Disclaimer: All but Lyra belong to Sarah J Maas

Lyra watched as Mor bustled into her room, bright, happy and practically bouncing as she hauled multiple bags in and onto the bed. Lyra blinked tiredly, barely awake for the day. Mor was unfazed by this and gave her a large smile when she had everything down.

"I went shopping!" She declared and Lyra raised an eyebrow at the blonde, faint amusement flickering there. Mor began to pull from the bags, lifting what looked like light, breezy shirts and some thick, soft looking sweaters. "I can't keep stealing Feyre's clothes for you, so I went and got some for you."

"Some?" Lyra asked, looking over the six overflowing bags. "Does this store have anything left?"

Mor laughed, shrugging as she laid some of the pieces out before her. "A few things," She assured her, looking toward the bags. "I wasn't sure what you liked, so I got some of everything. We can return whatever you don't like or I'll give it to Feyre."

Lyra softened, her throat tightening a bit at the kindness. "I… you didn't have to-"

Mor waved her away, pressing the soft sweater to her hands. "Trust me, I never turn down a chance to shop. Besides, you needed it and I figured you were still iffy about going down to the city."

Lyra hugged the sweater close, caught off guard yet again by the effortless kindness that Mor seemed to have. She was right, she wasn't ready to be around all the people she felt in the city below. Even the thought of it, feeling all of them around her made her skin crawl. She wondered if she would ever be okay enough to do it.

"Thank you. I'm pretty sure this is more clothes than I ever had at home." She muttered, running her eyes over the bags again and flashing Mor a small smile. The blonde grinned before launching into explaining the various items she had bought her, what pieces she had chosen to go together and taking in her comments here and there about what Lyra preferred or didn't. Lyra wasn't much for fashion or shopping but she was glad to have the distraction of it, especially when it was a normal, mundane task.

After the talk a few nights before, Lyra had been so exhausted and overwhelmed by it all that she had stayed in her room again, thinking and worrying and trying to work through all that they had told her. This world was so strange, so different and these people so old and powerful. It mad her wonder why on Earth that damned Book would want her here. She was no one, less then no one when compared to the High Lord and his family.

Mor spent at least an hour going over the clothes with her and after helped her put away those that she had decided to keep. She dragged the others to through the door, taking them to wherever Feyre's clothes were kept. She promised to bring more of what she liked back with her. Lyra had just sputtered that she had gotten her plenty.

"I was thinking," Mor said, stopping in the doorway and tilting her head at her, those blonde waves falling over her shoulders. "You don't have to go into the city, but you can come to the townhouse. The House of Wind is so big and stuffy, I think you would like it better there. It's smaller, homier."

Lyra shifted nervously, chewing her lip. She was right, this house was stuffy and it was too big. But it was something she knew. Familiar in this strange world. Mor picked up on her hesitation because she gave her a soft look and said, "You don't have to decide now. Just think about it."

Lyra nodded, promising her that she would. That was enough for Mor, who beamed at her before heading down the hall, bags in hand.

She ventured out of her room after changing into one of her new outfits, putting on a breezy shirt and some leggings. She mulled over Mor's offer as she moved through the hallways toward the dinging room. She walked cautiously toward the balcony there, taking in the beautiful blue sky and smelled the air.

She stopped in the doorway, only a sliver of mountain and water visible of the city below. She hadn't gone to look at it yet, too scared to see this foreign world she now dwelled in.

She sucked in a breath when she took a couple steps out, nails digging into her palm, but not as hard as she usually did. Took a couple deep breathes and appreciated the sun and breeze on her skin. More and more steps until she grabbed the railing, her heart pumping madly in her chest.

It was beautiful, the city. Colorful and bright and filled with people. It wasn't like any she had ever seen. Staring down at it, the expanse of it took her breath away.

"The view is even better at night."

Lyra jumped, gasping as she found Azriel behind her, those wings splayed and shadows dancing around his throat and fingers. His lips twitched at her surprised look, a bit of amusement flickering in his amber eyes. She gave him a glare as he came closer to look over the balcony with her.

"I could of fallen over the edge or something." She muttered, her heart rate beginning to return to normal slowly.

"It is good I can fly then." He answered dryly, surprising her with the flash of humor. She gave him another glare in return, which he met with his usual cool look. "You have not seen it yet?"

She had a feeling he already knew the answer.

"No. It's beautiful." She said and he nodded, something going soft in his gaze as he looked down. "Velaris, right?"

