Chapter 6

I had forgotten what winnowing felt like.

Even as a toddling infant, it had come as easy as breathing to me, not so much skill, more so a congenital habit. She is a true child of darkness, I remember the tutors saying to my father, the night beckons her. It certainly did, folding me into nothing more than smoke, dust, and wind with half a second's thought, or at least until I aimed myself directly on top of Rhysand's shoulders so I could finally beat him in wrestling. Half the time he would swing me right back over his shoulder and win the match, and the other half he would give me a comprehensive education on the filthiest swear words our language had to offer. But, as I now had to remind myself, that was my brother then, my brother of childhood, of innocence, of happiness. That brother was no longer, and neither was the girl I was back then. Especially when my once hard trained smoke, dust, and wind decided to throw me directly against a mortared wall so hard a distinctive thunk could be heard as my skull rattled off the brick.

"Hasiktir!" I hissed as I lunged back from the impact of the wall, the Hijazi word slipping from my tongue before I could catch it. A feeling of disgust rang through me as I said it, wanting to scrub each syllable from my tongue. Even when it was my only existence, I wished I could wash every part of Iktidar that had formed within me down a drain of nothingness. Well, almost everything. As I sank back against the wall, head pounding and the now familiar feeling of blood starting to seep down my face, the only thing I could think about was that I craved a sigara. Badly. The need of it coursed through me, thrumming in my veins, clouding my mind. Instinctively, my hand reached down toward my hips, searching for the pocket I had stashed my last pack in. But as my fingers skimmed the thin linen, I realized I was no longer wearing the clothes I had come in, meaning my smokes were currently in the possession of brother dearest, Rhysand. Shit. I could have done without his food or shelter, but he held the last twenty sigaras I would ever see again, and I wasn't exactly in a position to ask for them back. Shit, shit, shit. I had counted on the sweet clove smelling smoke to clear my head from both the pain and drink that plagued it, but now I didn't even have that. Now, I have nothing.

Even though the alley was far removed from the square it led to, the noise it emanated had amplified tenfold, my hands shaking too violently to cover my ears from the jarring din. The scent of spices overpowered me, the stifling heat sending streaks of sweat down my face and soaking through my nightgown. Even the sound of my breath, ragged and inconsistent, sent lashes of pain up and down my body. Waves of nausea rolled over me, the feeling of vomit starting to rise in my throat. I hazily registered the panicking thought that commanded me not to lose the meal that might be my last one for days, but the urge was too strong as I bent over and retched onto the cobblestones. Grey and beige chunks splattered the ground, splashing my face and the sides of my legs, the horrific smell of it singing my nostrils. I couldn't stop, each heave pushing another wave of sick from my mouth. I braced my head between my knees, desperately seeking a respite. Please, I prayed silently to gods I didn't even believe in, anything, anyone to lessen the pain.

And it stopped. All of it.

The air around me was no longer as stifling, the noise dulling down to a distant hum, and for a few brief, precious moments I could find sense in my thoughts. A coolness whispered down my neck, curling around not just my body but my mind, the feeling unsettlingly similar to one I had felt before. A hand, warm, masculine, and distinctly textured, gently pulled my curls away from my sweat and vomit soaked face. Eyes closed, I leaned back into his touch, letting the way his fingers grazed the back of neck pull me into the lull of memories, of ones so deep in my mind they weren't images. Instead, they were feelings. Feelings of-

Azriel.

Even though I was turned away from him, my instincts screamed his name. The warmness within me instantly froze, its ice chipping off and leaving shards of anger that seized my mind with fury. Pushing back the feeling of uneasiness that roiled my stomach each time I was around him, I leaped up from the ground and twirled toward the spymaster. A second barely passed before my hands firmly grasped his neck, nails digging into his skin so hard crescents of blood began to well up beneath them. The surprise of my attack worked to my advantage as I pushed him hard against the alley wall, a snarl ripping itself from my throat as I choked him. Azriel's eyes widened at my strength, clearly not anticipating me having the upper hand in this fight. Well, it was time he learned a goddamned lesson in treating Diana Altair like a damsel in distress. Anger sharpened my mind, whipping the haziness of my sigara withdrawal into a honed rage that whitened my knuckles against the deep tan of his throat. But in my anger, I failed to notice his hands were still free. Unfortunately for me, he did.

