Rhysand leaned back in his chair, letting the front legs of it leave the ground and teetering on the back legs precariously.
"Well, go on," he said to the Shadowsinger tersely. He hasn't gotten much sleep in… well, in months. A High Lord of the Night Court, and a father as well. It was a recipe for grumpiness. Azriel was unfazed by his tone.
"All reports are normal. Nothing is stirring in any courts where I have spies."
"And the courts you don't?"
"Technically there are no courts in which I do not have my shadows lurking."
Rhysand scoffed at Azriel's incredibly political answer.
"Eventually you will have to admit that you've lost contact with your spy in the Spring Court. Or you'll have to go and find her yourself."
"Feyre asked that we no longer interfere in Tamlin's dealings. She said that to all of us," Azriel added, regarding the incredibly quiet Cassian and Nesta sidled together behind Rhysand.
"She never said anything to me. I could go. You'd just have to tell me who she is," Nesta offered. Rhysand shook his head.
"Azriel never reveals his coffers," Cassian muttered.
"I will speak to my lovely mate. For all we know, she could be in danger. When was your last contact with her?"
Azriel stiffened.
"It was… before the war."
Rhysands eyes widened a bit.
"You haven't heard from your Spring Court spy since before we fought Hybern? She could be long dead by now!" Cassian said.
Azriel shook his head.
"I would know if she were dead. She cannot be killed that easily," he responded.
"What does that mean?" Nesta asked.
Azriel flicked his eyes toward her, his shadows dancing behind him.
"She is what can be referred to as a Wearh."
Rhysand openly laughed.
"That woman is Wearh? You have a Wearh walking around in the Spring Court? And you think Tamlin wouldn't have rooted her out and killed her on the spot?"
Nesta glanced at Cassian.
"What is a Wearh?" she whispered to him.
"A monster. One you would never want to encounter. They hail from an uncharted place, they train as assassins and mercenaries from very young ages. Their women are incredibly powerful, fast, and deadly. They possess powers the High Fae do not. They cannot be tracked, they have no scent. In fact, no one knows what a Wearh's true form actually is. You don't seek them, they seek you."
"Have you ever fought one?"
Cassian nodded.
"One of the Prisoners. Her name was Coatlicue. She was paid a hefty sum to assassinate Rhysand about a hundred years ago. She obviously did not succeed."
"Except she almost did, if I recall correctly," Rhysand muttered. Cassian smirked.
"And then I saved your sorry ass, like always".
"Back to the matter at hand," Azriel said, "there are several reasons why she may have dropped from my radar. I sent her to the Spring Court when Amarantha took you. The last message she had relayed to me was on the night of Calanmai, that you were in attendance. When I asked her to verify, she dropped out of contact and-"
"-wait a second," Rhysand interrupted Azriel, "I met her. She was at Calanmai, when I first met Feyre. She said something to me."
Azriel narrowed his eyes at Rhysand.
"What did she say?" Nesta asked. This was becoming as intriguing as some of her mystery novels. Something dawned on Azriel, his features shifted slightly with the realization.
"She was trying to test you, with a chosen phrase of which she is given and only a trusted member of the Night Court can answer. So she knows the company she has chosen is safe to divulge important news to."
Rhysand's eyes went blank. He was pirusing the memory.
"My voice is tender, my face is slender; oft I am invited to play. Yet wherever I go, I must take my bow; else I have nothing left to say. What am I?" he repeated quietly. He came back to the present, and huffed.
"She had hung on my arm like a drunk. I hadn't given it a second thought. I thought she was just another High Fae female trying to get me alone for the ritual."
"You didn't answer her?"
"No. I gently removed her from me and wished her a good night."
Azriel looked to the roof, looked past it, for any salvation from the idiocy he surrounded himself with.
"You understand that if she doesn't receive the correct answer to that riddle, it could wipe her mind of her entire purpose as my spy. It was a failsafe in case the court was ever compromised. It's written into the contracts of their employment with us. Do you not READ THE CONTRACTS RHYSAND?!"
Azrael's shadows flared like black fire across his shoulders.
"Ooh, you've made him mad now, Rhys," Cassian whispered.
"I was Under The Mountain using every bit of my energy trying to keep you all safe. I forgot the answer to a riddle. We can fix it," Rhysand answered eventually.
"There is a highly trained, completely untraceable assassin, with AMNESIA, wandering in the Spring Court as we speak. Wrecking potentially UNTOLD amounts of havoc and destruction beyond which you could ever hope to comprehend. If we do not find her, and correct her memory; the Wearh will bring war to our doorsteps that will make us wish Hybern returned."