Chapter Text
Elain Archeron sensed the spymaster as soon as the first kernel of his shadows attached itself to Velaris.
The tang of the Adriatanian Sea, a typical summer breeze, clung to him, mixed with the scent of his leathers. The gardener inhaled and smiled, though she did not move from her place kneeling at the current flowerbed in work, willing to surprise him instead.
“Did you miss me, Shadowsinger?”
The male, not having fully stepped through to Velaris yet, hesitated for only a second before moving out of the world of Shadows and taking–what Elain knew–careful, cat-like approaching steps toward the female, easing her restless mind one step at a time.
Elain had stopped questioning why her heart and mind calmed as soon as her shadowsinger returned from missions like the most present one. She had rather come to accept it. And now that her beloved friend had come home, her heart finally beat in peace and her mind thought in tranquility. All was well again.
“You are getting better at this each day, enaid. Have you Seen me?”
His deep voice spoke and smoothed all over Elain’s naked arms in a silken caress, just like the endearing nickname he had acquired over time. Sweet one he called her daily now.
Elain shook her head. “I felt you the moment you entered Velaris, my dear friend. You’re not as sneaky as you’d like to be.” She could nearly sense the smile tugging at his lips.
As he knelt next to her, Elain added, “I also seem to have a connection to your shadows. They have plenty of gossip about their owner.”
The low, husky laughter uttered by the shadowsinger could hardly be missed, much to the delight of the gardening female.
“You allied against me with my own shadows?” Azriel drawled. “Scandalous.”
Oh, it was. Almost as scandalizing as the truth that Elain had no idea why she felt such a connection to the male beside her. She could hardly explain that familiarity to herself, let alone to his face. But something in her had attached itself to a part of him, it seemed, for now she bore the ability to feel Azriel.
Elain had never before felt this connected to another person, safe to her Cauldron chosen mate–who she’d mutually broken the bond to a time ago.
She was certain Mother had her hands in this.
She might have bonded her to the prince of Day, but the seer’s heart lay with the male of Night, bearing all the stars of the sky within the reach of his existence.
Elain believed fate attached her to the fiery male so she would have to learn to be the master of her own life. So she would have to choose–unlike all the times she’d let others decide for her.
No longer.
Elain Archeron was the master of her fate and she was thankful for the mighty forces of the Mother who had wanted her to know. Elain knew by now what she wanted.
So she turned to the source of her most peaceful dreams, glanced into his eyes after ten days of pure agony without him.
“You never answered my question, Shadowsinger. Did you miss me, now?”
At this her friend’s bronze features took on a blushing hue along the cheekbones. His eyes cast down, the sun framing his endless lashes in a glimmering black.
Elain drank up the moment–the color of his skin, the timidity in his expression–refused to ruin the delicacy for a whole second.
But then, there was the pleasure of teasing him.
“I assume so, since it’s me you came for as soon as your mission ended. Even before reporting to your High Lord and Lady?” she purred, dragging a playful finger over his arm until her fingers came to rest upon his wrist. “Now that’s what I would call a scandal.”
As their eyes met again, Azriel’s lips formed a smile Elain could only describe as the turning point between bashfulness and brazen cockiness. Scandalous, indeed.
“You know I like to spend time with you, El,” he admitted, lips still twisted into that delicious grin.
Elain returned her eyes to his and carefully lifted until her lips softly pecked his cheek. His eyes kept hers locked, the hazel of them intimate and open all the same, making Elain feel caressed without his actual touch.
“I missed you too, sweet one,” she murmured with a smile that could have sent his shadows scattering.
Azriel’s eyes brightened at her use of words and the expression on her face. The hand upon his arm was in his palm now, being squeezed by those delicately scarred fingers. After these past few days claimed by stinging pain his touch felt like balm across her skin.
At the intimacy of the moment words rose to her lips until Elain had to swallow them down forcefully. As she was still utterly vulnerable to emotion, she would probably scare him away opening her mouth–no matter how much his eyes screamed the contrary.
Averting her gaze from his, Elain beheld the state of her garden, for the first time since emerging from the house a few minutes prior to Azriel’s arrival. It was so horrifying that it forcefully sprung to her eyes and made her heart sink.
“Oh, Mother,” she breathed, a frown turning her expression. Azriel’s eyes snapped to the source of her disgruntlement–and beheld the bunch of weeds hidden in the shadows of her taller plants. He followed the trace of her eyes over the garden bed, acknowledging even more of the plaguing unnecessities scattered all around. If he wondered about their existence–for Elain was nothing short of meticulous about her garden–he didn’t remark so.