The shadowsinger was almost a blur as he grabbed my waist and switched our positions, cobalt siphons flaring as his hard body immobilized me against the wall. Hands that had once gently caressed my hair moments ago now pinned my wrists above my head, not budging despite my resistance. I tried to writhe against him, my knee desperate to shove itself in his balls, but I could feel his shadows binding me to the brick. My sudden burst of strength started to fade, a heaviness bearing down on me that wasn't entirely from Azriel. He squared in on me, and I half marveled half relished at the fact that the spymaster didn't even flinch at the pungent, vomit tinged scent of my hot breath blowing right into his face. Instead, he pushed even harder against me, closer to me than some of my lovers had even been. A throaty laugh escaped from me as the planes of our bodies laid flush against each other, my breasts pushing against his amply muscled chest almost as hard as my thighs to his cock.

"Do you really want to bed me that badly?" I drawled, ignoring the raspiness of my voice and trying to inflict some kind of lust. Maybe I could get out of this, maybe I could escape. After all, the allure of my body had saved me from far worse. But Ariel's face was bitterly cold, unmoving despite my best efforts.

"You've looked better," He said indifferently, eyes not betraying a single thought in his head. "Bloody and beaten was a marginal improvement to smelling like a drunkard's outhouse."

"Fuck you," I snarled. My plan wasn't working, and he bloody knew it. "Unless you make a habit of stalking around in pissed filled alleys, I can find little other reason why you and I are having this lovely little chat."

His grasp tightened. "Believe me, I had no expectations of you having any kind of reason," We were so close, I could hear the speed of his heart, each quickening beat pounding another wave of animosity toward me. "Considering how you acted little better than a child toward Rhys."

Just hearing my brother's name made me want to rip Azriel's vocal cords from his throat, but another plan was quickly forming in my head, and I couldn't afford to lash out. At least not physically.

"Maybe you're right," I smiled prettily as false sincerity infused my words and snaked their way from my lips to his mind. The grip of his shadows relaxed, and I swore I could see a hint of trust flash in his eyes. "Maybe I should reconsider my feelings toward my brother, " I angled my head toward him, taking advantage of the loosening bindings. "Maybe," I whispered, "there is just the slightest possibility that your darling High Lord Rhysand was too much of a fucking coward to crawl out of his shithole of a palace to try to find me. That is, after all, what lapdogs are for, isn't it? Fetching?" My smile widened, the sickening saccharine of it a cruel contrast to the growing anger that marred the coolness of Ariel's face. I got even closer, my eyelashes brushing the smooth skin of his trembling cheekbone. "Tell me, am I a worthy bone?"

The satisfaction at breaking him was shortlived as he threw me back against the wall, only an extremely thin cushion of shadows stopping him from splattering my brains against the mortar.

"You will never," he seethed, his voice thinly veiling the fury that pulsated from him, "ever, speak of my High Lord like that again." I could barely breathe as the shadows wrapped tightly around me, suffocating to the point I wondered if that was the last breath I would ever take. "I don't give a damn about what you think of me, but let's make it clear that I serve Rhysand because I love him. I am his comrade, his advisor, his brother, and because of that, I have had to watch what you did to him. Rhysand tore himself apart for five hundred years, paid an unfathomable penance for things he did not owe, all because of the guilt your death caused him. And yet you've been alive all these years, hiding from the chaos you created. I do not lust for you, I do not hate you, I do not pity you. The only thing I feel, Diana, is that the only fucking coward here is you."

For once, I said nothing. There was so much emotion on his face, emotion I had never known of him, even in my distant memories of childhood. It was not anger that shook his words; it was pain, the pulsing, infected pain of a wound that had been open and festering for centuries. I barely blinked before the shadows that once had bound me creating a thick cocoon encasing both of us. The noises he had quieted were now completely silent, the scents he had diluted nowhere to be found. All there was darkness. But not the darkness of my brother that thrummed with untapped power, or darkness of my father that lusted for it. This was his darkness, that had no name or message, except death. I could feel the burgeoning power, knew that if he didn't act fast, we both would lose our lives to it, both paralyzed, unable to move, unable to control. All I could do was plead, scream into the vast expanse of the shadows and hope he heard at least a whisper.

Please.

Suddenly, the shadows were no longer, gone as if they had never been there. Noise, sound, smell, light all rushed back, demanding me for a reaction. But I barely noticed them, even the life-sustaining breath pouring into my lungs. The only thing I could do was watch as Azriel shuffled back shakily, still bracing a fist on the wall beside my head. This is your moment, my mind urged me, take advantage of it, let this be your chance to escape. But I didn't want to escape. Some part of me, a part of the girl that I had long buried deep within me, wanted to be with him. Not to comfort him, I told myself as I looked on at the man I was supposed to despise with all my heart, but to watch him. To make sure the darkness didn't consume him. He may not lust for me, hate me, or pity me, and yet he still saved my life. I just wasn't sure if he would save his.