"Yes. The City of Starlight."

"Fitting, for somewhere in a Night Court." She said, leaning back and letting out a sigh. "Where is the townhouse?"

He raised a brow at the question but lifted a hand to point toward a part of the city, the sun glinting off the blue stone that was on his scarred hand. It wasn't a busy, packed part of town, which Lyra was glad about. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if she did go. "Do you wish to go there?" Azriel asked, glancing at her.

"Mor said I should visit. Get out of here a bit." She muttered and she hated how nervous she sounded at the prospect. She had made such progress from what had happened years before and now she was back in that place, scared and fearful of everything. She hated it. She hated what this change and being brought here had done to her.

She didn't want to go back to that, that place of fear and anger. She couldn't.

You are stronger than this. You can do this.

"I'd like to go. Maybe not to the city yet. I can still… feel everyone." She muttered, though she cringed at the words and how odd they sounded. "Ugh, that sound so weird."

"It's not." Azriel answered, his voice cool and lined with that gentle kindness of his. "The shadows… they allow me to see and hear things I shouldn't. Shadowsingers are so rare, I didn't understand what was happening when they first came."

"They speak to you?" She asked curiously, watching as one of those shadows ran along his shoulder, drifting toward her and lifting, as though peering at her. It reminded her briefly of the dream from before the night she was pulled here, that figure… him standing in the distance, pulling her as shadows churned around him.

"Yes." Azriel answered, going a bit still as the tendrils moved closer to her. She watched it dance, seeming to sway with the breeze and before she thought about what she was doing, she reached a hand toward it. Her fingers ran along it, watching in fascination as it breezed along her skin, feeling oddly like a caress as it twirled between her fingers and then blew out completely.

When it dissipated, she blinked, blushing as she realized what she had done. "Sorry." She muttered, realizing from the way he had stilled, his eyes wide, that she may have done something wrong.

"It's… fine." He said, something odd in his voice. The other shadows had lightened after the one disappeared, seeming to fade with it. His amber eyes stared at her hand, confusion shining as his wings flared slightly. What had those shadows whispered to him then, as her hand touched it? Had it sensed something, that power she supposedly held now? Was he disturbed by it?

The thought made something inside her wilt.

"Sorry." She repeated, before backing up a step. The movement seemed to break him from whatever trance he was in and he blinked, that cool, unreadable mask falling back into place. "I'm going to head back to my room. Tell Mor I'll come if you see her first."

"I… will." He said. She turned, heading back inside, a sort of hollow pain filling her chest as she felt his eyes still on her.

Even hours later, he felt that shiver, the feeling of her hand brushing up against his shadows. He could still hear the whispers, the way they sighed as they ran along her skin. He had never experienced anything like it in the 500 years of his existence. He had never seen them disappear completely.

"… another week or so, I'd say you will be healed completely."

Azriel forced himself to focus as Madja spoke, running her wrinkled hands over the barely there wound. The glow of her hand dimmed before she patted his shoulder, smiling at him. Rhysand stood behind her, his violet eyes dark as they surveyed the healing wound. Azriel quickly put his shirt on, knowing where Rhysand's mind was going too. He knew his brother blamed himself for the injuries, for how everything had gone that night. He always took to much onto himself.

"Since it is almost healed-"

"Almost isn't completely." Rhysand said immediately, the tone of his voice giving no room for discussion. Madja gave him a sympathetic smile, her wrinkled face knowing as she squeezed his shoulder again.

"Lord Rhysand is right. You will not be completely ready until that wound is healed." She said and he tried to push down the anger that the words filled him with. It was not Madja's fault, he knew that. She was only doing as she thought was best. It wasn't Rhysand's either.

It was Jurian's. And Hybern's. He would see them both dead.

"I will come again next week to see to you and Lord Cassian." Madja said before nodding toward the salve she left on the table next to his bed. "Continue to put that on at least twice a day and do not push yourself."

He bowed his head to her, muttering a low 'thank you' as she moved past Rhysand and squeezed his arm as well before leaving. Azriel glared at the ground as the door clicked shut, his wings tucking in tight.

"I am quite fine at doing it myself, brother. I'm trying not to be offended at how little faith you have in me." Rhysand said, though the lightness in his words did not meet his eyes.

"It is not your job." He said, his teeth flashing as he dug his fingers into the mattress. Rhysand sighed, running a hand through his blue-black hair.