The gardener–could she really call herself this anymore?–merely restrained from leaping to her feet, reminding her body to be careful to move. She turned to her friend.
“Would you do me the favor?”
Even as a spark of surprise lit up his eyes–for he knew of her keen weeding, of her rare distaste–Azriel didn’t mention it, leaning over and carefully tearing weed out by its roots, moving onto the next without her asking.
Elain huffed as she sat there, finding more rubbish with each glance and hating not being able to remove them herself.
Perhaps it was of her vulnerability to emotion–the clearly existing Archeron temper had arisen–or her utter helplessness that she muttered her wrath to herself, while simultaneously trying to kill off one particular tall and disastrous thing with the menace in her eyes alone.
“I'm indisposed for a week and they've already invaded my garden?"
Elain was a patient female but no one or nothing would mess with her garden. With her beloved, precious flowers–
The pull of a shadow bond tugged at the gardener, a collective whining echoing in her head, and her eyes intuitively snapped to the source of her shadow friends’ notice of imminent danger. As if they sensed one of the blossoms was about to meet a miserable end–by the hands of none other than their owner himself.
The male had focused on her, surprise and suspicion written in his gaze, while one hand braced against the soil beneath her plants for support and the other … was about to rip one of the lilies out of the ground–probably distracted by what she'd just spit in her annoyance.
Elain didn't think as she lunged for his hand–lunged to save her blossom–and pain rippled from her abdomen, surging up her spine to the tips of her very fingers, making her hiss and curl inward.
It was blinding, the pain. And, after days and days of agony, apparently not ready to bid her farewell yet.
Elain found herself cursing like a sailor, courtesy of her High Lady sister who'd never left the seer's side during her misery and shown her the liberating pleasure of swearing one's pain out loud.
Azriel–well, Azriel was quite out of his depth, it seemed.
The weeding forgotten, he caught her before Elain crumbled to the ground, with her focus tightening on the ache that lingered in her body, her abdomen clenching and unclenching in torment.
The shadowsinger immediately secured the Archeron to his arms, her back to his chest. Searching for an invisible wound, with hands and shadows, he pleaded her to tell him–to explain where it hurt, where she needed him the most.
It was the utter helplessness that drove him to clench her arms in fear–the fear that he'd lose his favorite friend without being able to ease her pain for a second.
It worsened when he scented the blood.
By then, the cramps had reduced to a dull aching of Elain's whole body, enough so that she could finally sense Azriel's arms embracing her, his desperate pleas, the shadows swirling all around them–intensifying to a thick black cloud once he smelled the blood on her.
Through that thread of connection to the shadowsinger, Elain felt the abyss of his fear, cracked open by something so trivial in its nature–but he didn't know.
Elain wanted to soothe him, she burned with the need to explain she wasn’t just about to die or worse but her tongue locked up.
She felt the exact moment the male perceived the source of her pain–going utterly still, holding his breath.
She wondered if it was for his shadows telling him this one thing she'd kept to herself or he'd caught onto the fact that she smelled … different.
All thanks to the bloody mess that had called upon Elain–literally.
Yes, her cycle had finally, agonizingly, protruded, shackling Elain to bed for the past week. She was incredibly grateful to know it would only hit her twice a year.
Turning her head slightly the female met Azriel's eyes, his face pale yet those hazel orbs hiding a question of their own, silently asking for reassurance. The shadows had gone taut around him, stilling in their agitated swirling, waiting for her to soothe them.
“Are you all right?” she found him rasping all the while gaining insight on how close he'd gotten. She could feel every place his body touched hers.
Damn the hypersensitivity that had somehow gotten hold of Elain after enduring her first bleeding as Fae. Or perhaps … glory be?
She did not mention all the ways her skin reacted to his but bestowed him a smile, a weak one, yet a smile nevertheless, uttering an equally feeble yes, and watched him exhale a shaky breath.
Elain unclenched her fists and tried to ease the tension in her body, relaxing into Azriel's chest. He helped her into a comfortable position, fitting her head just below his chin and never loosening his hold on her. Quite the contrary, he pulled her closer than before, and if Elain hadn't still been a little lightheaded, she would have teased him for the way he clandestinely sniffed her scent once more, inhaling her into his lungs.
Tease and tug him closer, that's what she'd do if he kept holding her like this.
“You…” he started. The rest wouldn't come.
