet they proved more powerful, and with their darkness, he found himself on the floor of the House of wind. 

 Along with shattering plates and glass, and caretakers running. There was shouting, but he couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t make out the words over the pounding in his ears. 

  The lavender curtains were whipping across the open dining area, and the air wasn't the normal cold of winter winds coming from Illyria. They were harsher, drier than normal. His shadows did not play, and float in the wind as they normally would have. No, they wrapped around him tighter than ever, pressing into him. Nearly suffocatingly so. 

 When the screaming began, the high pitched wail that sounded much like a gail force wind... He knew the exact origin of it. That space in his chest seemed to bloom with brightness and joy, and his mind grabbed for that ribbon that he'd fought so hard to put a barrier against. 

 That joy turned to cold, brutal alarm that set off every primal instinct inside him. 

  He was up, running before he could think of the implications of it. His shadows shot out before him - heading straight for the ice and wind sheild that whirled around you. Your body limp inside made his heart thunder with adrenaline.

 "Mine, mine, help, save, get her out." The shadows screamed to him. Then, they darted to the sides of that shield around you and sunk into it, slowly. Like an avalanche over a mountainside, they crashed and fought with the tendrils of cold that protected you. "Winter- winter soul." They hissed, fighting not to recoil. 

 They wrapped around you slowly, their silken fingers centering you again. Pulling you down, easing that cold away. They sang around you like a distant lullabye. 

 Rhys and Cassian appeared just behind your form, weapons drawn. Az's spirit flamed with rage, and extra tendrils of his shadows shout out towards them. They blasted into his brothers with enough force to drive them backwards. The flurry of wind and icy rain lessened more and more as those silken shadows caressed you, over your arms, your middle, and into your hair. They wrapped around like a blanket of warmth and safety. A part of your mind settled at their touch.

 Once you were on the balcony floor, Az rushed to you. That strange formal gown of winter court was splattered with blood. He roared, and his shadows cast the two of you into a deep shade. He couldn’t believe what was before him. The female he couldn't stop thinking about for months now. The one that refused to leave his mind. His hands shook as he approached. The air around you was as cold as any peak of Illyria, colder even. And your lips... his stomach clenched around the horror of what he saw. 

 Your lips were blue, nearly purple. Your skin was splotched in red where his darkness had touched. He shied away from those parts when he rested his hands on you. He lowered his ear to your chest, his own heart beating out of time with what was normal. He didn't feel real, and for a moment he wondered if he was dead. If he had died in that forest and this was his afterlife. A life of somehow getting to be with you, no matter how it happened.

 But with Rhys' dark presence booming overhead, it became very clear that the moment was real. And that Rhys was ready to throttle his spy. Cassian held his shoulder and watched Rhys approach the two on the floor together. Azriel was... motionless. Like a statue he lay over you, his head to your chest. He didnt even breathe. 

 When Rhys attempted to see into the female's mind again, it still had that shining barrier. Only now it was much, much stronger. It repelled him from her mind, even as she lay unconscious. Stunned, Rhys took a step back in awe. Those luminous walls were gargantuan compared to before, and colder than anything he ever felt - even growing up in Illyria.

 Cassian tensed, readying himself for whatever Az may do when his head slowly rose from your chest. His eyes bloodshot, the wrinkle between his brows drawing a permanent line there. "She's alive." he was  able to say through a shaking voice. Cassian had never seen a male so torn. 

 "What the hell was that?" 

"How is she here?" 

 Both Cas and Rhys asked at the same time. 

 The shadowsinger found his throat too tight to speak. A lump formed deep inside his chest, something of warmth, but tinged with guilt and the darkness of betrayal. It was not similar to the darkness of his own gifts, but of grief and sadness. 

 Az looked to the female before him, her hair a mess on the damp balcony. The corners of your eyes held crystalline tears. 

 +

 The nightmares were unending, and repetitive. Each replay brought fourth a new horror though. Instead of Viviannes' lifeless body before Kai, it was yours. And Kai would rise with his hands forming frost, his already white hair even brighter.

 Then, it would be your father's bleeding body in your lap, not Kallis. And he would look into your eyes and smile. 

 +

 Azriel was notoriously non religious. But the coincidence of his mate landing straight on his doorstep seemed like something that would change a lesser male's mind. He brooded at the top of the stairs that led down into the prison they'd kept you in months ago. He sharpened a collection of daggers while he waited for you to wake. 

 His family tried to get him to rest, tried to switch places with so he could even have a meal at the table. But he refused. He was awake two and a half days straight before he finally succumbed to his exhaustion. 

 He woke not two hours later. There was now a table to the side of the chair. A pitcher of water and a plate of meat and cheese there. The handwritten note on top of it all scented of a kitchen doused with desserts. He opened it hesitantly, as if a monster would pop out of it. “Take care of yourself. -E”

 His face went red all the way to the tips of his ears. He got up so fast it made his vision disappear for a moment. He took the tray of food and shadowstepped to the main balcony before he knew what he was doing.  He flung it over the edge and sent the food sailing across the forest far down below. The metal tray shone in the moonlight, then, it was gone. 

 He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t need to eat. He would let the howling of his stomach consume him, it was the least he could do for causing others so much pain. He could take just a portion of that pain himself, and maybe feel a little better about existing.

 He did not sleep again.

 +

 Mor brought you fresh pitchers of water daily, even though they were just as full as they had been the day before. She changed out the snacks at the bedside table too. Every day she went down there, Azriel at the top of the steps seemed to grow more and more relaxed with her doing so. His protectiveness the first day had only let her by because she carried everything you'd possibly need. 

 "Dont make me come get you." He'd threatened, his dark eyes locked on hers through his lashes. The chair he sharpened his knives in was well worn, the large rich leather one from his room. Mor had never seen him use it, but there was always a stack of changing books beside it. 

 "Dont make me be late." She said, moving to squeeze by him. But he didn't budge. His shadows raced up her body, and she could nearly feel the tingle of inspection they were now telling Az about. The shadowmaster's chest moved rapidly. That was when Mor realized just how serious he was. 

 He'd never looked at her that way. Not even after her and Cassian had been together. The pure animalistic protectiveness there shook her. Az was never like this. He'd never been one to show how riled he was, and he'd never go to block a path. He would normally find a different, more passive way to prevent whatever was happening. 

 Not a direct threat. 

 "Do you want to take this down there, then?" She offered him the bag of clothes. He cringed away, and sighed. "Go ahead. Make it quick." He allowed after a moment of weighing his options. He'd only allowed Cassian and Mor in since then. Cassian only to make sure that you were still alive down there during the long days waiting for you to wake. 

+

“You need to get everything from her. This isn’t something I would push if-”

“Absolutely not.” Azriel snarled at his high lord. Rhys’ lip curled at the challenge. Cassian stood by, and knew which of the brothers he had to side with if it came to a fight. They had no other options, they needed to know why the female was here. 

“You will, Azriel.” The command in Rhysand’s voice nearly made Cassian quiver to the order. Az’s eyes glazed over, and those shadows slowed around him, like a snake waiting to strike. “We need to know what happened. Whos blood it was.” Rhys’ voice went soft, and the thought of that dark blood on the ruined gown made Az’s skin pricked with bumps. 

He knew damn well that the blood wasn’t yours. He could scent it from the moment he held you. His shadows told him you didn’t have a cut on you. Yet that thing inside his head was screaming and writhing in agony beyond that wall he’d put up against yours. It felt like someone burning with pain. Like how his hands had felt when he was young and recovering from what his family had done to him. 

It burned with emotion. An emotional pain that may as well have been real. It being real may have been a relief - he could stop that pain for you. He could protect you from it. But this… whatever had happened.. He swore he’d cut down whoever -whatever- had done this.

Cassian gave Az an apologetic smile from behind Rhys. 

He said nothing to the two, just gave each of them a glare before taking the potion Rhys offered and heading down the stairs. His shadows lingered around the two males behind him, waiting to see if they’d attack. Az called them back, with the minimal energy he had to do so. They did reluctantly. 

He still felt the twinge of sadness from Rhys, and the step forward from Cas when Rhys shook his head at him. It made Az’s heart pump harder, the torment of this task flooding him like a raging fire.  

He tried to still himself, prepare for what he was about to do. Like readying for battle, only this seemed much, much harder.

+

Azriel didn’t know how he would stand it. He didn’t know if he could even stay in the same room as his mate for an entire dinner. The most time he’d spent with you was when he was invading your mind, sickeningly pulling out the memories of your wedding. It nearly sent him into a frenzy seeing Kai swear those sacred words to you. He only held back from listening to his instincts by remembering he was in your head, and it was not his place to put anger there. 

Then, Kai had killed Kallis. And Vivanne. He nearly shrieked with the shared pain you felt. As sick as it was, he was still relieved that you hadn’t been hurt. After that, there was a snapping, like giant ice glaciers preparing to fall from a great height. Cold seeped into the memory, deep and unrelenting. Then it dropped, it was gone as if it had been shoved into pitch darkness. 

He slowly worked his way from your mind, using that bond as a guide rope back out. And when he was back in his own body, seeing through his own mind again… he stared at you and let the tears fall in mourning on your behalf. The guilt crushed him. It pitched him into a deep cold place that reminded him of the basement he’d grown up in. 

And he deserved it. He deserved every damned injury, every trauma that ever happened to him just for going into your mind alone. His stomach roiled with nausea at the thought of what you would think of him doing such a thing. 

He would kill Rhys before doing that again. He swore it to the mother. 

He gathered the empty potion, and promptly left. The weight of it in his hand felt heavier than a sword or shield, it felt like an enormous heavy weighted ball filled with guilt. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to live down the drugging. He’d done it to enemies to get answers but to you… He had to bury it deep in his mind to be able to even start. He trudged up the stairs with that heavy weight- Ignoring that shattering piece of his heart that left its shreds with you when he walked away.

He went to his room, the broken door still only shutting crookedly. He hadn’t let Rhys fix it. The wards were gone, but the paranoia of it being shut forever again… it lingered. He walked in the blackness with expertise of someone who knew their home. He avoided the rugs, not wanting to get his dirty bootprints on them. 

When he reached the balcony, he waited only a second to observe the stars and the moonless night before hucking the empty glass to the forest below. He did not hear it land.

+

Dread. The thought of returning home with the sickening news was complete dread in Feyre’s stomach. She’d been watching the front of battle - if it could be called that - then it just seemed to stop. Summer troops pulled back, and the northerners didn’t know what to make of it. So, they made up the ground they’d lost. It had been devastating to watch so many of her people, and Helions, Thesans.. One by one fall to the ground. Never to get up. 

Mor appeared at her side atop a chill outcropping of rock. “There may be a problem.” She said. Feyre’s heart sunk. What could be more of a problem to the situation at hand? Hundreds of fae dying for a few miles of land. 

“The winter court female… she’s- at the house.” Mor didn’t know how to explain it. Didn’t know what ot make of the sudden appearance of her, or the shield Rhys had shown Mor in his memory. Only that it was similar to Feyre’s shield when she’d rescued her from Tamlin’s manor. That day seemed cloudy and far away now.

Mor showed her high lady the thoughts, letting her enter her mind in that careful way she always did. When she was finished, her face was pale. “That was like mine, wasn’t it?” Feyre asked quietly. Mor couldn’t answer, seeing that dazed look in Feyre’s bright eyes was confirmation enough that she already knew. She remembered who and what she’d been with Tamlin, how she’d been trained to lose her fight. A cat being declawed.

“She’s the new high lor- lady?” Feyre’s voice dropped to a husky whisper. She’d been the first high lady, only because of the power bestowed upon her by all the other lords. But to be born with it… it was unheard of. 

“Rhys thinks so, after what Az showed him.” Mor said, looking out to the vast plain of snow that they stood far above. Her hair whipped against her neck, plastering to her forehead as the wind tore at them from the side. She’d always appreciated the devastating, cruel beauty of Winter court and it’s steep peaks and neverending plains like this… but it seemed too jagged for her. Too harsh for what her soul needed. 

“Tell Rhys I’ll be back in a few days.” Feyre got up and started pulling on her pack, and was gone before Mor could tell her anything else.

+

The Morrigan was either the most cordial host to ever exist, or they were really trying to pull one over on you. She’d served you each of your meals for three days after waking. She had brought you clothes, and even some makeup to make the bruise like bags under your eyes look a bit more appealing. 

She wore the same shade of eyeshadow as you. You didn’t want to think about why, exactly you were wearing it at all. 

But it was the only thing that you’d done in days besides read or sleep. If you didn’t think about what was about to happen, you’d end up thinking of Kallis’s cold dead eyes, or how the citizens of winter court were likely being terrorized now. Especially with you being gone from Kai’s wrath.. 

You tried to replay the moments just after Kai’s murders while Mor walked you up the stairs. It distracted you from the nerves in your stomach about the meeting. Well, she had called it a ‘dinner’ , you didn’t believe it. This court was the one known for cruelty and unflinching sacrifice. They wouldn’t have a casual evening dinner together. 

Kai had killed the high lord..then what? You’d collapsed, rage and terror throwing your body into a river of outright pain. A pain of the very soul, it seemed like. In the moment your aunt and uncle had died, it felt as if your heart and soul froze over. As if you were now hardening to the world becoming a new person. You wore that cold mask with ease now, even after thinking of their deaths.

The mask became hard to hold only when the night court’s high ranking officials showed up. And were strangely lovely. 

You weren’t sure if the female in front of you was even real. She was stunningly, gracefully gorgeous in a way that most fae… never had. It was peculiar. She managed to have all the fluidity, and the skill of a Fae. Yet something about her was warmer, different than the icy sharp angles of Fae looks. 

She placed the sweet rolls in the center of the dining table. They smelled like winter and celebration, and as if they’d warm your very soul. They steamed with their delicious scent, and it made your mouth water. “Let me know what you think, I’m not used to the kitchen here.” She said, her voice soft, and warm, just as her looks. 

“Thank you.” You managed, not making eye contact with her. She was open, inviting. Like she was waiting for you to tell her everything you knew. 

“Elain-” A sharper voice called. The tone of it made you jump, and turn to see who else was making their way to the dining area. Mor had winnowed only a little while ago after showing you to the massive common area. She’d promised she would be back quickly, but with so many people now showing up.. The loss of her familiar presence made you tense. 

You looked to the corner where Azriel had been sitting when she led you up the stairs. That big leather armchair still stood there, but without the male. He’d muttered something about going to find the others before his form shifted, and he misted away on a ghost of shadow and wind. Mor shook her head, but didn’t say anything of it. 

Now, the large male with red siphons landed on the balcony. His massive wings swooped in a gust of cool air that ruffled your messy hair. “Morning ladies.” He called to the soft female - Elain.. And the other- “I didn’t know you could cook Nesta.” The brute laughed, and confidently strode towards the deadly looking female. Nesta. The name didn’t seem to fit her face, the way she carried herself. 

She was very much the sister of Elain, despite their different looks. And you could see just Feyre poked through in their resemblances. 

But this one, Nesta...she looked like she could be called something more vicious, unforgiving. Even as she carried the tray of pie to the table. The male sniffed, and just as Nesta was putting the steaming bake on the table, the Illyrian’s finger scooped a drop of dark filling from the top of the pie. He tasted it and hummed. Nesta glared at him.

That glare second hand made you want to flinch away. You made a mental note to never, ever be at the receiving end of that stare. 

“Cassian, get your fat dumb fingers away-” She smacked his hand and Elain giggled from her seat a few spaces down from you. 

“Normally you like my fat dumb fingers, Nes.”  He purred with a wink, leaving Nesta motionless as he claimed his spot near the other end of the table. They all seemed so real. Very, intensely real. With care and warmth and..kinship with each other. Not like Kai had been. Or even Kallis. 

Kallis.

Any thought of happiness left you. Your face fell, and a pit in your stomach opened. A cold breeze passed through the room. The three all glanced with pinched looks towards the swaying curtains. Cassian spared a quick look to you, then. But he quickly returned to his friendly conversation with Elain. Something about the vegetables - or gardening. You couldn’t tell.

The roaring in your ears was too much. The blood - Kallis’s blood.. Vivianne’s final words to Kai… You’d tried avoiding the memories until you were alone to scream and cry and grieve for them. For the only family you’d known other than your father. 

Gods, what if Kai found your father?

The tension in your shoulders came to a peak just as Rhysand and Mor arrived. Your relief was short lived, those memories still clawing at your mind. 

“Feyre will not be joining us.” He said, his eyes darting to the billowing curtains. His smile wasn’t the one you’d seen before. Not that cunning, cutting look of someone who knew just how much power they had. This was like what Mor’s had been when she had greeted you, and offered you dinner at their table. It was welcoming, inviting. 

The room seemed to come together then, like a puzzle of people all knowing just where they belonged. Rhys of course sat at the head of the table, with Cassian at his side. The other two chairs on the opposite side remained empty. After that gap sat Elain, then Nesta. You were thankful for sitting opposite of the nicer sister, perhaps she would comfort you to some degree. 

“Amren?” Cassian asked. How the hell could they have so many advisors for such a small city as Velaris? It seemed to be the only habitable city in the entire court, despite it’s size. 

“Is busy.” Rhys folded his hands together on top of the table and set those vibrant eyes straight to you. “Care for anything in particular?” He asked with a genuine smile. 

“Where is-” You began, voice only slightly ragged from the sobs that had wracked your body the entire night. It’d been that way every night you’d been awake now. You rarely had any sleep, the nightmares always waking you up. 

“Azriel will be here shortly.” the high lord smiled, not in a knowing way.. But in a way that seemed genuinely happy that his spy would be there. 

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the correct assumption he’d made. 

You picked at your food and listened to the idle conversation of the group. It wasnt anything informative, just casual speaking. But they all regarded each other as good friends, family even. The way Cassian’s booming laugh filled the hall made the rest of them join him.

When Azriel finally arrived, the chatter stopped. He stalked to his seat - the second from Rhy’s seat next to an empty chair and sat, never looking at a single one of them. He kept his eyes focused on the small candle in front of him, in the middle of the table. 

Something inside your mind seemed to be humming, distantly wailing to you. Calling, over and over again. It sang and rose and fell like the sea waves had done at the summer court. 

And it was completely gone when Rhys cleared his throat and announced what he brought the group together for. 

Rhys glanced to Feyre, who gave him a warm smile before he looked back to you with that too intense stare. “We would like to formally request that you ally yourself with us.”

The breath left you in a stunned gasp.

#DEVOTION AND DESIRE FIC #ACOTAR #READER X AZRIEL #ITS A SLOWBURN I WARNED YALL #AZRIEL FIC

[lightwormlol]

ACOFAS REVIEW -INC SPOILERS

4.5 stars.

Okay, so! This was the first book I was able to finish in 2021. I've kinda been in a reading slump, and struggling to get past the 30-50% of books. I think its because I took essentially 3 months off my normal (daily) reading schedule and have been prioritising other things (health, fitness, job applications etc) - I think it's a testament to how addicted I was to this that I finished and consumed this at the rate I did! I recently went back and added some things to my ACOWAR review. To briefly summarise, I feel that, at the time I read it, it kind of gave me what I needed, but it definitely isn't getting a re read - my love for feysand has definitely lessened over time, but honestly i'm not that mad at sarah for this, as I find that whenever I've passed the sexual tension part of relationships in books, I tend to get bored of the domestic bliss. Like, leave that shit for an epilogue and keep it at that? As someone generally averse to relationships, but there is definitely a grace period for how long I can actively be smitten with a couple... before it becomes sickly. Taking all this into account, I honestly was nervous for this book, its release date totally took me by surprise, and I read it on a whim. As a Nessian shipper (I mean we didn't really have a choice after acomaf but to delve into the world of fanfic to keep us going) - this book gave me most of what I wanted and needed from them! I think,(some) kudos to SJM, for not disappointing in their relationship. This was definitely a character > plot driven story. In terms of the plot, I wasn't really invested until around the 38% mark? I'm not sure if I was adjusting to the writing style (lots of dramatic. sentences. that. are. so. abrupt. Nesta Archeron. Death etc) - or if it was bc I hadn't read an SJM book since the novella, which I basically skimmed. I was obviously reading for Nessian, but I didn't really feel intrigued by the wider plot (death gods, the human queens? Given I had lost my previous obsession with the world/ have outgrown 'fandom' culture, that made me actively update my knowledge, I couldn't remember a lot!) I think its clear that SJM excels character driven stories, but I think her worldbuilding and execution is significantly better in the throne of glass franchise. Now, I did say this was a character driven story. This is mostly regarding Nesta, Cassian and Azriel. I loved pretty much any interaction they had! I love a good training montage. Ngl though, I think, unless you possess an ardent love for Nessian, you're not going to be particularly wowed by this, if you've read heir of fire, or even acomaf. I obviously am never going to be able to be objective, because I've loved nessian so much from 2017-now, but I loved the dynamic those two (and three - friendship wise between nes/cass/az). One of the highlights of ACOWAR for me was the snippets of Az, showing tenderness, and opening up to the newer members of the inner circle (and i'm excluding any hint of an Elriel ship because FUCK THAT LOL) For me, the tip with SJM books is: once you outgrow them/the particular mode of narrative style, is to not anticipate anything other than a character driven story, albeit one riddled with smut. I personally am a romance heavy reader, so I'm honestly deconditioned to it at this point, (like, when I see reviewers scandalised I'm like... wow, the amount of trash I have consumed in the last five years loool.) While I disagree with the fact SJM marketed this series as y/a (or maybe it wasn't her per se, but the key booksellers definitely did this for her) - I think its clear enough now she's descended into the adult/borderline erotica genre.(very mild imo). I personally like to adopt a policy of skimming sex scenes when I find the dialogue cringy (most the time it is lets be honest any talking is v second hand embarrassment). Cassian and Nesta were definitely better than Rhys and Feyre post chapter 55 though! I was so glad there weren't a million moments of Cass/Nesta betraying their arousal with their scents, in front of everyone (like feysand, the voyeuristic pda pricks they are). I found the slowburn ish nature of their relationship great, and I actually think if you're a virgo/emotionally stunted reader, you will be happy with their relationship dynamic. It contrasts with the daemati sexual snark of acomaf, but it felt right, and authentic. This book was a journey of personal growth, for Nesta. It is clear SJM loves books about strong women, and maybe thats what makes me love this book so much. I think, out of all the archeron sisters, I love Nesta the most. This is for my Rose Calloway fans, my misunderstood, somewhat cold/left out girls, who are less receptive to being vulnerable. If you're a slowburn fan, it's not Mariana Zapata levels of slowburn, imo it's the perfect combo. Addictive enough that I don't want to put it down, but not so fast moving that I couldn't believe it. I loved the sex without emotion relationship they had!! This is honestly never done in mainstream n/a fantasy, unless its a caricature of a 'slut' that normally rivals the main character, lmao. Even if their inner conflict was p transparent, this gave me everything I needed! I know this is vapid lol but I also love the physical dynamic between the two, they just look so good together, the amount of fanart I'm going to reacquaint myself with after this review!! I adored seeing Nesta grow, (even if towards the end I kind of resented her sudden acceptance into the inner circle, i get SJM loves her and just wanted a fluffy ending, but, as a Nesta like character, it's awkward and stilted on her end to adjust to the inner circle like this - i mean, hugging rhys, really??)

I think, if I had to compare this to any other SJM book, I would say Chaols book (though I obviously preferred this). That being said, I felt less attached to new characters in this book than I was in even Chaols book (and even then ngl I remember nothing?) Obviously I loved what it represented, as a trio of traumatised women. I just, didn't love this the way I loved other inner circle members! I get that they gave Nesta exactly what they needed, a family that doesn't hold the history of her sisters, who she doesn't have to worry about holding preconceived notions of disappointment. I loved this for her! Even then.. I just wasn't attached to either of them. I found their interactions cute - but boring. Towards the end, when their stories/pasts are revealed, I couldn't help but cringe slightly, I can't put my finger on why, but I just didn't buy it. Maybe it's the brit in me but I couldn't be moved by this slightly forced bonding moment.. which was so anticlimactic. My 'aww how cute' tolerance is defo deserved for characters whose tropes I love. Maybe they just didn't fit into this list. Maybe I'm just being a cow here?

Now, let's speak about the real star of the show.... A FUCKING MAGICAL HOUSE FRIEND??? YESSSSSSS. IF YOU ARE AN ILONA ANDREWS INNKEEPERS CHRONICLES FAN, U WILL LOVE! How was the animation of this somehow more touching than all of nesta's other friendships combined? Exactly what I ordered, thank you. This trope somehow touches more than any material bonding!! The cute witch x house dynamic (also maybe howls moving castle vibes?) I loved the trying to reach the target of 10,000 steps (a little Celaena HOF). I think this, heir of fire and acomaf are my favourite SJM books for this reason. Gripes: I definitely had some personal gripes with how other members of the inner circle treated Nesta (rhys i'm looking at you. Disappointed doesn't even cover it.) I inherently take offence to any elain scene, as i'm so over bland characters whose existence is reduced to wanting to fucking plant flowers?? like?? really? To go from moriel to that is such a downgrade, even if I fell out of love with Mor due to the way she snubbed Nesta (you're a 500 year old being and you can't see someone is clearly traumatised?). I adore Az so much, but if it aint polyamorous, I cannot see any pairing with Elain making me happy. (wouldn’t mind gwyn though) I think the whole mating bond that I do not want is a good dynamic, but I really hate that everyone has to be mates in this world. I don't think we were that surprised, but it would've been nice if the somehow, idk, developed a strong bond over time, without it being preordained? Like, even if they do not all actively stay with their mate, given how disproportionate mates are among the general population, what's the likelihood 6 members of the inner circle (including lucien) have mates?

