Chapter 8

I haven't slept like this in hundreds of years, had it claim me fully and properly, binding me to my dreams so tightly they meld into my skin as tight as a snake to a bird's throat. It was the sleep of a memory, one so deeply buried within me it was barely pieced together when I found it. And as I started to wake from the enticing lull of it, I realized why. The embroidered pillow my head lay on, the sheer lilac chiffon that laced the top of the four-poster birch bed, even the scent of fresh gardenias sweetening the air. It was my bedroom in the House of Wind, the one I spent the precious few moments of my childhood in. The last place I had ever truly slept a night without terror.

I took a few moments to remember exactly what had happened, focusing on the steadiness of my breath and trying to wrangle the whispering memories within me into some kind of coherent timeline. These last few days had been so diced up between hazy consciousness and dark oblivion that it was hard to decipher if the brief flashes of memory were fact or fiction. Turning my head to the side, I tried to suppress the throbbing of an oncoming headache that I felt dance on my sensitive temples, the feeling of pain now as familiar as breathing. As my gaze drifted across the side of the room trying to think about anything other than the thrumming of my skull, I caught sight of the side table, and more importantly, the little bronze box that sat atop it.

Scrambling upright, I threw myself back against the solid wood headboard as my fingers grasped the box, need coursing through my veins, and overpowering my blood. Picking one out of the pack, I propped the smoke between my cracked lips and made extra sure that when my spark lit its end, there was no son-of-a-bitch shadowsinger to stop it. But thankfully, the flame turned the edges of the sigara a glowing red before its cinders began to fall and the numbing release of the clove tinged smoke filled my lungs. I breathed in fully, letting it linger inside me, before I pulled the sigara from my lips, letting the greyish trail of smoke blow a familiar sensation from between my teeth. Closing my eyes, I prepared for another drag, relishing in the feeling of having control for the first time in days. Parting my lips, placing the damp paper that soaked the sickly sweet taste on my tongue, breathing in-

My eyes flew open as a loud coughing noise filled the air, the person making said noise seemingly trying to hack up their lungs with the sheer power of their breath. I flipped over, sigara still poised between my lips, and braced myself for the worst. If it was that bastard Azriel again, I'd already sworn to myself that he wouldn't leave our next meeting walking. But where my eyes expected to see a brawny Illyrian warrior with one of those infuriatingly cold expressions on his stupidly beautiful face, they only met a girl with golden-brown hair sitting in an armchair, face red with exertion from holding in another cough. I squinted, trying to discern even a single threatening thing about her, but I was met with nothing. She was Fae, no doubt about it, but there was something to her that felt distinctly human, almost like that of Rhysand's mate. She looked like Feyre too, but with a rounder face, and kinder eyes. And, I noticed as my eyes dipped down to her lap, she was holding a basket filled with glazed strawberry muffins. My favorite.

Her own face was equally as surprised as she beheld me, both fear and fascination twinkling behind her velvety brown eyes. She held a half-eaten muffin in her hand, and I noted with bemusement that although she had a naturally softer face, its roundness could be attributed to the baked good that she had stuffed inside her cheeks like a burrowing chipmunk. Nervously, the girl attempted to swallow the mass of food and held out the muffin.

"Would you like one?" she whispered, her muffled voice shaking slightly. "I baked them for you when you came here, but it's been three days so I couldn't let them go to-"

"Wait," I stopped her, dreading realization starting to chill my bones. "I've been here for three days?"

The girl nodded uncertainly, her eyes drifting to the window beside her. "Yes. I've never known someone to sleep as long as you have."

"That's impossible," I muttered, taking a well-needed drag of the sigara, but this time not bothering to savor the smoke in my lungs before I exhaled. "It only felt like-"

The girl shrugged, popping another piece of the muffin into her mouth. "If I fell from the sky, I'd probably sleep as long as you have too," she chewed thoughtfully, her mouth closed but the evidence of the far too large bite obvious as it bulged out of her cheeks, "actually, far longer." She wrinkled her nose. "Do you have to smoke those? I don't mean to be rude, but they smell awful." She gestured toward the sigara dangling from my mouth. I considered for a moment, and then reluctantly put out the sigara on the side table, letting it burn the pale wood and spill ash across the surface. The girl seemed to be the only person here who was giving me any kind of non-riddled response and I could afford to live without the clove smoke if I got some real answers. Turning back to her I prowled across the bed, settling toward the chair she sat in and not taking my eyes off of her a single second.