"Your job now is to heal." Rhysand said, his voice firm, unmoving. Azriel merely snarled at him and his brother just smiled, knowing the anger wasn't actually directed at him. "It is probably best you stay here a while longer. Lyra seems comfortable around you."

Azriel stilled, smoothing his face as his brothers cunning eyes turned on him. He could see, could almost feel his brother trying to read his reaction to the words. He was about as subtle as Cassian. "She has taken to Mor." He said, meeting Rhysand's gaze with his own blank stare. "Mor can keep her company, if that is what worries you."

Rhysand laughed, shaking his head at his sidestep. "Mor did not nearly rip my head off the other night."

Despite himself, he shifted and he knew Rhysand immediately saw his discomfort. His lip quirked up, those violet eyes flashing as he tilted his head. Azriel wanted to growl again, but he knew it would only amuse his brother further. "You are protective of her." Rhysand said carefully.

"She is still unsure. I did not wish to see her pushed." Azriel said, turning a cold glare on him. Rhysand met it, his eyebrows raising. But Azriel did not wish to discuss the way he was drawn to the foreign female. The connection he had with her from the moment that spell took set him on edge, scared him in ways he didn't understand. And the way his shadows had reacted…

"I felt… attachment to Feyre even before the mating bond was in place." Rhysand pushed. Azriel froze completely then, wings flaring when he met his brothers gaze. His eyes were kind, understanding but even so, Azriel felt anger bubble in his stomach.

"Fascinating." Azriel bit out, keeping his face neutral as he stared back at his brother. That icy anger grew in his stomach, splinting and cracking as it spread through his veins.

For his brother was voicing something he had not wanted to think about or face.

What did it mean if Lyra was his mate? She was a stranger and despite their connection, no one to him. And even if he did become closer to her… who was to say the female would ever want him? Despite how he had rose due to his connection to Rhysand and his gifts, he was still a bastard and, in the end, what was he worth? He made a good enough spymaster, served his family in the best way he knew how, but he wasn't sure what kind of mate he would ever be. Or what female would ever want him.

Mor saw that. Saw that he wasn't worthy of something deeper than friendship. 500 years and she had rejected any advancement he had ever put out toward her. She pushed him away, took other lovers in front of him, never let him in enough to ever become something more.

You are nothing and you will never be anything more, boy.

He looked away from Rhysand as his father's words rang in his ears. It was one of his earliest memories of his father and it was one of the last things he had hissed at him after he had dug Truth Teller into his thigh all those years ago when he had extracted his revenge. He hated how often he still heard the words in his head, no matter how much he tried to block them out.

"There is no bond." He insisted, forcing the thoughts of his father away, shoving them deep down. He made sure his voice was icy enough to tell his brother the conversation was done and to push no further. Rhysand always read him better than anyone else and in times like this, Azriel hate it.

He looked reluctant, like he had more words, but he dipped his head in acknowledgement that Azriel wished to end the conversation. "Well, Mor has demanded we have dinner at the townhouse tomorrow night. Lyra has agreed to leave the House."

"Very well." Azriel said, standing and flexing his wings a bit. At least his wing had fully healed, even if the one still grew stiff at times.

"I'll leave you to ask Cassian who he wishes to have carry him down." Rhysand grinned, slapping him on the shoulder as he headed toward the door. Azriel snorted and followed him out, despite his still rocky mood, picturing the reaction of his brother at the prospect of having one of them carry him down from the house. Rhysand chuckled as well, clearly picturing the same thing as they headed toward the dining room. "I will see you then. Listen to Madja and do not push yourself."

Azriel huffed, making Rhysand give him a sympathetic smile before heading toward the balcony. His wings appeared from that place he kept them, spreading and stretching. "I will you see soon, brother."

He shot into the sky, leaving Azriel alone with his shadows, who grew and thickened when Rhysand completely disappeared from sight. He rubbed at his chest, that anger and pain still left over from the discussion.

You are nothing and you will never be anything more, boy.

His shadows hissed, twisting and thickening around him. The thing he hated most about his father's words, even after all these centuries wasn't even that it was his words, but that he already knew the truth behind him. He was worth nothing. He had known that his whole existence.

What female would want to be shackled to that? Lyra, who had suffered enough, did not deserve to have that connection forever trailing her. And Mor, somewhere deep down she saw that truth too.

He spread his wings, shooting into the sky himself to head to the training ring above. He didn't care about Madja or his brother's warning to take it easy right now. He needed to hit something, before this pain and anger consumed him. The words still echoed in his head, repeating with each beat of his wings.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.