My advice? Read this book if you love nessian and the acotar world in general, but don't expect the world building to be consistent with greater fantasy series'. This style of story is obviously what to expect. She writes what she likes, and if her fantasy is this - then who are we, as readers, to expect otherwise?

Final rating: 4.5 (no, i'm not objective, but objectivity does not exist if you are a real, human being, lol)

Original Characters: 5/5 (nessian/az/house wise) 1/5 (feysand - really over how they essentially take over the very end of the book - ugh, I wanted nesta's arc to be wholly separate from them) Writing style: 3.5 Cringe Scale: Low, with the exception of some dialogue. New Characters: 2 Plot: I went into it with a 2 and came out with a 4. Not in terms of complexity, but in terms of how addictive and enjoyable this reading experience was! (less)

#acofas #sjm #sarah j maas #acotar #nesta #nesta archeron #nessian

[nomattertheoceans]

There have been so many new people following me this last month omg

Thank you so much to everybody, I’m so so happy you stumbled upon my blog and decided to stay!!!!!

Since I think most of you followed me for my Feysand fics, I thought I would make this post to let you know a few general things about me and my blog :)

I’m French, so my English isn’t always great. I’m 25, and I live in South America, so I’m not on the European time zone, I’m closer to the US time zone (GMT -5). You can always come talk to me, about anything, in my DM’s or in my ask box, anon is always on.

Things I blog about, mostly:

- Sarah J Maas, mainly her ACOTAR series. I ship Feysand (I think this is obvious from my fics hahaha), I do not ship either Elriel nor Elucien, and I don’t really have strong opinion on Nesian. I want Mor to find the love of her life really soon, and I want Azriel to stop feeling entitled to her affection. I also wish Nesta going to the Mountains won’t turn her into a warrior because I want her to read books and drink tea all day long. Although, I’m really critical of the sisters’ general behaviour so I’m not always positive about them.

- Leigh Bardugo, mainly the books from the Grishaverse. I would die for Kanej and Zoyalai. I have many, many feelings about them and can’t wait for King of Scars 2 because I can’t wait to have my heart destroyed. I think Alarkling is an abusive ship and I do blog about that, I also think the Darkling is just an entitled abuser and I hate him. So... yeah no Darkling love here ^^’

- Brooklyn 99, mostly Peraltiago but really the entire show is gold and I blog about it often. Often without tags so... sorry x) If you ask me to tag it I will try to be better :) 

- His Dark Materials, the show AND the books. If you haven’t read the books, but are watching the show, my blog isn’t safe because I am talking about the books a lot!!!!! BUT everything that relates to the books is tagged #hdm books so you can avoid spoilers in my blog if you filter this tag. ALSO these books are a personal obsession, and my favorite book series, since I was nine so I.... have a lot of feelings. About a lot of things.

- Harry Potter. I hate Snape with a passion, I can rage about him for hours on end, and I do share anti Snape stuff. I also hate Dumbledore for forcing Harry to leave with his abusive family for 17 years. I ship Hinny and Romione, I LOVE Ron and I will defend him from the haters always, I identify 2000% with Hermione, and Ginny is my favorite character. Harry is bisexual and no you cannot change my mind. I do not consider The-Play-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to be canon, and I have very mixed feelings about the Fantastic Beasts series. I also have a very love/hate relationship with JK Rowling because I love what she created but she doesn’t seem to understand her characters, she doesn’t seem to care anymore, plus she’s a TERF and probably a homophobe so yeah... I hate her and I talk about it.

- Random stuff: A LOOOOOT of it!! Stupid jokes, cute photos of animal, art that I like, movies, books, TV series I like,..... Sorry my blog is not well maintained hahaha

- Other people’s fanfic: Okay so I have a job that takes up most of my time and energy. So I have very little spare time to read and write, and most of the time, I chose to write. Which means I am very bad at keeping track of what’s happening around me in the fanfic universe. BUT I am always willing to check out someone’s writing!!!! I might not do it right away because of lack of time but I would love it :) I’m really bad at recommendations though because I have so little time hahaha

The things I write

Here’s my masterlist :) You can also read all of it on AO3 !

- Original story: I don’t blog much about it, but I’m developping an original story that is basically sci-fi/apocalyptic. I looooove it and I am always open to answer things about it!!!! I might try to share more about it in the time to come ^^

- Non-Feysand fics. I don’t write a lot of these hahahaha but I do sometimes write some Peraltiago, some Kanej, and I have a few Jily/Wolfstar/Marauders projects, but I don’t think I will post them any time soon.

- Feysand fics. aka most of what I write hahahaha I love them and their relationship is an endless source of inspiration for me. Here are details of what’s happening right now, and what’s coming hopefully soon.

Current projects:

Feysand Holiday Fluff Fest: The reason I think most of you are following me ^^ A series of fluff prompts I’m writing for this month, it’s really fun for me because I have a tendency of writing very long stories and it’s a fresh feeling stopping at one-shots.

If you hold me close: It’s a modern fake dating AU, Feyre doesn’t want to go alone to her sister’s wedding and invites Rhys, but then they end up faking being in a relationship. I was thinking I would tag everyone who asked me to be in the tag list for the holiday fluff, but you can always ask me to untag you, I will not take it personnally I swear!!! Your personal experience is what matters :)

Staying Afloat: My baby, I love this fic so much it’s impossible to explain how much I do. I want everyone to love it and tell me what they think. This fic tackles some tough subjects though, mainly domestic abuse (Feyre is dating Tamlin for a good part of it). It’s also very angsty, and a very long slowburn hahahaha @tonystarksbish is my amazing beta reader and general main supporter, she’s honestly the reason I write that many things now. Go check her writing blog ( @somanyshipsss )

Future projects:

A Feysand college AU, mostly written from Rhysand’s point of view. I’m planning for it to be around 15 chapters, maybe? But it might get longer hahahaha

Some one-shots, some canon campliant, some in modern AUs, but all of them being published at an unknown date, depending on when inspiration strikes hahahaha

A project that is basically dumb and silly and that I started TODAY with @quakeriders (if you don’t know what she writes, go to her blog right now), we might post it and tell you more but basically Rhys is canon!Rhys and Feyre is a dumbass human from modern time who’s chilling around in a Stitch onesie. It’s really silly but we LOVE it!!!!! I can’t wait to share it with you guys it’s gonna be so fun ^^ (But not before the end of the month at least!)

Completed projects:

I made you a promise, it’s basically a mostly fluff modern AU, Feyre and Rhys meet at a bar and start dating! It’s been complete for a while now but sometimes I still post random headcanons or short or less short snippets of the story, generally according to request from people (well, from @quakeriders really hahaha) so you can send me requests if you want extensions or headcanons!!

I am ALWAYS open to prompts!!!!!!!! I love them and I will love you if you send me some. BUT I might not answer right away because inspiration is a bitch hahaha

Anyway, I think that’s it, I hope you all are having a great day, and I love you all so much for liking what I write, you bring me so much joy that I could hug all of you and it still wouldn’t be enough ^^

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Thirteen

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Canon typical violence. A walk through Velaris turns for the worse and the secrets of The Book are finally revealed...

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

It would seem I was wrong. It does not take much for Bethsevah Mordeigh to turn. 

I should be ashamed, but the more often Thanatos keeps coming back, the more I come to like him. Make no mistake, he’s as dangerous and volatile as a starving animal, but compared to his siblings he’s a saint. 

I saw him kill a male yesterday. One who stumbled upon our hidden ceremony and threatened to come back with Koschei’s army and crush us and the Mother beneath his boot. 

But with a snap of Thanatos’s fingers the nameless fae was gone. Gone in a gust of red wind that smelled and tasted like metal. And Thanatos looked stronger for it. His pale skin stopped being so translucent. His hair looked a touch darker, so dark it swallowed all light. A piece cut away from the fabric of the world. 

Death is his food. Him and his siblings feed on it and crave it like nothing else. 

Except for me. 

Thanatos says he craves me. And I think I believe him. I think I’m beginning to crave him too. 

Gwyn froze when the mountain’s door slid back. Azriel stood outside Cagniv Library with a bouquet of salt-white water lilies clutched in one hand and pale blue tulips in the other. 

“Azriel,” you smiled brightly, the last word you’d meant to speak to Gwyn dying on your lips. “What’re you doing here?”

The midday sun beat down on the face of the mountain, shortening the shadows around your feet. 

“I was coming from the House of Wind and was hoping you’d take a long walk home with me. These are for you.” He held out the tulips. “And for you.” He held out the lilies for Gwyn, which she accepted after a brief moment of hesitance. 

Azriel looked… lighter. His shadows were stronger than ever, clinging to his body like a second scent, but his eyes held a fondness and love for you that Gwyn had never seen before. Not when he was looking at Mor, not when he was looking at Elain… not when he was looking at her. It was so obvious to Gwyn’s eyes, she was amazed you hadn’t caught on yet. You just looked at the flowers with a touch of color flooding your cheeks. Bashful and uncertain of how to accept such a gift. 

“Thank you.” You touched the velvety petals between your fingers as though they might crumble if you weren’t gentle. 

“Yes. Thank you.” 

Azriel looked at Gwyn, that small smile of his faltering and then growing once more when Gwyn nodded her head. It was a silent acknowledgement. A quiet understanding that didn’t completely escape your notice. 

I’m not happy with you. Gwyn’s eyes spoke. But I understand. Her teal eyes flashed protectively. Don’t fuck this up.

“I assume I’ll be seeing you tomorrow?” Gwyn smirked at you and nudged her shoulder with your own, feeling the soft give of her skin and the strength in her arms. 

“Where else would I be?”

“At home. Sleeping.”

“Pffft. Sleep is for the weak.” 

“Careful. You’re starting to sound like Az. Now shoo.” Gwyn waved you off, watching as you took the arm that Azriel offered and made your way down the smooth steps of the mountain back to the city. 

You bowed your heads together, lips barely moving and cutting out two dark silhouettes in the air. Azriel must have said something funny because your gentle laugh carried itself on the wind, weaving into the air like silver thread. Gwyn couldn’t help but smile at you. 

If she knew what was about to happen, she would have never let you leave the library. 

“They’re in love.” 

Azriel looked sideways at you, catching the sweet scent of your hair as you leaned against him. The Palace of Hoof and Leaf buzzed with quiet energy, the air tinged with the scent of sugar from the confectionary booths. 

“Who?”

“Beth and Thanatos.” 

The book rocked against your hip, matching the beat of you and Azriel’s steps as you walked through the cobblestone marketplace. Lanterns hung unlit from the arches above, bobbing on wire like the bubbles that a pair of hawk-winged children were blowing from the steps of a peach-stone apartment. The girl, blue-eyed and red-haired, nudged the boy, pointing at the Shadowsinger with something like awe. Azriel offered them a faint smile and a few tendrils of his shadows licked at their feet as they scampered away with laughter. It was just a game to them after all. 

“I didn’t think he was capable of love,” Azriel noted. He thought back to the memories you’d unearthed with your powers and of the violent ways Thanatos had inched his way into Beth’s life. Wherever he lingered, death followed. But so far as you knew, he was also incredibly protective of Beth and the other priestesses. They’d benefited from his presence even if they were unnerved by it. He’d kept them hidden from Koschei.

“Beth didn’t think so either.” You flinched when one of the marketplace hawkers held his hand out to you. He didn’t shout like the others and seemed grieved when you stepped back into the folds of Azriel’s wings. He opened his sticky fist palm up to the sky revealing a handful of neat caramel candies wrapped in wax paper. 

“For the miss.” 

Y/n looked at Azriel, who only nodded with a smile.

“Thank you.” You gingerly took them from him, taking a moment to admire the light brown of the confectioner’s eyes, like burnt sugar, and the wisps of candy floss clinging to his shirt like loose threads. 

He didn’t resume his shouting until you were a good distance away, deep voice bellowing out over the square that his wares were made fresh that morning. You unwrapped one of the candies and stuck it in your mouth, sighing as it turned around on your tongue, slowly melting. Azriel took one of the candies you offered, but tucked it into his pocket when you turned your head to inspect the baskets of spices laid out on the sidewall.

“But he keeps staying with her. Keeps warning her of Koschei’s movements so she and her fellow priestesses can stay hidden. He… he cares for her. Or at least Beth seems to think so. The information — the story — is more pleasant than I could have hoped for, and I’m eternally grateful she doesn’t go in depth about their activities—” 

Azriel chuckled. “So it’s not like one of Nesta’s books.”

“Thank the Mother no. But it doesn’t get us any closer to finding out how to defeat Koschei. She doesn’t even talk about Koschei or the priestesses much. Only Thanatos. It’s just a love story.”

“Love stories are never just that though. They’re probably the most powerful things in the universe. Look at Rhysand and Feyre. Cassian and Nesta. I don’t think we’d be where we are now if not for their love for one another. The things they were willing to do to protect what they cared about.” 

“Do you ever wish you had that?” You dared to ask. “That kind of love? A mate?” Azriel turned to look at you, eyes filled with more cryptic meaning than you could ever imagine unraveling. There was hope, longing, grief, and a slew of other emotions. Their weight seemed to press in on you, but you didn’t feel overwhelmed. 

“All the time,” he whispered. Then he smiled, staring down at where your arm was linked to his. “Do you?” 

You turned away almost bitterly. “I don’t know what I’d do with that kind of love. If I’d be able to handle it. It might be too much for me.”

“I would disagree.” 

You couldn’t find the words to respond, so you settled on silence. Luckily for you, silence with Azriel never felt uncomfortable. 

“If your shadows keep taking them, I’m going to forget how many I’ve selected.”

“I see no problem with this,” Azriel shrugged and continued to follow you around the bookshop. It had stuck out to you immediately on your long walk back to the River House. A squat, two-story townhouse with charmingly chipped white paint laid over sturdy brick and sage green shutters. Candles winked in the afternoon light pressed up against window sills where two fat ginger cats lay purring in the sun. The dark, woodsy interior dripped with books, leather notebooks, and automatic writing pens that hovered over thick pages like butterflies. “We have space in the house.” 

“It’s less about space and more about how much I’ve spent.” Your fingers brushed the next book on the shelf and its deep purple binding. 

Oh that one’s interesting — a romance between a Spring Court nymph and a Dundarian knife maker filled with adventure, lust, longing, and found family. 

You’d no sooner plucked it from the shelf before shadows crowded your hands, whisking it off to whatever ether Azriel kept them hidden in. He wrote the name of the book on a sheaf of paper, his handwriting neat and simple. 

You turned on him, arms folded over your chest. “You can’t keep doing that.” 

“You are not to spend a copper of your own money here. Rhysand and Feyre’s orders. Just put it on the House’s credit. Rhysand’s already added you.” 

“They put me on their credit?” You balked even thinking about the money you’d been given access to.

Azriel nodded. “Consider it repayment.”

“Repayment for what? I haven’t done anything.”

Azriel looked at you quietly, as if the answer were obvious. “You’re the reason I still have a sister-in-law and a niece. You’re the reason we now have a name to investigate and are one step closer to defeating Koschei. You’re the reason the Godswoods and the Gallows haven’t been stolen from yet and a number of Librarians still have their lives. Do I need to continue?”

You thought through what he said. It was true that Helion’s intervention in the Godswoods and the Gallows had been effective. No deaths had been reported since then, but it didn’t make you feel any safer. A snake was still a snake, even when camouflaged.

“Only two of those things matter to the Night Court. Helion owes me for the latter.” 

“Then you can have him contact the banks and transfer the sums.” Azriel’s eyes twinkled with mischie. You went to snatch the paper out of his hands, but all he had to do was raise his arm to the ceiling, a smile tugging at his lips. You jumped up, one hand firm on his shoulder for leverage, but it was no use. He was too damned tall. 

You stood on the tips of your toes to get closer to eye level with Azriel. His eyes flickered down to your lips, the shapes they made as you quietly said, “Thank you.” 

You lingered in the stacks for a few moments longer, nervously asked the shop owner to put the list of books on the High Lord and High Lady’s tab — which she did with a warm smile — and then made your way back outside. The bell hanging above the doorway jingled happily, the wood burned sign saying Come back soon! Love, Jessebell. 

You trailed ahead of him down the street. Every sign, every shop window display, every street sign — you drank them in like you were ravenous. 

Azriel felt Rhys’s presence drift in the outskirts of his mind, and without hesitation, he let him in. 

Where are you? What’s taking so long?

Nearly to the Sidra. I brought her to Jessebell’s. 

That explains your lateness. Rhys paused. She must have loved that. 

Azriel smiled inwardly. She did. She really did.  

A female with weathered, dark skin and flowers sprouting from her ears stopped you on the street and although your first instinct was to recoil, you relaxed when she only lifted up a deep black tulip in her textured hands. The wilting flower straightened up when you kissed one of the petals as instructed and the gentle laugh that followed had Azriel’s heart soaring. 

Well make sure you get here in time for dinner. I want as many of our family members under my roof as possible.

Is this an ask, or a command?

Don’t make me use my High Lord voice on you.

Azriel rolled his eyes with a smile. I am absolutely trembling. Do you use that tone of voice on Nyx? 

He felt as much as heard Rhys’s laughter. Enjoy your time with Y/n, but come back soon. Mor is looking to get her hands on your mate. Mother help us all.

Rhys cut the connection and Azriel was free to admire you once more. 

You cradled the bouquet he’d given you in your arms, light reflecting off the petals and casting a faint blue glow on your face as you chatted with the florist. Your smile, which had started out forced and nervous, was slipping into something more relaxed. When the female laughed merrily and touched your wrist, you didn’t flinch. 

Dark tendrils of night curled around his ears and Azriel felt a shiver trail down his spine. 

Behind you. His shadows whispered. The boy needs help. There’s something wrong with him.

The boy startled back when Azriel turned towards him, tripping over a nick in the cobblestones and landing with a wince on his palms. Glassy pale eyes stared up, wide and terrified. His clothes were rumpled and unkempt and his white-blond hair was a mess of curls flecked with grey, like he’d been rolling around in dust. Pale pink and blue veins rose to the surface of his green-tinged skin, sickly and unnerving. He looked like a corpse on puppet strings.

Azriel looked around, but no one was searching for the little boy. No yelps belonging to scared parents. No calls from a sibling. 

“Shadowsinger, sir?” Even his voice sounded sickly, like his vocal chords were disintegrating in his throat. 

Azriel immediately dropped to his knees and slid his hands behind his back. “What’s happened, little one? What’s wrong?” His voice was smooth and gentle. 

He was too busy thinking that his boy was younger than Nyx, too busy ordering his shadows out to search for the boy’s parents that he didn’t think twice about the lingering stench of blood clinging to the boy’s shoes or the faint pain beginning to grow behind his hazel eyes. 

The boy looked around furtively while wringing his grubby hands, and then leaned close to whisper in Azriel’s ear. His pale eyes narrowed in concentration.

“It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen a black tulip before.” 

“It’s a little secret of mine. You need to get the seed and soil just right.” The female brushed her waist length hair over her shoulder. The knotted strands had the thick, coarse texture of seafarer’s rope, as aged and wise as the rest of her. When you held the flower back out for her to take she shook her head. 

“For you, my dear. I have dozens more and I think it would attract more business if you wore it around today. A beautiful creature like you must get lots of attention.” 

You knew she was probably just saying these things to get your business, but you couldn’t help the spark of joy the compliments gave you. She helped tuck the flower into the braids of your hair and you felt the petals kiss the tips of your left ear. 

“Say.” The female leaned in like she was about to share a secret. “If you aren’t already taken, I have a niece who’d love to have a pretty girl like you on her arm.” 

Your blush deepened and you found yourself stammering, “That’s very kind, but I don't-I don’t-'' You glanced up the street. Azriel was kneeling on the ground, head bent down to a small child. You only caught the wisps of white, candy floss hair over Azriel’s broad shoulders. 

The female traced the path of your gaze and sighed. “Ahhhhh. I see.” There was a triumphant look in her eyes, even as she said, “Shame. But I’ll still give you my niece’s name if you don’t mind.” 

Your eyes snapped away from Azriel’s and you smiled in embarrassment. “Oh, we’re not—”

“Henna.” 

You stepped back. Panic froze the blood in your veins and you felt pinpricks traveling up your body, stabbing your heart and your mind. You could see her now. Her silver hair fanned out around her. Her broken body. Her bloodied eye socket, dark and empty. 

“I’m sorry. What did you say?” You had to have heard her incorrectly. Your head was pounding but you pushed back on your mental wards, shoring up your defenses until the feeling passed.

The female tilted her head to the side. Her eyes were as milky and glassy as pearls. “Does the name mean anything to you, dear?” 

You took another step back and the female stepped forward. Her eyes seemed to clear then and her brows furrowed in concentration and pain. She lunged forward, tearing away at your clothes and knocking the flowers of your hands as she begged. “Help me. The boy. He’s inside—HELP ME!” 

You surged back, crumpling to the ground under her heavy weight as she continued to pull and claw. 

She’d been restocking the back room when the dirty little boy and the tailor showed up in the alleyway. He still carried that bolt of fabric under the crook of his arm. He took out a knife, orange eyes flashing and slit his throat from ear to ear while the little boy watched. Smiling.

“LET GO!” You kicked out, ramming your knee up and into the soft flesh of her stomach like you’d seen Emerie do to Cassian, but you lacked her strength and technique. The female wheezed but didn’t let go, even as others came to try and pry her off of you. Their voices were frantic, trying to calm you down, but they were the voices and hands of strangers. 

“AZ!” You screamed, feeling the female sink her nails into your arm.

There was an ugly tearing sound and the cool touch of wind at your chest. Your robes were ripped apart under her rough hands and her eyes narrowed in on your belt and the chain that connected to the book. She bucked off a cherub-faced female with a blow to her nose and blood splashed over your cheek. 

“Help me. Please. Oh… oh gods.” She grabbed at the book, but the chain glowed iron hot in her hands. The smell of burning scorched your nose as the magic did what it was meant to do. Nothing could break that chain. Not unless you willed it. Not while you were still alive. 

“Oh gods. Oh gods help me. I’m so sorry.” There were tears streaming down her face, tracing the canyons and valleys of her skin. She threw off the fae clamoring around you both and ran with jerky, uncoordinated leaps back into her flower shop. She snatched the gardening shears off the windowsill where she’d been trimming her hydrangea bushes. She wept and shook her head, mouth struggling to open and scream as she held the shears up high and then drove them into her neck.

The scene took a long time to filter through the haze of panic and disbelief. 

“Az… Az… Az—AZRIEL!” Your shrill scream pierced through the air. You scrambled away from everyone. Stones shaved away the skin of your knees, your palms. The tattered silk of your robes trailed behind you. “Don’t touch me!” You shrieked at the male who tried grabbing your arm, soft voice whispering. 

He wasn’t the one you wanted. 

“AZRIEL!” 

The female dropped to her knees, hands clutching her throat as blood poured out in bubbly, gurgling spurts. The candy pink strips of her apron turned a wet, sticky black as she crawled back towards the door.

“Oh gods… Please,” she wheezed, wet and agonized, before collapsing face down on the floor. Motionless. 

You staggered to your feet twisting away from everyone crowding around you. 

“Don’t touch me. Don’t!” 

“Miss you must sit. Please—”

“Let me help—” 

“Are you hurt? What’s—” 

“Don’t touch me. Please don’t touch me. Don’t touch me!” 

Screams. The sound of doors slamming shut. Locks turning. Commanding barks calling for a healer. Calling for the High Lord and the High Lady. Calling for the Shadowsinger to help.

Azriel was still kneeling in front of that boy and no matter how many times you called his name and pushed through the crowd of people now rushing up and down the streets in a frenzy, he didn’t get up. He didn’t look at you. You may as well have not existed. 

You finally reached him, narrowly missing being run over by a satyr who seemed to have gotten the wrong impression about which direction to sprint in. Every clip clop of his hooves shot through you. 

“Az.” 

Why hadn’t… Why hadn’t he helped you? 

“Az.”

Why hadn’t he come when you called?

The Shadowsinger rose. One hand grabbed the hilt of Truth Teller and the malicious blade sang as it was unleashed. The shadows that normally hovered about him like mist were gone. They were all around you now, tugging you in the opposite direction towards the Sidra. They pleaded for you to run, but you couldn’t understand them.

Something was deeply, deeply wrong.

“Az.” You begged and grabbed hold of his hand. “Please. You’re scaring me.”

Truth Teller shot out and pain radiated up your arm as the blade cut neatly through your clothes and sliced open your skin. You tripped backward, landing with a thud on the street that rattled your bones. Your sleeve turned dark with blood. 

You whimpered, holding your ruined arm up to your chest. There was no feeling in Azriel’s eyes. No flicker of recognition. None of that warmth and kindness you were so accustomed to. Just a menacing, silent form towering over you and blocking out the sun. 

A pale boy stood by Azriel’s side with ice chip eyes and rectangular pupils. He grinned brightly and the stretch of his waxy cheeks was too tight. Too forced. He shouldn’t have been alive. He-he—

Andrian. 

You’d seen him in Henna’s memory. You’d heard the snap of his neck beneath Koschei’s hands. Even now the boy was bent awkwardly, his head left in a perpetual tilt that should have looked charming and inquisitive but instead made you want to retch.

