CHAPTER 14

Zivia could've slept for the whole day if it weren't for her growling stomach. She realized that she hadn't eaten anything since their botched espionage yesterday and now her body is begging her for some nourishment. It took a lot of will to get completely out of the comfort of her covers and walk towards the dining area.

"Finally awake," Seth moaned from across the hallway. "Thank the Mother!"

She totally forgot about him and almost believed that he and her father coming here at Night Court was a conjured up dream of hers. Unfortunately, of course, it had to be real.

"What are you waiting for, standing there like an idiot? Come on, I'm starving!"

Zivia sighed and followed him to the kitchen. "Why does it sound like it's my fault you're hungry?"

"Well duhh," Seth rolled his eyes at her dramatically as he fixed plates on the table and offered her a seat. "I didn't eat with your father so I could join you when you wake up. Kinda feeling a bit of a gentleman back there." He lifted the lid off the dishes that were already served and she almost drooled at the scent of roast chicken that wafted towards her.

"Problem is, you slept like a fed pig! You know how long I've waited?"

The table almost rattled with the force as Seth slammed himself on the chair. Zivia couldn't help feeling like a child being scolded for throwing a tantrum. She just sat there waiting for her companion to calm down. But no matter how irritated she was at having to endure another prattling from Seth, that on top of being completely famished, it was still nice to see him again after some time.

She has known Seth all her life and grew up with him as a brother figure. There's only a thirteen year gap between them but she looks up to him as a mentor especially when it comes to training. Despite his lean physique, Seth is gifted in the art of combat, having been participated during the first war when he was just a boy. He further honed his skills under the tutelage of Jude and was actually poised to inherit her position should the general decide to step down. He has a loveable quality to him, although he can be a bit of chatterbox most of the time.

"Where's father?" Zivia asked when he finally settled down.

"With the High Lord," he answered while he stuffed both their plates with food. "He followed them to the estate not long after you fell asleep, told me to look after you."

"I see. You do seem enthusiastic about it." She swallowed a spoonful of peas.

"About what, looking after you? As if that wasn't what I've been doing since you were a drooling mess of a crybaby."

"And for that, I'll be forever grateful," She put a hand to her heart, mocking him.

Seth scrunched his face at her and continued nibbling.

"How's mother?"

"Fine. Misses you, a lot. She got so worried when she found out about your letter and took a lot of convincing from your father to stay when he decided to come here."

"Hmm. I bet he promised her the moon and the stars. Again."

They both laughed.

It has always been her father's tactic to spout poetry and whatnot whenever he and Miriam got into an argument. It can be a bit cheesy at times but Zivia finds it adorable. Besides ,so far, it still works.

As they continued on with their meal, Seth filled her in on what went back at Cretea when she was away – which was really nothing much.

"So tell me," Seth drawled, a certain glint present in his eyes. "How did your night go?"

The way he put emphasis on the word 'night' told her that he meant something different from what she was thinking, and she was not liking it.

"Oh don't look at me like that. I'm quite sure you had some fun with the handsome fellow last night."

Images of her and Azriel being chased by an unknown enemy in a darkened tunnel and her almost dying at the bottom of the lake flashed back in her mind.

Yeah, right. Fun indeed.

"He's really got that classic gorgeousness to him, doesn't he?" Seth muttered in between chewing.

"So you've been telling me ever since you came back from the war. If only I've known that Az was the one you were talking about I would've told father to never, under any circumstance, allowed you to come here."

"Oohh, calling each other with nicknames now, huh?"

"That's not – "

"Oh shush. I know you want him for yourself, and it wasn't as if you weren't interested when I was telling my stories to you back then."

"My interest – " Zivia pointed her fork at him for emphasis. " – is on a wholly different kind than yours."

"Uh-huh. Tell me about it." Seth knew, of course. He just enjoys teasing her and gauging her reaction.

"Well mine is pure curiosity and yours is…sexual."

His laugh echoed through the room, loud and deep. Zivia looked around, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. She was concerned that someone might be wandering the hallways and get ahold of their conversation and even worried that the shadows are listening to them. Words getting to the shadowsinger that the two of them were talking behind his back was the last thing she wanted.

"That's partly true," Seth declared. "You can't blame me though. You should've seen him lead the troop to battle. The way he barked orders and those wings – "

"Okay, that's enough!" Zivia slammed her cutleries onto the table and stood. She faced Seth and noted his arched brows. "I'm going for a bath and change. I feel sticky and nasty."