"My name is Diana," I said, still keeping my tone measured. Even though I had ruled her out as a physical threat, there was still a chance she was some kind of spy, especially for Azriel. And I knew more than anyone, that what words did not say, emotions could speak volumes of.

"I know," the girl replied, the muffin now completely gone. She smiled sweetly, "I'm Elain."

"A pleasure, Elain," I murmured, debating whether or not I should try and invade her mental walls. I knew better than to try it on Rhysand and Azriel, but Elain seemed mortal, soft. Easy to crack.

"Want a muffin?" she proffered one of the strawberries glazed pastries before me. My stomach grumbled in response, and a little giggle escaped her lips.

"Fine." I grabbed the muffin and noting how delicious smelling it was, I decided I would play nice. Just for her. "But only if you answer some of my questions."

Elain sat back, laying her head on the back of the chair. "Sure," she said, the giggle still a whisper on her face, "But I can't promise you I know everything."

"Is my brother's mate related to you?"

Elain's eyes brightened. "Feyre. I'm her elder sister."

"You don't seem like it."

"She's been through a lot." the light in her eyes dimmed.

"Why is it," I struggled to speak between mouthfuls of the exquisite tasting muffin, "that you give off the energy of mortals when you are clearly not?"

The light completely went away. "I was Made by the Cauldron," she turned toward the window, unable to meet my eyes. "I was once human."

I had grown up with the idea of Cauldron-making to be the stuff of legends, such a blatant contradiction of Nature's order impossible to conceive. And yet, here was proof that it was in fact, very, very real. "Was Feyre made then too?"

Elain nodded, the pain still thinly veiled in her eyes, "But not by the Cauldron. She was made by all the High Lords coming together and bringing her back to life after she," a shaky pause, "died."

An explanation for the power I had felt radiating off of her, like nothing I had ever felt before. Power, that if I didn't play my cards right, could very easily be set against me. A moment of silence passed between us, with Elain not meeting my eyes until she started to speak.

"I was upset with my sister when I came here too."

I let a humorless laugh fall from my lips. "I doubt you and I-"

"We are more similar than you think." She turned her eyes toward me, the softness now hardening into well-worn pain. "Unlike you or Nesta, I didn't show it quite so, well, overtly. But I was angry." Her eyes bore into mine, so piercing I was unable to look away. "I still am, a little. Angry, I mean."

"Nesta?" I questioned, Elain's unexpected confession still processing in my mind. "another sister then?" Elain nodded again. "Well then, isn't she supposed to be part of my welcoming committee too?"

Elain winced. "Unlike the others, she's not exactly the visiting type."

"Believe me," I responded dryly, "Considering the bedside manner I've been met with so far, I'm sure your Nesta would be like a dream come true." I cocked my head, studying Elain's face, the mortal innocence so strangely plastered across High Fae features. "Have I had many visitors, then?"

Another wince from Elaine. "Yes and no."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," I could see she was trying to drag it out, that the words she had to say made her uneasy, "Your brother has come a couple of times."

I raised my eyebrows. "A couple of times?"

"More like once every hour."

"Ah, I see." I was far from surprised.

"Feyre came to. You should have seen the look on her face. I was afraid she was going to rip your eyes out."

Ah, the mating bond. I had forgotten how defensive it made Fae even at the smallest slight. At least my brother's mate had balls. I wasn't sure I could say the same of him.

"Rhysand seemed genuinely concerned, though. I think he wanted just to sit with you, wait till you woke up. But he never made it past the door. I made sure of it."

"Are you supposed to be my bodyguard then?" I asked, leaning back against the headboard. "Taken a special interest in me?"
Elain shook her head, another one of her nervous giggles escaping her lips. "I'm anything but. I'm just helping Azriel. He said that unless you asked for your brother, he wasn't to enter." She cocked her head this time, a coy little smile playing on her face, "I think he likes you."

"My brother?"

"No," Elain looked up shyly at me, a coy smile playing on her lips. "Azriel."