Andrian smiled at you then plastered a practiced look of horror on his face before running away with tears streaming down his cheeks, shouting for his mother. A burly male grabbed his shoulders, alarm on his face as he hoisted Andrian into his arms and disappeared into the crowd. Because who wouldn’t stoop down to help a fragile little boy? Who would dare suspect that the daemati that had roamed the Day Court’s halls and slithered his way into Velaris was a child?

Azriel gripped you by the front of your ruined clothes, hosting you up in the air. Your feet kicked uselessly and grabbed onto Azriel’s arm, trying to alleviate the choking pressure of his hand so close to your neck. 

“No. Azriel please. It’s me,” you whimpered. “It’s me.”

There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes. There and gone. So brief you wondered if you’d imagined it.

His left hand parted the tatters of your robes, and you flinched when his fingers brushed against your hip before settling on the chain that kept the book tied to you. 

Panic seized your soul. 

You’d been chipping away at the book’s secrets for months and you couldn’t let Azriel — couldn’t let Koschei — get his hands on it. Not without you knowing what it was that made Beth’s story so special.

You flung a hand out, feeling the leather of the book beneath your fingertips like it was your own skin. Your magic called out to the book, desperate and powerful and familiar, and the barriers it possessed to hide its secrets melted away at your beckoning. You poured every inch of your power into it even as Azriel’s lips turned down in an ugly frown that didn’t belong on his face. 

Your eyes turned to gold, bright as the sun as you basked in the knowledge flooding your mind with the force of a tsunami. You didn’t hold anything back. Not this time.

You were so lost in the book — in the emotions and memories wrapping around your mind, sharp and brighter than the light of a thousand suns — that you didn’t feel it when Azriel gripped that golden chain. The metal flared, a high-pitched ring piercing the air as it snapped in two, giving way to Azriel’s power. Nothing should have broken it. And yet there it was dangling from your waist.  

You did feel it when he broke your wrist. 

When he forced the book from your grasp. 

And then stabbed you in the stomach. 

Cassian and Nesta winnowed to the street and watched in horror as your body was dropped to the ground. Your head cracked the pavement, hands twitching palms up at your sides. 

Nesta shrieked. The sound was harrowing. The mourning, dying screams of an animal.  

She charged forward, twin blades flashing in her hands, and silver light shot out of her chest, crashing into Azriel’s shields and forcing him back twenty feet. He gritted his teeth. The rubber soles of his shoes skidded and burned. 

Cassian collapsed on his knees beside you, peeling off his leather jacket and wrapping it around your head and neck to keep it in place. 

“Shit.” His hands came away bloody. RHYS! FEYRE! He screamed into the corners of his mind, hoping they’d hear. GET HERE NOW! 

“Thanatos.” Your voice was weak.

“It’s Cass. Hey, keep your eyes on me ok.” He pressed his hands against your stomach, wings flared out to protect you from the cold burn of Nesta’s power as she went toe to toe with The Shadowsinger. Magic sizzled in the air, raising the hair on the back of Cassian’s neck like a lightning strike waiting to happen. Blood pooled over his hands, thick and dark. “Eyes open,” he commanded, “On me.”  

Your eyes were open, and glowing strangely, but you weren’t staring at Cassian. No. You were miles outside of your body. 

“The Bone Carver. That’s it.” 

“Eyes on me, Y/n. Eyes on me.” 

“Thanatos,” your hand twitched, “The Bone Carver. That’s how she did it.”

Nesta screamed, flying overhead in a burst of blue light that had her back slamming into one of the marketplace towers. The white marble cracked viciously and Nesta dropped to the ground, dazed and distracted as blood dripped out from her nose. 

“NESTA!” Cassian roared, eyes narrowing into dangerous slits as Azriel waited at the bottom of the street. 

The Shadowsinger muttered something dark and revolting beneath his breath. Ancient, powerful words that were whispered in his mind. He held onto the book in his hands as it lit up in flames and then blew the ashes into the wind that would carry them all the way to Andrian’s master. 

Koschei.

The call of her mate sharpened her senses and Nesta rolled onto her feet, calling her weapons back into her hands and leveling a glare at Azriel that would have killed a lesser male on the spot. 

She was Nesta fucking Archeron. 

Lady Death. 

Queen of Queens. 

And she would be damned if she let Azriel hurt her or anyone else.

“I’m sorry for what I’m about to do, Az,” she growled. 

She’d been holding back before. She’d been holding back a long while. But no more of that. The power she let out burst through Velaris with light brighter than a dying star, crackling with an energy that knocked Azriel off his feet and sent him crashing into the river wall with a sickening crack that shattered the bones in his arm, his leg, and his wings. 

Rhys appeared at his side, violet eyes wide open in shock. He could feel the magic suffocating his brother’s consciousness, burying him so deep there was almost nothing left but anger behind his whiskey-brown eyes. 

Rhysand grabbed the sides of his head, shoving his way into Azriel’s mind even while he fought back. Rhys flinched when one of Azriel’s knives nicked his temple, drawing blood that dripped down onto his velvet dinner jacket and floated on the dense material like dew drops. 

“Stop. This isn’t you, Az.” 

Azriel seethed, teeth bared and bloody. He spit in Rhysand’s face and he winced. Rhysand would never be able to forgive himself for what he did next. But someone had burrowed themselves into Azriel’s mind so thoroughly, so viciously, that in that moment, it was the only thing Rhys could think to do. 

Rhysand’s talons dragged down on Azriel’s mental walls so viciously he screamed as they were torn to pieces. He dug in with brutal efficiency. Reaching, tearing, clawing to catch the curl of power that had infected Azriel’s mind before it could do any more damage. He latched onto its slithery, silver body and wrenched it out of Azriel’s consciousness. 

When I find you. You’re as good as dead. Rhysand promised. 

The daemati slunk away with a giddiness that sent a shiver through The High Lord’s bones. 

Azriel slumped, weak and boneless, against his brother’s shoulder. Sweat beaded his brow and he shook, blinking the saltiness out of his eyes. He felt like he’d been beaten within an inch of his life. His bones were broken. His wings twisted. There was a raging headache that a hundred shots of vodka paled in comparison to. 

But it was his hands that horrified him most. Red and slippery. 

His breath shook.

He couldn’t… he couldn’t remember… what…. 

His eyes shot to Rhys, then up the street where he could make out Feyre, Cass, and Nesta huddled over your still body. The bond sat deep within him pulsing with terror and pain. 

“Rhys.” His voice broke. Rhysand angled his body to hide you from view, but it was too late. Azriel was panicking now, body trembling uncontrollably. “What happened?”

Rhysand said nothing. His eyes shined with horror. 

“What did I do? Rhys, what did I do?!” 

“Cass. Cassian, I’ve got her.” 

His hands were shaking. There was so much blood. The smell burned his nose and made him want to throw up his lunch. Feyre covered his hands with her own, peeling them away sticky and red from Y/n’s stomach. 

Light flooded out from Feyre’s palms, warm and lovely and Cassian and Nesta breathed a sigh of relief as the flow of red slowed and then stopped, flesh knitting itself back together. 

“It’s ok. You’ll be ok.” Nesta’s words were commanding as she held your neck and head still.

Your eyes searched the empty sky, seeing and unseeing. Then your hands shot up, grasping Feyre’s shoulders and digging in deep enough to leave bruises. Your eyes were wide, staring at her with an intensity that spoke of a thousand years. An unfathomable wealth of knowledge that should have crushed you beneath its weight. 

“Y/n it’s ok,” she murmured gently, pushing more power into your body, willing you to heal faster.

“Look. Feyre you need to look,” your voice was thick. Wet. Blood coated the inside of your mouth bitter and metallic. 

“I’m looking. Y/n, you hit your head. It’s going to be ok. You hear me? It’s going to be ok.” 

“You need to look,” you said once more.

You trailed a bloody, weak hand down Feyre’s arm and pulled her fingers up to your temple, tapping once. Twice. 

Without any more direction, she slipped into your mind and gasped.

Feyre stood in a pool of mist, white fingers reaching up her legs and splintering outwards before they changed direction and started to climb up into the darkness like trees. Or rather… like bookshelves. The mist formed stacks that disappeared into the distance, endless hallways and shelves that wound around each other. Chaotic and orderly at the same time. 

She could feel your presence beside her. Or rather she was you. In that moment she felt the raging winds of your power, hot and ravenous. It wrapped around you, tugging you to and fro like that uncontrollable lurch when you stand too close to the cliff’s edge. The call of the void.

She needed to answer that call the same way you did whenever you used your powers, because somewhere in the halls of your mind stood the knowledge you’d worked so hard to obtain. The truth of how it was Bethsevah Mordeigh was able to trap Koschei, and how to end it once and for all. 

Feyre let your magic pull her in the right direction. In the mist she stumbled upon the final memories you’d absorbed from the book before it had blown away in the wind.

Bethsevah wept, “No. No. No. I won’t,” shoving away the reed thin body that held her so close. Thanatos grasped her face in his pale hands, begging her to listen to him even as she shook her head frantically. “I won’t do it.” 

“You must. Bethsevah, you must.” His pitch black eyes winked with starlight… or maybe it was his tears. 

This world and its people had changed him. He could feel it in his bones. Something very deep and cruel within him had been twisted into something sacred. Something that toed the line of kindness. 

Koschei thought it was this element that made fae and humans beneath the three of them. They were supposed to be pure. Powerful. Handing out life and taking it away like the gods they were. But now Thanatos knew better. Now he knew exactly what it was that made Koschei and Stryga worse than even him — they would never be able to care for anyone. Not the way he cared for Bethsevah. Not the way he cared for the world she loved. 

“I won’t do it,” she growled.

“Then they’ll die,” he said, with a tone of finality that could only belong to a death god. “Everyone. Everyone you love. Everyone you care about. I know my brother. Koschei craves attention and devotion above all else. He won’t let you worship your Mother. He won’t stop until you all kneel or until you’re ashes in the wind. Beth—” He wrenched her hands back from where she covered her eyes, refusing to even look at him. 

He tucked his crooked finger beneath her chin, coaxing her gaze up. Together they were storm clouds blanketing an eternal night. A lightning strike — brief and chaotic and electrifying. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me,” she whispered, steel laced in her soft voice, “You don’t know what you’re offering.” 

He smiled, sad and simple. “I know exactly what I’m offering up.”

“Once I lock you in The Prison, I won’t be able to let you out. No one will. You’ll be trapped there for eternity.” She shivered, closing her eyes. She wouldn’t wish that fate upon her worst enemy, but her mate? She shook her head. 

“I know.” 

“No, you—”

“I have seen the first fall of snow on a new world. I have seen entire cities leveled to dust with no survivors. I’ve lived thousands of years. I understand.”

“We’ll find a way. Kosch—” 

“Remember what I told you,” he whispered, “Back at the cabin? You were made to ruin me, Beth. And I will let you do it a million times over. Without hesitation.” 

You and Feyre felt Beth’s pain as acutely as if you shared the same heart.

“I wish she hadn’t done it,” Beth whispered, “I wish the Mother had never created me to be your mate.” 

“I don’t.” Thanatos leaned his forehead against Beth’s and got lost in her. “There is no other way, Bethsevah.” He kept saying her name, like just speaking the word and feeling the shapes it took in his mouth would prolong the time they had together. Would tie them together more surely than the bond that burned in their chests.

She felt the battleground slip beneath her feet and no amount of power, no amount of willpower, could change it. 

He brushed back her hair and trailed one of his slender fingers down the curve of her cheek ending one teardrop’s race to her chin. “Mating bonds are powerful things, Beth. Your magic — your blood — and yours alone will be able to cut through my defenses and sever me from my power. I want you to take it and lock me away. Once my magic is yours, Stryga won’t be able to see you coming and you’ll be able to take her power as well. So long as you leave Koschei for last it may just be enough power to rid him from this earth once and for all.” 

“You’d have me do this. Destroy you and your family. This is what you want?”

Thanatos hesitated. “I am not a good male. But this… this will have to be enough. This is what I want, Bethsevah. For you and your family to live. To be happy and safe.”

“I won’t be happy, “ she said, eyes now flat and dull as the silver coins they placed over the dead, “I won’t take anyone else.”

“I want you to,” he begged, “I want you to marry and to have children. I want you to grow your family so that one day, if I ever do make it out of that Prison, I’ll still see pieces and memories of you roaming this earth. That’s all I want, Bethsevah, and it’s already more than I deserve.” 

“I’ll find a way,” Beth promised. “I’ll find a way to get you out. I swear it.” 

“Don’t make any bargains with me.” He smiled sadly, thumb wiping away at her cheeks, “That’s what got us into this mess.”

Finally she laughed, just a little. “I don’t regret it.” 

“Neither do I.”

The memory froze. A moment in time trapped like a beetle in amber.

A hand grabbed Feyre by her shoulders and swung her around. You stood there cloaked in pale, golden light, your eyes shining like copper coins. When you opened your mouth, you spoke in Beth’s voice.

Thanatos told me that magic runs in blood — familiar, same. But mates are different. Powerful. Their magic can protect one another. Identify one another across space and across time. But they can also turn on each other viciously. A lock and a key. Madness and salvation.

What I could destroy in Thanatos, I stood a chance at destroying in his siblings.

Your face fell, hauntingly beautiful in the glow of your powers. 

But I couldn’t do it. Not in the way he asked. I took his power. I locked him in that Prison. I bound Stryga to her cabin in the woods. But I didn’t kill Koschei when I should have. When the power of three gods was coursing through my veins and stripping me down to my bones, when I had enough light within me to see the birth and death of stars and the face of the Mother, I couldn’t do it. 

I thought I would be capable of destroying Koschei and freeing Thanatos, but I couldn’t do either. I had only enough sanity left to take that power and bury it somewhere Koschei couldn’t touch. To trap him on the lake where he can live in madness knowing his magic is so close by and yet locked away. Unreachable. 

I’ve done my part. I’ve had my children. I’ve left my mark on the world, great and terrible as it is. If you’re reading this, my daughters, do what I could not. Take the power in the lake and destroy him. It will open for you, and only you. My power. My blood. 

And if you have any love for me at all, find a way to release Thanatos. That is what I ask of you.

Bethsevah’s calls had never been answered, at least not by her children. You knew this much in your heart. Thanatos — The Bone Carver — had freed himself thousands of years later only to die beneath the Cauldron’s power. 

You whispered a silent prayer to the Mother. You hoped the Bone Carver was at peace now. Now that he must be with his Beth. 

Azriel was screaming your name, broken cries cutting through the quiet of the marketplace. You’d never thought him capable of such a wretched noise. 

The High Lady sat shock still above you with tears streaming down her face. Grey eyes glistening.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

I apologize if you thought I'd forgotten about the plot with Koschei and was just writing cute, fluffy scenes between our favorite Librarian and our favorite Batboy. But you also should've remembered that I burned this girl's house down and had her kill a another character in self defense so... this was coming... sorry...

This is by far the chapter I've been most nervous about posting because it's where I start to tie together all the weird loose threads that have been accumulating throughout this story so I am very much open to feedback on how I can do things better and on how I can make things clearer moving forward. Or! If you thought I did a good job and are intrigued, I'd appreciate it if you let me know that too!

But anyway thanks for reading 😅.

#azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel shadowsinger #the shadowsinger and the inkbird #acotar fanfiction #acotar #azriel x reader angst

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Eighteen

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Nothing super specific, but things get pretty dark (at least in my opinion). Mentions of torture.

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Azriel grabbed Rhys by the front of his jacket, hands shaking horribly despite all his efforts to stop. It had started this morning, when another disastrous attempt to talk to Andrian had left Azriel with his mind in shambles, knife pressed against his own throat. It had been going on for weeks now. Someway, somehow, Andrian would find a way to break through Azriel’s defenses and force him to relieve his worst memories. Sometimes he dreamt of his burning hands. Mostly he thought of you, and the day he’d nearly killed you. 

“Tell me you didn’t,” Azriel growled desperately. “Tell me!” 

It was too easy for him to pick out when his brother was speaking with Feyre, and something about the way Rhysand had been looking at him— like he was a fraction of a second away from splintering into a million pieces — told Azriel enough about who had been sent for. You were the only one who could calm him. The only one who could do what he and Rhys had failed to do. 

Violet eyes shone from a perfectly handsome face. A face he knew too well. A face that he wanted to punch right now. 

“I’m afraid I can’t, brother,” Rhysand responded gravely. 

Azriel slammed his fist against the wall instead, taking out a chunk of granite that spit grey dust into the air. He swore beneath his breath, pacing the hallway and trying to steady his racing heart. He’d never wanted you to see this place. He’d never even wanted you to step foot on the island above, its rolling peaks a stark contrast to the tunnels below where Azriel conducted his business. Business that stained his hands a thousand shades of red. 

“You’ve been working yourself ragged, Az, and Andrian still hasn’t said anything. Not to you. Not to me. We need to know all we can about Koschei. Vassa’s on the brink of madness. Henna’s dead. I can’t even get past Andrian’s mental wards. What the fuck are we meant to do?” 

“So you thought to go behind my back and bring Y/n into this?! She’s not something for you to use, Rhys.” 

“She’s already in this mess.” Rhys reminded him, as he often did. His eyes softened as he looked to the locked door at the end of the hall with its small, rectangular window. Bars breaking up the lamplight glowing from within. “And you know she’d agree this is the best course of action. She’ll be able to do it.” 

Azriel’s hands shook. “Give me another week and I’ll get us the information we need. Tell Feyre to turn around. Don’t bring Y/n here.” Don’t let her see this part of me.

“The boy doesn’t have another week. He doesn’t even have a day.” 

The shaking traveled throughout Azriel’s entire body. His eyes darkened and he began the process of hiding his heart away within the void that curled inside of him. That wicked beast that was always on the verge of swallowing him whole. 

Feyre winnowed you both to the outskirts of the northern territories and you went from sweating in your fur-lined leathers to shivering in the knee deep snow. The Illyrian Mountains rose behind you like predatorial rows of shark teeth and the endless sea stretched in front, slate grey and empty except for lonely ripples of sea foam. Through the frosty haze you could make out a smattering of islands, each with their own tooth-like tips capped with snow and ice. Feyre looked at you, her eyes leaning more towards blue now that she’d tapped into the Winter Court’s power to stave off the cold. 

The Warren was protected by wards that made winnowing impossible, so you let Feyre scoop you up in her powerful arms, wings growing from her back like unfurling shadows before the ground dropped away from her feet and she took off into the sky. 

You clung to her shoulders, eyes slamming shut so you wouldn’t have to look down at the churning black waters and the rocks they crashed against. If you were to fall now, you could only hope you drown before the waves ripped your body to pieces against the rocks like meat torn between a pair of canines. 

You stayed frozen and tight as a coil until the rush of wind stopped and you no longer felt your stomach creeping up into your throat. You could have dropped to your knees and kissed the ground if you weren’t sure your lips would freeze there. You did shove your hands into the gritty sand though, breathing slowly through your nose until you finally had the strength to stand. 

Feyre led you down the long stretch of beach, waves whistling in the wind — a haunting, beautiful melody, like a woman crying. 

Azriel had discovered The Warren centuries ago. After a particularly brutal brawl that had left him with a broken arm and cracked ribs, he’d taken to the skies, desperate to escape the hard packed floors and burning scent of sex mixed with alcohol that seemed to invade every corner of the Windhaven barracks. He’d been fighting over a woman, a woman that had been dragged into the rowdy common room trembling with the telltale sign of a whisky haze over her burnt umber eyes, dress ripped and muddy. 

Did it even matter that he’d brought her back untouched to that leaning house with its wooden slabs frosted over and the chimney coughing up black smoke like a diseased lung? Azriel had wondered as he flew without a destination in mind. And when he’d finally collapsed on the island, frozen ground beneath his hands and knees and spitting out blood from his cut up gums, his shadows had tugged him towards the gaping mouth of The Warren, urging him to explore a darkness that was his and his alone. It had been his escape. A safe place in the world that had so few. But when Rhysand became High Lord and he the Spymaster, Azriel hadn’t hesitated to give up The Warren in the service of the Night Court, adding it to the long list of sacrifices he made so that he might actually start to feel like he deserved his place with his family. 

You stilled in front of The Warren’s entrance, black walls glittering and damp from sea spray. Jagged, cracked bone rocks hovered overhead like axes ready to fall, jutting out of a cliffside and curling over the beach in the shape of a hunched back or an unhinged jaw. Wind whistled from within like asthma — high-pitched and keening. 

“This is where you keep all your prisoners.” You weren’t asking a question, merely stating a fact. 

Feyre had had little time for explanations back at the House. She’d focused on defending your body against the frigid cold to come, her mind split between you and Rhysand as he worried over Azriel from miles away. 

“Not all of them. Only the ones Azriel finds useful.” 

“The ones he plans to torture for information.” 

From somewhere deep within the earth you swore you heard the clanging of chains, a growl, and a desperate groan that had the hair on your neck rising. 

Feyre’s usual warmth was gone, replaced by something with more tact and less care. “This isn’t a place for the faint of heart, Y/n. And neither is Azriel. He’s tried to hide this from you, but it’s as much a part of him as anything else and if you care for him as much as I believe you do, you’re going to need to get used to this.” 

There was the faintest flicker of doubt in your heart. “Andrian… he’s just a boy… you haven’t—Az hasn’t—”

“No,” Feyre said quickly. Horrified. “Azriel found him weeks ago trying to slip back into Day Court. We brought him here because it’s the most heavily warded place in Prythian and because the world needs to be protected from him as much as he needs to be protected from the world.” She grabbed your hands. They felt cold as ice. “Y/n. I swear to you, we haven’t hurt that boy. We won’t hurt him.” 

“I know. I just… I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.” Already you felt sick to your stomach just for asking. Azriel was many things — dangerous, cruel to those he felt were deserving of it, maybe even murderous at times — but he was still Az… and you weren’t afraid. Not even as you let Feyre lead you into The Warren, and you were swallowed whole.  

The mouth of the cave quickly narrowed into a tunnel before turning at a severe angle and twisting like a corkscrew downward. If it weren’t for you and Feyre’s glowing bodies, you might have missed one of The Warren’s slick steps and tumbled down forever. 

You passed by two offshoots, each branching out into their own secret tunnels that whispered and echoed and smelled faintly of blood. Coppery and sour. 

One of the rooms you walked through smelled like metal and limestone. The rust-colored ground and drain in the center of the floor told you all you needed to know about its purpose and before you could stop yourself, before you could even think about whether this was truly a good idea, you found yourself pressing a hand against one of the chains hanging from the ceiling. 

If Feyre was right and this was truly a part of Azriel — something horrible that needed to come with all of the good that he was — then you wanted to know. You felt that you had some right to know, and if it was the power the Mother had granted you, then you would use it when you saw fit. 

Feyre froze when your power flooded the room without warning, feeling the energy and fury radiating off your skin without even turning to look at you. You kept the memories a safe distance away, but drank in the knowledge of every horrible hand that had hung from that ceiling like you were reading a list of names from a book. You read their crimes. You read every drop of blood that Azriel had spilled on the ground. 

“Y/n?” Feyre asked tentatively, fearfully, when you blinked and released the chain. 

She had every hope the bond would snap in place for you soon and that you’d help end Azriel’s centuries of loneliness. That you might be the one to finally show him he was deserving of kindness. But to love Azriel as he was, with all his rough edges and the pain he could inflict as much as he carried… it was not for the faint of heart.  

“I understand why Azriel wanted to hide this place from me. This part of him,” you said quietly and to no one in particular. Not even to Feyre. “But he shouldn’t have.” Your eyes turned harder than stone. “They deserved it. Each and every one of them.” 

Feyre stood, shocked into silence, and it wasn’t until you gripped her arm and nudged her into the next room that she found she was able to walk again. 

You passed by more hallways and more rooms, some disturbingly clean and empty, others with chains hanging from the ceiling or littered on the floor. But the strangest part was, you could smell Azriel within these cramped walls, and that alone made you quicken your steps. 

You chased that familiar scent, walking confidently through the dark and passing Feyre until you were spit out in a long, neat tunnel with one metal door at the end. Tendrils of shadow flickered from around the corner. 

“Azriel?” 

Your heart pounded in your chest when you saw him leaning against the wall, hands folded behind his back. Rhys’s eyes flickered to you, then to his mate as she followed closely behind. Azriel stiffened, his eyes locked and heavy. Shadows tugged at his eyes and accentuated the sharpness of his cheeks. He looked like he hadn’t slept since the day he left you… which wasn’t so far from the truth. Because the whole time he’d been here, he’d been thinking of you, and the ways you might hate him for what he did and the sick corners of his soul. For—

You sailed into his arms, wrapping yourself around his torso and pressing your face into the hollow of his neck. Part of your mind chastised you, calling you silly and desperate as it reminded you it had only been ten days since you’d last seen him. But you didn’t care. It felt far longer than that. Too long. 

You needed this almost as much as he did. 

You disappeared behind his wings, cocooned safely in membranous folds and shadows that kissed your skin. Azriel himself buried his face in your hair, feeling some of his worst worries dissipate. You hadn’t run away. You hadn’t been so disgusted as to leave just yet. 

“Y/n,” he murmured your name before kissing your temple. “Gods, I missed you.” 

“I would hope so.” You murmured into the curve of his jaw, “I might be a boring bookworm but I’m better company than this place.” 

Azriel winced. “You have no idea.”

