Chapter Text
Azriel knew that the moment Elain paused in the middle of the street, she’d been pushed to her limits. The hollering of fae from booths, the colorful array of jewelry and textiles—such sights and sounds in Adriata had been invigorating through her wide brown eyes.
But soon, as a sudden laughter burst from a group of High Fae on the sidewalk, and when she flinched, he decided it’s finally time to steer clear of the bustling crowd.
Weeks ago, Tarquin invited Rhysand, along with the rest of the Inner Circle, to attend a fete in Adriata. It was a days-long celebration to showcase the arts and other inventions from all over Prythian. High Fae, lesser fae, all were welcomed by the High Lord of Summer.
They’ve arrived moments ago with the exception of Nesta and Amren, the latter staying to oversee Velaris. She wasn’t inclined to come either way as Varian was happy to stay with her. Mor and Cassian headed to a nearby cafe, Rhys and Feyre went off to admire the arts on display in the city square, and Az followed Elain like she was a beacon as she ambled along a street filled with vibrant stalls. She was fascinated with all the novelty, but he saw that it quickly became overwhelming.
He drew nearer to her and held out an arm. She glanced down at it and grabbed on without a moment’s hesitation. His heart squeezed. This easy trust Elain gave him was one of the many things about her that kept catching him off guard.
He guided them both away from the raucous group, and turned to a street lined with white stone walls decorated with strings of seashells and gems. The path was accentuate by potted orange trees that carried the fragrance of citrus into the breeze. There were few fae strolling in this area. And he noted with satisfaction that Elain’s shoulders fell from her ears and her head was now upraised as she sniffed the air.
“How lovely,” she murmured, gazing at the oranges.
Of course, she would find them more fascinating than the clattering seashells and shining gems. She was always drawn to nature first and foremost. He wondered if she beheld it as an art in itself.
When they passed by one tree, he casually plucked an orange from a branch. He peeled it open, letting his shadows take the skin away. He made sure to remove the white veins of one piece before handing it to Elain. She blinked at him, apparently caught by surprise at his gesture.
He pushed it closer to her. “I heard Adriata yields the sweetest oranges. Would you like to give it a try?”
She took it and hummed as she chewed. When she delicately spitted out the seeds, she looked around for a bin to put it in. His shadows drifted to her hand and took them away.
She let out a breathy laugh. “How convenient. Thank you. And you’re right, it is sweet.”
As they pass through the orange-filled street, he thought about the places he knew in Adriata that she’d find peaceful. The boutiques, cafes, and other streets would be filled with fae from all over Prythian—even from the continent. More noise, more unexpected deluge for Elain’s senses. She did not talk about it, or even mentioned it. But he surmised that she sometimes found it difficult to discern input from the present and what is “beyond.” It most likely mirrored his experience with his shadows from those early years in his father’s cell, when they whispered things beyond his knowledge.
She might not be eager to delve deeper into her powers yet, and that’s alright. But soon enough, when she is ready, he was willing to help her understand them.
For now, he was happy to provide her with a sense of peace and quiet.
With that thought, he sent some of his shadows to search every inch of Adriata for a good place.
When he handed her another piece of orange, she took it and paused. “You haven’t even eaten one yourself.” She hesitantly handed it back to him. “You should try it too.”
He accepted it with a small smile.
As he chewed on the fruit, the sweet burst of citrus filled his taste buds. Perhaps the rumors were understated. The fruit seemed imbibed with the magic of the land as it filled his chest with a faint sense of rejuvenation. “Sweet indeed. No wonder the city flaunts them so casually along the streets.”
Elain’s face lit up. “I’ll keep the seeds of the last piece. It would be a good idea to plant oranges at the river house, or the townhouse backyard, don’t you think? So we wouldn’t have to come all the way back here for such lovely fruits.”
He stared at the sparkle in her brown eyes and the smile in her full lips. His shadows lightened in his periphery.
Joy was a beautiful look on Elain, and he hoped she wore it forever.
Belatedly aware that he was silent for too long, he replied, “You don’t need anyone’s permission.” He grinned. “Both gardens are your jurisdiction by now.”
Her smile softened, laced with a small pride at her earthly handiwork back in Velaris.
His shadows returned to him, one of them floating to his ear.
Ruins of marble, stone, and murals partially submerged in the water a mile from here, southwestern shore, his shadow whispered. Completely abandoned.
Perfect.
When Elain finished with the last of the orange, with the seeds tucked in her handkerchief and placed inside the purse at her hip, he said, “Are you up for a long walk?”
“In this lovely weather, why yes.” She tilted her head. “But where are we going?”
“A place with a scenic view.”
+ + +
When they arrived at the ruins, she sucked in a breath.
