Page 90

You can’t, his shadows whispered.

The House opened its glass doors before he could reach a scarred hand for them, warm air beckoning him in from the autumn chill—gods, he was still shirtless. It was freezing.

He embraced the cold, welcomed it into his bones.

He had little doubt that Elain remained with her sisters, who, unlike his brothers, did not seem inclined to kick her out of the house. Maybe he should have grabbed Elain and flown them off to—where?

And if Lucien learned Azriel had taken her, he had every right to crawl to his father, reveal all their plans, and marshal an army to bring her back.

Fuck, Lucien had every right to do that already.

Az’s steps slowed to a stop before he crossed the threshold into the House. He closed his eyes, inhaling mouthfuls of stunningly icy night air. It pierced his lungs like shards of glass. He welcomed that pain, too.

Fuck. Fuck.

He scrubbed his face, wings drooping to the ground.

He’d done stupid things before, but all those times, it had been his own useless life he risked ruining. This time . . .

One of his shadows crept up, laying a tentative tendril on his shoulder. He flicked it off. Some fucking help they’d been.

He could have sworn another of his shadows let out a lovely, high-pitched snippet of song. A soothing, calming melody. He ignored it, too, and stepped toward the lit interior of the House, the movement infinitely heavier than the last had been.

His shadows sang again, more of them this time. A wordless note.

Az paused. Slowly turned. His shadows swirled and eddied at his heels—and the melody began again.

Not from them, though. They didn’t make a sound. It came from somewhere nearby.

A female voice. Clear and yet rich, full-bodied.

Then the song began properly, and he moved instantly, a hand drifting to his side for the knife that wasn’t there. Someone was in the House. And here he was, unarmed like a fool.

The voice flowed from the other side of the House—from a balcony hidden from view by the side of the mountain.

Az cut through the dining room, aiming for the hallway, as silently as the shadows that trailed him. The House opened the windows along the way, letting in the sound, guiding him.

It was otherworldly. Strange and yet familiar. A mere thought had his Siphon forming a knife of blue light in his hand. Not as good as Truth-Teller, but he could do some damage if he concentrated.

His shadows suddenly surged past his feet, a black tide racing ahead. They hit the approaching corner and eddied before cascading into the next hall.

Tell me what you see, he bade them.

But they didn’t send a single image as they flowed up a narrow spiral staircase that led to the small balcony.

Starlight spilled down the steps, almost in answer to the song. He swiftly rounded the last corner, hand curling around his knife formed of magic and will—

A rock hit him in the head with a swift, resounding crack.

“Oh!”

The song broke off.

Gwyn stood there in her pale robe, hood down, hair shining in the starlight. His shadows had gathered around her feet, veritable dogs wagging their tails as if to say, We found her. Do we get a treat now?

“I—I’m so sorry,” Gwyn stammered, wincing.

Az blinked, the knife of blue light vanishing.