I was taken aback by this, my mind flurrying with ideas, but none of them giving me a single reason why Azriel would try and protect me. I was supposed to be the grand prize he fetched for Rhys, and yet I was sequestered from my brother as if he was the prisoner, not I. Azriel was right; there was nothing less I wanted then to see Rhys now, but why on earth would he respect my wishes? Our brief meeting hadn't exactly gone well, and I knew the queasiness I felt whenever I was around him was probably mirrored in his but increased by tenfold. I let my instincts allow a sarcastic smile to paint my face, a well-worn mask to hide the surprise that gripped me.

"Well, I think he fucking despises me."

Elain paused, and then came over, sitting lightly on the bed, a healthy distance away from my drawn knees, but close. Too close.

"I don't think he-" She bit her lip, thinking a thought I couldn't allow myself to listen to, "fucking despises you." she bit back another smile, color blooming on her cheeks.

"I don't know," It almost made me grin too, her obvious scandalization toward a word that I used far too often. "Do you think I should take him kidnapping me as a sign of love?"

Elain shrugged, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. "Az has this way of knowing exactly how to make you feel better without you even saying it." She abandoned the thread and turned to me. "He helped me a lot when I came here, too. Everything, my home, my friends, my body was so new. I felt so compelled to hate myself, was so hopeless I wouldn't allow myself to feel a thing. He taught me otherwise. He made sure I lived."

Her words were poignant, obvious truth spoken from each syllable. Even so, I had trouble believing her. He didn't exactly give off the feeling of being all warm and fluffy. "Well forgive me if this contradicts your glowing opinion of him, but he seems far too controlled by my brother's wishes." I scoffed. "I don't care for minions."

Elain looked at me carefully, her once earnest stare now evolving into something different. She was quiet for a few moments, and then she turned away from me, letting out a sigh. "Azriel is a member of Rhysand's Inner Circle. It is his duty to serve your brother, and he takes it very seriously. But do not discount him. He is capable of having his own agenda."

My eyebrows raised. "Against my brother?" Finally, this was getting interesting.

Elain laughed, albeit a little less fully than before, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. She turned back toward me. "No, no, that was a poor choice of words. Not an agenda. He has thoughts, emotions, feelings toward others." Another half-smile. "Behind the shadows, he is a person. Understand that, and perhaps your eyes will no longer be clouded by judgment."

I snorted at these words, a rakish smile starting to pull at my lips, but trained my eyes to the window, not daring to meet hers. "Did he pay you to say that?"

Even in my peripheral vision, I could see Elain's cheeks blooming with crimson as I said this, but her eyes only skimmed the top of my head before meeting someone else's. I needn't turn around to know who it was. The cold shadows that I could feel whisper at my skin were indicator enough.

"You will come to understand, Diana, that Elain values her integrity over such things." I could practically feel Azriel's lips curling with freezing contempt. "Besides, you're certainly one to talk." He cocked his head toward me as I resentfully turned to look at his face. "As I remember it, it took less than five seconds for you to be on your knees for some shoddy herbs in that alley."

"As always, Azriel your manners are impeccable. I can only imagine how the women of Velaris must react to such charming wit." My eyes narrowed as they closed in on his, the tone of my voice turning ice cold as I beheld him. Beside me, Elain shifted uneasily on the bed, clearly uncomfortable at the exchange. Something told me that she had never seen Azriel like this, filled with such antipathy toward another. A part of me marveled at this, at knowing only I could get a rise out of him. But there was another part, a little quiet voice that told me it was something else. Something so far away from hate. But as I watched those eyes, those cruel, heartless, beautiful eyes of his, I decided that voice had no place in my mind.

"Is it almost time to go?" Elain's quiet voice cut through the thick silence that was eagerly feeding on the mutual disdain. "It's already gotten dark."

'Go where?" I turned back toward her, searching her face for answers. She chewed her lip, those doe eyes glancing away. Damn it, she was hiding something.

I turned back toward Azriel. His lips were pressed into a tight, thin line, the muscle in his jaw twitching. He studied me for a moment, leaning against the door frame looking as if he was gravely regretting a decision. Finally, he pushed off the frame, a wary smile painting his face as he spoke.

"Dinner."