You missed the pointed look that Rhys and Feyre threw your way, but Azriel didn’t. He was tall enough to see over your head as Feyre pointed to the door at the end of the hallway, eyes glistening. They had come here for a purpose, and the sooner it was over with, the sooner they could all go home. 

Azriel’s arms tightened around you. “I didn’t want you to come here. I didn’t want… I didn’t want you to see the things I do.” 

“I know.” You traced the curve of his jaw, thumb smoothing over his cheek. “But I’m not afraid, Azriel.” 

His eyes flickered from fear to relief to love, like one of those picture books you had to flip through to see the scene play out. 

“You’re not?” 

You shook your head no. Then you kissed him on the lips and whispered the words for him and him alone. “I trust you. You’re the most terrifying thing here anyway, and you’re mine.” 

Yours. 

Azriel quitel liked the sound of that. 

Even here in the dungeons burrowed beneath empty frozen lands, Azriel found it within him to hope. Horrid creatures might be hidden elsewhere, creeping like slugs under the earth that he’d have to crush beneath his boot or tear treasured secrets from, but for now you were still by his side. For now you were still his and he would always be yours. 

You looped your arm through his and moved towards that door at the end of the hallway, steeling yourself for what you already knew was behind it. 

The light from the barred window flashed warm and cool then warm again. Light warped and pranced. The scent of rot hung in the air, humid and choking. You touched the door handle, feeling the magic fall away like it recognized you and opened up into a makeshift, but quaint bedroom. There were no windows here for there was nothing to see below ground, but some of Feyre’s landscape paintings hung on the wall. Faelights bloomed overhead, throwing light and heat on a child’s bed with green sheets, a table, and a bookcase overflowing with an assortment of puzzles and novels and toys. You felt your blood turn cold. They’d once belonged to Nyx before being repurposed for the little boy trembling on the floor. 

You stared at him in horror. 

The little boy who’d been so violently bright that morning in the marketplace was dull. Although he was wearing fresh clothes, his skin had turned a stone gray, black marks dotting his once silken, silver skin like a disease. He was aware of his condition, weeping on the plush rug cut in the shape of a flower as he batted at his arms, willing them to turn healthy again. 

“No no no no no no,” he sobbed. He grabbed at his pillowy hair in frustration and tugged. A cloud of fragile strands came away and he cried harder, trying to stick them back to his scalp. 

Rhysand’s face was broken and pale. He tried not to look at Andrian. He was too young. Reminded him too much of his own son. 

“You were right.” Rhysand’s voice was hollow, laced with a pain that grabbed your throat and squeezed. “Koschei did kill him. He’s been dead this whole time.”

“NO!” Andrian screamed. “HE DIDN’T! HE PROTECTED ME!” 

Fat tears rolled out of filmy eyes, dusty and brown as pond water. Rage filled him with new energy and he tried to attack your mind as he’d already done with Azriel. But there was something altogether different about your magic, something flexible that morphed and rearranged your mental walls until it felt like he was trying to attack himself. 

He gave up when your walls didn’t fall, and chose the physical route instead. You recoiled as he took a swipe, bony arms reaching out in an awkward lunge. But his legs were too weak and crumpled beneath him. He looked like a fish laid out to rot on a summer day — bloated and slick. 

“Koschei brought him back to life for his powers—”

“HE LOVES ME! PAPA LOVES ME!” 

“To use as he saw fit when the time was right.”

“But he can’t survive being separated for so long from Koschei’s power, can he?” 

Just like Vassa. Left on their own without their maker they couldn’t handle the curses that had been placed on them. They’d bend until they broke… unless they found another way… 

“The killings,” You murmured as the pieces slowly fell into place, “He killed those Librarians and the tailor and the florist…” You didn’t want to be right about this. You prayed to the Mother that you were wrong. 

But Azriel read the thoughts in your eyes and nodded. Feyre could only stand still and Rhysand couldn’t do more than speak out in that dead voice of his. 

Andrian had killed those fae, not just to send a message, but because that was the price for going against nature, for being brought back from the dead. Power demanded balance. To stay alive, Andrian had needed others to take his place. Those Librarians and the Velarians hadn’t been murdered. They’d been sacrificed. 

What Koschei had done to this boy — what he’d turned him into — made you want to crawl into a dark corner and stay there forever. 

Andrian’s sobs died out. A crack of lightning followed by unnerving silence that had Azriel’s blood freezing in his veins. Andrian wasn’t much older than he’d been when he’d first been tossed into that dark cellar. When his brothers had set his hands aflame. 

“He loves me,” he declared, as if saying it would make it true. He stayed curled up in a ball on the floor, rocking back and forth on his heels. “He stayed when Henna left me. He wasn’t afraid of me like the others. He took care of me.”

But Koschei hadn’t taken care of him. He’d taught Andrian to love him. To worship him, because that’s what he craved above all else. He’d helped the boy control his powers and had allowed him to live so he could send him off to die when it was most convenient. You’d thought Henna was Koschei’s perfect soldier, but you were wrong. Andrian was. He’d been broken and molded into something that should never have existed. He’d been sent to Prythian after his sister’s death to take her place. A boy who would have no choice but to return to the lake or die trying. 

And he was dying. You could see it clear as day. Two teeth clinked onto the floor and Andrian’s hands flew up to his mouth. He whimpered, eyes locking on you like you might be able to fix this. 

You wanted to beg Rhys and Feyre to do something, to fix him, but it was a useless endeavor. They wouldn’t have brought you here if they could just reach into Andrian’s mind and end it all peacefully. Andrian was too powerful for that. But you could use another way. 

You approached him like a wild, injured animal, grimacing when he tried to run at you only for his ankle to twist and then snap. He fell to the floor in a pathetic sprawl. 

“Hey there, little feather.” 

Andrian paused at that familiar nickname, watery eyes looking up. You said it just like Henna had once upon a time. The same inflection in a differently pitched voice. His lips trembled. 

“She left me.” 

You shook your head before kneeling on the ground in front of him. He smelled of death. It clung to his linen shirt and trousers. It clung to the few strands of hair still woven into his scalp, skin so thin you could make out his skull. 

“She didn’t leave you, Andrian.” You poured your voice out over him, as soothing as you could make it, forcing the tears down. “She thought you’d died and that you’d stayed dead. She had a little ceremony for you out near the willow tree and buried your favorite toy beneath it with a handful of water lilies. Do you remember it? The little wooden doll you dressed up like a soldier with the red cap and the silver shoes?” 

He clamped his hands over his ears, shaking his head while his weak neck teetered dangerously atop his shoulders. 

“Andrian—” You pulled his hands away and in a bold, dangerous move brought them to your temple and slowly lowered your mental wards. You didn’t give him free reign, but rather guided him through snippets of memories you’d taken from Henna before her death. They all revolved around him. Before, and even after Koschei had poisoned their minds, Andrian had remained her true priority. 

The boy’s eyes flashed from anger to confusion then, finally, to despair.

“She didn’t leave you.” 

Andrian waited a few moments that had your heart seizing, then rushed into your arms, tightening them like a vice around your shoulders and burying his face in your hair. You held your breath, but tightened your grip. You weren’t his sister, but you were the closest thing he had. 

Slowly, like sand falling through an hourglass, you felt his arms weaken and fall from your shoulders. He stared at you, wide and terrified as his hand snapped off at the wrist and fell to your side in a grey heap. 

“Make it stop. Please make it stop.”

You smoothed back his hair, shoving down the tears that threatened to fall. His eyes were white now and unseeing. “It’s ok, little feather. It’s ok.” 

“I don’t—” Even his voice was crumbling apart. Raspy and broken like cracked glass. He had little time left. The fight in him gone. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go to that dark place. Please don’t make me go.”  

Azriel had been watching the entire time, trying not to picture the little boy with dark hair, weak wings, and bandaged hands. He went so, so still. 

“Hey, hey, it’s ok. It’s going to be ok.” You promised. You forced your trembling lips into a smile. 

He took in a rasping breath. “Will you go with me this time, Henna? Please.” 

You gritted your teeth, brows furrowed in an effort to stay here instead of turning and sprinting back to the surface. 

“I will. That’s why I came” You brushed his hair away from his forehead, saying nothing when the wispy white strands were torn away from his scalp like silk… just like the memories of Koschei’s lake you plucked from his mind without him knowing. You swallowed the pain of what you knew was coming. “I won’t let you be alone.” 

He went quiet after that. Maybe his voice had deteriorated beyond saving, maybe he finally felt at peace. All you knew is that you needed to keep brushing his hair and holding onto his hand when he laid down and placed his head in your lap. He was like a little windup doll that had run out of string. He kept breathing until he finally stopped. 

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

So... this was a rather sad one, bit of a tonal shift if you ask me, but I wanted to wrap up the stuff with Henna and Andrian before we continue on to other things.

BUT, you have to appreciate when Y/n walks into what's effectively a torture chamber and goes "yeah, nope, still in love with Azriel." It's just one of those things that gets brushed under the rug but like... this guy's WHOLE JOB is inflicting pain upon people.... and you know what, it's a fantasy book, so who the hell cares. We stan Y/n being supportive of Azriel's career lol

#the shadowsinger and the inkbird #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel shadowsinger

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Seventeen

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: None. Some angst. Some fluff. AHHHHHHHHHH just look at the gif guys

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

“Let me know if I’m hurting you.”

“I will.” 

The wet cloth soothed his burning skin as you carefully cleaned away the smattering of blood dashed over his high, bruised cheekbones like freckles. You were both holding your breaths, only daring to move when your lungs demanded it. Azriel sat on the chair you’d dragged into your bathroom, face level with yours as you leaned down to inspect his face with two fingers tucked beneath his chin. 

Azriel’s fingers twitched at his sides, aching to touch you somewhere. Anywhere. 

“You said you’d tell me if I hurt you.” 

“You’re not hurting me, Y/n.” 

Azriel could have told you that he was well versed with cleaning blood off his body and clothes. He could have reminded you back in the dining room that Feyre and Rhysand stood only ten feet away and could have whisked away his injuries and the bloodstains with a single touch or snap of their fingers. But instead he’d said nothing. He’d let you close your hand around his, fingers dangerously close to his thrumming pulse, and followed you to your bedroom while ignoring the throbbing pain of his cracked ribs. 

Feyre called your bedroom The Wisp after having decorated it with all manner of airy, cream-colored furniture accented with soft browns. Your desk was overrun with neat piles of papers, books, and journals. The windowsill by your bed was dedicated to pre-sleep novels and clusters of lavender tied with twine and left to stand upright in vases fashioned from ink bottles. The scent of old books and parchment paper clung to every surface along with something that smelled clean and entirely like you.

Your bathroom was similarly orderly. Bottles of perfumes, lotions, and oils were laid out on the countertop like little soldiers, catching and scattering the moonlight from the window in a rainbow of color. 

You brushed the cloth over his lips, eyes lingering on the two splits already scabbing over, then down the curve of his jaw to his chin. 

It was reverently quiet here in your bathroom. Nothing but the faint and steady drip from the faucet into the quartz basin and your breathing filling the space. 

Color had been spilled over Azriel’s face like a watercolor painting, equal parts painful and beautiful to look at. Because he was still so, so beautiful looking up at you with those whisky eyes that made your head spin. Those dark curls that hung over his forehead like seafoam waves. Your hands fluttered over the bottles on the countertop before settling on a pale green one that smelled strongly of mint. You smoothed the oil over Azriel’s face, leaving a cool, tingling sensation wherever you touched.

“I’m sorry about Lucien,” You whispered. “And Helion. I never wanted you to get hurt like this.” 

“Don’t apologize.” He smiled sadly. “Cassian was right when he said I had it coming.”

You winced. “How bad was it when you fought Lucien the last time? When you invoked the Blood Duel?”

Azriel didn’t shy away from the question, and his gaze never left yours as you quietly restoppered the bottle. “I was a second away from stabbing him through the heart when Elain stopped us. There are a fair number of scars we both left that fight with, but we did walk away,” He stiffened at the memory, “Barely.” 

“Do you… do you regret it?”

“Yes,�� Azriel said quickly. Firmly. “I will regret what I did and what Elain and I did together until the day I die.” His hands flexed by his sides and he dared to lift them up to your hips, anchoring himself with the feeling of you beneath his fingertips. When you didn’t shy away from his touch, he continued on. “I wanted what my brothers had and in my desperation I think Elain and I chose each other because we just wanted to do something. I wanted a mate and proof that I belonged alongside Rhys and Cassian, and Elain wanted to break the rules for the first time in her life. To feel in control. But we never should have done it knowing everyone would get hurt.” 

“Sometimes love is like that,” you murmured, “Messy and hurtful… or so I’ve read.” 

“I didn’t love Elain. I don’t love Elain. At least not romantically.” Not the way that I love you. 

You tried to ignore the flutter of relief in your chest. It didn’t feel like the right time for it. Not with Azriel bruised and hurting before you. You dropped your eyes to the pale green tiles and caught sight of Azriel’s gloved hands. 

“You’re wearing them again.”

Wordlessly you picked up one and gently began tugging the leather off his fingers. One by one. The whole time you kept your eyes on him, tracing the tension in his shoulders and between his eyes as his ruined skin was exposed inch by inch. The air felt foreign on the skin of his palms. The feel of your body so close to his felt exhilarating. 

“I’m so sorry,” Azriel whispered, “I never meant to hurt you in all the ways that I did. What I did—” 

“I know, Azriel.” 

His eyes traced every line of your face, hands shaking. “You’re not a fourth choice. You’re not broken... But I think I might be,” he confessed. The words hung in the air between you two. Words you could wrap around his neck and hang him with. 

He felt every stroke of your fingers over his knuckles. Every flutter of your eyelashes as you looked at him with the faintest tilt of your head. 

“So what?” You breathed out. 

Azriel shook. “Y/n?”

“So what if you’re broken? Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t,” You leaned your forehead against his, noses brushing, “But you’re still Azriel.” You smiled gently at him, eyes fluttering closed as you sighed. “And I think that’s a wonderful thing.” 

Azriel stopped breathing as you brought his hands up to your lips and brushed them over every scarred knuckle. Every touch of yours was sacred. In their sincerity. In their rarity. In their preciousness to him. 

“Do you… do you like me, Azriel?” Your words were nervous and soft. Softer than the finest bed Azriel had ever laid his head down on. Softer than the clouds that turned to rain when he flew through them. Softer than your ink-stained fingertips landing on the sprinting pulse of his neck. 

“Yes,” Azriel murmured, “You can’t even begin to know, Y/n.” 

And then your softness was all around him. It was your lips against his lips, pillowy and tasting faintly of the sweet wine you’d drank at dinner. It was your hands and arms looping around his neck and keeping his head squarely on his shoulders so he could experience this vibrance. It was the feel of your body as he held onto your hips and then flattened his hands against the small of your back, pressing you as close as he dared. River-soaked robes long since forgotten. 

You were like water threatening to slip through his fingertips. 

You hoped you were doing this right. Reading about kissing was very different from the actual thing. Your lips felt too stiff or too fervent. You worried your hands were too greedy as you plunged them into his raven-wing hair and tangled silken strands. But while you lacked experience, Azriel surely seemed to be making up the difference. He held you as close as possible, until it felt more like breathing than kissing. 

Salty tears landed in between your lips until you could both taste their sharp tang on your tongues. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he kept saying over and over in between shaky gulps of air. “Y/n, please believe me. I—” 

You kissed him harder just to make him stop, swallowing his pain as best you could until his breathing evened out. 

“I’ve got you, Az.” You brushed his black waves away from his forehead before kissing him there too. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

Tell her. Tell her. Tell her. 

Azriel’s shadows chanted in his ears. But he made them go silent. 

Another day. 

Let him just hold you like this for now. For as long as you would let him. Here in the stillness with you — the only person who’d ever brought him a real sense of peace and quiet — he felt it was safe to hope again.

The long stream of kisses ended too early for his liking, although he didn’t dislike the sight of your heaving chest and blushing cheeks. He couldn’t quite believe what had just happened, and you seemed to be thinking the same thing as you stood between the walls of his legs, his arms wrapped loosely at your sides and yours dangling off his shoulders. 

You’d kissed him. You’d kissed him. 

You touched your fingertips to your lips, worry in your eyes. “Was it bad? Did I do a bad job? I’ve never—” 

Azriel would have none of that. He tightened his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest and kissing you all over again. You relished in his heat and the faint tickles of shadows that encased you both in darkness, like a veil had been thrown over the room leaving everything gauzy and soft. 

“You, my Y/n,” his lips brushed over the corner of your mouth, trailing down to your neck when he sighed so, so softly, “Are a marvelous kisser.” 

Had you melted into a sack of bones on the floor? It certainly felt like you had. You were blushing uncontrollably, searching for something, anything, to comment on. You thought your heart might just burst out of your chest. 

“You have frosting in your hair.” You plucked the white blobs off his head, feeling the sugar grains crumble between your fingers. 

“I think that was meant to be dessert.”

“I think you might be right.” You tried controlling your breathing when Azriel leaned forward and kissed the bare skin of your shoulder, and failed miserably. “It’s a real shame,” you stammered, “I was looking forward to cake.”

He kissed the center of your chest next and your heart skipped a beat. “I’ll buy you all the cake in the world to make it up to you.” 

“That’s a hefty promise, and a waste of cake.” 

“Do you doubt me?” Azriel asked honestly. You could ask him for moonlight in a bottle, or a dress spun from spider silk, or all the stars in the sky and he’d find a way to make it happen. Some way. Somehow. He’d give you everything that was his to give, and then some. 

“No. I don’t doubt you.”

“Good.”

He couldn’t help himself. He kissed you again, reveling in the faint sighs that he swallowed up and the few that escaped between your locked lips to sing in his ears. You traded kisses for hours on end, slipping them in between conversations and gentle touches. It was an exploration in intimacy that you worried might sweep you away, but Azriel was as he always was — patient and gentle — from the tips of his black hair to his scarred hands to his leather boots. And you loved every inch of him. 

You clung to his shirt, the scent of soap still clinging to his skin after he’d returned from his bath and laid down in bed beside you in cotton instead of leather. 

“Azriel,” You said, your voice thin and tired. The candles burned low casting shadows that flickered and twisted on the wall. But you didn’t pay any mind to shadows any longer, not when you knew they belonged to Azriel as surely as you did. “Stay.”

And who was he to deny you? He held you close, your cheek pressed against his chest. You fell asleep to the sound of his heart, and he fell asleep to the rhythm of your breathing. 

You woke up to the weight of Azriel draped over your body, face pressed against your breasts, arms wrapped around your waist, and the rest of him nestled in between your legs. He grounded you, wings splayed out and bathing in the sunlight that streamed through the windows. 

You were pleasantly surprised that he was still asleep and you took the time to lightly trace his features, weaving your fingers through his hair until he made a sound that had your heart speeding up. Something halfway between a sigh and a groan. 

He was slow and sluggish to wake, eyes blinking languidly as he registered the warm, supple body beneath him. 

You. 

He’d fallen asleep here with you, wrapped up in your scent until the world had faded away into blissful nothingness. He could have been asleep for eight hours or eight years and he would be none the wiser. All he knew is that you were running your fingers through his hair, and he didn’t want you to stop. 

“Hey, you,” You murmured when his whisky eyes fluttered open, eyelashes casting spidery darkness over his cheekbones where his own shadows curled as if still asleep. 

Azriel hummed, burying his face in your chest and sighing with his whole body. His arms rubbed up and down your sides leaving molten heat in their wake. “Please don’t tell me it's morning.” 

“I’m not above lying, Azriel. It’s the middle of the night.” 

His wings shook with quiet laughter, the movement of his body tickling your skin until you were grinning unabashedly. 

“Then why are you awake?” Again, his words were muffled by your skin. 

“Because I’m currently being crushed beneath the weight of an Illyrian warrior.” 

His head shot up in alarm. He was no small male and although he’d spent centuries gaining enough strength for his wings to feel weightless on his back, he knew they were anything but. And you’d let him stay like that all night. It was a miracle you hadn’t suffocated.

Stupid. Stupid. 

“I’m sorry. Gods, I didn’t mean—” He began to slide off of you. But you were laughing. 

“Wait! No! I was joking. I was joking. Come back!” You wrapped your legs around his back, the sudden movement pulling him flush against you in a rush of heat that made him go stone still. 

Mother, help me. He thought to himself, feeling blood travel both up and down his body. 

You guided his head to your chest by the strands of his hair until he was following the curves of your silhouette once again. “I like it when you hold me like this, Azriel,” you confessed. “I don’t feel like I’m going to float away anymore. Does that make any sense?”

“It makes perfect sense,” he whispered. He felt the same way. “You make the world go quiet, Y/n.”

It wasn’t until the clock struck twelve bells and the House’s cooking wafted through the hallways that you and Azriel finally peeled yourselves off one another, shuffling to the bathroom in a cluster of wings and loose night clothes. 

Azriel watched you closely, finding new ways to love you even as you brushed your teeth side by side, bumping hips and smiling at one another shyly. He watched as you brushed your hair and washed your face, stealing kisses that left minty cool tingles on his skin. 

Lucien was noticeably frowning when you and Azriel walked into the dining room, Azriel’s scent still clinging to your skin and yours to his. You’d done nothing more than sleep in the same bed, everyone was looking at you with shit-eating grins like you’d taken Azriel on the living room couch for the whole House to hear. 

“You look well rested, brother,” Cassian noted over the lip of his coffee cup. 

It was the best night of sleep Azriel had gotten in centuries, perhaps in his entire life. 

You wordlessly traded seats with Elain at the table, leaving you and Azriel on one side and Lucien and Elain directly across. When no one was looking, he reached down and pulled your chair closer, pressing his knee against yours beneath the table. Lucien noticed — of course he did — but the blush on your cheeks was so innocent and the love in your gaze so honest that he couldn’t bring himself to make any comment. Although, he did throw a few dangerous looks Azriel’s way, looks that plainly said, If you hurt her, you’re a dead man. 

Azriel only nodded faintly in reply, as if he knew what Lucien had been thinking all along and was in agreement. 

But in the following weeks your brother would come to be grateful that your care for one another was not loud. It wasn’t desperate, groping hands in hallways or sultry looks that heated up crowded rooms and made people uncomfortable. It was reserved smiles and knowing glances when you independently formed the same thought at the same time, eyes latching onto one another until one of you inevitable broke away laughing.

For the first time in his life, Azriel had someone who wanted him back just as fervently, even if it was difficult to believe. 

Azriel always needed to be touching you, whether it be a hand at the small of your back or the press of your shoulders together as you leaned over one of the desks at Cagniv — now that Azriel was allowed inside — with papers strewn about like dove feathers. 

You were no better. You stuck close to his side where shadows lingered and sought him out in every room until you may as well have owned the space within the curve of his wings. 

But things were changing. Koschei loomed taller and taller over the House like an avalanche ready to wipe Velaris off the map. Once again, everyone heard Vassa’s cries at daybreak and nightfall, and when Jurian slipped out of the attic for his own rest, he looked a little thinner and paler each time and no amount of medicine or food you and Lucien brought upstairs seemed to be helping. 

Azriel tried to steal every extra second with you in the mornings. If he had his way, he’d never leave his bedroom again, content to admire the splash of sunlight over your body and your sleepy sighs. But he was still the Shadowsinger and Spymaster of the Night Court and you quickly got accustomed to waking up to an empty bed with only a note on the nightstand. On those days you migrated out of whatever room you’d spent the night in — yours or Azriel’s, although the lines were blurred — often trekking to Cagniv to escape a house where strange, new faces were coming and going with more frequency: ash-pale fae from Winter, a white-haired female from Summer with skin so dark it was almost black, and golden males from Dawn with downy hawk wings. They locked themselves in Rhysand and Feyre’s office where bargains and plans were made in blood and salt. 

Other days you carted your books to Feyre’s studio with Nesta and Ione in tow, perching on a stool while the High Lady crafted life out of brushstrokes like she was the Mother herself. 

Feyre stood at her easel, as she had been every day this last week, with her pencil clenched between her teeth as she ignored the faint aches in her lower back and her wrist. Every line, every detail, was attended to with painstaking precision as she mapped Nesta and the old woman’s faces onto the blank canvas first with graphite, then with a thin wash, then with layers of paint that added dimension and familiarity to the two stoic faces. Feyre didn’t let her passion overtake the more clinical approach she was taking with this piece. This was not the time for free flowing movement and modernism. 

This was all about realism. 

Exactness. 

When the High Lady placed her brush on the muddied water cup beside her, you jumped up. “Is it finished, Feyre?” 

“As finished as it will ever be,” Feyre responded gravely as you took in the sight before you. Three women: Nesta, Ione, and some mixture of the two. Feyre had captured their likeness with incredible precision, using the painting to familiarize herself with their faces and the ways they could be warped and molded.  

You peered over the corner of the canvas to where the two women were standing side by side. Ione lengthened her spine, cane clasped in her hands that you’d never seen her lean on with her full weight. Time had condensed her bones and stolen some of the height from her frame, but none of her sharpness. It was a trait that granted her a strange degree of likeness to Nesta, as if you’d glanced into a future where she’d never turned fae. 

You looked at Feyre, then down to the vials of blood you’d collected from the pair. Already your magic was seeping into the burgundy bottles, testing its boundaries with such an unfamiliar medium as you released any hold you had on it. You looked at the High Lady and nodded. 

It just might work. 

“My brilliant daughter,” Helion praised, kissing you on the top of your head before disappearing in a flash of light. His empty teacup spun on the saucer. 