Nestled in a hidden shore, with rocky cliffs on both sides, a crumbling two-story building stood. Its marble columns and white stone walls shone in the sun. The sea had already claimed some of its surrounding platforms, and seaweeds grasped the parts that met the water.
“What a curious place,” she breathed, eyes widening. She then turned to him with one of her rare teasing grins that always delighted him. “You seem to know every inch of the city. Is it part of your work as the spymaster—” Her eyes darted around them. “I shouldn’t have said your station out loud, should I?”
He smiled, unable to quell the endearment rising in his chest. “There’s no one else but us here.”
“Oh. Wonderful. That’s good.” A blush bloomed in her cheeks. “I—I meant that it’s good that no one heard that.”
She shouldn’t have to be defensive about her statement, but the fact that she was…
He was torn between teasing her back or saying something that would address…this thing blossoming between them. Something beneath their friendship was quietly taking root for months now. But with the way her eyes shifted away, with how her body tensed as if she caught herself unaware, he knew she was not ready to face it. Elain might not say her thoughts—her needs—outright, but he knew what she needed.
Time.
He could give her that in spades. With a growing hope in his heart, he was willing to dance to her pace.
So he settled for teasing her, turning his smile into a smirk. “I understood what you meant. It certainly wouldn’t be good for Adriata to know that the Night Court’s appointed spymaster is within their midst.” He glanced at the crumbling columns around them. “And as for how I know this place, I had my shadows search the city.”
She returned his smile, her shoulders relaxing as she walked beyond the crumbling gateway. “They have been of much use to you, haven’t they?” She glanced back at him. “Do they also…warn you about things that have not yet come to pass? Or do they act within your commands?”
This was another of the alluring things about her. This inquisitive nature that she let out when she was comfortable. She looked upon the world with such open eyes and a willingness to learn and to understand. Something that for some confounding reason, her sisters seemed to overlook. In their eyes, Elain deemed nothing interesting beyond her gardens.
Perhaps Feyre and Nesta have yet to understand that it was where she felt fully in control. Pulling out weeds, tending to the soil, guiding seeds to fruitful growth—such were things that gave her a semblance of autonomy and happiness when everything else was uncertain in her life.
Then his heart softened as he understood exactly what she was trying to ask him. “You have a rare gift, Elain. I cannot see beyond the present, even with my shadows. They can only perceive truths and lies, not the events that have yet to exist. And they’re nothing more than an extension of my magic.”
She tilted her head. “Your magic.” She seemed to want to say something else as she peered at him before she nodded. “I see.” She turned on her heel and continued onward.
They went down a short flight of stairs and stopped before a tall marble statue standing in a wide but shallow pool of crystalline water. The lady was a High Fae draped in thin robes that clung to all her curves and showed her stiffened nipples. Bits of algae clung to the hems of her skirt. And in her outstretched hands were a flower and a fruit.
Perhaps he should have had his shadows elaborate on what these ruins actually were before taking Elain here.
Said female tilted her head as she peered up at the statue. “I wonder who she was.”
He suppressed a cheeky smirk. With his eyes honed on her face, he explained, “She is Xenia, an old goddess for those seeking rest and sanctuary. Although some of the myths call her the deity of revelry. And of pleasure.”
As he expected, a beautiful blush bloomed on her cheeks. She gaped at the statue. “How intriguing—what was her story?”
“Some of those myths featured a High Fae who believed that she can live happily by indulging on the decadence of fruits, flowers, and carnal delights. And that in just one night, she managed to convince thousands to partake in such delights with her throughout their lifetime. If all is to surrender to death and decay, might as well embrace only the extravagance of life.”
She tilted her head. “It’s not quite a good way to live, is it?”
He smirked. “Perhaps it’s good for a short while. But yes, horrible in the long run.”
“But why build a statue of her in this place? Surely there are others to choose from that have less…controversial status.”
He paused before answering, “Because this was once a pleasure house. In most courts, she is a prominent patron goddess for such establishments.”
Her lips parted as she blinked several times. Then she looked around, seemingly taking in everything in a newer light. She glanced at the towering columns and intricate carvings that survived. “I have never been to a pleasure house before. I didn’t realize how extravagant they were.”
“Not all of them.”
Her eyes shot towards him, an implication glinting there. An assumption of where he had gained such knowledge from. He clenched his jaw, glancing away from those curious—but not judging—doe eyes. It had been years since he visited a pleasure house. But in the recent months, he realized he was never tempted to return to one. When the need for release became too much, when even sparring or training wasn’t enough, he settled for using his hand in the privacy of his room—where no one could ever realize that his fantasies now involved golden brown curls splayed over his pillows and large, brown eyes dazed with ecstasy.
