Azriel’s thumb brushed against Elain’s parted lips, a sigh escaping her at his slow movement. Her doe eyes glowed in the moonlight that seemed to melt over them both, over Azriel’s wings as they spread, creating a bubble of reality shared only by the two of them.
She could hear his heart pounding, his rapid breathing as he drew closer. They shouldn’t be there, on that moonlit balcony, hidden in the cocoon created by Azriel’s wings.
She couldn’t help the smile that took hold of her when Azriel took a deep breath and pressed her against the wall, caressing her lips one more time before devouring them. Elain tried to find her balance and placed a hand on the wall behind her, finding the plants that had grown alongside the grayish stones of the balcony, where moonflowers had sprouted, seeking the touch of the moonlight. She could feel the tiny petals crushed against her fingers as Azriel deepened the kiss. She let the flowers support her as he wrapped his scarred hands around her waist, pulling her closer to him. Elain brought her hands to his face, feeling his cheeks grow warm against her palms.
She knew that the next morning she would have to tend to those flowers that had been witnesses to what had happened on that balcony. Those flowers that, like the two of them, had bloomed under the moonlight when few could see them.
What Bloomed in the Darkgarden // A story by ehoney
Chapter 44: Asphodel
“Elain?” he whispered, and it was this: her name on his lips, a prayer- a plea- the last ember of light fading atop a ruined tower- that had her crossing the space between them.
Summary: Azriel & Elain find a moment alone, burning in their quiet ache, but it’s a haunting repeat of that Solstice night, and six months are enough time to change people.
Warnings: Fluff, angst, tension, panic attacks, allusions to sex, mentions of human remains/ashes
Word Count: 10.6K
Author’s Note: *lantern in hand, waving you over* Put your cloaks on, we’re going to the fields of yearning! Let’s see how many parallels you can find from the books and the shot itself (Was gonna write smut for this but I kinda burnt myself out yikes) Anyway. Cheers!
✦ MASTERLIST | MOODBOARD
They’d done it.
Azriel and Elain had finally snuck out of the unnamed prison that was the Diplomat Guest Estate.
In the dead of the night.
It didn’t matter that they were on an indefinite Winnow-lock in the country. Neither did it occur if the disappearance of two Night Court officials could draw suspicion, essentially risk blowing their aliases as undercover spies.
For it was their last day in Vallahan.
And the Spymaster of all had suggested they do this out of nowhere.
“Forgive me we couldn’t find time during the day.”
Azriel, for whatever reason, rubbed the column of his neck, his neutral mask blurred past an alarming degree.
“No—no.” Elain stumbled, stunned.
She never thought she’d get to see it.
Not in this lifetime atleast.
“This . . . this is . . . ”
The fields her father had once gushed about.
The fields he’d promised to take her to one day.
“Gorgeous.”
She felt a bright smile slide into place.
Too many emotions lapped at her throat. Her chest.
“Simply gorgeous.”
Gentle breeze meandered through the white and navy haze of bloom, this midsummer night a moonless affair. In compensation, stars twinkled everywhere, in the sky and field alike.
Like diamonds on velvet.
The tulip fields.
Holding back a tender smile, the Spymaster put his lantern down, the one they’d stolen from a shed nearby, and produced a sachet from inside his cloak. Looked like jute, no bigger than his fist.
Something inside jingled sweetly.
Following the pleasant sound, Elain peered up at the Shadowsinger’s earnest facade.
“I was wondering what was tinkling all the way here.”
Gentle curiosity.
How did we not get caught with the shrill of it?
A ghost of a curl dipped onto his cherub lips. “I’d put a sound shield around us.”
Elain offered a mindless nod, not at all surprised he had read the question on her features.
“Might it be another—”
“Before you vex your—”
They said at the same time.
Nervous energy filled the air, crackling around them, hounding their scents. Elain could tell, could now recognize the difference in them.
The pair quietly chuckled together.
So in sync.
Always in sync.
Something tender invited itself. Lingered like a hopeless forest spirit who never called, never beckoned, but waited in its quiet ache, its presence a phantom embrace of familiarity. It sat beside, legs dangling, leaving plenty of space for a traveller to come sit.
Stars danced in his hazel gaze as he insisted she go first, ever the gentleman.
Elain’s throat bobbed, palms suddenly clammy with anticipation.
Do not wipe them on your cloak.
Do not. Wipe them.
“Is that for me?” She managed, not daring to ask more. Last time had been disaster enough.
Azriel read the apprehension before it pinched her lips. His wings tucked in infinitely tighter.
“I– yes,” He hesitated. “It’s, uh . . . ”
Second-guessing was a corset she fastened on the daily. The spymaster though . . . something was amiss.
And because hesitation and Azriel did not belong in one sentence together, Elain sought him some mercy, delicately plucking the bag off his fingers to investigate herself, knowing it wouldn’t do her any favours if she pushed him any further.
He let go willingly.
Out came two beautiful and identical chain-like ornaments with tiny hooks and hollow bells that seemed to birth these soft, ephemeral melodies, attached to a spine of silver. All of it—dazzling silver.
It sounded peaceful. Serene.
Familiar?
“An anklet pair,” Azriel explained quickly, his shadows swarming like sharks protecting its prey. “I’m aware fae do not care for natal anniversaries but consider this an early present for yours.”
It wasn’t Solstice, and her blessed day of birth wasn’t for one more month, and there was a gift.
Another jewelry.
Craftsmanship so intricate, so unlike anything she’d seen, Elain couldn’t muster an ounce of anxiety, no thoughts except—
“Brilliant.”
The breathless praise left of its own accord.
“Where did you find them?”
“They are part of the traditional Scythian culture,” Azriel provided, voice raw and heavy with an emotion she couldn’t place.
When had he gone to—
“During my time there earlier this year,” he meant the time he’d taken leave from work out of nowhere, the first time in his life, and disappeared for twenty three days and seven hours straight without telling anyone of his whereabouts, “I was most opportune to explore some of their markets. Their culture.
“Humans are,” a duck of his chin to bury the grimace that fell just a smidge short of mirth, “a curious breed.”
“Scythia as in,” She took a breathless pause. “The human lands here?”
His eyes flickered in thoughtful applause, surprised she’d remembered her maps from the mission brief.
Gently, he inclined his head.
“Precisely. I kept noticing this particular design,” A timid nod to the culprit in her hands, “So I . . . ”
Azriel had been on the Continent.
Continental human lands.
Which is why I couldn’t track him.
The weeks she’d driven herself insane, waiting, worrying for his life whilst still holding onto the dregs of her already wavering grudge against him, against herself, however passive it may have been. For calling her a mistake, and her making one.
“You?” She whispered, despite the ache suffocating her throat.
No one knew. No one could coax that information out of him, but here he was.
Telling her.
“I . . . studied the culture.”
Silence.
Utter, pin drop, silence.
“Especially the sounds. There were several to choose from. Some sharp, some gentle. Deeper too if you willed it. Depending on the size of the hollow metal, that is.” The male continued his ramblings, colour blooming high on his golden-brown skin.
Silence again.
“They’re stereotyped to be protective charms, beloved enough to have several workshops teaching how to weave them with the sound one likes.”
Protective charms.
How ironic.
Would it protect their . . . friendship, if that is what she could call their fragile truce this time, whatever they’d been weaving wordlessly over treacherous nuances these past few months? Would it allow them to be more?
To just be.
Elain didn’t know what to say. Think.
“So I,” Azriel dipped his head again, “learned how to make them.”
Fabric of time—ruptured.
Sound eddied.
“What?” came out of her mouth, foolishly.
That scarlet flush and his shadows were battling to swallow his face whole by this point.
Which one would win:
Embarrassment or fear?
And yet—
“I—I made them.”
Elain blinked.
Once. Twice.
Three simple words.
An innocuous stutter.
It didn’t make sense.
“You made them?” She repeated, slow and incredulous.
As if saying it syllable by syllable would make it a word, a sentence, and not the paradox that was him.
“Yes,” He said quietly.
Despite her wariness, the decaying coffin she’d buried her feelings in, warmth crept in. No—it barged in. Dug through. Blew out the cover.
“What does it . . . ” Elain’s mouth staggered like her heart in the moment.
It seemed extravagant effort for a mere human tradition that was a month away. Elain knew it in the marrow of her bones it must have taken weeks to craft. To have spent time with humans itself.
Azriel opened his mouth, but she cut in, “This is what you’d been doing away for those twenty three days, weren’t you?”
Pieces clicked in place.
“N—Yes. Partly.” He tensed. “Please don’t ask me more.”
He didn’t want to lie.
Fine.
“What about the anklets?”
Lines appeared on his forehead. “I wanted it to be a specific sound. Something you would appreciate, perhaps an ode to your human heri—”
“No, I meant,” She breathed, “What does it mean?”
Is it another obligation?
Empty promise?
Error?
Chaos blunted around Azriel.
His eyes softened in equal measure.
They both knew there was a deeper cause.
“It means whatever you want it to.” He simply admitted.
No reluctance.
Only truth. Only choice.