Not needing to hear his thoughts to know what he meant–and quite frankly, they could both scent what was going on with her–Elain nodded, eyeing his reaction to this news.
After those initial few moments, a frown covered his expression.
“May I ask when?” he inquired, ever the courteous gentleman with his soft as demanding tone.
Elain shrugged. She did not care to hide this piece of information from him, not when they were sharing basically everything with each other. Yet to worry him was of her least wishes.
She reached for a wisp of darkness instead, stroking her fingers until it wrapped around her wrist and the buzzing surrounding them stopped once feeling the seer was fine.
Elain still felt Azriel waiting for an answer. She didn’t quite meet his eyes as she admitted, “Two days after you left for Adriata.”
His frown deepened.
“Am I right to assume you were confined to your bed this past week, in pain, while I was away on some nonsense mission?”
Elain cringed but nodded, unable to lie to her beloved sweet one.
Though she wished she could, for seeing his eyes cloud with a mixture of hurt and confusion made it so much harder to keep looking at him.
But he was soft with her, always, even through his sorrow.
“Why didn't you call for me?”
Elain's brows knitted at his expression. She tried to turn in his arms but her still recovering body protested, leaving her leaning back against him once more. She kept her gaze on the bronze patch of skin along his jaw, while being also keenly aware of the arm that had slung around her midriff, cradling her to him as if she was made of porcelain.
“I didn't want you to worry, Az. You've had enough on your plate with such an important mission.” When he tried to object, Elain pressed on. “It was an important mission.”
The distressed frown on his face claimed her with unease. Elain could see the thoughts clearly–the hurt warring with his self-doubt, making him wonder if he was even entitled to being mad at her.
“I don't care about any mission, or peace, if it means I cannot be with you when you need me the most.”
If Elain hadn’t already rested in his arms, she surely would have pressed closer to him for those words. She laid her hand atop the back of his, those delicate scars smoothing into her palm, and entangled their fingers instead, squeezing.
“I did not wish to cause you the trouble of cancelling your mission. Rhys was clear with the importance of a peaceful relationship to Summer. They have humans in their court, after all.”
Azriel grumbled under his breath–something sounding awfully close to that bastard–but squeezed her fingers right back. Elain loved him the more for his sweet, little reassurance that he still accepted her affection, reciprocated it even, no matter how hurt or mad he was.
He shook his head once. “I knew something was wrong.”
Elain felt him move–his chin grazed the top of her head before he came to rest it there, his thumb caressed her hand as he contemplated his next words.
“I could feel it. Too far off for me to know what it was but…” He sighed. “It bugged me to no end. I asked Rhys if everything was in order, if he needed me back in Velaris. He said he needed me in Adriata and I shouldn't worry because all was well.” Az cursed. “I should have just come home. I should have trusted my instincts.”
Elain didn’t know what to say–the fact that he had felt something was off … they really connected on another level, didn’t they?
“It wasn’t like I was alone. Feyre and Mor kept me company the whole time. It was too much to be honest,” she laughed, remembering how during her less painful states her sister had brought trays and trays of food, and how Mor tried to feed Elain like a baby. “The pain … it hurt. But none of you would have been able to make it go away, not even Madja. Don't feel bad about not being here, Az. You have responsibilities.”
To her surprise his arms tightened around her.
“The only responsibility I care about is keeping you safe.”
The way he said it … his voice made shivers run down her back. Such devotion and loyalty–and it was all for her. Az would neglect his responsibilities to Rhys and Feyre, to his court, for her. Elain remained speechless.
But there was no need for her to speak, for Azriel returned his attention to her body, rubbing his hands down her arms as if he could swipe off the pain from her limbs.
“Are you feeling better? Does it hurt still?”
Though her belly tingled–thank the Mother she had been prepared for delayed bleeding–Elain slowly straightened out of Azriel's very supporting chest, and realized she was fine to move again.
His hands remained on her arms though, his fingers pressing delicately into her naked skin. There, they left their imprint, reaching through her skin to her bones, to her very essence, whether she wanted it or not. Elain was doomed with this love. Irrevocably.
To hide the whirlwind of emotion taking hold of her, she twisted, shooting him a playful glance and a coy smile, and proceeded to wink at him.
“I should be fine now. Thanks for catching me, darling.”
Finally, the concern in his eyes replaced by shining amusement. And–did they just become a shade darker, too?
“'Darling', yeah?” He smirked. “Don't spoil me too much or I shall have you call me anything but my name.”