He forcibly banished the thought before it could summon the restlessness that usually succeeded it. It was a monumental effort, especially since the object of his most secret desire was currently standing before him. Nodding to a broken archway beyond the statue of Xenia, he said, “That large room was usually reserved for entertainment and dining.”
She walked towards it, peering at every nook and cranny. “It must have been a beautiful room,” she murmured.
He softly smiled as he followed on her heels. She never failed to see the beauty in everything, even in something as scandalous as a pleasure house. That curiosity was being fed and it reigned over everything else. “Yes. It was furnished with cushioned seats and trays of food. Wine always flowed in the patrons’ cups. And males and females entertained them with music and dancing all through the night—at least if that was what they merely came for.”
On one surviving wall, there was a fresco depicting a dryad straddling a horned fae, their hips flushed together. The dryad’s head was thrown back in apparent ecstasy as she held on to her partner’s horns.
“Oh my…” Elain breathed. Her hands went up to cover her crimson face. Then her shoulders shook and a laugh bubbled up from her. She dropped her hands and turned to him, traces of that chiming laughter still shining in her brown eyes. “Azriel, have you purposely chosen this place to—to mortify me?” There was no accusation in her tone, only bashful teasing.
When his name fell from her lips, he had to stop himself from taking a step towards her. He settled for chuckling and clasping his hands behind his back. “I would never do anything of the sort. My shadows were scarce on the details today, believe me.”
Said shadows were not just scarce on the details, but also scarce with their presence at this moment. He did not realize when exactly they had disappeared. He was admittedly—unabashedly—riding the high of Elain’s full attention the whole time.
He gestured to a stone staircase at the back of the room with its steps still intact. “Those lead up to private rooms.”
He didn’t have to elaborate on what those rooms are for, judging from Elain’s widened eyes. She picked up her skirt with both hands and went to the stairs. He followed closely behind her, ready to catch her in case the stones collapse all of a sudden. He tried not to glance at her shapely backside, which was faintly outlined by her pale blue cotton dress. He silently cursed. Eyes up, Az.
When they reached the second floor, they stood amid a wide corridor bracketed by elegant columns. This area had not been affected by erosion as much as the ground floor. Parts of the walls managed to preserve their gilded decor.
Elain peered into a room on their right. “They’re quite simpler than I expected. Aside from the additional art in the walls.”
“There are much more alluring things to do than admire the space anyway.”
And there went another blush from her, but he was surprised to hear her snort, which then shifted to a giggle. “Of course. Of course, Az.”
He couldn’t contain a crooked smile at hearing her say his name again, as well as that contagious little laugh. “I’d like to think that all financial efforts went to the paintings—and the beds.”
At that last line, Elain glanced at the remnants of a wooden platform in the center of the room. There were artistic carvings on the headboard of creatures sensually embracing. The mattress and pillows were long gone. Then she glanced at him and looked away, biting her lip.
His head tilted. It seemed Elain was flustered all of a sudden.
Before he could say anything, she strode away. “Shall we go back downstairs?”
Deciding to think nothing of it for now, he followed her.
They examined every corner of the ruins, steering clear of the submerged parts. He told her the makings of the majestic columns, and how the courtyard in the southern side was most likely once filled with lush greenery, the kinds of fae that mingled in this place. She listened raptly to his words, asking questions when particular parts fascinated her.
Azriel found it difficult to recall a day in which he was this exquisitely contented.
+ + +
“This may sound odd,” Elain said, “but I would come back here in a heartbeat.” After exploring the entirety of the place, they returned to Xenia, standing before her statue.
She glanced at him, and he let her see that he understood what she meant. That the ruins of a pleasure house from a distant past offered her a bubble of quiet fascination.
She continued, “This place carries a certain hushed air to it. Like time held it in place just after the walls crumbled and the sea encroached on it. As if something—or someone—wanted it preserved in its current state. Perhaps even Xenia.” A corner of her full, pink lips lifted and his heart pounded as he stared at it.
“I agree.” He couldn’t quite remember any other words at the moment.
She sighed. “I suppose we should head back. They might be wondering where we are.”
That was the very last thing on his mind today, but he nodded anyway, holding out his palm. With Elain’s hand clasped in his, he winnowed them back to the Summer Palace.
+ + +
They were appointed the west wing of the palace, on a suite of rooms that was surrounded by a long terrace overlooking the bay.
He winnowed them on one end of the terrace. Ahead of them, there were cozy seatings circling a small stone table. Behind it, a pair of glass doors opened to the main space inside the suite.
Mor was already indulging in a glass of wine that she procured somewhere, lounging on one of the seats.
Feyre and Rhys sat across from her, chatting about the arts and theatrical performances they saw in the city. Cassian was leaning on the railing, staring down at the water. Az was sure his brother’s mind was on a certain Archeron sister who wasn’t here. Who wasn’t willing to join them when they asked her to come to the Summer Court.