You felt a familiar flicker of pride grow within you. Helion had spent hours pouring over your notes, your manuscript, and leaning his ear towards your plans. He was in agreement. 

It just might work. 

Lucien slunk out of his room after Helion’s voice disappeared and sank into the abandoned couch with his whetstone and white-bone blade. The ring of metal echoed through the room, melting into the birdsongs that slipped in through the cracked open window and the clatter of sugar spoons against a porcelain plate.  

“You should tell him,” you said again, pushing a teacup over to your brother. It was a common refrain after Helion’s visits. 

Lucien stared at the three cups now strewn across the coffee table. Two empty. One full and untouched. Had Helion noticed the extra one? 

“I’ve had enough of High Lords for a while,” Lucien said as you poured yourself another strong cup, “When this is over, I’m taking Elain, Jurian, and Vassa back to the Human Lands.” His eyes flickered over to you briefly, “You should come live with us. You’d find it interesting how they conduct themselves. You might even learn something.” 

“I’ll visit for a short time, but nothing longer than that.”

“Why not?” You lowered your gaze and blushed, unconsciously tugging your sweater higher up your neck. The sweet marks Azriel’s lips had left on your skin were long gone, but you swore you could still feel them. “You know why.” You murmured softly. 

Your swollen eyes spoke of restless nights without the Shadowsinger’s hands to lull you to sleep. Azriel had gotten into the habit of stroking your cheek while you talked in bed, until the steady brush of skin against skin finally had your eyes closing shut. You missed him. 

“Lucien, I understand that you want nothing to do with Helion or any other High Lord, but… You could be better. I know you could be. You could be the best High Lord of them all, if you’d only be open to it.”

Because that was Lucien’s worst fear, wasn’t it? That a time would come when Helion would leave this world and any hope for a quiet, peaceful existence with Elain would be gone.

“And what if you’re wrong?”

You touched his wrist and the blade stopped its strange singing. “‘It’s often those who think they deserve it least, that deserve it most.’ Pippin Clodshot from—”

“A Duel of Two Faces by Aechtion.”

You reared back in surprise and Lucien grinned, tapping your nose. “I do read, sister.” 

The sarcasm in his voice was laid on so thickly you could only grumble in response. “I wasn’t aware you had two brain cells to rub together, brother.” 

Lucien laughed so heartily and for so long that Elain and Ione stuck their heads out from the kitchen in conern. 

“I thought someone was dying.” Ione rolled her eyes before her grey head disappeared once again. 

You slid further under the covers, burying your face in Azriel’s pillows as the sun finally slipped behind the mountains and shadows raced each other to the Sidra. 

Seven days. 

Seven days of waking up to empty sheets after Azriel had jerked awake halfway through the night, bloodshot eyes searching for something you couldn’t see and that he didn’t tell you about. He’d only kissed your forehead, smoothing back your hair and murmuring something about a task he needed to take care of before shrugging on his leathers. You’d sat in bed, comforter tucked under your arms and over your chest even though you were fully clothed, and watched Azriel move around the room with a practiced air as weapons flashed in the moonlight and disappeared into his bag. 

You knew all the hiding places in his room now — one of the many secrets you’d unearthed — so you didn’t find it at all strange when he captured your lips before dipping his hand beneath the mattress and pulling out a long serrated blade, perfect for sawing rope and wood. 

“Where are you off to this time?” 

Azriel had gone still, taking his time to shake away his thoughts before sweeping a handful of stoppered vials off his desk — sleep potions, draughts for pain and healing, subtle, painless poisons. You would know because you had helped make them. 

“I’ll be back before you know it, Y/n,” He’d whispered, eyes boring into yours with a haunted look that hadn’t left him since that day in the market square. 

Ten days.

Ten days of carrying around a heavy ache that every so often tightened with a feeling you couldn’t name. Almost as if it didn’t belong to you.

You paced back and forth in Azriel’s room, trying to calm a heart that hadn’t stopped racing for the last hour. You’d tried opening, then closing the windows as you curled up beneath the covers of his bed, mountain air blowing the curtains open and chilling your too hot skin. But none of it helped. 

Chasing his scent in the sheets wasn’t enough anymore. 

You tiptoed out of Azriel’s room, copying his silent steps and sticking to familiar shadows as you slipped through the House. Like Lucien, you tended to stay hidden whenever representatives from other Courts visited the River House. They were people Rhysand and Feyre trusted, but that didn’t mean you could erase centuries of wariness from your bones. 

You heard nothing coming from Feyre’s studio, but you knew that if you were to sneak through the layers of air she’d sealed around the space, you’d meet a male carved from molten heat. 

You waited in one of the spare studio rooms for the High Lord of Autumn to leave, eyes peering through the slit between the door and its hinges. If you stared for long enough, you swore you could see the air beside the door rippling with Autumn heat. 

Finally, Eris Vanserra stepped into the hallway in all his striking glory, followed closely behind by Lucien. Violently red hair hovered over a pale, freckled face composed of angular lines — striking but not unkind. You thought he looked like a lit match with his wiry frame wrapped in resplendent browns, reds, and golds that spoke of forest riches. Or maybe he just looked narrow when standing next to Cassian. That was always a possibility.

“Thank you, Eris.” Feyre squeezed his hand reassuringly. She wore similarly decadent clothes. The moonstone and diamond crown perched atop her light brown hair was a rare sight, but Feyre wore it as naturally as she wore her paint splattered overalls. She was an artist and a High Lady in equal measure, and she sacrificed no part of one in favor of the other.  

The newly minted High Lord of Autumn chuckled darkly, eyes flashing like a living flame. You’d heard horrible tales about Beron Vanserra, his cruelty, and his violence. But whatever traits Eris had inherited from his father he’d sloughed off like a second skin. The molting process had been full of its own pains, but as you assessed him now, you saw only the characteristics he shared with Lucien.  

“Don’t thank me yet. Not until my feet have touched the Continent.” 

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” 

Eris tipped his head, a smirk on his face, then disappeared in a flush of woodsmoke. 

Spring, Winter, Summer, Day, Dawn, and now Autumn. The seven courts had slid into an uneasy alliance once more, weary but willing after decades of war. Feyre wasn’t sure how much more Prythian could take if this transformed into another bloodbath. But if the fledgling plan you’d all helped nurse came to fruition, it wouldn’t come to that… at least that’s what Feyre kept telling herself every night so she could sleep. 

The High Lady jolted back when you slipped out from your hiding spot, cast in a halo of cool-toned light from the dying sun. Cassian shared in Feyre’s surprise. They hadn’t heard you come up the stairs or pass by the door. They hadn’t even sensed you until you made your presence known.

Maybe she’s picking it up from Azriel? Feyre said with some amusement. 

Gods help us all. There’s two of them.

“Where’s Azriel?” You looked to the High Lady for an answer, hands held stiff at your sides. You felt that strange anxiety clawing at your throat. It had dripped into your feelings slowly since the morning, growing like a weed until you couldn’t stop clenching your fists. “I haven’t heard from him in days.” 

Feyre felt a familiar coil of guilt settle in her stomach. 

Don’t tell her about this, Fey. Azriel had begged her, his eyes hard and tired before taking off from the back porch towards The Warren. 

He’d made all of them promise not to tell you about that place. About what he did. About what he was doing. But you weren’t a fool. You knew of his reputation as a Shadowsinger and a Spymaster and the work that came with it. You’d traced some of the scars on his body, plucking the stories from his skin whenever he let you, and you woke up when he did from his silent nightmares. The slightest change in his breathing pattern, the barest flinch of his arm wrapped around your waist was all it took for you to open your bleary eyes and shake him awake. 

But there were some secrets he was still too afraid to reveal, and some secrets he’d buried so deeply he didn’t even know what their monstrous faces looked like anymore. 

“Y/n—” Feyre began.

“I want to know.” You reached for Feyre’s wrist, grasping it so tightly your knuckles paled and Cassian stepped forward. It was a silent reminder that you had the power to take that knowledge from her if you wished. You loved Feyre. You considered her a friend. But the panic wasn’t leaving you. You stared at her desperately, pupils blown wide open. “I need to know he’s alright.” 

Feyre opened her mouth to speak, then froze as Rhysand’s velvety voice entered her mind, strained to the point of breaking.  

Feyre, you need to bring Y/n to The Warren.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

85K+ WORDS AND FINALLY THEY'VE FUCKING KISSED HOLY SHIT

I really must applaud you all for your patience because hot DAMN I am FLOORED!!! And yes, yes, I know, I know y'all want Y/n to figure out their mates and I will simply be pleading the fifth and hiding in my room and not telling anyone of you when that will actually happen because I simply cannot! ASFDK;JABSLDFIGUH

*takes a deep breath* Thank you all so much for reading and for your engagement whether that be leaving comments or liking or literally anything because it makes my day and I'm just happy that my passion project/hobby is able to bring people some smidgen of joy because the world really sucks but hey at least we have fanfics

#the shadowsinger and the inkbird #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel x you #azriel x helion's daughter

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Fifteen

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: ANGST... that's about the only major warning I can think of

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Jurian and Vassa took the attic and became scarce, but when night and day slid into one another you still heard her painful screams, muffled as they were by the magic that encased their room. It was a feeling more than anything else. A tension that gripped the House until it seemed to be sobbing. At sunrise and sunset without fail, Vassa’s body broke and rearranged itself, flesh turning to feathers and feathers to flesh. Before it had been a painless process where her body came and went in its various forms, but no longer. Now she felt everything alongside an itch deep within her bones that couldn’t be satiated by food or drink or anything else. 

Go to the lake! Her body screamed. Go to Koschei! And then punished her when she didn’t comply. Like a beast had sunk its claws into her flesh, its waiting mouth only inches away from snapping. To stay away was a slow, agonizing march to death. To move close would be swift, but final, and somehow Vassa knew that if she gave into Koschei’s call, she would be lost forever.

You lingered at the base of the attic's staircase, your bare feet sinking into the soft rug until the sounds of cracking bones finally ceased. Three pairs of feet shuffled above your head and you heard Jurian’s faint whispers like a gentle push of air. When the door opened and Lucien emerged, you saw Vassa crumpled on the floor, now a bone-thin woman with dull, coppery hair and skin ravaged by scratches and pockmarks. 

“Shhhh. It’s ok.” Jurian whispered, encasing her in his arms. 

“I can’t,” her voice trembled. “It hurts. I-I-I’m burning.” 

“Y/n?” Lucien frowned. The door slammed shut with a bang and you jumped backwards. You clutched a velvet pouch close to your chest and then slowly held it out to Lucien. 

“It’s for Vassa,” you explained, trying to keep your eyes on his mismatched ones — one russet as river stones, one gold like the sun. He opened the bag and stared in confusion at the fine, white powder within, giving it a tentative sniff. “Morphine. Humans use it for pain.” 

“I know of it.” Lucien’s frown deepened. “They get addicted. Take too much and they die.” 

“She’s already addicted. That’s what’s happening isn’t it? Koschei’s drawing his power away to get her to return to the lake and every day that passes she’s dying.” Lucien tightened his fists around the bag, still skeptical. Vassa had endured enough. He didn’t want to have her endure this either. “The bag is enchanted and will never allow her to draw too much. Just enough to calm her hunger. If we’re lucky it might help her sleep too.” 

Lucien stood there, clenching and unclenching his fists from around the gold drawstring, waiting for Vassa’s cries to cease. But they never did. And there you were standing in front of him, unwavering and expectant. There was a glimmer of stubbornness in your gaze. A sign of the hours you’d spent researching Vassa’s condition and acquiring the strange human drug, and your disapproval if Lucien didn’t accept it. 

“Thank you, Y/n,” he whispered, “But please go. Vassa hates for anyone to see her like this. Even Jurian and I.” 

You swallowed thickly and nodded, disappearing down the stairs as quickly as you could. The next morning when the sun rose over the mountains and Vassa changed, you heard only the House’s usual breathings. 

The House buckled under the weight of the Inner Circle’s secrets and the sheer volume of history that had occurred within its walls and between its occupants. It utilized its magic in clever ways — your door opened with a creak that wasn’t there before so that Azriel would always hear your comings and goings. Lucien would suddenly find his door locked and the curtains drawn on the days when Helion made surprise visits to see Y/n. Nyx would find himself ushered around by a broomstick that swatted his ankles when the adults were discussing private matters. It was all a great deal of work. 

So it was a relief when Rhys and Feyre quietly moved their children to the House of Wind with Nesta and Cassian, and when Mor and Emerie took the final steps in emptying their rooms and went to hide out in their city apartment. It was even more of a relief when Helion returned to the Day Court, but not before throwing a heavy threat in Azriel’s face that if he should ever hurt his daughter again in any way, shape, or form, he’d strip the wings off his back. 

Meals at the House were tense, quiet affairs, something not even Feyre, Elain, and Nesta’s sisterly conversations or Cassian’s light-hearted humor could ease. Elain stayed close to Lucien’s side, one hand always on his arm or resting against his back or brushing against his, but that didn’t erase what the Blood Duel had done to his trust in Elain. He was kind, but guarded, especially when Azriel was in the room. But it was more than she could ask for because it was more than she’d ever given him in the beginning. 

You and Azriel were worse off.

You were speaking once more, but your words were always laced with a bit of apprehension and Azriel’s were always filled with sorrowful hope. Conversations were dull, short, and didn’t even begin to brush the surface of all the things you should have been talking about. You were terrified not of the Shadowsinger, but of his opinion of you. Did he want you so he could fix you? So that he could feel needed? So that you could be another one in a list of females he burned through? 

It never truly seemed like that was the case, but you also didn’t trust yourself when it came to your emotions. You had told him once that you couldn’t imagine having a love like Feyre and Rhysand’s, or Nesta and Cassian’s, and you still meant it. You were a matchstick and he was flint, and you didn’t know what would happen to you after he had lit you aflame. For all you knew, you were already burning and this wonderful thing you’d had with Azriel would live and die with nothing more than the memory of an embrace in Rhysand’s office to show for it. 

But oh how you ached to touch him again. To hold him like you had before and to have him return the gesture just as strongly. 

You stiffened when Azriel’s hand brushed your arm, warmth bursting out from the point of contact. 

“I’m sorry.” Azriel whispered, and he was talking about more than the wine he spilled when he reached over the table.

You spared him a glance, the first real look you’d given him in two weeks. The flagon slipped from his hands, and if it weren’t for his shadows catching it an inch above the floor, the room would have been doused in burgundy red. 

“Does Lucien know?” 

Rhysand looked up from his papers. Missives from the Darkbringer army and Illyrian troops up north clogged his desk, all begrudgingly accepting his orders to prepare for what could amount to another lengthy war. Letters thrown back and forth between the seven courts added to the chaos, all of them war-weary and desperate for a path that wouldn’t lead to bloodshed. 

You took up the center of his room and stood so quietly he hadn’t even noticed you until you spoke. It had been eating away at you for days since Lucien’s arrival. Every time you two saw one another or spoke, you tried to scrounge for clues that would reveal whether he knew he was Helion’s son and whether he might suspect you were Helion’s daughter as well. The other members of the Inner Circle had been tight-lipped about that secret, a skill you now knew they all possessed with alarming dexterity. 

“Does Lucien know he’s Helion’s son?”

Rhysand slumped back in his chair, rubbing his temples with one careful hand. Finally he said, “Yes.” 

The answer knocked the breath from your lungs. You’d been expecting the opposite. “Does he… does he know about me?” 

Rhys sighed and shook his head. You didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. 

“How long has he known?” 

“Six years. Feyre was the one to tell him. She was actually the first of us to recognize the similarity, believe it or not. But then, no one ever dared to give weight to the rumors surrounding Helion and Aurelia Vanserra while Beron was alive.”

You rocked back and forth on your feet, breath shaking as it entered your body. “Six years. Six years and you never thought to tell Helion that he has a son? I thought you two were friends?”

Rhysand tensed. “I’m Lucien’s friend as well and he begged us to never speak of it - to live as though we’d never learned that secret. And I keep my secrets. We all do.” 

“You and your family have made that very clear in the time that I’ve been here.” 

“If you mean Azriel—”

“Don’t play dumb, Rhys, you know I’m talking about him.” Tears pricked at your eyes, adding to the humiliation that had coated you like a film ever since you’d seen his memories about Mor, Elain, and Gwyn. “I don’t—” You swallowed thickly, “I can imagine how you must have all been whispering behind my back about Azriel and I. How you must have found it so pathetic the way he charmed me when I was really his fourth choice.”

“That’s not true.” Was what Rhysand was going to say. But he didn’t need to. Azriel said it for him. 

Your face lost all color, any bravado melting away at the feeling of Azriel’s shadows wrapping around your ankles like ribbons of silk. You could feel him in the room and that quiet darkness he carried around with him as inherently as if it were stitched onto his body. 

Azriel was shaking. Shaking. With anger, turmoil, or grief — you couldn’t name it. All you knew is that one moment you were standing in Rhysand’s office, all velvet upholstery and suave, expensive taste, and the next you were in Azriel’s room. 

Everything smelled like mountain air. Maybe it was the gothic windows that stretched into the vaulted ceilings, stained glass opening out onto a personal balcony with deep blue curtains fluttering in the breeze. But you were sure that even with the windows barred it would smell the same. It would smell like Azriel. If you threw open his wardrobe you’d come face to face with a wall of black. Lots and lots of black. Black suits he hardly ever wore. Black fighting leathers. Black leather jackets for everyday. Black trousers. Black boots on the floor. Very practical. Very Azriel. 

If you dug through his dresser drawers you’d find black boxers and socks to match and no shortage of knives and daggers hidden behind wooden planks or in leather sleeves nailed to the bottom of his desk. But at first glance you only saw three weapons in plain view — Truth Teller, blade down and stuck in the wood grain of his desk beside a pile of reports, and two obsidian blades hanging from the wall beside his midnight blue bed in the shape of an “x.” 

The smell — Azriel’s smell — calmed you, at least up to the point where you turned to find him standing less than six inches away, hazel eyes boring into yours. Then your pulse skyrocketed. You were certain that if he only looked down to your heart he’d see it pounding against your chest like a drum skin ready to burst. 

“That’s not true,” he repeated earnestly. “And don’t you dare believe it. Not even for a second.” 

His eyes jumped back and forth between yours and before he could stop himself, his hands were grasping yours in a gentle hold. The leather gloves were soft and supple beneath your fingertips. You wanted to rip them off so you could feel his scarred hands again. 

“You weren’t meant to hear that,” you whispered, suddenly feeling small. That angry humiliation went up in a puff of smoke and left you shy and uncertain. 

Azriel gripped your hands a little tighter and you watched as tendrils of shadow worked their way up your arms and got lost in your hair. “But I did,” he said breathlessly, “And I need you to know that it’s not true.” 

“Azriel—”

“I know—” he was shaking his head, “I know what Helion said and I won’t lie and tell you that I’m perfect or that I’ve made any smart decisions about love in the past — I’ve not make a single one — but… but Y/n you’re not a fourth choice. You’re not something broken that I’m trying to fix or some fantasy I’ve fallen for.”

His hands shook and despite the gloves his hands still felt sticky and wet. Slick with your blood. The burning scent of iron in his nose.

“You’re the most real thing in the world to me. You’re—” You’re my mate. The words crawled up his throat like acid and it just felt wrong. He would say those words to you. He would. But not now. Not like this. He came up with something else. “Y/n, please tell me you believe me. Please.”

And there you were. Falling all over again. Burning like a matchstick on fire. The flames slowly eating away at you bit by bit. You wondered what would happen when you finally hit the ground, or when you ran out of length. Would he still hold you like this? Would you still feel real to him? 

“How am I meant to know, Azriel?” 

You’d always been good at books. You knew the ways in which these stories worked where the themes and plot points had been preordained and written with the purpose of being tied up in a neat package by the final page. People were very different. They were unpredictable and chaotic and they could lie through the skin of their teeth and believe they were telling the truth. And that was the problem wasn’t it? Because you still believed every word that came out of Azriel’s mouth, and his hands still felt like they were keeping you tethered to this earth when sometimes your powers and the memories that came with them made you feel like a whisper on the wind. Weightless and at the mercy of something you couldn’t control. 

“You can trust me. You can know for yourself.” 

He pressed your hand against his cheek and you wanted to cry at the faint pricks of stubble beneath your skin and the sharp curve of his jaw. 

He wanted you to use your power on him. He wanted you to learn all the ways he wanted you. All the ways he loved you.  

But you couldn’t do it. 

Azriel panicked when you remained silent, staring at him and at his hands like you were frightened. All at once he was back on the streets of Velaris, cobblestones shaving away at the skin of his palms as he dragged his way up to you inch by bloody inch, fighting against a body that was too broken to move. 

He couldn’t remember what it felt like when he’d stabbed you through the chest and dropped you on the street. Everything between the moment he saw Andrian’s clear-cut eyes to the moment he saw Rhysand’s horrified gaze was fuzzy and dark. But that made it worse because now in his nightmares he could imagine all the ways he’d hurt you, each version teeming with the same level of horror and possibility as the previous one. 

He let you go and hated himself when you stepped back, your hand slipping away. 

“I won’t… I won’t hurt you again, Y/n. I swear on my life. I’ll-I’ll make a bargain, I don’t care. I would sooner die than let something like that happen again.” 

I don’t know what I’d do with that kind of love. If I’d be able to handle it. It might be too much for me.

“Y/n, please.”

 I am not broken. But I am afraid. 

You fled from his bedroom. 

The air had a bite to it now with winter descending. The snow line on the mountains dipped lower and lower each day, creeping like ivy down a brick wall. 

Elain never wore gloves. Not when she was gardening. It was something she and Ione had in common. She liked the feeling of her strong hands, the callouses on her palms and fingers that she’d earned all on her own. She grunted, slamming her shovel into the soil and feeling the microscopic chips of ice give way when she kicked down on the blade. It was too late in the season to be planting tulip bulbs. If she’d been in Velaris she would have done this four weeks ago. But it was alright with her. She knew the value of hard work, and she had enough hope for the future to believe that even though she was late, she’d have something beautiful to call hers come springtime. 

“It’s time for that conversation I was telling you about,” she said cryptically, as was her way. 

Lucien dropped the final basket beside where Elain now knelt in the dirt, her pale pink dress dirtied and littered with her own handprints. The brown bulbs rolled around like oversized chestnuts, the kind that he’d be roasting over a fire right now if he were still in Autumn Court. Instead he was here, lingering in a Court that had never felt like home. Then again… he’d never felt at home in Autumn, Spring, or the Human Lands either. 

He straightened up and wiped his hands clean on his trousers, golden and russet eyes trailing over the River House’s grounds for this mysterious person he was meant to speak to.

There. 

The faint swishing of black robes behind a dark green topiary tree. He should have known Elain had been talking about you. 

You cracked your knuckles and rehearsed the words you’d scribbled out earlier that day and then set to fire in a maddening loop. You’d been restless with the truth of Lucien’s parentage and you couldn’t believe that the others had held their tongues so readily. As it was, without Azriel’s company to help quiet your mind, you’d dug into this new piece of information like a starving animal and couldn’t let go.

Was this a good time to tell him? Would there ever be a good time to tell him? You had no idea. 

Somewhere in the attic, you knew Vassa was itching to take to the skies like the burning comet she was. Every night she shivered in Jurian’s arms, the morphine barely able to take the edge off the humming in her bones, and every morning she let him lock her away in her cage. It was getting worse and worse trying to keep her from succumbing to Koschei’s influence. Even now you thought you could hear her keen cries whistling from the attic like ten thousand arrows launched into the air. 

Somewhere else, in a secret, hidden place you knew nothing about, Andrian had finally been imprisoned. Andrian with his bent neck and silver, candy-floss hair and bloody little hands. 

You shivered and jumped back five feet when Lucien called your name, kind eyes narrowed in concern. His shirt was loose and open and the sweat on his body rose like mist off his skin. He was his mother’s son first, Helion’s child second, and fire still ran through his veins. The chill did not touch him. 

He tipped his head to the side, red hair spilling out from the messy way he’d tied it up and away from his face. A brutal scar ran through his eye like a fissure, starting at the center of his brow before clawing its way down his jaw like a lightning strike frozen in time. But for all the cruelty he’d been dealt with in life, his eyes were gentle, even the mechanical one that whirred and flashed in the sun. 

They were even kinder when he looked at you. You with your inquisitive gaze and curious nature, like a stray cat that couldn’t help but linger too long at doorways. One foot inside, one foot ready to run and hide. He’d caught you watching him at dinners, and he’d catch himself staring when you walked around the house with a book in your hand, so utterly absorbed that you would bump against doorways and bang your hips against sharp corners. 

“Elain told me about you. Did you know that?” 

You blinked in surprise. “What did she say?”

“Elain… Elain doesn’t always speak clearly. Much of what comes out of her mouth can feel eerie or discomforting. But, she told me before we left for the Night Court that I would be happy I came. That I would never regret the things I learned on my trip.” He tilted his head even further, looking more and more like a fox with each turn of his face. “And she mentioned a bird. A bird with ink-tipped wings and eyes like a crow.” 

You flexed your fingers, well aware that the tips were smudged with ink, the nails bitten down to the quick. 

“Someone clever and cautious who’d been hidden away their whole life and needed to see the sun.” 

You felt stripped bare. That strange vulnerability that comes with being summed up in so few words had you feeling airy. Like one sentence could be enough to carry the weight of the three centuries you’d lived and never buckle. 

“I know you’re Helion’s son. I recognized it the moment I saw you.” 