“But they are for you.” Azriel confirmed, “And I’m not taking them back.”
Not this time.
He didn’t need to say it. Not when determination stared back at her, flashing with a steadiness and finality that wasn’t there a moment ago. Wasn’t there half a year prior.
Elain looked away, and swallowed. Hard.
Here she was, thinking about never accepting a gift from the Shadowsinger, months at end, while he had to go and shatter that notion by simply making the necklace look significantly paler in comparison.
This male was killing her.
Because Azriel hadn’t just troubled himself to encompass her essence in sound, no.
He’d handcrafted these anklets from scratch. Spent weeks on them. Studied an entire culture to get it right.
Human culture.
A legacy she would always hold dear, for there was mortal blood warming her veins. And a heart full of human hope. Foolish, foolish hope.
No one had ever put such effort.
Never in boring, old Elain.
But he said, “Elain.”
Like grief and prayer and poetry alike.
Mother give me strength.
In a measly attempt to hold herself back, her fists curled in from breaking all semblance of remaining boundaries between them, ones they’d been gently poking and prodding for a while now.
In, in, in went her nails, digging hard.
Azriel clocked it. For whatever reason, that seemed to unsettle him even more.
Elain hadn’t known she was clenching her jaw until the Shadowsinger pleaded, soft like the very ache that stayed, pulsed,
“Please. Say something.”
The self-doubt in his tone squeezed the thing in her chest. Tightness evaporated from her muscles.
“I . . . am overcome.”
She watched his throat bob, watched him nod like he wasn’t the one faebane tipped arrow that could completely uproot her being.
“Good overcome.”
Mother only knows why that clarification was necessary, like she wasn’t already a fool for putting herself in his line of fire again.
Emotion warped her existence, regardless.
There was nothing to say beyond, “Thank you.”
You will not cry.
You will not cry.
So she cracked a solemn smile instead. “I shall . . . I will see to it that it is treasured.”
Forevermore, she wanted to add.
But even fools ran out of bravery.
Something unreadable flashed through his eyes—too many emotions, too many thoughts she couldn’t read today—before relief flooded front and centre. Azriel let his shoulders sag a little, allowed his mirth to reluctantly bloom.
“Would you like to . . . ” The sentence dwindled like her confidence that hadn’t been the same since that night.
The male appeared thoughtful, as if reminiscing the exact set of words she’d bestowed, demanded of him.
Azriel smiled.
“Would I like to put it on you?”
Right on the mark.
A slow nod.
That smile voltage upped into a hint of a grin, and he said, quiet as night, “Yes. Always yes.”
How the roles had reversed.
Similar crossroads but utterly different paths.
This time less secrets stood in their way.
This time there were no misunderstandings.
No Rhys.
Yet . . . a tender, fragile sort of reticence remained that wasn’t there last time. Almost as if rushing it could break the spell, a chance none of them were willing to take.
Elain flushed while handing him the anklets and the jute sachet, deliberately brushing her pinky alongside his knuckles.
Azriel shifted closer on instinct.
It was a dance they knew well.
Were well-versed in.
This—gravity.
And hopefully, they wouldn’t step on each other’s toes this time.
Elain outstretched her left foot, lifting her skirts, milky white skin ready for his taking. Claiming. One might call it scandalous but proprietary had always hindered itself for him.
Tucking away the sachet in his armour, he kneeled down on one knee slowly, eyes transfixed by her brown doe-shaped ones.
What a sight he was.
The master torturer, the executioner of the Night Court. Myth and terror alike, kneeling for her. Ageless death on his knees before the curious fawn.
Then, a gravelled whisper—
“May I?”
Like she was Holy and touching her feet would cleanse the blood right off his hands. Like, for once in his life, he wanted to reach.
He wanted.
Who would tell him those very hands had unknowingly pulled her out of abysmal grief many a times?
Who would tell him she wanted right back?
Urging her foot forward, she whispered, “Please”, unaware of the thread that was being woven there. A destiny shifting.
Reluctant in its pursuit, his deliberate gaze slid down her figure.
She had layers of clothing on, but—
Nose. Mouth. Neck.
It burned everywhere he looked.
Chest. Navel. Hips.
It sizzled everywhere he stopped.
A shaky breath unburdened his chest as he soaked in the expanse of her exposed skin, the gentle descent of her bone. His thumb involuntarily stroked the hump of her ankle. One phantom touch, barely even there. Fleeting.
And instantly—
Lightning up her spine.
Shock so evident, a corner of his mouth tugged upward.
Azriel tenderly rounded the neck of her foot. Cool metal slid in its place. It’s rightful place. The weight of it was grounding yet freeing.
Those dainty bells tinkled through the silence, sound hauntingly identical to the pint-sized garden wind chime she’d hung on his windowsill a few weeks ago.
Elain couldn’t understand music like her sisters, but she loved that wind chime. Loved listening to it while gardening. It brought her a sense of peace, a momentary reprieve from her thoughts that no living being could facilitate.
And she’d given it to him, a device offered in good faith to help him sleep. Ward off unwanted thoughts. Anchor him when he couldn’t.
“This sounds like . . . ”
Disbelief seemed to be the theme this evening.
Elain shook her head. “No, it must be a—”
“Mistake?”
Azriel cut in, tender yet heartbreaking, without looking at her. Like he truly understood the weight of the pain he’d made her carry. One he’d carried himself.
“Love,” his whispered endearment was nothing short of a small tragedy, “we both know I’ve long forsaken that word in all its entirety.”
A beat of silence.
And another.
“So, the . . . wind chime,” she whispered back.
Azriel let out a low hum.
“The wind chime.”
Such casual words. Casually cruel.
But his hands shook.
And Elain didn’t dare speak anymore, for the coffin was open, and her feelings were desperate to flee, just as casually as he’d said wind chime.
He took his time getting that clasp though, not that she minded it in the least.
The subtle brush of his fingertips.
Bumps and ridges of charred skin.
Those featherlight scrapes of his nails.
It felt exquisite.
Touching and feeling and admiring.
He did the same to her other foot.
It must’ve been eons when Azriel murmured, voice gentle as twilight, “There.”
When had her hands leaned down to support herself on his shoulders?
How long had he been staring at her with those eyes?
Oxygen seemed scarce all of a sudden.
Elain moved to retrieve her involuntary decisions from his body.
How dare you, hands.
But they didn’t move.
How could they?
One moment her fingers lay flat on his clothed frame unwarranted, and the other . . . Azriel’s hands were atop hers, encasing them. Stopping her.
Bare skin. Blatant touching.
Him initiating a touch.
Can’t. Breathe.
Slow, like torture written by poets at a wake, Azriel Shadowsinger stood to his full height, towering over her. The Seer craned her neck, a delicious stretch, their hands still on his shoulders.
This wasn’t in the script last time.
It wasn’t in any scripts written by him.
Slowly, surely, his thumb caressed her knuckles. One smooth swipe.
And unlike the reverence on her ankles, this one was deliberate, molten lava. It travelled straight to her core, injecting a fresh dose of adrenaline in her veins.
“What are we doing?” Whispering seemed paramount for some reason.
Sunset glow of the lantern shifted the dunes on his face. Made her want to graze her knuckles down his jaw. Made him look leaner, sharper. Crueler.
But his eyes.
His unguarded sand-coloured eyes, windows to his soul, sang stories of worship. Want. Need. Fireworks of green and blue and orange seemed to explode in there.
It was like peeking into a mirror.
Azriel leaned down, and her jaw slacked in answer. The action drew the attention of his burning gaze, momentarily flickering to her lips and back.
One taste would all it take.
One tempting—
Thump. Thump.
Her heart throbbed.
That mole on his left ear.
Shine of his lush pink lips.
Slender nose.
Elain wasn’t sure where to look.
Because space disappeared, the closer and closer he inched.
And so did her rationale.
Thump. Thump.
His warm breath fanned her face, like she was his very patience and relief.
Right there, he halted centimetres away from coming home.
Yes, take me, she wanted to say.
Take everything, she wished to scream.
Right there, he lingered, eyes seeking acquiescence, testing her limits.
Tempting her to bridge the gap.
If he waited one more second—
“Jump,” He whispered.
Wait.
What?
“I want to test if the clasps hold,” Azriel gave her a slow, knowing grin, “Jump.”
Tease.
He was teasing her.
Teetering on the verge of jumping him, Elain found her paper thin restraint and blinked profusely, jolting out of her stupor.
The scents of their arousals intermingled, both of theirs, yet deep red marred the apple of her cheeks, and he just grinned.
Who was this stranger?
“Oh, erm,” She inhaled sharply, tightening her hold on his shoulders, “Right.”
Letting his hands fall to his sides, he suppressed an amused sound, and straightened up. “Use my shoulders to push yourself up as hard as you can.”
Azriel knew exactly what he was doing.
Still, Elain did what he asked, face flaming hot the entire time. The soft cacophony of her new accessories echoed through the valley.
She squeaked, “Your handiwork seems to hold, Shadowsinger,” afraid that if she said Azriel out loud, perhaps, he’d know she’d been chanting his name instead of breathing.