"Lost your appetite already?" He poured himself another glassful of drink and leaned back on his chair, his wings lazily drooping on either side of him. "Too bad. This wine tastes amazing and with our conversation, I just found myself more…thirsty." He made a mocking toast and smirked at her as he sipped his drink, pointedly making a slurping sound that irritated her more.

She made a dismissive gesture towards him and went back to her chambers, wondering how she was able to tolerate that idiot brother of hers.


"You done yet?" Seth shouted from behind her door, banging on the wood like he was trying to take it down.

"Just a second!"

Zivia scrambled to put on her tunic. Her wings and hair were still dripping wet and she almost slipped on the floor of her room.

"Can't you be a little quicker? Your father's already waiting."

She tossed her damp towel into a chair and went to her door. Seth was casually leaning on it and he almost toppled over when she opened it.

"You could've told me that before we ate," she snapped at him then pulled a comb out of her vanity, raking it through her tangled hair.

"What can I do? My needs come first." Seth strolled into her room, eyeing her through the mirror. "Why are you dressed like that?"

She looked down at her trousers and boots. "Does that mean it looks good or should I change?"

"Yeah it looks good," Seth sneered. "If you plan on going for a boar hunt, that is. Take it off."

"I thought we're in a hurry?"

He put a finger to her mouth, silencing her. "Shh. Just do as I say." He removed his finger and wiped it down her tunic, feigning disgust then snatched the combed away from her hand. "Give me this before you make yourself bald."

Zivia grunted at him as she went on to pick another clothing from her cabinet, pulling out a maroon dress with loose long sleeves and slipped into it, not bothering to remove her lower ensemble. Seth made a quick work of her hair, braiding it into a crown around her temples and fixed her untamable fringe. He turned her around to face him and wrapped a gilded belt around her waist.

"Is that really necessary?"

Seth stepped back and studied her. "Yep, much better. Let's go."

"Wait," She fumbled for her dirty clothes and grabbed her twin daggers then slid them over the holster under her dress.

Seth was already perched on the balcony when she caught up with him. His wings stretched out as he stared over the city below, savoring the air ruffling his dark curls and feathers. She joined him for a few seconds before taking into the skies and towards the estate.

It was a hazy day and the sun was partially cooped up among the clouds. The air was fairly warm but a chilly breeze from the west side of the mountains smell of an incoming rain. She knew the scent so well since Cretea's weather was typically wet most of the year and she had gotten quite good at forecasting just by the smell of the breeze on a certain day.

Thinking back, it had been months since she had an afternoon lazing around while watching the sky shower the world and she kinda hoped for a heavy downpour for today. Just for a moment of relaxation before everything goes south, which, given their current situation, would undoubtedly happen sooner or later.

"Uh Ziv?"

They were halfway to the estate when Seth halted midair and called her. "You go ahead. I just have an errand to attend to."

Before she can offer to help, he waved her off and descended towards the bustling streets below, shouting after her. "Tell your father I won't be long."

She was well on her way when she realized that she forgot to warn him of the incoming weather and Seth was already gone among the roofs of the city.

Oh well.

When she arrived at the estate, it was Nuala who greeted her; she was picking flowers on the garden – a bundle of lilies and peonies already on her arms.

"Hello lady Zivia," she bowed in a fluid motion, her black dress almost like a smoke billowing in the wind.

Zivia frantically waved a hand at her, "No no. I already told you there's no need for that. You can just call me Zivia. It's perfectly fine. Please." She gave her an awkward smile, not sure how to deal with her formalities towards her.

She wasn't used to it even back in her own island. They may be considered as the 'head' family in Cretea but that was only in title. It wasn't an imposed position for the strongest but for whom their people trust the most to lead their country and unitedly chosen her parents to do so. Besides, she was in no position to leech off her parent's glory; all she did was miraculously survive in her mother's belly and be born with a gift.

Formal gestures were mostly reserved during occasions such as council meetings or trainings and, more often than not, as insults. Like that time when her father complained about the quality of bread her mother painstakingly prepared during one of their breakfasts.

"Oh apologies my king, have I offended you with my substandard cooking?" Miryam snapped.

