Chapter 11

Rhysand was not where I had seen him through my vision. Cassian and I landed on the large balcony, the doors that led into the foyer left open. It was empty, not even Mor standing where I had seen her. Cassian strode forward without a sliver of doubt or caution. He had no need for it. This was his home.

I hung behind him, trailing as slowly as I could without loitering. Every few steps, my eyes hazed white, risking peeks into the various rooms in search of the court members. Amren. The second in command that even Cassian seemed to withdraw his boisterous character at the mere muttering of her name. Rhysand was the only person here with more authority than her and meeting her without that chain of command tethering her was far below the line of desirable. In fact, I began to think of excuses to make to further delay this gathering if he would not be there. Call me a coward, by all means. I would not be ashamed of yearning that blanket of protection that I had been denied for so long.

"Cassian." His broad shoulders stopped swaying, his chin tipping over them. "I should go change. I wore these all yesterday then slept in them."

Cassian observed my clothes with scrutiny. He was seeing through my excuse, but still linking pieces together. "You don't stink, if that is what you're wondering." My mouth twitched upwards in a small hint of a smile but I could not manage something larger. No, it wasn't, I wanted to say. He nodded and smiled in a way that I could not. "Come find us when you're ready."

I waited for him to continue on, watching his muscles move under his black shirt before I left the foyer and hunted down my chamber. Guilt, dread, anxiousness—they all meddled in my sternum to create a soup of disruption. Was I even right to place my faith in Rhysand? He would have no reason to shield me against his own, especially not someone that he trusted enough to put as his second.

That sudden realisation made the soup in my sternum broil. No, he wouldn't. I would be left alone to face whatever creation this Amren was, which I had discovered was something entirely not Fae. Rhysand would not help me.

I reached my chamber, opening the silver knob with clammy hands, all but slamming it shut behind me. I was alone again. Alone and trapped in the den that was a collection of some of the most powerful creatures to walk the earth today. I couldn't run. I could, but there would be nowhere but the unknown to run to. It was against my nature to run to the unknown. I was a Visionary; someone that saw, someone that knows and holds information. I survived by searching, by pinpointing safe locations, by listening to conversations held miles away.

I did as I told Cassian. Stripping from the clothes, I dressed in something equally as comfortable. I made sure to place the small velvet sack on the vanity so that I would not forget its location. Then I lay on the bed, facing the door and thought. For hours.

I'm not sure what I expected. Perhaps for one of them to come find me after some time, wondering why I had not come to greet them. I was glad that they had not, but I couldn't help but wonder why. My mind reached its limit, thoughts scattering until they were nothing but jumbled images and words. I moved to the window that looked over Velaris, the afternoon sun high over the mountainous peaks. It was lunchtime, and I felt the ache in my stomach. I was so distracted by it, pondering over what I should do, that I did not feel the light touch of someone entering my mind until his voice came.

"You're taking a long time to change clothes."

I blinked, swallowing twice as though I needed to use my voice to answer. "I have a large selection to choose from," I thought back, even glancing over my shoulder towards the large cupboard where I knew a hoard of clothes lay behind. "It is a difficult decision."

At the soft chuckle that travelled down the link came, my face twisted, trying—but failing—to not smile. "I'm certain," he said. "I'm also certain that you have already made a choice." I didn't answer. I didn't need to. Rhysand was prying through my mind like it was an unsealed letter. I placed a wall around it, one that he could easily break through, but hopefully one that he would notice enough to not pry too deeply at my request. "Lunch is being served."

I swallowed again, fingers tightening over the windowsill. "I will be there shortly," I said before I could give myself the chance to back out. Continuing that streak, I stepped away from the windowsill and moved towards the door. I allowed my feet to work of their own accord, fearing that if I spared them a moment of thought, they would stop in the middle of one of the empty halls.

There voices penetrated into the corridor outside of the dining chamber. "Perhaps if you didn't drink yourself into oblivion every time we go out, you might remember," Cassian's voice drawled.

"I think I would remember that," Morrigan growled back. Turning the corner, I expected sour expressions and tension in the air. There was none of it. Morrigan, in the midst of rolling her eyes, looked far more bored than she did upset. Cassian's smirk dripped with amusement. Azriel sat quietly, dug into a plate of food with his eyes flittering between the other Illyrian and the blonde. Rhysand, already expecting me, was already looking towards the entrance when I came around. He too was eating away at a plate of food, but less interested in occupying his mouth with it.

The final person, I knew by instinct and common sense, was Amren. A short woman, with black hair cut off at her neck. Her features were sharper than most as though they could cut through stone. And her eyes—a hard silver that it made polished Illyrian steel seem dull, both in lustre and sharpness. There was no plate in front of her. "And I was beginning to think you had made her up, High Lord," she purred, staring straight through my soul.

Morrigan lifted her cup to her wine-red lips. "I would not be surprised," she spoke over the rim. "He's been terribly lonely in the way of women lately."

Rhysand recoiled his neck. "And you think my solution would be to conjure a woman in my mind and attempt to convince you that she is real?" he questioned both women. The side of Amren's lips tipped upwards, passing the High Lord a look that said she did think such a thing. Mor shrugged and went back to her wine. In a moment of an afterthought, Rhysand murmured over his own wine glass, "And I'm not that lonely."

Cassian hunched his shoulders over his meal. "Poor girl hasn't even said a word yet and you're already speaking of her like she isn't here."

Amren lifted her chin. "Well then maybe she should speak so I can be reminded. And proven that she is real and not one of Rhysand's mind tricks." She flicked her fingers in my direction. "Speak, girl."