He should not be privy to all her secrets, now, should he?
Inviting more distance between them, Elain faced the field, summoning composure. Not once did she spare him a glance.
“But anklets are counterproductive to spying, wouldn’t you say?”
Cool, calm, collected.
Breathe.
“You’ve gotten way too good at sneaking around, I’m afraid,” He deadpanned, coming to stand at her back, the heat of him searing.
But he did not touch her again.
“Is that so?”
He hummed. “Can’t have you startling me left and right.”
“Please, that was one time.”
“Tell that to the sharpening stone you made me chip.”
A soft, graceful, helpless laugh clawed up her throat.
“So?” The intonation was thrown over her shoulder. “This is the bell I’m supposed to wear as your cattle now?”
“You think so little of me.” He wasn’t wounded at all.
“And you’re deflecting.”
“Not as my cattle, no,” He acquiesced, the rumble of his quiet chuckle a delight against her ear, “But perhaps as my—”
Azriel caught himself.
A slip of tongue.
Elain inclined her head, just a little.
“Yes?”
That one word held so much hope, it was pathetic.
“Cat.” He cleared his throat and with it, the truth. “A cat.”
Facing ahead once again, Elain tried not to reveal her slight disappointment when she softly mused, “Shame. I identify as an owl.”
A quiet laugh.
Do you know I pocket your laughs like you pocket rare sounds?
She should’ve said it.
Your laugh is my wind chime. My anklet.
It would’ve been so easy to say it.
“What I meant was,” Azriel tried again, “you can wear them when you’re home, and not working.”
“If it was meant to be a punishment, you could have just said so.”
“It’s not.”
“It is when us and ‘not working’ aren’t synonymous.”
She heard him shake his head, probably smiling at her dry humour. Perhaps, conversation had dulled his curtain of nerves from before.
“Aren’t you going to run?” Az asked all of a sudden.
Elain stilled.
“Through . . . the field?”
She’d rather take a lap of that field than give into this ungovernable urge to lean back into his arms. Risk temptation again.
And should she just lean back—
“Your words, your call.” He added coolly, presuming her silence for reluctance, a double edged sword of reminder and choice. Always a choice with him.
But she heard that innocuous nudge in his tone.
One that beckoned come and play.
Come and seek what you want.
A memory resurfaced, of herself many moons ago, an Elain who dreamt of flower beds and prairies. Wind and meadows.
Freedom.
“Have you seen those grey horses in the fields? With the long mane? They run unlike any creature I’ve witnessed.” She’d once mused. A wine induced rambling. Or maybe it’d been what she liked to call the Zee Effect.
“Wind gypsies?” Hazel eyes had never looked sharper.
She remembered fidgeting.
Feeling utterly naked under his gaze.
“I would like to be one. I mean—not be one. But, run like one. If I had a field. Run and run and run for miles with my hair down. Let go of everything and everyone and just . . . ”
At that very horrible moment, it’d struck her how those were the very first words she’d deigned him in months.
Not a no, thank you or a detached hello.
But real words.
Still. The male finished her sentence like he hadn’t broken her heart that one Solstice night, like he finished her sentences all the time.
“ . . . just exist?”
Dumbfounded, she’d nodded. Nodded like a petulant child who forgot how to hold a grudge dwindled by the lure of some irresistible sweets.
And irresistible sweets, he was.
Blinking away the recollection, Elain sighed.
“Here I hoped you’d forgotten that.”
In an equally low murmur, he granted her a truth, probably grateful he didn’t have to look her in the eye while saying it. “You could take my memory and I would still remember everything you say.”
Her pulse skipped.
Must’ve skipped a several beats if she was suddenly feeling unmoored.
“Well then, keep– keep pretending it never happened.”
Coy. Play it coy.
He shrugged. “I cannot.”
Translation—not anymore.
No more pretending.
Just waiting for courage.
The crickets chirped in the background.
“But I can close my eyes if you’re shy.” Az cajoled with a tenderness not many received.
Despite his comical tone, she knew, without a doubt, he would. He would close his eyes if need be. A big feat for an assassin spy since the male slept with one eye open.
“We travelled all the way here.”
“Sneaked out, you mean.” Elain dared to spare him a glance at last.
“Yes, and we’re not leaving without fulfilling all its purposes.”
A wry gasp escaped her. “This is why you were keen to come, weren’t you? Watch me run like a horse.”
“Catching on early.” He joked, blatantly lying.
They both knew he was here because she’d asked. Made that meek—now near-impossible—request two weeks ago before the mission.
Near-impossible because Vallahan officials had been running them ragged with demands and parties and curfews and winnow-locks. There were eyes and ears everywhere, suspicion just a footstep away, and nearly no time to sightsee. Especially during the day.
But none of that mattered.
For this male had made it happen. He’d brought her here. No questions asked. Not even a little why.
Elain fought the urge to palm the vial she’d hid in her cloak, a secret that’d burned there for years, and embraced the new wave of gratitude that washed over her.
For Azriel.
“I’m closing my eyes in ten, nine, eight . . . ”
Gods.
Her heart ached just staring at him, the colouring under his eyes, the stress lines on his temples. What it must’ve cost him to bring her to this haven. To make those anklets.
She wondered if he ever got tired of not thinking about himself.
“You go first.” Elain blurted.
Fulfilling all its purposes he said?
This was hers.
Help him off the leash.
She may not need much anymore, she realized, having found some of it inside, but perhaps, he did.
Release.
“You want . . . me to run?”
She could hear his hackles hit his hairline, much less see, but his shadows disappeared completely.
“The . . . the field has bright insects in them.”
What in the name of Mother was that excuse?
She wasn’t scared of insects at all.
You garden for a living, an inside voice chastised.
But to her benefit, Azriel threw his head back and laughed. Laughed. That rare kind of crackle, one that flashed the whites of his teeth, those notorious craters digging up his cheeks. Loud, hearty, wild.
Somehow, he made it look graceful.
“Lantern flies,” He bit his lip, “They don’t bite.”
“What about a snake?”
“So you want me to get bit?”
“The word is inspect. Inspect the field.” The more she spoke, the more ridiculous it sounded.
Why can’t I lie when it’s with him.
“Deceptive. I knew you wanted to get rid of me for Solstice.”
“That isn’t— I don’t—”
And just because he could, Azriel laughed again, virtually free of any unnecessary weights. “Relax. I jest.”
She tilted her head. Pointed a finger. And said “You—” only to collapse into a fit of low chuckles.
He was contagious.
Dangerous.
Something soft passed between them, a familiar sort of charge. Unspoken words exchanged. No outward communication necessary.
Azriel grinned, and unbuttoned his cloak, divesting it off his shoulders, letting it pool at his feet.
Another weight—gone.
Elain sketched a slight brow.
A demure shrug was his only response.
So she removed hers, mirroring him.
“And if my natural predators attack me,” That rare dimple made him look centuries younger, “what will you do?”
“A lady never interrupts a feast.” Her mouth twitched.
Azriel walked backwards to the field without taking his eyes off her, hands behind his back, a portrait of lazy, gentlemanly charm.
“Apologies, forgot my manners for a bit.”
Elain bit her lip. “I’m right behind you.”
He’s really doing this.
The male turned around and muttered, “Hope a lady never breaks promises too.”
And just like that, the Spymaster that wore guilt like perfume, and paranoia a ribbon around his throat, constantly clocking and analyzing and waiting for Death—
That Spymaster eased up.
Instead, this stranger awoke.
This male who took off into the navy vastness.
Arms bracing.
Wind combing through locks.
Fireflies rising in his wake.
All because she said so.
Perhaps, he’d been awake this entire time, far longer than her notice. Crawling underneath. Bidding in time against a penance he someday decided not to pay.
Perhaps, he’d been awake, and the Seer had simply been blind.
So, Elain looked, and looked, and looked, frozen in space, skirts flowing.
If the tulips were gorgeous, and the anklets—brilliant, there was no word for this. Perhaps, gorgeousness and brilliance couldn’t even begin to define otherworldliness.
And this was a vision worthy of inking its permanence behind her eyelids, for all of eternity. Elain knew, then and there, she’d come back to sit in this memory, spend hours meandering, admiring the glimpses of a boy that should’ve been. That is.
Who is this stranger?
A shadow gushed.
Azriel looked back once.
Just once.
Probably making sure she was still there, safe. Force of habit. And even though there was an ocean full of words left unsaid, hurdles to crack, choices to make—that one look was enough for now, she decided.
Who is he, who is he, who is he
Utterly weightless, yet the proof of his devotion anchoring her feet all the same, Elain couldn’t help but whisper,
“ . . . mine.”
He just didn’t know it yet.
Azriel heard shuffling behind him, the gentle shrill of her anklets going cham, cham, cham against the grass bed.
Every beat of her footsteps accompanied by the low hum of his shadows.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
Over and over again.
Were they his secrets or hers?
There was no time to think—
“Blimey! WHO’S THERE?!”
The land guard.
Great.
He’d spied one sleeping on his way here, and sent his shadows to knock him out for extra measure.