Her mother wasn't in any mood to deal with his 'sensitivity' and had addressed him then as your Majesty for the rest of the week, refusing to call him by his name. Zivia found it rather amusing and had turned to addressing her father that whenever he would complain of something so trivial. Soon enough, it has become a running joke in the whole palace.

"Sir Azriel is with the High Lord at the study."

"What?" Zivia snapped her attention back at Nuala, who was still bent over picking flowers. "No. I'm – I wasn't…looking for him actually." She cleared her throat and rubbed the tingles that went down her arms.

Why am I being flustered? This is ridiculous.

She pointed to the stalks Nuala had gathered, attempting to veer the topic away from the spymaster. "What are those for?"

"Lady Elain thought fresh flowers would be a perfect centerpiece for the dinner table tonight."

She looked around, expecting to see the High Lady's sister in the garden too. As if reading her mind, Nuala gestured towards the house and added, "She's with Cerridwen in the kitchen."

"Thank you," Zivia smiled at her and walked towards the estate. She went to find her father first and as she passed by the dining area, a familiar voice drifted from the back of the kitchen.

"…more of the sugar perhaps. Just a little."

Curious, she stalked across the room and sure enough, she found her father leaned over the counter top, a half-eaten bagel on his hand as Elain expectedly looks on.

"Complaining about bread again, your majesty?"

Drakon looked at her, unsurprised by her sudden appearance and wiped the crumbs off his mouth. "It was one time, Zivia. ONE. TIME."

She arched a brow at him and crossed her arms over her chest.

"She asked for my opinion," – Drakon gestured at Elain – "I gave her one. But not that it isn't delicious dear, it is." He faced Elain again and wiggled the bagel in front of him. "Just that I'd prefer a little more sweetness – "

"Father, stop. You're being such a bother to them. Come on."

Zivia motioned for Elain to continue on with her cooking and dragged her father away before he could further inconvenience them.

"Will you stop doing that," Drakon told her as he ate the rest of his bagel. "You look like your mother when she's angry. It's kinda terrifying."

"And stop munching. You already have a nasty paunch sticking out."

Drakon tapped his stomach and winked at her. "Believe or not, your mother surprisingly adores it."

"Gross!" She stuck her tongue at him and her father pinched her nose, giggling. She swatted his hand away and faced him. "So what now?"

"What now what?"

"I'm here."

"You're here."

"Yes, I'm here."

Drakon looked at her like she wasn't his daughter. "Aaand?"

"And I thought you wanted to talk to me? Seth and I came over quickly but he went on some errand on the way here, said he'll be back soon."

She waited for him to answer when her father suddenly turned serious and held up a finger. They stared for a tensed moment before Drakon let out a disgustingly loud burp.

At this point, Zivia contemplated whether to just end her life right then and there and free herself of all the miseries she would have to face by being this idiot's daughter. And for the nth time in her life, she again wondered about the choices her mother had made. How did she end up with someone like him?

"Sorry." Drakon cleared his throat and looked at her again. "Well, I did want to talk to you. But I figured you needed rest first and I already got a few deets from Azriel himself about your…adventure…last night. It's quite interesting."

"Oh." Zivia tried to avoid her father's scrutinizing look. "Uhh, what did he tell you?"

"What did you want him to tell me, hmm? Zivia, look at me."

She met his gaze and noted the way her father looked at her with suspicion, like she's a prisoner he was about to interrogate.

"Is there something you might want to say to me?"

"About what?"

"I don't know." His shrug was almost comical.

Zivia had a strong hunch where this conversation is headed and with experience, she knew all too well that when it comes to her father, she got to go with what her gut tells her.

"Nothing."

Drakon raised a brow at her. "Nothing? At all?"

"Yes. Nothing." She was about to turn her back and leave when she remembered something. "Wait, so you didn't send Seth on an errand of some sort?"

"No. I – "

"Oh that lying toad!"

Drakon called out for her but she was already out of the house and couldn't do more to stop her as she left him and took flight. Their conversation could wait, all Zivia wanted for now was to find Seth and drag him all the way back to Cretea and lock him there for good. She was pissed. He actually fooled her so that he can go frolicking around the city by himself without feeling guilty for leaving her alone at the House of Wind.

"Just you wait," she muttered under her breath.

As if on cue, a cracking thunder boomed so loud that it left her ears ringing for a few seconds. Or maybe that was because of the high pitched scream that escaped her throat.