When Mor saw them, she jumped up from her seat and strode to them. “You’re just in time! We’re about to start preparing for the fete.”
Rhys raised an eyebrow. “Just a second ago, you were far from done with that wine.”
“It’s just a little indulgence before the event.” She turned to Elain, a smile creeping up in her face. “I’m especially excited for you to try on the dress I chose for you.”
Elain returned her smile. “Your style has always been impeccable.”
Interesting that she let Mor decide on what to wear for this gathering, especially that it would be the first one she’ll be attending after turning into a High Fae. The first one of such a large gathering at least.
Mor hooked her arm to Elain’s and held out her wine glass to Az. Blinking, Az took it and stared as she ushered Elain to a door down the hall.
“Well, it is nearing dusk already.” Feyre stood. She glanced at Cass. “Are you changing into something, Cass?”
The male in question pulled away from the railing with a grin, as if he wasn’t just brooding a while ago. “What, you think I’m just going to show up in my leathers? Even we Illyrians make an effort when it comes to these things.”
Rhys snorted. “Might I remind you that I had to physically drag you to a tailor shop in the Rainbow for a fitting?”
Feyre laughed. Even Azriel couldn’t hide his smirk. Cassian didn’t normally bother with such fuss, but Az acknowledged the intricacies in play, the considerations, when attending a fete held by a high lord. Tarquin’s event may outwardly be of the purpose of unity, a celebration of the arts, but power play and schemes were inevitable. Even something as mundane as clothing and manners communicated certain messages to certain parties.
Hence, Az personally chose his own clothes. He was meticulous with his own attire in the way that he learned from Rhys growing up. He never had the opportunity to learn it elsewhere, what with his upbringing. Rhys was happy to introduce him to the fine aspects of fabrics, jewelries, and shoes to don. Taught him how to use certain forks and knives at the dinner table. In a way, such knowledge was not far from knowing which blades to use on a prisoner inside the interrogation cell.
Azriel learned fast and he learned well. It was how he survived for five centuries.
Banishing such thoughts before they could plunge him deeper into a state not fit for the revelries later, he shook his head and let Cassian sling an arm over his shoulders to lead them to their respective rooms to prepare.
+ + +
The sun was already lounging beneath the horizon when they stood in the foyer of their suite. They were now just waiting for Mor and Elain.
Cass grumbled, “Does Mor plan for us all to be fashionably late?” He adjusted the dark sleeve on one shoulder. It was perfectly fitted to his size. It was only unfortunate that he wasn’t used to the style.
“Now don’t be grumpy, Cass,” Mor said as she appeared from the hallway. She donned a yellow dress that had a slit on one leg. Her blond hair was down. She rarely put it up. Tucking it in braids only during the wars and whenever there was a need to go into battle.
When Az glimpsed a flash of blue behind her, he sucked in a breath.
Cass whistled. “Look at you, Elain.”
Look at her indeed.
Elain was wearing a dress of dark blue silk, hanging on her slender shoulders by thin ribbons of the same color. Her hair was gathered up to expose her creamy, elegant neck, a few curls brushing her jaw. A pair of golden earrings in the shape of hanging roses adorned her pointed ears. The neckline dropped to display her delicate collarbones and an expanse of glowing skin—
And one, small freckle inches above her heart.
Azriel found that he could not tear his eyes away from it.
Feyre stepped forward. “You look beautiful.” Her tone was soft and oddly comforting, placating. Rhys echoed her sentiments.
Azriel’s eyes shot up to Elain’s face and noted the faint color in her cheeks, her gaze not meeting anyone’s.
It was the perfect dress for her, amplifying her beauty in a way that would steal anyone’s breath. Had already stolen his breath. But he realized that it was quite revealing by her standards. As far as he knew her, she never wore clothes that bared her shoulders and a good portion of her chest. Until now.
She wouldn’t say outright that she was even slightly uncomfortable. The stubbornness that all Archeron sisters shared was subtle in Elain, but he saw it.
So he took a step towards her. When his dark leather shoes entered her vision, her gaze went up his trousers, past his midnight blue tunic lined with gold embroidery, and stopped at his face. Her brown eyes shimmered in the faint light of dusk from the terrace, and her pink lips parted as she stared at him.
At that moment, he didn’t believe the Mother could craft anything or anyone more divine than Elain.
“Would you let me escort you to the grand hall?” He held out a hand. “I’m sure Cassian’s itching to be the first on the buffet, and will throw a tantrum if he gets the last pick on anything.”
Everyone laughed. Cass huffed, but didn’t deny it.
Azriel was focused on Elain as she placed her hand in his, giggling. He tucked her hand in his arm and they all filed out of the suite, heading to the grand hall.