Didn’t think he’d wake up so soon.
Weight crashed into his back, steering him off the narrow raised path, and sent them tumbling sideways into a bed of tulips—Elain toppling over him.
Pressing into his groin.
“Elai—” Something covered his mouth. “mmph.”
“Shhhh,” she hissed softly.
Only then he registered her hand on his mouth, scent of honeyed jasmine invading his senses. So potent that Azriel forgot how to breathe.
“Someone knows.”
Her hand. His mouth.
Scent. Crotch.
Fuck.
But he grunted, “mmphm.”
Blue light of his siphons careened off her face, shifting the humour there from funny to devastating. “This is all your fault.”
Azriel raised his temples just a pinch. “mph-fhmph?”
“I think your anklets gave us away.”
“mhp-anphleph. Rymph.”
Never in a million years could he have thought he’d be having a full blown conversation muffled in a ditch.
But here he was, savouring the weight of her bones. The feel of her heartbeat.
Not planning an escape route like he always did.
Not even trying to disengage himself from her.
What in the Cauldron is wrong with you?
The answer evaporated into thin air when she sobered up, wheezed, “He came out of nowhere.”
On cue, the land guard bellowed, “WHO ARE YE? SHOW YE’SELVES!”
It was obvious he hadn’t recognized them yet. One look and Elain seemed to gather the same.
Faint yellow glow. Dull, lagging thuds. A rough lilt.
By that alone, Azriel could tell he was a middle aged Vallaharian with a limp in his gait. He’d picked up their forgotten lantern for luminance. Probably a sickle for a weapon based on what his shadows had tallied on the grounds earlier.
“He’s coming closer.” Her eyes were saucers. “We can’t winnow. If you stand, he’ll notice your wings. If I move, he’ll hear the anklets. Oh dear gods. And if you knock him out—your shadows. Chances are he’ll know.”
There was no time to process the pride that flared in his chest, at how quickly she analyzed the circumstances despite having only weeks of training.
“Elaym—”
“Why did we think this was a good idea?” They were all but whispering at this point. “I shouldn’t have asked you to bring me her—”
Cauldron knows what overcame him, but that panic, that sheer look of uncertainty on her face?
He decided that was an abomination.
It did not belong there. Ever.
So Azriel did the first thing that came to mind, the only thing really, and—
Kissed the inside of her palm.
One gentle peck. Delivered with a world full of reverence and reassurance.
Mind-numbing quietude greeted him.
Brave? Yes.
Foolish? One-hundred percent.
But she settled, crumbling into his chest like a set of brittle bones falling apart. As did his thoughts, one by one, before nothing remained but dust. Ruin.
You’re not worthy of her.
Dust.
Stain. What a stain.
Dust.
She will never feel for a corpse.
Dust.
He was ruined, Azriel realized.
Realized it wasn’t even a real kiss, but the holiness of their locked gazes, the heat of his lips a furnace against her skin. Brown and hazel drowning in the depths of a nameless ache—a nameless God they’d both long submitted to—
Cauldron boil me alive.
The guard. The stars. The crushed tulips at their backs.
Everything seemed a world away.
Azriel lingered longer than he deserved, feeling her heartbeat race against the shape of his mouth. His soul. Each tremor a delicious jolt straight down to his crotch. He was pretty sure she could hear him too, sense him quaver.
Feel him stand at painful attention by her thigh.
Remove her hand, something raged.
He didn’t.
Do it.
Lift your fingers.
Pull her hand down.
He couldn’t.
The last of his courage had been bravely expended on the audacity it took to trap her hands against his shoulders earlier. Willingly.
Azriel wished if he could rent another body, be someone else who didn’t have to fight an internal war everytime he truly vied something.
If only he could just remove her hand and—
One, two, three seconds he stayed. Nine, ten, eleven hours he took to recede. To calm himself. A near impossible task.
But then arose the monster from his ashes, like it always did when he initiated contact.
When Azriel took without asking.
It caught up to him, lashing every vile insult at the boy who only ever begged for sunshine.
Azriel let Elain go, just as tenderly as he’d come.
Colour crept up both their necks, hot and intense. Logic was next as Azriel slowly lowered her hand, wishing it was to crush his mouth against hers. Prayed he didn’t sound as shaken as he felt.
“Sound shield.”
Why did she always forget about the sound shield?
“Just put it on. My shadows will cover us. All we have to do is stay hidden until he leaves.”
Overflowing in contingency plans was literally his job title.
Understanding dawned upon her. Elain reluctantly retracted her arm, body falling to his side, still in a dwam of what just happened.
She wasn’t touching him anymore.
Air breached his lungs at last.
So then—
What was this bitterness?
“I . . . ”
Elain failed at words.
Do you know something?
A drawer opened in his mind.
So many coffers to empty.
I once forgot an entire intelligence report.
Five hundred, six hundred, he counted.
I once flew into a wall.
So many things, shoved in here.
Azriel lowered his eyes.
Because you looked at me.
Maybe one day.
When he’d have chased all his monsters away.
When this bosom wouldn’t just be a tomb.
When I’m a better male for her.
When. Not if.
“There was no point in bringing the lantern, but,” Elain said, catching her breath, “I managed to grab our cloaks.”
Azriel felt himself tense. “I’m sorry I left it there—”
“That’s two times already today.” Her eyes danced, “You do know what happens on the third, right?”
How could he forget.
Loser had to take a day off.
And none of them had ever lost.
“Don’t apologize. It was my idea, the running bet,” Elain assured quietly, “I’m sorry for pushing you.”
“COME OUT THIEF!” The voice of the wandering guard.
They ignored him.
The Shadowsinger had stopped blinking a while ago, out of fear of missing the disgust on her face. Judgement for making mistakes. Anything.
None came.
In the world of information, he’d been conditioned to consider kindness two faced, and compassion a myth. It used to bother him for a while, that no judgment ever came from her.
How could you have left evidence behind?
What an irony that, no matter what, criticism always came from within.
Careless. Worthless. Useless.
Number of names.
A brand of less.
He was tired.
So, so tired.
The shadows around them thickened, his face vanishing in and out of absolute blackness. And in that blackness—
Her anklets rang.
Azriel blinked.
Like an arrow cutting through fog, it reached him. Scythia. The pandit. His teachings. Twenty three days of silence. Of sitting with himself and his thoughts.
He remembered the wind chime. That anchoring sound that’d pulled him out of countless nightmares and panic episodes.
He focused on that sound.
The knowledge that nothing could kill him in this body. Not when his heart was cuffed around her ankles.
The knowledge that the kind female who’d gifted him this rare, ephemeral reckoning was right here.
Still here. Despite his mistakes, his issues.
So he fought himself, fought everything that he was and made to be, as he’d been doing unconsciously since the day he saw her white-knuckling that fork, and breathed,
“You didn’t.”
His voice was a shallow gasp but Elain heard it. Stared like she wasn’t expecting an acknowledgment at all. Of course, she wasn’t. Azriel had made a fortune over hedging.
“You didn’t push me.”
The female opened her mouth and shut it several times, reading between the lines.
“I KNOW I SAW YE!”
The cries of the guard. The squeak of his lantern.
It reverberated so close, Azriel froze.
What a nuisance.
The vallaharian seemed to pass right by them.
And utterly failed to notice their forms, just like Az had predicted, curtesy of the cocoon of shadows pulsing around them, cobalt light of his siphons their sole company in the dark.
Not that they needed to worry. Light couldn’t penetrate his shadows both ways.
“Had I imagined it?” The male seemed to mutter.
Elain’s eyes widened.
As if to say he’s talking to himself.
“ . . . pissed before goin’ to bed.” He continued, “Shouldn’t have woken at this hour. Probably pulling insanity . . . ”
Blue gleamed off her pupils as the female beside him choked on a barely contained laugh.
He woke up to urinate?
She mouthed despite the sound shield.
Her energy infectious, the gravity of her so strong, Azriel couldn’t help the sound that almost forsake him. A low snicker, he realized.
Could anybody tell he’d been spiralling just sixty seconds ago? That he wasn’t dissolving into a petty brood over some silly mistakes or things out of his control?
How? You knocked him out, that minuscule dimple in her forehead implied.
If it wasn’t for this odd predicament, Azriel knew she would’ve rolled all over the ground, then apologized to the tulips for going berserk on them.
Must’ve been a big one, he mouthed back, irresistible to her pull.
Shoulders shaking, she slapped a hand over her mouth.
Finally, the valley guard sauntered away, back in the direction of his hut. And as soon as he was a good distance out,
Elain burst into tears.
And it was the sound of her joy that stringed him along. To crinkle his eyes, his leash, and . . . smile.
She laughed, and he just looked at her, this soft, goofy happiness finding home on his face. Like a vagabond finding shelter. All he could do was relish in the sound.
Her laughter was the most valuable sound of all.
It existed, so he did.
And if somehow he made it exist?
You make my failures look like wins.
“That was . . . ” Elain wiped her lashes.
Feeling a rare wave of contentment hit, Azriel chuckled, “That was.”