Overhead, the clouds had taken on a sullen shade of gray. Muffled rumbling continued sounding in the distance so Zivia flew closer to the ground lest she find herself toasted with lightning. The wind also seemed to have picked up speed, bringing along a chill that promised a heavy downpour.

The short repose she got from being distracted by the bleak weather gave her time to calm herself and dissipate her anger towards Seth. By only a little though, it's still there.

A tiny movement caught her attention. It was Azriel, standing near the river – and he was looking at her with his signature furrowed brows.

Maybe that scream was louder than she thought. Just great.

She gave a forced smile and turned to continue her way into the city when drops of rain started pouring in. An internal debate ensued within her on whether to pursue her lying friend or find shelter for the meantime and let the rain pass.

Another boom of thunder became the motivation she didn't know she needed to go with the latter. It was good timing because as soon as she was under shed, the sky opened up in a torrential gush, sending splatters of water unto the tiled floor of the gazebo she and Azriel were in.

The structure was near the riverbank, a good few meters away from the estate's backyard and was probably used for picnics or any other outdoor leisure activities courtesy of the High Lord and High Lady. It was quite spacious, which made for an awkward situation as the shadowsinger stood on the opposite side away from her. For a split second, their eyes met before Azriel quickly averted his gaze and suddenly finding the roof so interesting.

Is he avoiding me? Goodness, what did her father told him?

"Hey." She croaked.

Azriel looked at her and gave a timid nod. "Hey."

"Pretty strong rain huh?"

As if that wasn't obvious enough, idiot, she chided herself, but she didn't know what else to say. There were chairs around but she didn't feel like it would help with the situation if she sat so she casually strolled to his side and looked over the river. Thankfully, he didn't move away.

"It's going to be for quite a while," he said. "We rarely get rains here at the Night court though, so this is greatly appreciated."

That was a fair amount of words in a single sentence for Azriel, she thought.

Wind howled in the distance, displacing yet another uncomfortable silence that followed. Zivia looked around, noticing small rivulets trickling down towards the stream. She remembered playing with them as a child. Whenever it would rain back at home, she would send boats made of paper towards it, watching as it floats away to wherever the water would take it, her face against the cool wet wind.

She walked towards the edge of the gazebo, sticking her hand out into the rain and relished the pleasantly cold water of the pattering raindrops on her palm. This kind of weather had always soothed her; the swishing of the trees as the wind brushed against their leaves – a prelude to the opening of the sky, the smell of the parched ground as it tastes the first drops of water and finally, the melody of a million rain drops as it thrummed on roofs and pelted the earth with its rhythm – it all brought a sense of calm and contentment as well as nostalgia.

"When was the last time you played in the rain?" Zivia asked, looking at Azriel over her shoulders.

The shadowsinger seemed to be lost in thought, his head tilted at an angle. She looked back at the raindrops falling on her still outstretched arm.

After a while, Azriel spoke. "Does clashing blades with Cassian during a storm count?"

A laugh almost escaped her mouth. "What?"

She pulled her hand back and wiped it dry on her tunic, frowning at the dark stain from where it had gotten wet, before turning towards the spymaster. "For real?"

What did she expect? It shouldn't have been a surprise for a warrior like him to consider sparring as fun.

He made a one-shouldered shrug and took a seat in one of the cushioned chairs in the middle of the gazebo. "We were training for the blood rite."

"Wait, what?!" Her voice came out thinner than she'd intended. "That was centuries ago!"

She was about to make a speech about how ridiculous it was and how much he was missing in life but then he spoke again.

"I used to enjoy it as a child before – "

Zivia craned her neck a little, waiting for him to continue. She noted the sudden shift in him and didn't want to prod him into saying something he didn't want to.

"I just didn't find the time to do so, I guess."

It was a subtle change in subject but Zivia let it slide. Instead, she motioned towards the still pouring rain, raising her brows at him. "Well?"

He frowned at her even though one side of his mouth was curled in a half-smile. She was teasing him and he knew it.

"No, thank you," he said. "But I'd rather not fool around in something I can conveniently find in my bathing chambers."

"Oh tush! It isn't just about water. You're missing the whole point!"

The heavens were either agreeing with her or trying to thwart her convincing because just then, lightning struck, illuminating the sky in purplish blue light followed by a deafening boom of thunder that resounded over the whole city.