My mind ran blank. "Hello."

Cassian snorted. It was rather dumb, admittedly. At least how it sounded. Rhysand smothered a smile unsuccessfully, but it was more of an attempt than Cassian made. Mor flicked me an encouraging smile whistle Azriel simply observed the table.

Amren blinked at me, then at Rhysand. "I'm not convinced." I sat down at the table next to Azriel, a plate appearing in front of me, along with the taste of magic filling my mouth and nose. It was opposite Rhysand, but the furthest spot away from Amren without leaving empty seats between us. "So, she's a Visionary? Are you just plucking random Illyrians and Fae that show titbits of power now? Letting them all into your sacred city?"

I poked a small tomato with the prongs of my fork, bringing it to my lips. It was… strange, the way she spoke to him. Like it did not matter to her if her High Lord became riled at her musings. It was a way of acting that I had imagined myself doing so, many years ago before even that part of my imagination was stripped away.

"You know that's not what I'm doing," Rhysand answered her. His tone had lost almost all of its lightness, but a touch of it remained, I believed, to keep the atmosphere at ease. "We can talk about this later, Amren."

"Then what else should we talk about?" Amren drawled. "We've spoken enough about her while she isn't here, and now that she is, the girl can barely stutter out a single word. I thought you would have had better taste in who you brought here, High Lord."

Blunt. Sharp. Apathetic.

I was right to be warned.

Rhysand's sharp glare met her first, but it was Cassian's growl that I heard. "Watch your mouth, Tiny One. One might think that it needs cleaning out with soap." My eyes snapped to Rhysand whose violet orbs had turned into slithers, carefully watching the situation.

Amren simply rolled her eyes. "Your threats are so empty that it is pathetic, dog." Cassian snarled. It was reminiscent of the day that I first met him when he made a similar noise at Lord Devlon.

"Is that all you know?" Panic seized me; and seized me tightly. It was I, that had spoken. It had meant to be a thought alone. But the eyes of the table turned to me, and I did everything I could not to waver. "Dry words?" I continued, despite my body screaming no. "I'd have thought it would get rather boring after a few days. Even camp lords have a sense of humour."

Silence reigned so loudly that it hurt my ears. I stared at Amren, not even daring to look at Rhysand or Cassian or Morrigan. I only caught Azriel's gaze as I was sitting directly on his right. I couldn't read his face and I guessed not even if I looked right towards it either.

Amren leant forward, dangerous, and cool. Her thin hands splayed across the expensive, polished wood. In a deep, venomous voice, she said, "And what fun is it making people laugh, when I can make them scream with fear?"

I dared to look around. There was an array of expressions, varying from warning to humorous. I focused on Rhysand's—the only one with importance in the matter. His expression was collected. No smile, but no frown either. "Because screams haunt you at night," I said, turning my gaze towards the grooves in the table. "And I prefer sleeping."

Another silence lingered before a quiet reply came. "She's real."

Rhysand huffed, shooting his eyes away in a half-roll. "Glad that it is confirmed."

I ate somewhat uncomfortably throughout the rest of lunch. I made small talk and remarks where necessary, but my mind was still reeling over the terror of what I had done. I expected a lashing to come at any moment. For the sweetness of a hearty meal to be stripped and for my hands to be chained. Amren was my superior. She was Rhysand's second. Not only had I spoken out of term with her, but it was an act of disrespect to the High Lord. I scoffed the food down in those predictions, wondering if it would be my last for a while.

Morrigan became the first to leave, stretching her neck and holding a hand over her stomach, muttering something about taking a nap. Cassian followed shortly after. "We can talk in my office," said Rhysand. I jolted, snapping to attention. However, it was Amren that he spoke to. They stood, a soft smile passing over the table to both Azriel and me from the High Lord before they left, leaving me with the Shadowsinger.

"You're making my shadows jittery."

"What?"

Azriel had turned his head towards me. It was soft and unworried. "My shadows. They can sense whatever you're exuding. Quiet the feat to make even the shadows run from you."

I ducked my head, crossing my arms over my stomach in an attempt to calm my insides. "I'm not sure whether I should be impressed with myself or completely disturbed that I managed such a thing."

Azriel smiled. It was the first one that I had ever really seen. "Both," he answered for me. "I don't blame you. Even they don't like Amren." I assumed 'they' was his shadows. "They can sense something off with her."

"I didn't realise shadows could like someone." Still, I had barely spoken to Azriel after all this time. I found myself enjoying it, feeling no expectation to anything.

Azriel tipped his head. "It's more of a figurative thing." I hummed and took the last sip from the water in my cup. "It went well."

"I'm not so sure of that," I croaked, restraining myself from peeking into Rhysand's office to listen in on their conversation. Still, I was waiting for them to return and take me somewhere else. Did the House of Wind have a dungeon?

"If it had not, you would be dead," Azriel said. There was no humour, and I didn't expect there to be. It was a simple truth. I pinched my brows and twisted my lips. "Rhysand is probably dealing with her now. He told her to play nice."

I leant away from the shadowsinger. "Dealing with her?" I echoed, searching ardently into his eyes.

Azriel shook his shoulder. "Mostly just telling her off. He's too scared to do anything else."

Telling her off? Telling Amren off? The idea seemed so outlandish that I could not even imagine it. The urge to look into Rhysand's office ten-folded, but I resisted on the basis of privacy. I had promised myself that I would never look into his private space unless I was specifically searching for him. I smiled at Azriel as he left, his plate disappearing.