“Unbelievable.” Elain snickered softly, so unladylike. Free. But she knew she was safe here from judgement. As was he. “Perhaps, now I might look at these ankle bracelets and remember the time a minder broke out of unconsciousness to pee.”
“Ah,” Azriel clicked his tongue, “My anklets that gave us away, if I’m not mistaken?”
She elbowed his rib lightly, grinning. “They’re mine now.”
His blood warmed.
Shadows dissipated.
I wish I was yours too.
The thought came unbidden.
Azriel hadn’t planned to give them to her today, hadn’t planned at all, the anklets, but that awe on her face was so blinding, so utterly overwhelming, that he forgot everything but her and the vow he’d been carrying around for months at end.
So today, he’d given a piece of kindness back. Along with the rest of his battered self.
It was surrender.
She just didn’t know it yet.
Lying side by side, they looked at each other, fire flies, siphons, and stars providing minimal light, but enough.
Enough to see the smile that stripped them bare.
He couldn’t wait for the day to tell her what it meant for a male—a man to give a woman of his choosing, anklets. What it means in the culture they descend from.
But today, seeing her wear them, was more than anything he’d ever hoped for.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
A steady, reassuring beat.
Perhaps, they were his secrets, although calling her his felt like a crime in and of itself. Like a beggar asking for more than his fill.
Or may it be that mine was the sound of his new sacred heartbeat? An extraordinary proof of his rite of initiation.
“You’re going to apologize to the tulips now, aren’t you?”
He found himself murmuring into the night, lips twitching.
“Oh my . . . ”
A hand went up to her mouth.
“Oh my gods.”
Looking around, Elain stood up, dusting her skirts.
“I . . . completely crushed the tulips!”
Azriel lay flat over some of them, chuckling quietly to himself.
“Don’t shake your head!” She shrieked, keeping her lilt soft on purpose. “Stand up—you’re crushing them too!”
Before Azriel knew what was happening, Elain took his hand, and pulled. Pulled him up, body malleable to her whims. Like she owned him. Like she had a right to him.
She did.
With or without those anklets, she did.
The female fussed over the flowers, apologizing and cooing like he knew she would, completely unaware of what was conspiring.
That her hand was still in his.
His mouth went dry.
Please don’t let go.
Bare skin on skin felt sublime.
He rarely ever got to enjoy such a liberty without his thoughts plaguing him.
But with her?
Blank.
His mind was utterly blank.
The third time today.
Every single time.
Just as swiftly as it’d come, his wishful thinking let him down, and Elain released his scarred fingers, crouching down to fix the bent plants.
Azriel stared at his hand long after.
Flexed it so many times he lost count.
Didn’t know how long he’d zoned out on it, for Elain was suddenly waving in front of him.
“We should leave.”
Azriel snapped out. “You want to head back?”
She nodded. “Before anymore unwelcome guests surprise us. Or someone sounds the alarm back at the guest house.”
Translation—I didn’t realize how big of a risk we were taking.
“But we didn’t fulfill any of our purposes.” A wrinkle appeared on his forehead. “You didn’t even get to run through the field.”
Lie.
Two of his biggest ones had been checked off his list. He just needed her to—
“How do you think I got to you?”
“That does not count,” His frown deepened, squinting against the breeze.
Stay, he wanted to say.
“Your hair wasn’t unbound.”
Stay with me.
Sweet laughter flowed out of her.
“You really wish to see me channel my inner stallion, don’t you?”
“I wish for you to stop worrying.” Stay with me. “What do I always say? Worry once—”
“Suffer twice. I know.”
One mischievous current blew out a strand of her hair.
Azriel subdued the urge to tuck it behind her ear. And for once, once said what he was actually thinking.
“Stop worrying, and stay.”
Just a few more hours.
He could only hope his subtle glance at the bundle in her arms, the bundle of their cloaks, was just that. Subtle.
Elain opened her mouth in light protest. “If they find out we’re gone—”
“Then,” Azriel cut in gently, “They’ll find a parchment informing we had an emergency, and had to leave for home.”
It was last day of their mission anyway.
The treaty had been signed. All political obligations, fulfilled.
“What about winnowing? We can’t winnow out of Vallahan if we’re not on their palace grounds.”
Stubborn, clever female.
“We can fly.” Azriel simply offered a smile. “We’ll fly to the border and winnow from there. I’ve already gleaned how far it is.”
For her, his patience was perpetual. Bottomless.
He’d solve all puzzles, acknowledge any questions, if she was his answer. His parentheses.
“You’ve . . . ”
A beat of silence.
And another.
“You’ve thought of everything.” She surmised quietly, finally recognizing they couldn’t go back, no matter what.
The royal guard was most likely already aware of their absence, and Azriel had made sure they not bring any belongings to begin with, knowing everything would be readily available at the guest house—curtesy of Mor’s intel.
There was nothing on their person except the anklets, the weapons and—
Hazel gaze flickered to the cloaks once again. Lingered this time.
Elain shivered.
Shadowsinger moved before he could think, gently tugging on one of the identical fabrics from her hold. Feeling her gaze burn the side of his face, he willed steel into his fingers, and draped the cloth around her with ease.
“How long have you been planning this?” A quiet inquisition.
She let him button up her cloak in silence.
Pull up her hood.
“This is why you insisted we bring no luggage.”
Elain was coming to all the right conclusions.
My clever, clever flower.
Still avoiding her eye, he mumbled, “Mor helped. With the information.”
Sudden incredulous laughter shook her.
“I see.”
He met her eyes.
Softness gleamed there.
“If we stay,” She announced, “we’ll need another lantern.”
Azriel released an innocuous breath.
“I can fly us to the other side of the valley.”
For miles and miles . . . nothing but tulips.
That was what her father had claimed, a long time ago. Climate so right, they could bloom even in the ripe month of June.
“You were wrong.”
Elain whispered onto the wind, standing right in the middle of said bloom half an hour later.
“Everywhere I look . . . ”
Breathing in the warm petrichor mixed with the scent of night-chilled mist and cedar, she inclined her head towards the sky.
“There is only you.”
The horizons melted into a sea of glitter, making it look like the flowers were taking off to heaven.
She hoped they’d reach him.
Can you see me too?
As if in answer, a gentle breeze ruffled through the wisps of her golden-brown hair.
Elain smiled.
“We made it, Father.” Her voice was coarse. “You took me to the tulip fields, just like you had promised.”
Or rather that she’d brought him with her, in a small glass vial full of his ashes. Ashes she’d collected in the wee hours after the War with Hybern.
All three sisters had agreed to scatter his cremated remains in Velaris. Build an epitome there. But Elain couldn’t help feel like she owed him that promise, even if it wasn’t hers to fulfill. Selfishly have one last moment alone with him.
And this was it.
This was where the final piece of him could rest. Forever amongst the flowers. Somewhere familiar.
Reaching into her left cloak pocket, she tried for the tube.
Empty.
How odd.
Frantic, she pushed into the other sleeve. But instead, caught onto a—note. Nothing but a note. Only then she realized, this wasn’t her cloak.
It was Azriel’s.
No wonder it smelled like him.
Which means the Spymaster was currently doing a parameter check of the grounds wearing hers.
Cauldron.
Squinting into the abyss, her eyes searched for his lean shadow. She could only pray he didn’t check the pockets, for lying was out of question, if earlier tonight was any indication. And it’d be embarrassing to explain why she’d been walking around with someone’s remains, let alone for two years straight.
“Azriel?”
Soft.
So soft.
Not because she shouldn’t be shouting, but because it was his name.
No answer.
Perhaps, he hadn’t left a listening shadow behind.
Elain redirected her attention to the note in her hands, crouched down by the freshly stolen lantern to examine it better.
A tiny piece of worn out paper folded into fours.
It looked old.
Atleast a couple years old.
Could it be the Continent’s map? Directions?
Curiosity peaked her interest. One of the most basic rules of espionage was to never carry any personal effects on your person that could identify you or your purpose, incase of an arrest.
Not that Azriel would ever break it. He wasn’t the Spymaster of the Night Court for no reason. Based on that deduction alone, the note had to be something of no significance or not easily decipherable.
Despite knowing she shouldn’t, Elain opened it.
Neat handwriting winked back at her.
She’d recognize it anywhere—Azriel’s font.
It seemed like . . .
A list.
Tulip fields. Reasons to go.
Azriel had made a list.
Reasons to go.
Tulip fields.
Elain hiccuped.
Reasons to go.
Tulip. Fields.
With each deliberate read, her pulse sped.
Dated in August, an array of handwriting styles and colours littered the page, suggesting the notes had been jolted down at different points in time, in different moods since she knew Az’s font often changed with how stressed he was. Cursive for relaxed. Spaced out for tensed.
Drums rang in her ears.
There. Two dots beside the heading.
As if he’d stopped to ponder.
She’ll smile. Anklets.
World narrowed on the first, and shattered on the latter, when Elain noticed that strike through, as if he’d second guessed himself too much to warrant that question mark not enough.
Himself not enough.