Zivia yelped and almost tripped in her hurry to get away from the edge of the shed, smoothing down the goosebumps that rose on her neck and arms. She settled down on a settee beside Azriel, her expression bordering on bashful.

A chuckle came out of Azriel and he tried to cover it with a cough. Tried but failed.

"What?"

He casually laid back on his seat and proceeded to shine his siphon. "I just find it quite amusing that someone who is willing to go on a death march towards a powerful sorcerer would be afraid of a little lightning."

"It wasn't just a little lightning, it almost hit me!" Even she knew that was an overstatement.

"Yeah, right."

Her mouth hung slightly open in surprise at seeing this cocky side of the Illyrian. It was so unexpected that she couldn't help laughing at its absurdity – it started as a suppressed chuckle at her throat until it evolved into a full on chortling, complete with gasps and snorts. At first, Azriel just looked at her like she had gone completely nuts but sooner joined in her senseless merriment, laughing both their heads off as the sky continued on weeping around them.

After a few minutes, when their bellies and cheeks started aching and their laughs finally died down, Zivia turned to Azriel, wiping the tears on her eyes.

"Thank you, by the way," she breathed.

He looked at her with a slight confusion, the ghost of a smile present on his lips. "What for?"

"For saving my pathetic ass back at the lake. If it weren't for you I'd be dead already."

"That'll make two of us."

"What do you mean?"

"You think Drakon would let me live if I came back with your corpse? Not to mention your mother."

Zivia remembered the conversation she had with her father earlier. "Did – did he say something to you?"

Azriel looked at her then went back to shining his other siphons. "No."

"You hesitated."

"I did not."

"You suck at lying."

The smile was back on his face as he conceded to her statement.

They sat there in silence, listening to the pitter-patter of the rain when Azriel spoke. "Back at the lake," He paused, as if trying to find the right words he wanted to say. "The pond – you saw something there too, didn't you?"

Image of piercing green eyes flashed in Zivia's mind but she shook it away and replied, "Yes." The sudden mention of it brought an uncomfortable feeling deep in her stomach and she shifted in her seat to try to get it off her. "It was…an old friend of mine." It didn't seem right to call him her lover and her voice almost broke as she struggled with the last words.

Azriel didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he didn't show any signs of it. He just stared ahead into the river with an expression Zivia couldn't quite place. Was it sadness? Fear?

"I saw my brothers." His voice was a low whisper, just loud enough not to be drowned by the sound of the rain.

"Cassian and the High Lord?" she inquired.

Does the pond show someone close to their hearts?

"No." She caught his eyes as he turned to her, his face almost shadowed by his wings as he hunched over on his seat. "My half-brothers."

There was a sharp bite to his voice when he said those words and she noticed how his fingers flexed over the scars on his hands.

"Did – are they – "

He blinked at her and dropped his gaze to his hands, bunching them into fists in front of him. "I was eight when I discovered my shadowsinging gift. I didn't know how to control it at first but I was foolish enough to show my brothers anyway." He took a deep intake of breath and leaned back, staring straight into the heavens as he let his hands relax on his lap.

Zivia was at a loss for words. His scarred hands were the first she noticed when she met him and she'd always assumed that they were remnants of a battle long fought. To think that they were inflicted by his own family – no, they're not family. Blood-related, yes, but not family. No family would ever do this.

"I – I'm sorry," she stammered, not sure how to respond to that revelation.

Muffled thunder grumbled from up among the mountains, no doubt bringing in more water to wet the earth. The rain continued its assault on the roof, drowning almost even the thoughts on her head. She looked at his hands once again, noting the way the scar tissues swirled like the very thing that caused them. Burn marks, she was all too familiar with it.

"Koschei gave me similar scars when we fought him."

Now, it was Azriel's turn to look at her in surprise. She tried avoiding his gaze, unsure whether to continue. But there it was again, that pull she couldn't resist that would always urge her to turn to him and make it hard to look away. She steadied herself and the words were out of her mouth before she could even think of them.

"After killing my companions, he burned my wings and left me to die. I almost did – until my father found us." She felt prickles all over her back, as if her scars had awoken even though they've long been healed. "The healers were able to restore them but the burns on my skin were too deep. I was flightless for six whole months."