Lucien stepped back, scarlet brows shooting up into his hair with alarm.

You hesitated, then continued on cautiously. “I recognized it because I would know my father’s face anywhere.” 

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

I KNOW IT'S A CLIFFHANGER ENDING BUT I NEEDED TO BREAK EVERYTHING INTO CHAPTERS SOMEWHERE AND I'M GOING TO TRY AND GET CHAPTER 16 UP BY WEDNESDAY SO I DON'T LEAVE Y'ALL HANGING FOR TOO LONG. HAVE MERCY!!!

The good news is that Chapter 16 is already mostly written, I just need to edit it all to make sure things flow smoothly. Also, LUCIEN KNOWS NOW AHHHHHHHHHHHH

Sorry for the Azriel angst... but it's delicious, no?

#the shadowsinger and the inkbird #azriel x reader #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel x reader angst #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #I know the fandom has a toxic shipping culture around Elain/Lucien/Azriel in particular #leave me alone all right #I am going to write the couplings as makes sense because this is a READER X AZRIEL FIC #but also i don't stand for a lot of the Elain slander #smells of sexism to me sorry not sorry just let the girl be #obviously she's not perfect but she doesn't deserve the absurd amount of hate she gets #thanks for coming to my ted talk

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Fourteen

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Secrets are revealed, relationships are tested, and the arrival of new guests at the River House make things all the more complicated. Oh and some canon typical violence.

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

There was something cold and damp against your forehead, the bitter taste of medicine lingered on your tongue, dry and acrid, and a faint pulsing near the base of your skull.

“She’s waking up.” Gwyn’s voice came to your ears through fifteen feet of water. “You can hold her hand, if you’d like. She can handle it now.”

A hand slid into yours, palms calloused from hundreds of years spent swinging a sword. Warm and heavy. Golden light pricked behind your eyes like sunlight through thin curtains and you woke up to the sun smiling down on you, red-eyed and weary.  

“Helion?” His healing touch traveled over you, whisking away any remaining tenderness in your stomach. You whimpered when he wove his fingers through your hair, gently peeling apart any tangles. It felt nice to be touched by him. Safe.

“I’m here.” 

“It hurts,” you murmured, even though you couldn’t identify the pain very well. It seemed to exist both within you and outside of you, pressing down on your chest until even breathing felt unnatural. Everything just… hurt. Your head, your heart, your throat. Like you’d swallowed a mouthful of hot ash. “I’m so… I’m so tired.” 

Again Helion combed your hair back with his fingers and you felt the sore spot on the back of your head prickle when he touched it. The blood had been cleaned, the wound closed, but you could still feel it there like a stamp sinking into your skin. The same way you could feel the stretch of scar tissue over your stomach. A thick, pale line a few inches below your sternum.  

“You’re ok, my dear. Rest. I won’t let anything hurt you.” 

“Thanks Dad,” you whispered, but you were already slipping away. You wouldn’t remember what you called him when you woke up again. 

Helion gritted his teeth and brushed away the stray tears that dripped down your cheeks, then his own. 

“I won’t let anything hurt you,” he said to the empty air.

The next time you awoke was not so pleasant. There was no caressing hand down your face. No slow murmurs from your father. No warm light blinking in the darkness. 

There was the banging of doors. Cassian’s alarmed shouts mixing with Rhysand and Mor’s, and Feyre’s commands for Nyx to take Velaria upstairs and lock the door behind them.

“Don’t come down until I get you, ok sweetie?” The boy’s footsteps were light and quick up the stairs as he calmed a startled Velaria with gentle coos. 

“Gwyn?” You reached across the bed for the priestess’s hand. Her robes looked like they were glowing to your sleep-dazed eyes. 

Her teal eyes were hard. The grip on her knife tight. 

“Gwyn, what’s happening?”

“Shhhh. Go back to sleep.” 

Helion roared and the River House shook down to its foundations. The silky covers stuck to your weak arms, slippery and cool as you gripped Gwyn’s arm and forced yourself to stand. Your knees immediately buckled and Gwyn’s awaiting arms caught you in a sprawl of heavy limbs. 

The House trembled once more. The wooden banisters creaked. The faelights that sat on swooping, wrought iron curls blinked on and off, signaling the House’s alarm as the floor slipped and slid beneath your feet. Help me! The House seemed to shout. 

“Gwyn.” 

“Hold onto me.” 

You leaned heavily against the priestess’s side, her arm wrapped around your waist, and together you stumbled out the door and into the hallway. 

You blinked, eyes adjusting to the lamplight just as Cassian flew across the room, crashing into the fireplace mantle in a burst of color that had you turning pale. The glass figurines and picture frames cracked and shattered in a rain of glass. But Cass only grumbled, “This is what I get for helping,” before bouncing onto his feet and charging back into the foyer where Rhysand, Feyre, Nesta, and Mor stood. Rhysand kept his arm out in front of the two sisters and grabbed Mor’s arm before she could step further. 

“Let them go.” Rhys said, his voice low and deadly. He knew something they didn’t. “Helion has a right to this.” 

“It wasn’t Azriel’s fault,” Mor seethed.

“Doesn’t matter. I’d do the same if anyone hurt Velaria.” 

“What the hell does that—” 

Helion slammed Azriel’s bloody and bruised body against the wall with a snarl. The shattered vases in the hallway and the blood dripping from Azriel's broken nose clear evidence that you'd stumbled upon this fight a few minutes late.

Helion held a fistful of black leather in one hand and a gleaming sword of pure light angled up just beneath Azriel’s sternum in the other. His skin burned so brightly even Azriel’s shadows had slunk away to seek shelter in the few remaining dark corners of the House.

“You bastard,” Helion spit out the words like venom. 

Azriel hung limp and exhausted, wings brushing against the floor. The bruises beneath his eyes and the cut of his cheeks spoke of days spent without sleep. Days spent prowling Velaris for Andrian. Days spent waiting outside your door for you to wake up. 

“You think I don’t see what game you’re playing? This pathetic pattern of yours?” Helion’s eyes flashed a dangerous yellow. 

“Helion!” Your voice was weaker than you wanted it to be. “Let him go!”

“It’s not a game,” Azriel said through gritted teeth. “It’s never been a game. Not with her.” “Don’t. Lie. To. Me,” Helion snarled. He pulled Azriel off the wall only to slam him back into it. Cracks splintered out like spiderwebs. Dust floated down and landed in Azriel’s hair like snow. “It wasn’t so long ago that you were convinced enough about a mating bond with Elain to invoke a fucking Blood Duel with Lucien Vanserra. Now you’re chasing after Y/n’s skirts like a dog? Looking at her with lovesick eyes as if being near you won’t bring anything but death on her head?” 

You went still.

He’d… he’d challenged Elain’s mate to a Blood Duel?

He’d believed they were mates?

All at once it made sense why Elain and Lucien had disappeared to the Mortal Lands, chased away by a violence that should have ended with either Lucien or Azriel ritualistically buried in the ground. Nothing but a pint of blood and a name to remember them by. All at once it made sense why it had been so long since their family had lived under one roof. 

Your words shriveled up in your throat and died there.

Azriel stiffened, eyes flashing dangerously. 

Helion clicked his tongue in disapproval. “You’re not the only one who hears whispers, Shadowsinger,” he hissed. “First it was Mor you pined after for five-hundred years, then Elain, then the priestess. One right after the other like a prize just out of reach.” 

Gwyn tensed beside you and your heart tightened in your chest like untempered glass ready to shatter. 

“Gwyn?” You whispered. 

You had no right to Azriel, no right to know about his past exploits with females, but still it felt like something you should have been told after long nights spent in the priestess’s presence. Months of living under their roof, eating their food, and falling in love without a whisper of warning. The things they must have whispered about when you weren’t in the room. 

Her silence was all you needed to hear. Greasy and rotten.

Azriel’s hands shook the more Helion spoke. 

“You like your females broken and vulnerable. You like it when they need you. When you get to swoop in feeling like some grand hero. So you felt you had the right to go after my daughter! And then you were too weak to protect her when the time came? You dared to lay a hand on her are you fucking kidding me?!”

The world froze at those two words. The Inner Circle was shocked into complete silence. 

You swayed dangerously as the floor tilted beneath your bare feet. 

Is that what they thought of you? Is that what Azriel thought of you? Broken. Weak. Pathetic. Someone who couldn’t handle their own. Someone who had needed saving. An easy target to charm and dazzle. A Librarian who’d been left alone for so long she’d throw herself at the first handsome male who smiled in her direction. 

Azriel stiffened. 

You were Helion’s daughter. And somehow that made everything worse, because Azriel knew how lonely you’d been as a child and how much losing your mother had nearly destroyed you. You’d shoved yourself into the Alcove where everything was familiar and safe, and all this time Helion had just stood by and done the bare minimum. 

Azriel had been holding back his rage — his pain — but he felt it erupt with new passion. Lingering jealousy, that acid that had been building up every time you mentioned Helion or touched the necklace he’d gifted you, added fuel to the fire. Shadows burst out from his hands and ate away at Helion’s magic like a plague.

“Don’t you dare,” Azriel growled and spit blood onto the floor by Helion's feet, “You weren’t even here. She could have died on those streets.” His voice was hoarse and on the verge of breaking, “And you wouldn’t have been there.” 

And he might not have been there either. 

Rhys had held him back, refusing to let go even as Azriel had tried to crawl to you on broken bones. Even as Azriel had screamed for you. 

Helion's face twisted into something ugly and foreign to you, because deep down he knew the true reason he was so enraged at the Shadowsinger. It was like looking in a mirror. They’d failed you in similar ways. 

“Helion… Helion no!” But your father didn’t listen. 

His power shot out in a blaze of light and heat and slammed into Azriel’s chest. His shadows were barely able to soften the blast. Azriel saw you then, shock and horror seeping down the bond along with something that felt a lot like heartbreak. You watched wide-eyed and slack jawed as the wall bowed out and then snapped in two. Azriel was thrown onto the front lawn, a gaping tear left in the House like a knife wound. 

Helion stepped outside and stalked up to Azriel like a lion out for blood. There was murder and hatred in his eyes. 

Everyone was shouting again as he raised his sword. 

You felt a flare of something bright and hot in your chest, like a shot of whiskey or the first bleeding rise of the sun. You stood up on your own, eyes burning with a glassy, gold sheen that had Gwyn stepping away from you with a gasp. You were glowing, pure and clear and strong. 

You’d only felt like this twice before. First, when you’d grabbed hold of Henna and stopped hiding who you really were, and then once more at the Palace of Hoof and Leaf mere minutes before Azriel had turned the book to ash. Both moments where your power demanded to be felt. Moments when your emotions turned to magic. 

“Helion.” Your voice echoed throughout the room and into the wide open space beyond, eerie and calm. So loud. So quiet. Like an aching whisper in pitch black darkness. “Let. Him. Go.”

Helion blinked in surprise with his arms still raised over his head. Inch by inch that blade of bright light faded away with the dying light of a sunset. His eyes cooled and that magic rage left his body. He staggered away from where Azriel lay on the ground. 

Your hands were trembling, but you forced them to be calm as Azriel got back on his feet, hazel eyes boring into yours. He drank in the sight of you. Your wrapped forearm. The white bandages around your middle peering through your thin nightgown. Your clean hair. 

The smell of blood was but a distant nightmare, even if he swore he could still feel it on his ruined hands. Slippery and dark. 

You turned to leave.

“Y/n, wait!” Azriel shoved a stunned Helion out of his way, racing back into the House in a blur of darkness. “Y/n,” he begged and reached out his hand, “Please let me explain.” 

You froze. The weight of his hand wrapping around your wrist and the rough feel of his scars against your fluttering pulse pinned you to the floor. You felt uncentered — off kilter — and without meaning to, you were thrust into his mind. 

You felt the way he’d pined after Mor for centuries. Always close by. Waiting. Watching for the moment she might actually look at him and realize what he was willing to become for her. Someone to love and kiss and take to bed. Someone who’d never have cast her off into that wood. Someone who would do whatever she asked until she was smiling and whole again. 

You felt the way he looked at Gwyn, like she could be the answer to all his questions. Like she could be the one to hone all his sharp edges with her delicate smile and her creamy skin and dewdrop eyes. Because if she could love him, it might actually mean something. It would mean he was capable of fixing, not just destroying. 

You… you knew the ways he’d imagined Elain. Three sisters for three brothers. Mates. Fate. Love. How he’d imagined touching her. How he had touched her. The thrill of hiding away in dark corners and the soft skin of her fragile neck beneath his lips. The arch of her back. Wood grain beneath his fingers as he pressed her up against a wall and kissed her. How he couldn’t imagine wanting anyone else ever again. 

You felt the acidic contents of your stomach surge and wrenched your hand out of his grasp. 

Azriel faltered, eyes wide and staring. Something inside of him fractured and broke. You hadn’t pulled away from him like that since Summer Solstice back when you were strangers and meant nothing to one another. But even then you hadn’t looked at him with this much feeling. This much betrayal. 

His arm was still outstretched and hanging in the empty air. 

Tears dotted your eyes, but you forbid them from falling. Not in front of him. Never in front of him. 

“I am not broken.” 

You went back to your room and slammed the door shut. 

“I thought he liked me,” you murmured pathetically, leaning against Helion’s side. He’d slid into your room quietly and approached you like a wounded animal ready to scatter. 

Your father hesitated, fingers caught in hair that reminded him so painfully of Leda — of your mother. Things had not ended well between them, but he could think of her with nothing less than fondness and gratitude. After all, Leda had given birth to you. Brilliant, wonderful, beautiful you. 

He listened to the House and the way it seemed to be holding its breath. The doors shut a little tighter. The curtains hugged the windows. And across the hall shadows lingered by the door of Azriel’s room, reaching out towards yours but never crossing the threshold. They were held back by their master’s tight leash. 

“I know this might come as a surprise after what I did, but I… He did like you. He does like you. They all do. How could they not?”

You shook your head slowly. “But not in the way I want him to. Not in the way I lo—” You shut your mouth and sighed bitterly. Your cheeks flushed with warmth and before you knew it you were crying again, leaking tears onto Helion’s bare shoulder and feeling wretched. 

Azriel curled in on himself, collapsed on the floor like a broken doll with knees pulled up to his chest as he ignored the pulling of his shadows. 

She needs you. She needs you. She needs you. They repeated over and over again, yanking on his leathers and strands of ebony black hair. Helion had left for one of the guest bedrooms upstairs after you cried yourself to sleep. Now was Azriel’s chance to beg for your forgiveness. To explain himself. To hope.

She needs you.

Azriel shrugged them off, scattering their disembodied voices with a wave of his gloved hand. He was back to wearing them. 

I am the last thing she needs.

“Lucien’s found one of Bethsevah’s descendants.” 

Gwyn stood by the doorway, pale skin and blue robes outlined by the mountain’s red walls. The priestess kept her hands behind her back, wringing them in a nervous twist of bitten fingernails, and waited for you to finally look up from your notes. 

You didn’t like spending time at the House. You hated the way everyone’s attention shifted to you whenever you entered a room; the look of tight, empathetic smiles and knowing glances filling their eyes. It wasn’t that they were trying to be unkind, but you knew they whispered about the power you’d displayed. About your status as Helion’s bastard daughter. About the absolute state that Azriel was in. 

This morning, when you’d left your room for Cagniv Library, Azriel had been waiting, filling his bedroom door frame with a hauntingly tortured look in his eyes. 

“Y/n, please—” 

You’d left without a second glance in his direction, footsteps hurried and head bowed down. His shadows had followed you to the front steps of the house, but no further and you couldn’t help but feel a weight in your chest thinking about how Azriel had looked. He’d started wearing the gloves again. 

Bethsevah’s name rang through the air like a jolt of electricity. After thousands of years, her name still held a strength that demanded to be felt. The book was gone. Whatever magic Azriel had been forced to perform had swept it away to the Continent, and Rhys and Feyre had been wracked with worry and preparations ever since. Favors called in. Threats made. Weapons forged. Bodies armed. At any point they might be called away to the Continent, or forced to reckon with a Death God at their door. 

You’d helped in your own way by digging through your notes on mating bonds and the manuscript that was becoming more useful each day. 

Thanatos and the Bone Carver, one and the same, and mated to Bethsevah Mordeigh. Magic that wasn’t the same, but perfectly complementary. Magic that worked as a lock and a key. 

You were made to ruin me.

Your initial theory, the one you’d shared with Azriel in that cramped apartment at the Alcove, had turned out to be true. Bethsevah, and Bethsevah alone as Thanatos’s mate, had possessed the ability to split him from his power and lock him away, and because his magic was cut from the same kind as his siblings, Beth had been able to do the same with Stryga and Koschei. Her blood, her genetic connection to that magic, would be the only thing capable of releasing the power in the lake. 

All magic could trace itself back to a biological underpinning. 

You were made to ruin me.

The memory was burned behind your sleepless eyes and haunted your dreams, but sometimes when you stopped concentrating so hard on the harsh angles that made up the Bone Carver’s face, you caught him transforming. Black eyes turned to brandy. His reed thin body filled out and grew strong. Wings sprouted from his back. His pale skin turned tan and scarred.

You were made to ruin me, Y/n. Azriel would say, and you’d pretend that the look of utter love and adoration in his eyes was real. 

“When will they be arriving?” 

Gwyn sighed in relief. You’d been so quiet the last few days. “Tomorrow.” 

Mor bit her cherry red lips, glancing at Rhys and Feyre with worry in her eyes as they all stood in a row ready to greet their guests. Rhys was schooling his features into one of careful neutrality, but Mor had known him for centuries. She’d seen him through his awkward teenage years when his skin wasn’t so perfect and his body grew like a weed in Spring. Back when his temper wasn’t so honed and his ego undeserved. She knew when he was agitated. The squaring of his shoulders. The set of his eyes. The faintest twitch of his left ear. 

What a fucking mess this all was. If he thought about it too hard it gave him a raging headache. 

Azriel and Y/n were mates, although Y/n didn’t know and no one knew how to tell her, especially after Azriel had stabbed her through the chest under Andrian’s influence. Helion had nearly killed Az. Azriel had nearly killed Lucien. And if anyone ever told Lucien about Y/n being his half-sister, he was sure Lucien would try and kill Azriel too… again. And— oh FUCK. Helion didn’t know Lucien was his son. Y/n didn’t Lucien was her half-brother. Fuck fuck FUCK. Cauldron boil me.

Rhysand rubbed his temples and closed his eyes. 

Azriel stood motionless, nothing but the minor sway of his wings and the masked look of anguish in his eyes to hint that he was still reeling from that day in the market square. He couldn’t stop glancing over at where you stood between Mor and Cassian, every inch of your skin covered and a forcefully blank look on your face.

Truth Teller was no longer strapped to his thigh. His shadows had returned, but with hesitance, and Rhys couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen Azriel eat something. Every family meal that you didn’t attend, Azriel would just stare at your empty seat and flinch at the sound of knives dragging through meat.

Feyre winced at the onslaught of Rhysand’s thoughts. Do we even want to attempt to fix any of that right now?

Feyre darling, where would we even begin?

At least Helion’s moved to the House of Wind. Feyre offered it as a small consolation. Took me a while to convince him of that.

Rhys gritted his teeth. And he will stay on that fucking mountain.

Lucien had gone his entire life not knowing about Helion precisely because when he stood next to his brothers he blended in. There was just enough similarity there in the silhouette of their faces and their overwhelmingly bright red hair, that no one had ever batted an eye at the seventh son of Autumn. But put Lucien and Helion side by side and a keen eye would make out the same strong slope of their noses, the same dimples on their cheeks when they smiled, and the way their brow bones hung over deep set eyes.

You possessed such an eye — an eye for details and specifics. So when Lucien Vanserra walked through the front doors with the setting sun splashing his frame with fire and light, Elain glowing and beautiful beside him, you knew immediately who he was. 

Fuuuuccccckkkkkk. Cassian groaned. Nesta, she knows. 

Stop it. There’s no way she figured it out that quickly. Nesta said. Then she actually looked at you. Your mouth was open in a round “o” and your face had gone pale. Oh for fuck’s sake. Really?

Your gaze was locked on Lucien as he walked up to Rhysand and shook his hand. 

“Lucien, welcome back to the Night Court. It’s been too long.” 

His golden eye whirred, moving up and down the line and lingering first on Azriel. His full lips flattened, freckled nose twitching with thinly veiled distaste. “Not long enough.” But his many years spent as emissary wiped the emotion from his face quickly and he moved on, greeting everyone with a detached kindness. 

“Luc.” The High Lady grinned, finally tugging a genuine smile from Lucien Vanserra’s lips. 

“Hey Feyre.” 

She wrapped him in her arms, closing her eyes and giving him a hearty squeeze. 

“It’s good to see you again.” 

“You too.” 

There was a somber familiarity there, and you got the sense that Feyre was the only one Lucien truly felt connected to. Whatever history he had with the other members of the Inner Circle was tolerable at best.

You finally caught his eye — the one strange face he’d never seen before. He easily towered above you, built with Helion’s strong legs and resplendent in a deep green riding cloak and cream-colored trousers that accentuated the tinge of color in his skin and his mismatched eyes. 

He tipped his head to the side, his long braid falling over his shoulder, and smiled softly. “You must be the Librarian that got roped into all of this madness.” Yes. Because that’s all you were to him — some unnamed female from the Day Court. An unfortunate victim of circumstance. “Y/n Halwynn.” 

You blinked, surprised to hear him speak your name so casually when you were reeling over the fact that standing in front of you was another one of Helion’s children. Another bastard that perhaps should never have been. Your half-brother.

“The one and the same.” 

Lucien evaluated the shrewd set of your eyes and the fit of your clothes over straightened shoulders and found that, at first glance, he quite liked you. You were of the bookish variety — that much was evident in the small novels dragging down your pockets and the smudged inkstains on your fingertips — but you held yourself in front of him well. You looked kind, if not skittish. 

“Lucien Vanserra.” He held out his hand and you regarded it with hesitance before accepting it. 

“I know the name.”

“It is a rather infamous last name.” 

“Bit of an infamous first name too.” 

Lucien smiled a little wider. Yes. He quite liked you. 

Elain hugged her sisters in turn, breathing in their familiar scent and gripping them tightly. Her time in the Human Lands had served her well. Gone were the days of frail bones and heavy eyes always looking out sunny windows. Her skin was flush with color, her hands strong and calloused, and her knees pleasantly bruised after months spent laboring in the fields outside Vassa and Jurian’s manor. She smelled like soil and flowers. She was as lovely as everyone had always described her. The second Archeron sister who’d been born with an unnatural beauty even before turning fae. 

Your eyes dropped to the floor so you wouldn’t have to see what Azriel did when she greeted him. But it didn’t matter. They avoided one another carefully, and Azriel kept looking at you, begging you to lift up your eyes so he could offer you a smile. 

A word. 

A glance. 

Anything.

Bethsevah’s descendant appeared next, willful and stunning in her own way as she waited by the door. Her frizzy grey hair was held away from her face with a strap of leather, stormcloud eyes staring out unflinchingly from a time-worn face. Everything about her was grey from her hair to her clothes and the iron jewelry that hung from her neck and wrists. Cassian sometimes forgot how humans wore their age so openly, and how this woman in particular seemed to brandish it like a weapon. 

“Ione Morgana.” Her voice was deep and hardy. Her eyes narrowed at everyone now that the familiar introductions had finished. “That’s my name and it’s the name my family has carried as long as we can remember. Although the redhead seems to believe otherwise. I am old, as you creatures can very well see, and I am tired. My parents are long gone. My sons dead. My sisters dead too. Now,” she banged her walking stick on the ground, although she hadn’t used it when walking up the steps, “Which one of you will see me to my room?” Her words came out more as a command than a question. 

Rhys tipped his head to the side, his surprise evident on his face. “You’re a very bold woman. Do you not comprehend who you’re standing in front of? My wife in particular?” 

“Boldness comes with age.” She stuck her nose in the air like a wolf sniffing for a bunny, “Something you’d do well to learn.” 

An amused smile grew on Rhysand’s face. “I’m over five hundred years old.” 

“You certainly don’t act like it, standing all crooked like a tryhard.” 

Cassian coughed into his fist and Mor snickered. 

“I could kill you.” 

Rhys!

Relax, my love, I’m just curious how she will react. 

The woman — Ione — hardly reacted at all. In fact, she almost smiled. “Time can kill me. Sickness can kill me. At this point a stiff wind could knock me down and break my back. You’re not special.” She whacked her walking stick again, harder this time. “Now. My room?”

Nesta raised and then dipped her head in silent acknowledgement and together they disappeared into the east wing of the house looking like two grey chess pieces moving over the tiles. 

“Wonderful isn’t she?” Elain commented with a fond look in her eyes. She was Ione’s favorite by far.

Jurian came in last, sweat beading his brow as he dragged a huge steel cage up the steps, and Lucien and Elain’s faces turned solemn. Vassa flitted inside her prison — a cage within a cage so that she couldn’t snap at Jurian’s hands when he got too close. His eyes were bloodshot, knuckles bruised and bloody. 

Your breath hitched in your throat. You’d imagined the firebird as something majestic. You’d imagined feathers dipped from the richest dyes trailing light from their ends like red, green, and blue sparklers. Instead, her eyes were the only vibrant feature about her, and they were sharp from hunger. 

“What’s happened to her?” Cassian breathed. When he stepped forward, Vassa lunged from her perch, screeching when she clashed with the steel grate. Her claws tore at the metal but never broke through the magic Lucien had placed there. 