In the right corner there was a word scratched out, something that didn’t make sense.
Nothing made sense.
Azriel had made a list.
The more she took in, the more specific it got. References to conversations she’d had today. Weeks ago.
Give her a field to run.
Aren’t you going to run?
Make sure her hair is down.
Your hair wasn’t unbound.
It must’ve been an earthquake shaking her. Her coffin full of feelings which lay wide open now. For one of them, one desperate cluster—
Fled.
For here rested too many recollections.
Too many secrets.
Too much—
Father’s ashes.
Her heart just . . . stopped.
Thump, thump, nothing.
Where was air?
What was air?
Ashes. Ashes. Ashes.
Frantic eyes snagged on this impossible piece of information, over and over again, until her vision blurred. What a kindness. Tears always blur truths when they get too overwhelming. Too obvious to ignore. Too much.
How?
No matter how much her brain processed, heart bled, it only ever came to one conclusion:
Azriel knew.
He had to have known all along.
Had to have seen her on that battlefield. Utterly alone in the night, cleaving her heart out and then tucking it in with her own bloody hands.
Because that was the only way he’d have known since Elain had neither bothered to ever disclose this secret, nor had she made it obvious. The remains were packed in a vial that could’ve easily passed as a headache powder, for mothers sake.
Suddenly, it made sense. Him pushing to sneak out here last minute, take a risk, plan everything perfectly.
Her knees gave out.
Elain kneeled forward, falling out of her crouch. Utterly defeated by a piece of paper, four reasons, and one wish.
One wish to take her to the fields.
Simply because he’d known what it meant to her.
Because Azriel had made a list.
She couldn’t take it anymore. Her restraint had taken too many blows, four blows too many, and that coffin just . . . collapsed.
She’ll smile. She’ll smile. She’ll smile.
Every single feeling she’d ever buried for him, for this male who had planned and waited and longed—
It took to open skies.
If her calculations were correct, he’d carried this hopeless reminder of what couldn’t be for years. It had changed pockets and homes.
Right alongside her.
What a tragedy to not have had courage sooner. To not have known she was never alone. Never judged.
Just—seen. Desperately.
So desperately that someone would make a list of all the dreams they wanted to fulfill for her.
So desperately that they would ask for nothing in return.
Footsteps echoed behind her.
Azriel.
He was letting her know of his presence, well aware the master of stealth didn’t need sound unless he wanted to showcase it.
“I heard you,” A twig snapped as he stepped closer, “I left a shadow behind to . . . Elain?”
The Seer gathered herself, piece by piece.
Blinked the tears away.
Folding the note, she surreptitiously slid it back into the cloak, as if her hands weren’t her own. Her mouth wasn’t her own, when she said,
“Stop.”
He stilled at her command. Instantly. No questions asked.
Taking in a steadying breath, Elain stood and faced her demons. This wandering spirit that’d been plaguing them, waiting in its quiet ache.
It was time to acknowledge it.
It was time to sit with it.
“Stop right there,” She breathed.
The Shadowsinger was still a good distance away, but she saw him blink. Once. Though he did not move, taking her word for law.
“Say I take your memory,” came out of her mouth, completely and utterly out of nowhere.
“Elain?”
She could hear the frown in his voice.
He must think her succumbing to insanity. Or perhaps another vision.
She wasn’t.
For once in her life, Elain Archeron was wide awake.
“No, I am just . . . ”
The female sighed, deeply exhausted by the strain it took to keep fighting her emotions, the words she needed to say.
“You said if I take your memory, you would still remember everything I say.”
Here she thought he had been bluffing. Joking.
Blinking again, Azriel slowly repeated, “And if you,”—he was too far for her to pinpoint his emotions—“take my memory?”
Good. She needed to get this out.
Without the Zee Effect.
“How will you remember?” Counter question.
Silence.
And this silence had teeth.
A several pauses later, she heard him swallow and softly mumble, “You know.”
Elain nodded, mindless in her pursuit, “You wrote it down.”
Kept stupidly nodding and nodding to herself.
“You wrote it down that night I spoke to you the first time.”
The first time after Solstice, dissolving weeks of silence.
“You wrote it down in Scythia.”
Mine. Mine. Mine.
Angrier and angrier each time.
“You wrote it down after the War.”
Azriel’s lips parted.
Opened and closed, visibly stunned.
At how fast she’d figured all of it out.
“I—I heard Feyre talking about it once—”
“For some cauldron damning reason, Azriel,” Elain clenched her fists by her sides, “you wrote it down years ago, and that is how you’ll remember.”
“I can explain,” The outline of his chest rose and fell.
Was that helplessness?
Desperation?
“It makes me wonder if you write down everything I say.”
At that, Azriel seemed to comb through his hair, a nervous tick.
“Every insignificant detail I hope you forget. Hope it’s a— a mistake again.”
“Nothing is— fuck,” He broke off to mutter something under his breath, appearing to oscillate between wanting to close the distance between them and scrambling for words.
The Spymaster. Scrambling for words.
“This just felt more personal. Real.” Despite his tight gravelly baritone, Elain heard him crystal clear. “I needed it to be real. No matter . . . ”
Azriel shook his head.
It couldn’t get anymore realer than this.
“Nothing is insignificant. Not with you. I . . . I remember everything regardless.”
Her head was spinning.
“Why.”
“You don’t . . . don’t want me to say it.” Utterly soft. Heartachingly soft. But more than a scream could ever convey.
“Try.”
The female wished she was a couple steps closer, so she could read his face. Wished she could pinpoint that turmoil for what she hoped it was on his beautifully devastating face.
“Because,” He tried, and failed.
She waited.
“Because . . . ” His voice cracked this time.
But it was Elain that broke.
Because. Because. Because—
“Right,” came out of her.
“Elain, I—”
“No, Az. I want you to listen now.”
Because she had heard everything.
In his stutter.
In his silence.
In the isoteric language that was Azriel.
Some things were too mighty for words.
“I am going to walk towards you.”
I am going to make a choice.
Courage was a novelty in her veins, a buzzing euphoria, and she was going to use it, propriety be damned.
Fate be damned.
“But know that once I will . . . ”
He remained silent, shadows weaving anxiously through his hair and torso.
“ . . . once I take that step . . . ”
Her throat bobbed.
There was no room for fear anymore.
“We cannot go back.”
Silence lingered.
But in that silence was freedom.
Not running. Not screaming. Not drowning in a bathtub.
This was freedom.
“Do you want me to stay here?”
“Elain.”
“Yes or no, Az.”
Her fingers shook.
Elain was sure her soul wasn’t in her bosom. It was hanging somewhere overhead, helplessly flailing to get back. Zip her mouth. Her oxymoronic self.
But no more.
She was exhausted of fighting the best things in life.
For a second she thought he’d never answer. Or worse: laugh in her face. Shut her down. Something out of her nightmares. And maybe it was one because he said,
“Forgive me, I’m—”
Courage?
Cracked.
And as though one crack was not enough, he drove the point home with an,
“I’m—apologizing.”
No.
Perhaps, she’d missed something again.
Perhaps, the truth was too ugly, even for the tears this time. For none came.
Not again. Not again—
“That makes three apologies.”
Maybe it was her imagination but it came out a tight gasp, as if he’d be struggling to rip the words off from the roof of his mouth. Fighting the very existence of who he was and wasn’t yet.
“Today.”
Elain blinked.
Today, he said.
What does that mean?
“What I’ve been trying to say and am miserably failing to convey is,” Azriel inhaled sharply, “I don’t deserve you, not yet. But I am more selfish than you think, and this is— is me taking a day off.”
Was this real?
“You’re . . . taking a day off.”
Out of all the miracles in the day, this seemed too far fetched.
He took a step forward. “Yes.”
She suddenly remembered their silly game.
Three apologies means taking a day off.
“That means . . . ”
Wanting him to confirm out loud, Elain held her breath.
And he breathed for her, “It means, when you take that step, don’t walk.”
Another step, and he said, eyes flashing from several feet away like he knew exactly what he was asking for,
“Run.”
Weight receded from her shoulders, her lungs, in an instant relief and she sagged, biting the back of her hands. Like a dam inundating every aspect of her, a burning stab began to gather behind her eyes.
Tears. Finally.
Elain knew her knees would give out again if she didn’t act quick.
So she pulled that clip from her hair, letting her curls cascade down her back, making waves in their wake, and declared,
“Check this one off your list.”
And just like that, Elain threw—threw that clip over her head, lifted her frocks higher, and ran.
She ran towards him.
Cham. Cham. Cham.
Her anklets sang.
All she heard was yes, yes, yes.
Azriel jogged the other half of the stretch, shadows disappearing.
And as soon as they met in the middle, those nameless Gods beheld in awe, for her hands were on his face, and she was pulling his face down to hers, pausing a second to read the decision in his hooded eyes, the one that screamed kiss me now or I won’t survive, before plunging in head first—
No more waiting.
Mouths slotted, hot and desperate, flat against each other.
Azriel let out a slow groan, eyes falling shut. It rippled deliciously down her spine, twining well with the feeling of his reluctant fingers caressing her waist with reverence.