A shadow passed over Azriel's eyes but it was gone too quick she wasn't sure if it was just her imagination. Outside, the rain had started to dwindle and crickets had come out of their burrows to begin their mating songs for the day. Neither of them uttered a word, unsure of what to say after having been exposed to each other's past.

"I'm actually quite envious of you," she admitted after a few minutes of dead silence. "You show your marks without any contempt about it and it's not that I'm mad about having mine, the scars doesn't really bother me, it's just that . . . that when I look at them, I'm reminded of my failure to save my friends."

Zivia hadn't intended to pour out this much of her feelings but once she started, she couldn't stop. "It haunts me every day. Why did I have to live and not them?"

"Don't say that." Azriel had moved in his seat and is now facing her with a look of understanding on his face. "You did all you could do."

"It wasn't enough, was it? People back home would look at me with pity when they saw my scars – like I'm a weak, sensitive butterfly with stunted wings who couldn't survive without any help. It's so pathetic but maybe they're right. If I was strong enough, perhaps I could've saved them."

Zivia felt so pitiful at that moment, complaining about her problems to someone who definitely had it worse than her. But that doesn't make her pain invalid, does it? And maybe, just maybe, she wanted him to know about this part of her that she rarely shares with anyone and hopes that he'll understand and won't treat her like the others did.

"Stop." The snap in the shadowsinger's voice took her by surprise and she thought she had gone too far and irritated him if not for the look he was giving her now – it was far from anger. "You're not weak. You fought, you bled and you survived. You should never be sorry for any of that." He looked down at his hand – at the marks lining each of his fingers. "I constantly blame myself too. I was so naïve. I guess I just wanted to belong – to be accepted. It was foolish but now, I'm actually grateful for it. If not for this, I never would've known how strong and how capable I was of surviving on my own without relying on those who never wanted to help me in the first place."

His words pushed away the pity she was starting to feel for herself. She wasn't even sure why she had it to begin with.

"Have you ever confronted them about it?" she wondered out loud.

"Oh Rhys definitely did. But that's a story for another time. He and Cassian used to look at me with pity too back then." He turned to her, a certain glint present in his eyes. "They learned pretty quickly not to do it ever again."

She stared at him – at this warrior sitting in front of her – and she thought about him. A young and innocent boy who's barely past his childhood, taken away from his mother, imprisoned by his new family and still tries to belong – to be accepted. It must have been so hard and Zivia felt herself ache for him. It wasn't an easy journey for him to get where he was now. Maybe she could do that too.

His statement echoed those of what her mother had told her when she was struggling with her emotions weeks after the accident.

"Scars have a strange power to remind us that our past is real," she quoted, "that we survived and triumphed over what's behind us."

That was it. He had always worn his marks like a proud warrior that he is and maybe it wasn't just pride that made him not hide his scars in shame but also motivation – something that would always nudge him to go on in life no matter how difficult or hopeless everything may seem. A memento of what he's been through and of what he'd survived.

Zivia reminded herself that peace from her past is also just within reach, just how her mother would always tell her. She'll get there – in her own pace.

She breathed out a sigh of relief and subsequently felt embarrassed and stupid for her emotional rant. But that's just how it is, isn't it? Even faes are also capable of feeling weak and that they need some reminder from others to not let hope fly.

"Thank you."

Azriel gave her a perfectly arched brow she almost laughed. "What is it for this time?"

"For knowing exactly the words that I needed to hear."

Zivia watched as he turned her words over in his mind. He wasn't expecting that at all and the surprise on his face was as clear as the glinting siphons on the back of his palms. They stared at each other for a few heartbeats, before she looked away in shame over getting distracted by how close their bodies are and how she could feel the air between them warming up.

"Look, I – "

He wasn't able to finish his words when Azriel turned to a shadow that had suddenly curled over his ear. He closed his eyes briefly and let out a sigh. "Rhys calls for us. Dinner's prepared."

Was it just her imagination again or was there a hint of irritation in his voice?

"Uhh sure. Yeah."

Zivia rose from her seat, smoothing down her tunic that had been crumpled from seating and followed Azriel back to the estate.

No sooner had they stepped out from the shed than she saw her father standing a few paces across from them, hands on his hips like he was posing for some kind of a portrait. Only there was no painter but her and Azriel looking at him in consternation as Drakon slowly approached.