Elain's cheeks pinked instantly, even as her body heat rose to meet the temperature in his eyes. It could be so soft between them, or as hot as hellfire.
Azriel's darkened eyes roved over her features, the skin of her neck and collarbone, to the slope of her arms and … froze there.
His brows knitted, and before Elain could wonder what made him hesitate to keep on devouring her, he reached for the fabric of her short sleeved dress and lifted.
A hiss escaped his mouth as he eyed her skin.
Following his eyes, the seer beheld what should have been clean, pale skin. Other than five little bloody crescents, her arm was healthy.
As if to taunt her, memories of past night scrambled into her mind, of agonizing pain–the last throes of her bleeding. She had dug her fingers into her arm until her nails ripped the skin to distract herself from the pain in her abdomen. She didn't remember taking care of the torn skin afterwards but obviously no one had smelled the excess blood with the other scent on her.
How come she hadn't noticed the blood sooner?
For some reason those five little crescents seemed to take their toll on Azriel the most–the evidence of her pain, which she had endured without him.
Whatever he had imagined–he probably didn't think she'd try to trump the pain of her cramps with more pain.
Elain wasn’t surprised though. Even as a mortal woman her cycle had rendered her limbs and abdomen in pain, for days. Turning Fae had amplified that, it seemed.
“Did you do this?” she found him mumbling, eyes snapping from arm to her face and back to the five crescents. A little blood was smeared at the joint of her shoulder. Thank Mother she had changed out of her night dress before leaving her room. Who knew how the bloody mess looked on it.
“I guess I just wanted to distract myself.” Looking at his deeply frowning face, Elain nudged him. “Hey. Az. It's fine. It doesn't even hurt.”
His fingers had loosely wrapped around her upper arm–his hand was large enough that he could have enveloped the skin completely–and he kept staring at the small wounds. Then, it felt like an infinity later, he breathed out through his nose and relaxed a little.
“Those aren't cleaned. I should clean them for you.”
Elain began shaking her head but stopped immediately seeing the expression on his face. He seemed to be pleading with her.
“It's nothing,” she uttered, although not as firm as she'd intended.
“Let me. Please.”
Let me help you. Let me save you. Let me be there for you because I couldn't when you needed me, were the words he didn't say but Elain could hear them nevertheless.
So it took him only a couple of words to settle it for her. Yes, it was quite settled that he couldn't look at her like that and say those words without having every single barrier of hers crumbling, crumbling, crumbling.
That was why she nodded then, heart pounding in her chest. No doubt he could hear every beat.
Only when he proceeded to wrap his arms around her body did Elain awake from the dizzying slumber his eyes more often than not sent her to.
“You don't have to carry me to the house, Az. I'm not an invalid.” And damn her for not being able to help the childish undertone there. That and the fact she had crossed her arms against her chest like a tantrum-throwing four-years-old brought an instant-twinkle to his eyes.
“I wasn't going to carry you, princess.” He nodded to his left, where a cloud of darkness began to gather. “I thought I'd use your allies to spare you the climb to your room.”
Elain huffed, playful now, and lifted her chin in mock arrogance.
“Well, you shall use them, then. My permission is yours.”
Az only chuckled.
And when he reached for her once more, Elain let him lift her from place and allowed herself the insolence of snuggling closer to his chest. He was so very warm.
Before the shadows swallowed them whole, Elain remembered where he was taking her.
“Wait. Let's not go to my chambers.” Azriel raised a brow but didn't comment further.
“Where else should I take you?”
Elain reached mind-first for his shadows and shot the image of another room in the riverfront house down the bond of shadows, aimed to control them as he'd shown her countless times before. She didn't like to use his shadows too much, for they were his, but he always loved when she surrounded herself and played with them.
Elain had never tried to be the one to control their step through the shadows, so Azriel's surprise was only natural, seeing how easily they appeared on one of the many balconies of Rhys and Feyre's–and Elain's, yet–home.
Without hesitation, he sent a string of blackness to slide open the door of glass and stepped inside … his own room.
The scent hit them immediately.
Her scent, to be precise.
Elain turned to Az with a meek expression, fighting not to blush, as she watched Azriel come to the only possible conclusion that the female in his arms had spent at least one night in here.
His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath, and his eyes focused on the perfectly made bed. Thank Gods Nuala had helped her clean up the room.
He shot her a sidelong glance, his face impassive.
Then, a small smile blossomed on his lips.
“You really did miss me, didn't you?”