Sensing his hesitance, Elain blindly brought his arms around her, telling him it was okay to touch.
That she’d waited forever to melt into his skin.
That she was his to take.
Right here. Right now. Right all the time.
Letting loose on the instincts that’d been going wild since the second she’d said yes or no, Azriel splayed his fingers there, on her back, making a home and memorizing the feel of her, before gently pulling her close. Impossibly close.
Elain breathed through her nose, sharp and shaky. Felt her joy trail down her cheeks.
His wings came second, snapping shut around the pair, trapping them flush against each other. That cold thumb brushing featherlight swipes at the nape of his neck, the feel of her pebbled breasts against his armour—
Divine.
Slow and sensual, Elain finally moved her lips, his burning heat swallowing her whole, following her lead. She nipped at his upper lip, patiently jutting it out, dragging the kiss to map the feel of him.
Gods.
Such. Soft. Lips.
Azriel returned her fervour in like, sinking into her pillowy warmth like he’d ached to do so for months. Those gradual, exploratory nips and bites of his teeth arousing a quiet gasp so unlike her, she was practically gaping into his mouth, drowning in a pool of inferno she was sure had pooled down there, ruining her undergarments.
From a slow kiss.
A disobeying hand buried in her curls as he suddenly deepened the kiss, claiming her for himself. Her arousal drifted up, hot and sweet and honeyed, intermingling with his own, this musky scent of jasmine and cedar, for the millionth time today. And here was relief.
Here was home.
With more weight in his moves, Azriel gently nudged her mouth using his tongue, seeking permission, which Elain gladly granted by parting her lips wider. That slow glide of his tongue—sinful heaven. Sucking and teasing and exploring.
Tenderly stepping between her legs, he fused her clothed, molten core to his.
Oh. My.
Red, hot pleasure spiked up her torso, the glaring shape of his cock hard and straining against his leathers. Her heat. Bunching her little hands on the fabric of his armour, the female suppressed a helpless moan.
The Shadowsinger pulled back, just an inch.
Mourning the loss of his mouth, an elixir really, Elain heaved, her chest rising and falling in sync with his. Doe eyes peered up into his blown out ones, frantically trying to find a shadow of discomfort on her face.
He wouldn’t spy one.
Never in her eyes.
Never from this gentle male.
“Why’d you stop?” She whispered, bashfully.
“I . . . found an abandoned shed . . . nearby.”
Breathless. How utterly winded did he sound.
Who is this stranger?
“I want to take you somewhere you don’t . . . have to swallow those sounds.” Azriel mumbled, his shaky thumb tracing the outline of her bottom lip, and then the abandoned trails of glitter down her face. “We need a place to sleep anyway.”
That was his way of telling her they didn’t have to do anything she wasn’t comfortable with.
Mine. This male is mine.
High on newfound levity, her fingers intertwined behind his neck, standing on her tippy toes to press a chaste kiss at the corner of his mouth. And then one directly onto his cherry red lips.
Just because she could.
“Then I guess,” Elain mused, feigning coyness, “I apologize in advance if there won’t be any sleeping tonigh—”
“Gods yes,” His voice was a near groan.
She beamed, leaning in to whisper against his ear, “That makes three apologies for me as well,” then shifted out to add, “just so you’re aware.”
His arms tightened around her, not wanting to ever let go.
Sly female.
“But since I said it after you did,” her eyes danced, “you lost our game.”
Azriel opened his mouth, realizing how he would only ever admit these words aloud with her, for her, to whisper, “I lost.”
Azriel cracked an easy smile, one of his very firsts.
“I lost to you, indeed.”
On a separate note in Azriel’s collection:
Author’s Note:
In my culture, especially where I’m from, when men give women anklets, and clasp it around their feet using their own hands, it’s considered the highest order of reverence, intimacy and yearning, since touching someone’s feet in Hinduism means they’re holy. You consider them holy. It means “I have so much respect for you, I see God in you.” This exchange generally happens between husband/wife (although a father/daughter pair is not uncommon). Some folks reckon this to be the most romantic proposal of marriage as well. So instead of the dude going down on his knee with a ring, he’s going down to clasp those anklets (payal, we call them) around his beloved’s feet.
This oneshot is basically a giant, impromptu, unspoken (typical Az) proposal from Azriel except that he never popped the question and Elain doesn’t even know it was one. But they could FEEL something shift. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if Elain actually found out 👀
Anyway. I really took 2 months to write this and then just kinda said wtf imma just post it. LOL. So if there are errors, please forgive me. As always, thank you for reading! Here’s some fairy dust ✨✨✨✨✨✨
Haari main, haari main tere saamne
(I lost, I surrender myself to you)
— The Rish, Shilpa Rao, Barbaad
“These bulbs,” Elain said, pointing with a gloved hand to a cluster of purple-and-white flowers, “came all the way from the tulip fields of the continent. Father promised that next spring he’ll take me to see them. He claims that for mile after mile, there’s nothing but these flowers.”
— SJM, ACOTAR, Ch. 29.
“Elain had always wanted to visit the continent to study the tulips and other famed flowers, but her imagination had stretched no further.”
— SJM, ACOSF, Ch. 25.
Never wanna go when you're near
Never feeling low with you, my dear
Wanna let it fall, no room for fear
I wanna let you know, I see you clear
— MARO, Vishal Mishra, Bekhabar (song for the chapter)
Elain’s anklets look like this (picture inspiration)
MY TAGLIST: @thatonefreakyelriel @lentejita25 @mandirox89 @jasminecedarnightchilledmist @chamoymangos @greenbananas @elazrielain @britishwings @chewbaccalovesbooks1319 @zelaiburgos @chronicallydisassociated @beachbum1974 @elriellover @bookofchoice @ohsaintjoan @freepandahugs @elrielobsessed @cosmicsparksolitude @peanutbutter4444 @simplysimple-blep (Wanna be on my list? Drop your # here)
This is another piece of art for my mafia au fanfic, but I love it for this @elriel-month prompt as well. I love the idea of Elain and Azriel one day in their future being able to spend a carefree, love-filled night at Rita's together, without the weight of the realms or others' judgment on their shoulders.
I want these two to be able to shout their love from the rooftops without fear of the consequences, and I imagine them spending many lovely and happy nights at Rita's together.
Here's to these babies getting everything they want and more in their futures 💕
🌸🦇 Art by @talitasami
🌸🦇 Commissioned by me, @lunaatthezoo
🌸🦇 Writing by me, @lunaatthezoo
✨ Please do not repost. Likes, comments, and shares are appreciated! ✨
We have come to the end. The final chapter of A Court of Blood and Mercy, "Sweet Sweet Mercy" is now available on AO3! Chapter 50/50, and just under half a million words to close out an epic story for an epic ship. Much love to all of you who have been with me since the beginning. Cheers to the new year! xoxo
Azriel x Elain - One Shot | ACOTAR | @elriel-month
Word Count: 2.4k
Available on: AO3
The gown was a whisper of midnight-blue silk, dark enough to vanish into a shadowed corner, yet cut with enough daring to draw the eye if she stepped into the light.
Elain Archeron smoothed the fabric over her hips, checking the hidden sheath of the ash-wood dagger strapped to her thigh. It felt heavy. Foreign. And entirely necessary.
"You don't have to do this."
The voice came from the corner of the room, born of darkness and cold air. Azriel did not lean against the wall; he occupied the space like a phantom, his hazel eyes glowing like embers in the gloom. Shadows coiled around his wings, agitated, fraying at the edges like smoke in a gale.
Elain turned to the mirror, fixing her hair. She was no longer the soft, gardening sister. She was something sharp. Something Cauldron-made.
"I know," she said, her voice steady, though her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. "That is precisely why I must."
"Elain." His voice was a low growl, a vibration that skittered down her spine. He stepped forward, the shadows parting reluctantly. "They will eat you alive if they sense even a tremor of fear."
"Then I shall not tremble." She turned to face him.
The sight of him stole the breath from her lungs. He was dressed in Illyrian leathers, but over them, he wore a formal tunic of black velvet, silver thread embroidered at the collar. He looked lethal. Beautiful. A predator masquerading as a prince.
Azriel stopped a foot away, his scarred hands twitching at his sides. "This target—Lord Thanatos—he trades in secrets that get females killed. He is rot. If things go wrong, I am getting you out. No arguments."
"I am not here to fight him, Azriel," Elain said softly, stepping into his personal space. The shadows at his shoulder reached for her, caressing her cheek with a touch like cool water. She didn't flinch. She had learned long ago that the dark was not merely an absence of light, but a presence all its own. "I am here to see what you cannot."
Azriel’s jaw tightened, a muscle feathering there. For a long moment, he simply looked at her, with an intensity that made her toes curl.
"Stay close," he finally murmured.
He held out a hand.
Elain took it. His skin was rough, calloused from centuries of wielding Truth-Teller, but his grip was gentle. As he pulled her into the darkness to winnow, the world dissolved into wind and shadow, and Elain thought: Let them try to eat me. I have thorns of my own now.