Jurian whispered words of comfort and love through the metal, and in time, Vassa seemed to settle. 

“It started last week,” Lucien said through clenched teeth, “The day Koschei got his hands on the book, Vassa started going mad. She can’t sleep, not in her human form or as a firebird, and she keeps… hungering for something she can’t name. The day we found Ione, she…” 

“She tried to kill me.” Jurian raised his hands and slid his sleeves down. Claw marks, barely healed, ran jagged down his arms. “Let’s not mince words, Lucien.” He grimaced. “Koschei’s trying to call her back to the lake, but she’s fighting it with everything she has.” He looked back at Vassa, eyes dull and tired. She screeched once again and feathers fell from her body before curling up into blackened husks on the floor. You could just make out the sections of skin where she’d ripped out her own feathers, raw and dotted pink with blood. “I suggest you give us a room far away from everyone else.” 

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

^^ Me writing this chapter because Helion finally beat the shit out of Azriel and revealed all the tea about his past relationships with Mor, Elain, and Gwyn and because I got to bring Lucien to the Night Court. And soon! We'll get to see how Lucien reacts when he learns that Y/n is his sister!!!!!!!

#the shadowsinger and the inkbird #azriel x reader #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel x reader angst #yessssss Helion beat him up! #Daddy Helion to the rescue #we love a character with “don't touch my daughter” energy!

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Ten

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Mentions of cannon-typical violence. Azriel and Y/n have a late night conversation. Fluff and other stuff.

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

“Gwyn says hi by the way.” 

Azriel choked on his coffee, bitter flavor rising in his throat. Nesta sauntered into the kitchen, cool eyes glaring at the back of his head. Your familiar silhouette was nowhere to be found. 

Not here. His shadows whispered. With Rhys.

“Calm down you idiot.” Nesta’s voice dripped with unrestrained contempt as she poured herself a cup and sat. His tan skin glistened with sweat after his morning training session, inky tattoos splashing across his bare chest and trailing over his shoulders, down his back, and up to his neck. In the cloudy afternoon light it was difficult to tell where his shadows ended and where his tattoos began. 

“Y/n’s not here. You’ll have to walk around half-naked some other time.” 

Azriel winced. “That isn’t what—”

Nesta brushed him off with a wave of her hand, eyes narrowing over her mug. Azriel felt like a bug pinned down under a microscope. A crushed butterfly about to hang.

“How is Gwyn doing?” he asked gingerly, casually. 

“She’s fine. Believe it or not, the world did not end when you broke up with her.”

Again he flinched. “I’m sorry, Nes,” he whispered rather pathetically. 

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to. But you already know that.” 

There seemed to be no shortage of people he needed to apologize to: Elain, Mor, Emerie, Gwyn, even Lucien — especially Lucien. His cheeks burned to think of the absolute mess of things he’d made. Feyre had been the quickest to forgive him for the debacle with Elain and Gwyn. But as Cassian had mentioned at dinner, there was a reason everyone was staying away from the River House, and the reason was him. 

Two years ago he’d challenged Lucien Vanserra to a blood duel for Elain’s hand. It had felt so right at the time, so obvious: three sisters for three brothers. But it was only when their deaths had loomed over her head with shocking reality that Elain realized what a horrible mistake she’d made. The mistake they’d made together. 

“Call it off,” she’d commanded him, blocking Lucien’s bloody, heaving body. The son of Autumn’s sword had been kicked away, scraping across the rock with an eerie scream and disappearing over the cliff edge. But Elain had stayed, soft brown eyes begging, “Do this and I will never forgive you. What we did… it wasn’t right. It was a mistake.”

A mistake, she’d called it. Years of silent longing and bare bone brushes of their hands in dark hallways. All a mistake. Those words had haunted him. They’d chased him into Gwyn’s kind arms where he once again mistook the friendship he felt towards her as love and broke her heart in the process. Add that to his lackluster response to Mor’s coming out and… well he had a lot of work ahead of him. 

He hoped he would be forgiven in time, but that didn’t mean he’d twiddle his thumbs until that day came. He scoured Prythian’s publishers for new releases of adventure, mystery, and romance books — the raunchier the better — and they showed up every month at Cagniv Library like clockwork. The priestesses still thought it was part of a trade bargain with the Day Court. He’d sent Elain and Lucien plenty of letters and gifts, but either they weren’t being opened or they weren’t bothering to respond. He wouldn’t blame them either way. As for Mor and Emerie, they were gone with the wind, too busy infiltrating lands and enjoying an extended honeymoon on the continent to bother with him. 

That cold stillness in Nesta’s eyes transformed into pity. It was hard not to be reminded of her own failures when she looked at him. Seeing him angry. Watching him crawl into the darkest corners of himself and burn every bridge he crossed had been a shock to Nesta’s system. A plunge into freezing waters that brought pain and clarity. 

She sighed, rubbing her temples. “Just give them time, Az. They’ll come around. If they did it for me, they’ll do it for you.” “I think our situations are rather different.” 

“I don’t.” 

“You didn’t try to kill anyone.”

She grimaced. “I came close.”  

He stayed silent for a long while. He washed his cup. He dried it. He put it in the cupboard. 

“Can you—can you please not tell Y/n?” he begged. His voice was small and quiet. He’d been a fool in the past and made terrible decisions in the name of love. Mor, Elain, and Gwyn. They’d all lived more in his mind than in his heart — people he could never fully grasp, and therefore never lose. They’d been safe. Easy. 

It didn’t feel that way with you. You felt solid and warm, even if he’d only touched you once. You felt more real to him than anyone else. You felt like someone he could actually have. Which meant he could lose you before you’d even become his to lose. 

“You can’t keep her in the dark forever. Not about your history, not about the bond. If you’re going to learn anything from your brothers, learn that.”  

“I know,” he whispered. “I just want to get it right this time.” He had to get it right this time. “I want her to fall in love with me because she wants me, not out of some sense of obligation. I want…” I want to be worthy of her.  

Nesta shook her head, a laugh escaping despite her best attempts to stifle it. Azriel looked at her like she’d gone mad.

She giggled again. “It’s funny. For a male as handsome and desirable as you, you have the worst fucking luck with women. The Mother must have a twisted sense of humor.” 

Maybe she did. But Azriel was still enough of a romantic to hope that he had learned from his mistakes, and that his bad luck would end with you. 

You shoved the notebook off Rhysand’s desk, loose papers flying out like uncoordinated doves. 

“I told you notetaking was a futile effort.” The High Lord didn’t even look at you, too busy searching for invisible dirt beneath his manicured fingernails.

You groaned and dropped your head against the book he’d handed you two hours before. 

Rhysand had to smile at your frustration. It was a wholly different experience teaching you magic compared to teaching Feyre. With Feyre, her greatest barrier had been her lack of knowledge (and her hatred of him at the time). She’d been thrust into the world of fae without preparation, but it had left her malleable and adaptable. It was like teaching a newborn how to walk — a mind that could absorb more because it knew so little.

But you knew too much. You could spout off magical theory at the drop of a hat. You were a pedagogical master with a thousand mnemonics to your name. You were the first to wake in all of Velaris, making your way to the Library before bodies could fill the streets, and you only returned when the crowds had either turned in for the night or gone out to drink until daybreak. You swallowed every history book on the Night Court, Clairvoyants, daemati, and death gods until you felt untethered from the earth — until your mind began to float outside your body, buzzing with thoughts that never went away. 

But none of that mattered. Your power was an immovable object that couldn’t be controlled by logic or studying. 

You shoved against that power now.

“Good,” Rhysand nodded, leaning against the window, “You’re getting better at it.” 

He lingered in your mind, hovering over the depths of your emotions and memories like a bird ready to break water. It had taken some time before you felt comfortable with the intrusion. Your first lesson together, Rhysand’s presence in your mind had made it impossible to focus. Panic had seized your mind and your body until you could do nothing more than brace your hands and feet against the chair’s leather upholstery. You could have sworn you saw a head of silver hair to your left. The gentle pitter patter of rain had sounded like dripping blood. 

It wasn’t like that anymore. Henna had left you with a useful skill — you could wind your consciousness around Rhysand and keep him there, suspended in that indescribable space where your thoughts lay so he could do no more damage than you permitted him. 

Through your mind he felt the narrowing of your power. You imagined it like a blanket wrapped around your body, suffocating but familiar. It was this power that laced your skin and made contact with others so hard. You imagined the fabric shortening, creeping up your arms and legs, curling around your torso and squeezing like a snake. Inch by inch you tightened it around you, burying it within your chest instead of carrying it openly like a wound. 

You held a music book between your hands — Nyx’s to be exact. The little Lordling showcased a certain aptitude for the piano his father could only dream of, and being as young and protected as he was, the worst kind of emotion imbued within its pages was agitation. You could hear one of the ballads written within it as clearly as if Nyx was sitting beside you plucking out the melody. 

Tighter. Tighter. Tighter. You swallowed your power. Pulled what was outside inwards. Slowly but surely the music faded away until the book was as all books should be — silent. 

Sweat beaded your brow. This was the most difficult part — not tuning out the music, but keeping the volume at zero. 

Rhysand checked his watch. Waited. Checked it again. 

You lasted thirty minutes before your power burst out along your skin once more like a thousand prickling needles. You shuddered, half-disappointed, half-grateful that you could hear the melody again.

Rhysand clapped his hands, slow and proud. The grandfather clock in the corner of the room was dangerously close to five bells. Rhysand nodded. 

“Perfect timing. We’re done for today.” 

“I can go for longer,” you pleaded. 

“I know you can.” Rhysand pushed off the wall, polished leather boots gleaming. He was wearing his Illyrian leathers this time, the scent of wind still clinging to his skin after a visit to the northern war camps.

Old Illyria lasted thousands of years. The clans used to flow up and down the Steppes, following the tundrabeast that lay claim to those mountainous regions and were said to speak for their god Ramiel — Starbreaker, Night Herder — after whom the mountain is named. They don’t move with the cold winds anymore, even if they’ve kept their names: Ironcrest, Bloodborn, Windhaven, Seawhip, Hawkseed, Timberbane, and a dozen others. And they don’t make sacrifices, although the Blood Rite might be a close—

Rhysand rapped his knuckles on the desk to grab your attention and splayed his fingers wide. “I also know that the moment I dismiss you, you’ll scamper off to the Library to work until you can’t see straight.” 

You shifted in your seat. “I like it there.”

“That’s besides the point. If you keep going at this pace you’ll burn out. Then you won’t be able to help anyone. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” 

Your eyes widened ever so slightly. You hadn’t thought he’d noticed. “I know what it feels like to burn out and it’s not going to happen anytime soon. I promise.” 

Rhysand suppressed the urgent need to roll his eyes as you gathered your things and walked out the door. “And here I thought I worked too much,” he muttered beneath his breath. 

You carried Henna’s journal tucked within your new Librarian robes — black with ivory detailing and wide sleeves that narrowed at the wrists. You kept a hand on it during late nights at the Library. You ate with it propped open, black splotches swimming across the page like worms. You slept with it beneath your pillow. 

But alas, it would seem the book was going to make you work to wring meaning out of every odd symbol.

You were muttering to yourself as you walked back and forth in front of the fireplace. You’d effectively commandeered one of the reading rooms on the seventh floor, leaving the library only when required for Rhysand’s lessons. Helion’s most recent letter lay open on the table with Cherp’s resting just beneath it. A map hung crooked on the wall, four athenaeums circled in bleeding red ink alongside a list of books that had gone missing — the ones that people knew about at least. 

The Alcove, Ares House, Folkmen’s Bard, and most recently, Argot’s.

 Three Librarians dead. Their throats slit. Blood dribbling down their burgundy robes as they’d sat hunched over their desks. The week before it had been two from Ares House caught swaying from the third floor balcony. 

No one has any idea how it happened. The wards were never set off. Nothing in the Library was disrupted. I tell you this only because you deserve to know what’s happened to your people. Continue your training. Continue your research. Do whatever you need to do. But leave the court business to me, dear. I’ll write to you again when I can.

~ Helion 

“It doesn’t make sense,” you mumbled, drumming your fingers against your hip where the book remained silent. “None of this makes sense.” 

You’d used every ounce of Rhysand’s training on the book. You’d imagined your power sliding over it like water, fire, needles shooting through cowhide, a hammerstrike, every metaphor imaginable. You’d glared at it with an intensity that would have disintegrated a lesser object. 

When that failed, you had moved onto solving the murders and thefts at your father’s court. You couldn’t content yourself with sitting in one of the cushy, high-backed chairs in Rhysand’s office sipping imported tea in porcelain cups while athenaeums were on lockdown. 

The pattern was shockingly simple — Koschei was going after books that could be traced back to him. Books that might give his enemies the upper hand: folktales alluding to him and his siblings, translated texts from old Bauldish that might have proved useful in deciphering Henna’s book, secondary accounts of the age before High Lords ruled. 

If you were Koschei you’d go after Godswoods next — the collection of athenaeums dedicated to religion. Then on to The Gallows — the athenaeum on death and dying. The two were intricately tied to one another, but people tended to write books on dying before coming up with explanations for what comes after. You’d spent a great deal of time there following your mother’s death, and you could picture it now — solemn black bookshelves looping around a circular room that tapered up into a point like a blade pointed to the sky. 

You finished writing your letter to Helion, along with the list of books you wanted pulled from the archives. Cagniv Library may have been a glowing beacon in the Night Court, and a place of sanctuary for the priestesses, but it was nothing like you were used to.

You held the paper out in front of you, Helion’s glimmering pen tucked behind your sharp ears, and blew. The black letters lifted off the page and faded away like a breath in cold air. The message was already writing itself back into existence in Helion’s office.

“It doesn’t make sense.” 

You scribbled out another note, this one for yourself with another pen. You ripped it to pieces and fed it to the fire. 

What was Koschei looking for now? Was he still looking for the book that now rested against your hip, or had he turned to some other prize? And why kill the Librarians and set all of Day Court on high alert? 

Henna had been careful. She’d stayed hidden until she was forced to tear down the Alcove to get the book. Whoever was causing the killings now was either a showman or a fool. They left bodies hanging from rafters. They carved smiles into throats. They let the Librarians know what they were stealing whether they meant to or not. They left patterns scattered among wreckage for someone like you to figure out. 

It all felt… juvenile for lack of a better word. Someone young. Someone who wanted to prove themselves in a loud way. Someone whose ego hadn’t been tested yet and wasn’t listening to Koschei’s commands in their entirety. 

Azriel. 

You couldn’t help but think of him. 

Azriel was nothing like that. 

He wasn’t loud. He didn’t vy for attention. He didn’t seek the light in a room. His confidence was quiet and true. His kindness took the shape of the shadows that lingered by your ankles. It took the shape of the robes you wore now. He was the only one who’d seen them at The Alcove. He was the only one who could have requested the court seamstress to make a copy and leave it hanging in your closet.

No. Azriel was nothing like that.

Azriel’s eyes lit up like embers when you slid through the front door, weary but bright-eyed and cradling your journals against your chest. The shadows he’d left behind with you slithered across the floor like mist. 

She’s been in the Library all day. Working. The shadows whispered in his ear. She thought about you. 

Azriel smiled. He’d thought about you as well. “I was wondering where you’d gone.” 

You gasped, closing the door louder than you intended. You’d developed a talent for sneaking in and out of the River House unnoticed to the point where Cassian considered hiding bells in your pockets. Nyx had tried to do it as a joke, but you’d caught him giggling too loudly in your bedroom. 

You brightened immediately, a broad smile appearing on your face. Azriel felt his heart leap, then quiet as he caught the scent of parchment paper. 

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow?” You whispered, tip-toeing through the dimly lit hallway to where Azriel was in the sitting room. You sank into the couch with a groan. The hardwood desks at the Library had not been kind to you. 

He shrugged and brushed back his wind-thickened hair, shifting to face you better. A crumb-coated plate lay on the table and he still wore his leathers. He must have just arrived home. 

“I flew as quick as I could. I wanted to be home.” With you. 

He’d gotten so used to the feeling of you sleeping across the hallway that he’d flown the last three days without sleep. It was worth it to see you again. From the looks of it, you’d not fared well in his absence either. Your eyes had that glassy, half-there sheen: a perfect mixture of exhaustion and mind-crackling clarity. 

“And how were the Mortal Lands?” You tucked your knees beneath you and leaned against your hand, fighting the sleep that seemed to grapple for you now that Azriel was home. His wings were spread wide and you resisted the urge to close the last few inches between you and the talon that glimmered in the faelight like obsidian glass.

You’d never been that far south. You’d never had reason to. But Azriel flew far and wide. The Continent was now Mor’s domain, but the secret goings of Prythian and the Mortal Lands belonged to him and him alone. The Spymaster of the Night Court. The Shadowsinger.

Azriel shook his head. “Quiet. Koschei hasn’t touched them yet as far as I can tell, and the Mortal Queens don’t care. They seem to think that they can handle Koschei because he’s agreed to bargains with them in the past.” 

You made a noise of disapproval. “Like they handled Hybern? The only reason they’re still standing is because fae fought their war.” 

The scattering of human armies that had arrived on that battlefield had belonged to no crown. They’d either fought for the bloodlust or the money. You could respect them for that. 

Azriel tipped his head to the side, following the curling of his shadows around his shoulders. “But they are still standing. They don’t know what we sacrificed to keep them safe. That’s the problem with humans. They forget too quickly and get complacent” 

“It would seem we have the opposite problem. We can’t help but remember everything,” you said, with no small amount of bitterness. 

He wanted to keep you talking. He wanted your thoughts. Wanted to fall asleep to the sound of your voice after three weeks of silence. You weren’t aware of it, but the bond had felt thin the further he’d traveled away from you. Like a tightrope stretched to its snapping point. Now that he was back, and you were here, his heart didn’t feel like such a strenuous burden.

He smiled. “I think that’s just you. I know plenty of fae who are forgetful and empty-minded.” He leaned back, stretching his wings out to the side, and winced. They were whipped raw and tender from the flight. 

Without thinking you got up and moved to the fireplace, feeding wood to the flames until it crackled happily. There was a reason Cassian and Azriel loved to bath their wings in sunlight every chance they got. The heat helped the soreness and eased the wind’s rough edge. 

It also drove color into your cheeks and set your hair alight in a soft golden haze. You were a marvel. An angel with a halo to match and Azriel drank in the sight. 

“Like who?”

“Cassian.” 

You smirked and chucked the last of the wood into the flame’s gaping mouth. 

Cass was far from empty-minded, but after decades of being feared as the Lord of Bloodshed he was grateful that people loved him enough to be just a little mean. He gave and received friendly blows like kisses on the cheek and smiled all the wider for it. To threaten his life was the same as saying I love you. It must be why the Mother had made Nesta his mate. She said I love you to him all hours of the day. 

Azriel asked you what you were thinking, and when you told him he felt some of that pain slide off his shoulders like rain. He threw his head back and laughed until his chest started to hurt again and you thought about how rare that sound must be, and how much you loved it. 

“How are the others? Rhysand told me Feyre’s sister is down there along with your friends.” 

Azriel sobered up quickly and cleared his throat. “Yes. Elain, Lucien, Jurian, and Vassa.”

His voice caught on two names: Elain and Lucien, and it didn't escape your notice. He sounded... nervous.

“And? Are they alright?”

He rolled his shoulders and looked out the window to the inky black sky. Vassa would be sleeping now in her human form, and if she was lucky, she’d wake up in the morning still within the manor’s grey stone walls. Safe. Home. 

He shook his head gravely. “They’re nothing short of terrified. Koschei has Vassa under a spell that would normally keep her tied to his lake. He let her go during the war against Hybern and he’s been allowing her to stay, but… everyone’s just holding their breath and trying to prepare for the day he’ll take her back.”

You shivered and wrapped one of the spare blankets around your shoulders. You couldn’t imagine a life where every waking moment held the risk of being torn away from everything you held dear. The anticipation would have broken you more than the act itself. 

“I’ve heard of her. The firebird.” You murmured softly. You imagined a creature with glowing eyes, blue-red feathers streaking behind like ribbons set on fire. Azriel narrowed his eyes in confusion, and you explained, “Ares House records all wartime information. I read the reports. We’re very thorough.”

Azriel smiled. “I would expect nothing less.”

Silence passed in comfort, and you couldn’t stop thinking about Vassa.

“Do you think they’d be able to stop it if Koschei did make her go back?” 

“I don’t know, Y/n.” And it was driving him mad to have Koschei hanging around like a forgotten word at the end of his tongue.

“I hate this,” you spat out, “The not knowing. I hate it.” 

Azriel stared at you, hazel eyes silently begging you to continue. Shadows curled around your body, gently tugging you closer to him until your knees were a whisper away from touching. 

You both sighed softly into the quiet air. Even the River House seemed to be at rest for the night. The usual background hum of cooking and cleaning were absent. It was just you and the Shadowsinger. 

“How are things going? With the book?” 

You slipped your hand through the slit in your robes and pulled it out. The gold chain rustled, glowing faintly from your touch. 

“It’s going.” You shoved the book back out of sight. You couldn’t even stand to look at it after the hours you’d spent agonizing over its pages. “Rhysand’s been teaching me to contain my power better. I can actually touch some things now.” 

But not him. Still not him. And it was killing you. 

Azriel gave another one of his small smiles. The ones that never failed to make the world a smaller, more manageable place. “That’s good.”

“I just… this may sound silly but, I’m not used to things being this hard. With my powers a lot of things just sort of came naturally for me. But now people are dying and I’m just sitting here on this very expensive couch and I can’t do the thing I was brought here to do and I… I don’t like feeling this useless.” 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Azriel murmured. He closed the space between you even more, shadows hovering over your face in silent permission. When you didn’t pull away they brushed back the strands of hair that had fallen over your face with a cool, silky touch. 

Azriel was all calm darkness and you imagined that if you reached out to touch his chest your hand might just slip through him like he wasn’t there at all. He seemed too good to be real. 

But he was real, and he was sitting close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath fan your cheeks. 

“You’re not useless. Never believe that. Not even for a second. And even if you were useless, it wouldn’t matter. You’re worth more than the things you can do, remember?”

“I remember.” Your voice was quiet and thick. 

You rested your cheek in the crook of your arm as you gazed at him wearily. 

Azriel kept his hands out in the open, one hand reaching across the couch cushions before stopping mere inches away from yours. His shadows closed the remaining distance, slipping in between your fingers to mimic Azriel’s touch. 

“Did you uncover any more secrets of mine while I was gone?” Azriel asked as your eyelids began to droop. 

“I confess I forgot to look. But maybe now that you’re here, I’ll start again,” you mumbled into the encroaching dark.

“I look forward to it,” were the last words that filtered through your ears before you fell asleep to the untranslatable whispers of shadows. 

Nyx bounded down the stairs, leaping the last six steps before landing soundlessly on the floor with a soft bend of his knees — just like Azriel had taught him. Feyre gave a proud nod before ruffling his ebony hair and Rhysand beamed. 

Let me. Feyre adjusted the wrappings around Rhys’s chest that kept Velaria’s plump body swaddled and comfortable. Her pink lips opened in a yawn that had both mates sighing. 

“Uncle Az!” Nyx raced forward towards the sitting room and then froze, mouth opened in a surprised oh.

Azriel slept like the dead on the floor, chest rising and falling with the beat of his gentle breath. You lay stretched out on the couch, one arm propped beneath your head and the other dangling over your waist and off the cushions. Your fingers swayed an inch above Azriel’s chest, shadows swimming over his torso and creeping up your arms so that even in sleep you were connected to one another. 

Feyre gasped softly at the picture. The sunlight blanketing the both of you in peach fuzz. The faint uptick of Azriel’s lips and the smoothness of his brow. The way you looked like you were bleeding into him. The black of his shadows and your robes. 

Rhysand rubbed Nyx’s shoulder and kissed Feyre’s cheek.

Let them sleep, Nyx. We’ll get breakfast at Huth’s today.

Nyx let his parents lead him towards the door without protest. He’d never seen Uncle Az sleep so soundly in his life. 

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

Yeah... this slow burn is burning... but I just love it so much and I love writing all the sweet little moments they have and their conversations with one another and I hope you're enjoying it as well.

#azriel x reader #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #everyone deserves a person who'll help them relax enough to fall asleep #late night conversations and barely there touches and longing and asdfbaefnaks #AZRIEL FREAKING MADE HER NEW ROBES SO SHE WOULD FEEL MORE COMFORTABLE #He's trying to grow and do right by his exes so he will feel more worthy of Y/n and I just ugh #i'm giving him Mr. Darcy energy I don't give a shit

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Twelve

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: None! Familiar faces return to Velaris and Y/n finally gets a chance to explore the city...

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

I’ve been dreaming again. Dreaming of him. 

Thanatos. With his milky pale skin the color of bleached bones. Bold brush strokes of black ink mark his clothes and paint his hair and his marble eyes. I should feel unsettled when looking into the face of death. But I don’t. I’m the only one who gets to see him like this. The only one who gets to see his true face and I don’t know why. He doesn’t understand it either, and it frustrates him to no end. 

He’s almost as curious as I am. Almost. 

He came to the cabin again today, carrying that black lit candle between his spindly fingers like he believed in the Mother and was prepared to pray and sing to her like the rest of us. He says he likes to hear me during the service, tiny and informal as it is, but really I think he’s here because it irks me, and because I’m some tapestry he can’t seem to unravel.

He asked me again whether I’d call upon the Mother for him. He says he has a question that needs answering, and once he has his answer, he’ll be able to tell me how we can defeat Koschei. If it’s even possible. 

But I don’t believe that male for a second. He’d sooner carve the world to bits and devour the scraps before helping us like the coyote he is.

Rest assured I will never agree to his bargain. It will take more than that to turn Bethsevah Mordeigh.  

Although he said something strange that night, when the candles had dripped and left their waxy marks on the altar. 

“You were made to ruin me, Beth,” he said, “And I will let you do it a thousand—a million—times over.” 

He spoke in a dozen different voices, but I can’t deny I liked how the sounds came together and became his own. 

You jerked awake with your hand still cradling the book against your chest. 

Bethsevah Mordeigh. 

You had a name. 

You had a name! 

You burst out of your room. 

“Az! Az! I’ve got something.” You beat your fist against his bedroom door. “Az!” There was silence. 

The kitchen was empty, dirty dishes scrubbing themselves clean in the sink. A glance at the clock above the oven told you you’d slept in a great deal.

You took the steps two at a time, sprinting down the hallway towards the west wing. The training arena took up most of the second floor stocked with enough weapons to outfit a small army. Wood and stone knobs stuck out from the wall at extreme angles as part of the climbing gym. The ceiling dipped up and down like draped fabric. On any other day you would have seen Valkyries with rippling arms and backs making their way up to the green flag pinned directly above the room’s center point, bodies straining against the pull of gravity. But not today. 

Two of the three mats spaced across the room were occupied and you heard the beat of Illyrian wings before you even opened the double doors. 

Feyre and Nesta stood against the side wall bracketed by racks of steel swords, glistening throwing knives, and an Illyrian bow as long as you were tall. 

Feyre licked her lips, greedily tracing Rhysand’s powerful form as he went toe to toe with Azriel. You couldn’t help but stare as well as they leapt around the ring in a blur of wings and shadow. You’d never seen Azriel shirtless but… well… it was a sight you could get used to. 

It was a dance — a dangerous, deadly dance — and although the language of violence wasn’t one you were familiar with, you could read the display well enough to know that Azriel would win this round. 

Sweat glistened on his skin, slipping down the curves of his back where leathery black wings fused with his shoulder blades. Tattoos wrapped around his shoulders and across his chest, pulsing with a life of their own as Azriel cleanly side stepped one of Rhysand’s kicks. There was the faintest crease in the High Lord’s brow to let you know he was getting tired. 

But Azriel was just getting started. And now that he knew you were watching? He wanted to make it worth your while.  

Rhys gritted his teeth, launching out with a strike quicker than lightning. Someway, somehow, Azriel was faster. He dipped to the side, Rhys’s knuckle just kissing his cheekbones and came up for a counterstrike, slamming his fist so hard into his brother’s cheek that he staggered back. 

That was unnecessary. Rhys snapped his jaw back into place.

Azriel grinned. Fatherhood suits you. But I can’t let you get soft.

There was a roll of violet eyes. Sure. That’s why you’re trying so hard right now.

Rhys snatched Azriel’s leg out of the air, rolling onto the ground in a move that sent the Shadowsinger twisting in a graceful arch that had your breath catching in your throat. He broke free of Rhysand’s hold, leaping onto his feet like gravity didn’t apply. 

You met his eyes, heady and dark, and could have sworn he winked. But it may have just been a trick of the light. 

You ducked your head, hurrying across the room towards Feyre and Nesta and hoping they wouldn’t comment on the flush creeping up your neck.

“Fey—” you began urgently.

The High Lady held up a hand and you fell silent. There was a sheen to her eyes that let you know she was honing in on Rhysand’s moves with more than just her eyes. 

Nesta smirked at you as you blushed. You struggled to keep your gaze from drifting back to the powerful display, even as you caught glimpses of Azriel’s tan body out of the corner of your eye. Rippling, bold, strong. 

“Don’t worry about staring,” Nesta said with a wicked glimmer. “The boys admire us. We admire them. It’s an even exchange.” 

One mat over Cassian was sparing with a new female you’d never seen before. Illyrian, but there was something wrong with her wings. They were held strong and proud above the ground, but they dragged in places where Cassian had control over every minor movement. If you concentrated closely enough, you could make out the thin, shiny scars that had snipped the tendon closest to the apex of her wings, just by the arch of her claws. 

Your stomach dropped with horror.

Her wings had been clipped. 

She held her own against the Lord of Bloodshed. Cassian might have had the advantage of experience and his longer limbs, but she moved with a daring determination. She dodged every blow by the narrowest margin, conserving her energy so when she was able to slip close and find her opening, she slammed her elbow up and into his nose with a sickening crack that echoed throughout the room. 

You winced, hands flying up to your face at the same time that Cassian’s did. 

“FUCK!” He roared. 

“Whooo! THAT’S MY WIFE!” A gorgeous, curvy blond hung off one of the ring posts, legs propped up on the tensioned ropes. 

There was only one member of their family that had ever been described as sunlight incarnate. That had to be Mor. Which meant the striking female currently giving Cassian hell on the mat was Emerie.

Emerie blushed, stealing a heavy look for long enough for Cassian to snap his nose back into place. He ducked down and swept her legs out from beneath her, wrestling her to the ground in a tangle of leather and wings. But Nesta didn’t let him have the advantage for too long. 

Cassian choked on the teasing words he’d prepared for Emerie when Nesta sent him a particularly candid image of herself in a strip of black fabric. 

For later tonight. She whispered down the bond.

Damn it Nes.

Emerie smashed her forehead into his already swollen nose, then her knee surged up with enough strength to crack ribs. She braced her foot against his chest and flipped him over her head and onto his back, wrapping her powerful legs around his neck and pinning him to the ground with his arm forced back in his socket. Finally he tapped out. 

“Poor Illyrian baby,” Nesta crooned as Emerie pulled Cassian to his feet. Despite the blood that dripped from his nose, he was glowing with pride at Emerie. “Better luck next time.”

Mor grasped Emerie by the front of her training gear and yanked her close for a long kiss that left the Illyrian stumbling back with red lipstick smeared over her lips and a dark blush across her caramel cheeks. 

Nesta yelped when Cassian wrapped his arm around her waist, lifting her off the ground with one arm like she weighed nothing.

“We could try that move tonight. Your legs, my face? But this time I won’t tap out.” Cassian winked and Nesta leveled a sultry glare in his direction, eyes lingering on the sheen of his muscular chest with unabashed heat. 

“Get a room,” Mor called out and Emerie threw a towel in his direction. It landed over his shoulder with comical perfection. 

“Says the pair that had to disappear to another continent after their wedding ceremony.” 

Mor flung an obscene gesture his way and Cassian returned it with equal fervor. “Says the pair that made Azriel run for the hills when he was left to chaperone.” 

“Hey! That’s on Rhysand. He never should have left us with a chaperone at all.” Nesta cut in. 

“You rang.” Rhysand appeared sweaty and spent behind Mor’s shoulder and slung his arm around her. The bruises on his cheeks were turning darker by the second.

Azriel hovered on the edges of the crowd, glancing at Mor and then at you. He was mildly disappointed that you’d been too busy watching Cass and Emerie to see him win at the end of the fight.  

“Gross, get off of me.” Mor shoved her cousin away. 

Rhysand’s shoulders shook with laughter. He smiled at you, eyes gleaming with happiness. It had been so long since he’d last seen his cousin. 

“Mor.” He gestured to you, “Meet Y/n—” He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I think I just realized I don’t know your last name.” 

“Halwynn.” You offered up your mother’s last name. Even though you technically didn’t have any right to it as a bastard, it’s the name you’d gone by your whole life.

“Meet Y/n Halwynn,” Rhysand finished. 

“The resident intellect,” Mor said, caramel-brown eyes shining. “Well thank the Mother, you showed up when you did.” She looped her arm around yours easily and you caught a whiff of the perfume she’d dotted against her collarbones — amber and vanilla. A ruby the size of your thumb hung from a gold chain, following the dramatic dip in the front of her scarlet dress that left little to the imagination. You thought she might just be the most gorgeous female you’d ever seen. 

“We’d be absolutely lost without you. I hope the Library is up to your standards, although let’s be honest, it probably isn’t.”

You agreed a little too quickly. 

“Bethsevah Mordeigh.” Rhysand turned the name over in his mind, testing its familiarity and coming up empty. “Any takers?” 

You all stood around Rhysand’s desk, the book propped open beside bottles of jet-black ink, eagle-feather pens, and neat stacks of parchment paper.

Everyone shook their heads. 

“Fair enough.” He looked disappointed, but not surprised. “We’re only separated by a few thousand years, give or take.”

You paced in front of the windowsill, nervously picking at your fingernails until they were under threat of bleeding. Azriel noticed and one of his shadows gently wrapped around your wrists and pulled your hands apart. You looked at him gratefully and stuck your hands in your pockets.

“The oldest text I’ve seen dates back twelve-thousand years,” Feyre offered. “I’ve also asked Gwyn and Clotho to begin searching.”

“What about the Day Court?” Azriel looked at you.

“I can ask Helion to search the archives. But I’ll warn you, records dating back that far are few and far apart. And priestesses back then were less keen on recording the movements of their members. But we might get lucky with some of her descendants if they ever joined the order. Work our way backwards through history.”

Mor shot Rhysand a look. “Why ask me to come back here now? I could have been of better use searching for this information on the Continent.”

“Now is not the time for you to be traversing foreign lands. Not with Koschei at risk of being let loose.” 

You shook your head. “And it wouldn’t matter. Bethsevah wouldn’t have been born on the Continent. If she ever went, it would have only been to trap Koschei. Our best bet is to search for information about her down south.”

The others stared at you in confusion. You blinked as if the answer was obvious. “Organized religion surrounding the Mother emerged in Southern Prythian and her priestesses didn’t spread out to Hybern or the Continent until the Insynthian Age.”

“Your point being?” Nesta folded her arms over her chest. When it came to the specifics of Prythian history, she and Feyre were about as useful as a glass rod in a lightning storm. 

“The bit about the candles is a very, very old ceremony. People would write their prayers in blood and have a priestess burn them on a candle made with a strand of their hair woven into the wick. If Bethsevah was a priestess performing this ritual, she would have been an early member of the order. Before the Insynthian Age.” 

“That would narrow things down significantly.” Rhysand nodded in approval. “I’ll reach out to Lucien, see if he’ll be able to find anything out for us.”

You pulled a sheef of paper out from your pockets and Helion’s pen. You scribbled down a note to him about what you’d discovered and within five minutes the words were racing south to the Day Court. 

“How on earth do you know this?” Mor asked incredulously, looking at you with a mixture of awe and bewilderment.

“I’m a Librarian.” She looked unimpressed by that statement. “I had a religious phase.” You smoothed your thumb over your necklace, feeling for your mother’s seal — a flowering heather and fountain pen crossed over in an “x”. 

“A religious phase?”  

“Yes.” 

She clicked her tongue, red lips turning up in a smirk. “You Day Court fae are certainly something.” 

You blushed. “I’ll let you know if I learn anything else.” You went to grab the book, but Mor’s hand slapped down first, pinning it to the table and you with a stare. 

“Nope. Work is for tomorrow,” Mor declared, eyes glittering with fondness. “Today, I want to see my city with my family.” 

You tapped the book through your robes, counting the rhythmic swings against your hip like a metronome. One. Two. One. Two. One-

Cassian leaned down to whisper, “You’re doing great,” before waving to a male with ash-blonde hair standing beside an apple cart. 

Pink ladies, honeycrisps, and ambrosias were piled high into luscious clouds. Two gestures and a flick of a coin through the air later and Cassian was shoving a small, flimsy basket in your hand. Roasted apples covered in burnt sugar and drizzled with caramel seeped into the wax paper. 

One. Two. One. Two. 

It was still too early for most of the Night Court, but the hustle and bustle in the Palace of Bone and Salt was unperturbed. Now was the time for the owners of small shops to haggle for prices without interfering with common business. The apple cart you just left had a new customer already — a wispy female with candy-floss hair lugging a basket on wheels capable of carrying three bushels for the bakery two streets over.

“Would you like some?” You held the food up to Azriel, but he only stumbled over a crack cobblestone street before shaking his head no. 

He was being awfully quiet today. Quieter than usual. 

Maybe he’s sick? You thought to yourself. He hadn’t eaten lunch either, but maybe that was just because he disliked the sandwiches you’d made. Or maybe it was because of a certain blond-haired female who kept giving him side glances with questions eating at her from the inside out.

“Come on,” you encouraged, nudging his shoulder. “You haven’t eaten since breakfast.” 

Azriel looked at the apple slice you held out for him like it was a personal torture.

Cassian grinned and slung his arm over your shoulders, peeling you away from Azriel’s side to his relief. The weight was a comfort coming from him and you felt that thrill in your stomach whenever any member of the Inner Circle touched you. 

“Azriel won’t starve. I promise, Y/n.” 

Nyx thought he might starve. He was a growing boy, and had a stomach to match. He tapped your elbow and you wordlessly passed over the basket to him, but not before snatching a piece for yourself. The sugar crackled, then melted over your tongue, the sharpness from the apple cutting through caramel in a burst of tartness. 

“How is Helion doing by the way?” Mor dropped the question casually. “Rhys says you know him well.” 

You blinked at her. What did she care about Helion? “I’ve worked on a few projects for him before this one. And he’s doing as well as he can be, I suppose. Things aren’t exactly perfect in the Day Court right now.”

“Ah, Helion,” Mor breathed out, almost wistfully, “He was one of the few good males I ever slept with.” 

You choked on your food, sputtering and coughing for long enough that Cassian started to slap your back. You felt your bones shake with each blow.

So… Mor had slept with your father… figures.

Feyre looked at you with concern. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” you said meekly. You shoved more food in your mouth before anyone could ask any further questions.

Azriel felt that familiar pool of jealousy bubble in his stomach at the mention of Helion. You kept rubbing that necklace of yours, Helion’s seal displayed prominently like he’d personally stamped you as his. 

He allowed himself to get close enough to brush against your shoulder and a few of his shadows creeped onto your body, weaving themselves into your hair. You looked up at him and smiled. 

“You’re in a good mood today.” Azriel’s hazel eyes were brighter in the morning light, flecks of green poking through the amber. “You’re smiling.” 

And what didn’t you have to be smiling about? You were finally exploring Velaris. Mor, Cassian, and Nyx had touched you, albeit through the fabric of your robes, and you hadn’t been overwhelmed. And you’d finally been able to take knowledge from the book.

 It had been a pinch of information as potent as saltwater. You had gotten a name, and names held power. 

Azriel’s eyes glimmered with quiet delight. 

“I’m just happy,” you said. “I think things are getting better, with—” You glanced down at where your arms swung side by side and you reached out a finger, allowing it to gently brush against the scars at the top of his left hand. You curled your fingers around his for the briefest moment before letting go. “And… you know.” You shrugged. 

Azriel stopped walking abruptly and everyone turned to stare at him. The Shadowsinger was strung taughter than an Illyrian bow. 

Mor raised her brow in open appraisal. There was a flash of something like shock in her eyes and then she was buried in Emerie’s hair, whispering something into the female’s rounded ears that had her dark carved eyebrows flying up to her hairline.

“Az?” Rhys asked cheekily, “Everything alright?”

Cassian chuckled and even Nesta smirked.

Last year he was giving Elain and Gwyn the bedroom eyes, and now he short-circuits because Y/n brushes her hand against his? I don’t believe what I’m seeing, Cass.

Some females like their males a little pathetic and lovesick. 

You would know. 

Cassian chuckled, looping his arm around her waist and burying his lips in her hair. He twirled the face framing pieces between his fingers like he always did, and Nesta tried not to think about how she’d first started leaving them out after meeting the Lord of Bloodshed. It would seem she had once been a pathetic and lovesick fool herself.

I love it when you tease, Nes. 

Maybe she still was. Nesta couldn’t help but lean into his touch. 

They do make a good couple. She admitted and Cassian was in agreement.

Feyre was thinking the same thing as you twisted towards him, hand still outstretched like there was a string tying your fingers to his. You couldn’t help but want to drift towards him as surely as gravity makes rain fall to the earth. 

Does she know? Mor grasped Rhysand’s arm, eyes wide and staring. Does she know they’re mates? 

Not yet. 

Mor groaned. Are you fucking kidding me?

I wish I was.

Damn you, Azriel.

Azriel shook his head and forced his body to move forward. The world had stopped when you touched him, and it was only just starting to pick up again. 

“Sorry,” he murmured. 

Nyx munched on his apple slice, staring at you both curiously before following after his mother and father.

“Did you hear something?” You stayed by his side, no longer interested in the aromas fluttering in the air from the bakery, the soup shop with its stone vats bubbling in the back, the smokehouse with its slabs of bacon crackling on grease. “From your shadows?”

“No. Why did you think that?”

“You had a look in your eye, like you weren’t quite there for a second. My mother used to say that I looked like that sometimes when using my powers. Like for a moment I was untethered from the earth and at risk of floating away.” 

Azriel saved that piece of information, storing it away in his mind next to the knowledge that you had always wanted a dustbear for a pet because they were such simple, mindless creatures and you never felt overcome in their presence. 

“I do feel that way at times.” He waited until your little troupe passed by the spice shops. The particles in the air always made Cassian sneeze. “But not now.” 

Everyone dipped into a paisley blue building, the bell ringing with a soft clang to announce their presence. 

“Right now I feel… settled.” 

You grinned at him brighter than the sun, moon, and stars combined. “Good.” 

You followed after the others, and while your back was turned, Mor took her opportunity. She clawed the back of Azriel’s leathers, hauling him down the alleyway before anyone could notice. 

Azriel’s eyes blew open in surprise when Mor shoved him up against the wall hard enough for a rain of petals to fall over their heads from the second floor balcony. It would have been romantic if it weren’t for the incredulous look in Mor’s eyes and the fact that Azriel was still caught up in your smile and the feeling of your skin against his. Gods he wished you were the one pressing him against this wall. He couldn’t stop thinking about that hug in Rhysand’s office. He wanted to feel the softness of your body against him once more. 

“You idiot!” Mor slapped him across the face and it shocked him back to the present. “Why didn’t you tell me you found your mate?” She hissed. 

Azriel looked frantically back to the street, half expecting you to be standing there with your inquisitive eyes. It was still a jolt to his system whenever anyone used that word: mate. Equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. It was such a fragile word, and the others tossed it around so dangerously. 

“I didn’t—” Azriel stammered. Mor and Emerie’s arrival this morning had been unexpected for everyone except Rhysand and Feyre. “There wasn’t time.” “So?! You should’ve made time.” Mor stepped away, letting the Shadowsinger back down onto his feet. He had the good sense to look sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck while Mor tossed her waist length hair over her shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed pink, tanned and freckled from her time on the Continent. 

Azriel felt that familiar coil of guilt building in his stomach and he tried to remember the apology he’d been preparing for this exact moment when he and Mor would be alone. 

He cleared his throat and bowed his head to the ground in a picture of reverent apology. “Mor, about what I said—”

She crashed into him again, arms looping around his neck and squeezing him so tightly he felt his ribs crack. And she was… laughing?

“You have a mate!” She giggled through happy tears, bouncing on her feet. Her heels clicked against the granite tiles. “My best friend finally has a mate!”

She kept repeating it over and over again, like she couldn’t quite believe it herself. 

“Mor, please. Keep it down.” They were attracting attention and Azriel wordlessly summoned his shadows to hide them from view.

Mor finally let him go, covering her mouth with her hands. “I’m sorry I just—” She squealed. 

Azriel let out a long, heavy sigh. This was closer to the reaction he should have had when Mor and Emerie announced their engagement. Instead he’d gone cold and silent. 

He should have known Mor preferred females, and maybe he had known all along that Mor could never love him the way he’d once loved her. But he’d done what he always did when it came to love and ran forward with a blindfold on, hoping his aim was true but never bothering to check. 

Mor furrowed her brows. “Are you upset by this? Why do you look like that?”

“What?” Azriel hissed like the question physically hurt him. “No. No! I’m not upset, I’m—” He clenched his fists and said in a small voice, “I think I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.” He took a deep breath and winced, “And I’m thinking that you must have felt similarly when you got together with Emerie, and that I royally fucked up by reacting the way that I did.” 

He could picture it clear as day — Mor’s radiant smile slipping off her face, left hand dropping behind her back to hide the glittering ruby, the tears that gathered in her eyes when all Azriel did was remain stiff as stone before dropping off the balcony at her engagement party. 

Mor hesitated then tucked her honey-gold waves behind her ears like she did whenever she was uncomfortable. “I should have told you sooner.” Azriel knew she was referring to more than just her relationship with Emerie. “I knew you loved me and I let you believe for so long that there might be a chance I could return those feelings. But I was scared because… because I wanted to know there would always be someone waiting for me if…” She pressed her hands over her stomach. The nails may have disappeared from her body without a trace, but they’d been hammered elsewhere in her soul and she hadn’t managed to take them out just yet. “It was wrong of me to use you like that. To keep you waiting for so long.”

Azriel rubbed her shoulders. “I think you gave me more than a few hints that it wouldn’t work out. Chief among them, Cassian.” Mor’s gaze dropped to her feet, but all Azriel did was press a gentle kiss to the crown of her forehead. “I still love you, Mor, and I always will. It’s just a different kind of love now. I’m happy for you and Emerie. Truly.” 

“Yeah?” She looked up hopefully. 

Azriel nodded. He pulled Mor close, wrapping his wings around her to block out the sounds of bartering happening in the square. They stayed like that for a long while, until the shadows on the wall had dropped another inch. 

Mor sniffled and pushed him away. “Ok, enough of this now.” She carefully brushed away at the corner of her eyes, “You’re ruining my makeup.” 

Azriel’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, and Mor noted how it seemed to come easier to him now.   

The whole day you’d felt that something was amiss, but it wasn’t until a flustered artisan carrying bolts of spider silk fabric crashed into you that you realized what it was.

You stumbled into Azriel’s sturdy arms, feeling the strength and power beneath his leathers as he propped you up against his side. 

“So sorry, miss. Please forgive me.” The artisan blubbered. His cat eyes glowed a pale orange as they flickered over you from head to toe, “Can’t see with this.” He lifted the bolt. There was something about his gaze that unsettled you, like he was searching for something. Like he was hungry. Or scared.

“It’s alright.” You adjusted your clothes, tucked the book behind your back so it was pressed up against Azriel’s hip. 

That look in his eyes disappeared and he huffed in relief before continuing down the cobblestone streets, too much in a hurry to notice the Shadowsinger glaring at him.

“Are you ok?” He let you find your footing, keeping his hand at the small of your back. 

You stared at the male’s retreating form. “He didn’t… he didn’t bow to you. To any of you.” You blinked at Feyre and Rhysand.

She wore no crown, no jewelry except the ring on her finger and the diamonds in her  ears, but the male must have known he was in the presence of his High Lady. And there was no mistaking Rhysand and his brothers.

“Like Azriel said when you first arrived here, we take the casual approach.” Feyre said, and as if to make the point, Nyx shoved his hands in his pockets, tilting his head to the side in a manner so like Rhys that Azriel and Cassian burst out laughing. Rhys looked down fondly and brushed back his hair. 

Feyre drifted to your side, watching with amusement as Nyx disappeared into the forest of color that was the Palace of Thread and Jewels. Every inch of fabric was too precious to be wasted, and so the weavers collected the scraps and tied them together, end to end, until they became one long chain. They hung from the entrances of shops, from the arches criss-crossing overhead, and from hand-painted signs. They wrapped around doorways and caught on the shoulders of passerbys, whispering of the time and effort spent crafting them.

Nyx weaved in and out of these strands, chased by Cassian and Azriel as they pretended to be tricked by the little boy’s lithe footsteps. You gasped as he turned invisible, then reappeared four inches to his left, jabbing at Azriel’s side before disappearing again.

“He can wrap light around himself as much as he can weave darkness,” Feyre explained, staying close to your side, “I think he might have gotten some remnant of the Day Court’s power from me. It made him an absolute nightmare for about three years when he couldn’t control it. Can you imagine having a toddler waddling around and wreaking havoc that you can’t even see?”

Nesta let out a sharp breath of laughter. “I think that’s an experience unique to you, Fey.”

You had to agree. You’d never turned invisible as a child, although you had to admit it would have been a very useful power to inherit from your father.

“Gotcha! You little rascal!” Cassian said triumphantly. 

You heard Nyx shriek with laughter. Cassian and Azriel both had one arm raised above their heads and with a little shake the boy came back into view, dangling upside down from his ankles.  

“Don’t break the boy, Cass.” 

“I won’t break him, Rhys. Gotta let him grow old enough to beat all those bastards at Windhaven, don’t I?” 

Rhys and Feyre’s smiles slipped ever so slightly. 

Nyx was lowered to the ground. He kept his arms out and balanced on his hands for a brief moment before walking over onto his feet with a flourish. 

“Gwyn taught me that last week. She’s part river nymph. Very flexible.” He brushed invisible dirt from his shirt and continued on, leading the way towards the Sidra like he owned the place — which in some respects he did.

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Author's Note:

Just another little chapter with more slowburn antics between Y/n and Azriel! And! Mor and Emerie are here! I am slowly but surely collecting characters like pokemon cards because you know I want to have my favorites in Velaris when shit starts to go down...

#azriel x reader #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #the shadowsinger and the inkbird #acotar fanfiction #acotar #azriel angst #azriel spymaster