The sensory assault of the Court of Nightmares was immediate. The scent of roasted meats, heavy perfume, and metallic blood hung in the stale air. The music was a discordant thrum that vibrated in the floorboards.
They stood on the edge of the ballroom, a sea of writhing bodies and glittering jewels before them.
"Three o'clock," Azriel breathed against her ear. His warmth was a solid wall at her back, his wing shielding her from the crushing press of the crowd.
Elain shifted her gaze. Lord Thanatos was holding court near a pillar of obsidian, a goblet of wine in one hand. He was laughing—a wet, unpleasant sound.
"He claims to have the location of the lost trove of Beron’s intricate political blackmail," Azriel murmured. "We need to know where the ledger is kept."
"He looks... anxious," Elain noted.
"He looks drunk," Azriel corrected.
"No." Elain narrowed her eyes. The world seemed to tilt, the edges of her vision blurring into a familiar, misty grey. The noise of the party fell away, replaced by the rushing sound of a phantom river.
The sight. It tugged at her navel.
She didn't look at Thanatos’s face. She looked at his shadow. It was stretched long against the floor, but it wasn't moving in time with him. It was twitching.
"He is waiting for someone," Elain whispered. "Someone he fears."
Azriel stiffened. "There is no one scheduled to meet him until midnight."
"The ledger isn't in his estate," Elain said, the words tumbling out as the vision sharpened. She saw a flash of white stone. The smell of salt and rosemary. A heavy iron key hidden inside a hollowed-out bust of a weeping woman. "It’s in a crypt. A family crypt. Near the sea."
Azriel shifted, his hand finding the small of her back. "How do you know?"
"I can smell the salt on him," she lied—or half-lied. She smelled it in the vision, not the room. "And his pockets... look."
She guided Azriel’s gaze not to the Lord, but to the female draped over his arm. She wore a necklace—a heavy iron key on a velvet ribbon, masquerading as jewelry.
"He is not keeping the key," Elain realized, her pulse spiking. "He is passing it off. Tonight. To her."
Azriel’s stillness was terrifying. He had shifted from protector to the High Lord’s Spymaster in the span of a heartbeat. "The female is a courier for the Autumn Court."
"They are leaving," Elain warned. Thanatos had whispered something to the female, and they were turning toward the balcony doors.
"We take them on the terrace," Azriel said, his voice void of emotion. "Can you run in those heels?"
Elain looked up at him, a small, fierce smile curving her lips. "I don't plan on running."
They moved through the crowd like smoke. Azriel carved a path, his very presence making the lesser fae scatter, while Elain moved in his wake, silent and fluid.
They burst onto the terrace just as the female was climbing onto the stone railing, preparing to winnow.
"My Lord," Azriel’s voice cracked like a whip.
Thanatos spun around, his face draining of color. The female froze.
"The Shadowsinger," Thanatos choked out. "I—I was just getting some air."
"You were selling secrets that do not belong to you," Azriel said, stepping into the moonlight. Truth-Teller appeared in his hand, the obsidian blade drinking the starlight. "Hand over the key."
The female on the railing sneered. "Come and take it, bat."
She raised a hand, and fire—Autumn Court fire—erupted from her palm.
Azriel moved to shield Elain, but Elain was already moving.
She didn't reach for her dagger. She reached for a flower pot on the terrace railing—a heavy, stone urn containing a withered night-blooming vine.
In the split second that the female focused her aim on Azriel’s wings, Elain shoved the heavy urn. It didn't hit the female. It hit the precarious stone gargoyle the female was balancing on.
The stone gave way. The female shrieked, her balance lost, flailing as she tumbled backward onto the terrace floor, the fireball shooting harmlessly into the sky.
Before the female could scramble up, Azriel was there. His boot pressed against her chest, Truth-Teller at her throat. He snatched the necklace from her neck with a fluid swipe.
Thanatos bolted for the door, but Azriel’s shadows were faster. They surged forward, wrapping around the Lord’s ankles and dragging him down with a dull thud.
Silence descended on the terrace.
Azriel stood over the groaning female, the iron key glinting in his hand. He looked at the fallen gargoyle, then at the overturned flower urn, and finally at Elain.
Elain stood tall in the moonlight, her chest heaving slightly, her midnight-blue dress rippling in the mountain wind. She did not look fragile. She looked like the Lady of the Court of Dreams.
Azriel walked toward her. He checked her over with a clinical, intense gaze, scanning for burns, for cuts.
"You tipped the gargoyle," he said. It wasn't a question.
"Structural weakness," Elain said, smoothing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "The roots of the vine had cracked the stone. I saw it when we arrived."
She hadn't seen it with her eyes. She had seen the stone crumbling in a vision days ago, though she hadn't known where it was until this moment.
Azriel stared at her. The shadows at his shoulders calmed, curling lazily toward her, purring against her exposed arms. A rare look crossed his face, not just respect. Awe.
"You saw what I missed," he said quietly.
"I told you," Elain said, a newfound confidence blooming in her chest like a rose in winter. "I am not just a gardener, Azriel."
He stepped closer, close enough that she could smell the scent of cedar and mist that clung to him. He tucked the key into his pocket and offered his arm.
"No," Azriel murmured, the ghost of a smile touching his lips as he looked down at her. "You are an owl in a ballgown, Elain Archeron."
Elain took his arm. "Is the job done?"
"The job is done."
"Good," she said, leaning slightly against his side, letting his warmth seep into her. "Then take me home. My feet are killing me."
As the shadows rose to claim them, carrying them back to the safety of the river house, Elain knew this was not the end. It was only the beginning.
The silence of the river house was a stark, welcome contrast to the cacophony of the Hewn City.
Shadows swirled and dissipated near the hearth, revealing Azriel and Elain. Before the mist had even fully cleared, Elain was moving toward the plush cream sofa that faced the fireplace, her steps heavy, her midnight-blue gown rustling like dry leaves.
"I," Elain announced, collapsing onto the cushions with a dramatic sigh that was entirely un-Elain-like, "may never wear shoes again."
Rhysand and Feyre were seated in the armchairs opposite, wine glasses in hand. At the sudden arrival, Feyre sat up straighter, her eyes scanning her sister instantly for injuries. Rhys merely swirled his wine, though the High Lord’s violet eyes sharpened as they landed on his Spymaster.
"You're alive," Rhys said, a brow arching. "I assume that means the mission was a success, or did you just decide to return early for the wine?"
Azriel didn't answer immediately. He watched Elain, who had shimmied backward on the sofa until her back hit the armrest. She looked up at him through her lashes, her cheeks flushed from the adrenaline and the cold night air.
"Az," she breathed, extending one leg slightly. "Please. I can’t reach them."
Without a word, the Spymaster sank to one knee before her. The sight of the most lethal male in Prythian kneeling on the rug to attend to a female’s footwear caused Rhysand to choke slightly.
"Report," Rhys managed, though his gaze flicked between them.
Azriel’s large, scarred hand engulfed Elain’s delicate ankle. His touch was warm, firm, and startlingly gentle. "Thanatos had the key," Azriel said, his voice flat and professional, starkly at odds with the intimacy of his actions. "He was attempting to pass it to an Autumn Court courier on the terrace."
He unbuckled the strap of the left heel. The silver metal clicked, the sound loud in the quiet room. He slid the shoe off, his thumb grazing the sensitive skin of her arch. Elain let out a soft, contented hum that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards.
"Autumn Court?" Feyre asked, leaning forward. "What is Beron planning?"
"Nothing good," Azriel replied. He switched to the other foot. Elain’s toes curled slightly as his palm cupped her heel. "But we intercepted the exchange. The courier has been... handled. And we have the key."
He placed the second shoe on the rug, then reached into his jacket, tossing the heavy iron key to Rhysand. Rhys caught it out of the air without looking, his eyes still fixed on his brother.
"And Elain?" Feyre asked softly. "Did she stay out of the way?"
Azriel paused. He looked up, his hazel eyes locking with Elain’s. A wisp of shadow, distinct from the others, curled around Elain’s wrist. She didn't pull away. Instead, she lifted a finger, tracing the smoky tendril as if it were a pet cat. It shivered against her touch, thickening and purring.
"She did not," Azriel said. "She neutralized the courier."
"She what?" Rhys sat up.
"Structural weakness in the stonework," Elain chirped, distracted by the shadow that was now winding through her fingers, tickling her palm. She giggled—a bright, bell-like sound that made the Shadowsinger’s wings twitch. "Azriel did the scary part. I just... gave a helping hand."
Azriel stood, the task complete. But instead of moving to the armchair or standing at attention by the wall, he sat on the sofa. Right next to her.
The cushion dipped under his weight. He was close enough that his thigh brushed the fabric of her dress.
Elain didn't retreat. With a sigh of pure relief, she swung her bare feet up and, with a casual grace that made Feyre’s jaw drop, dropped them right into Azriel’s lap.
The room went silent.
Azriel stiffened for a fraction of a second. Then, slowly, his hand came to rest on her ankles, anchoring them there. The shadows that usually whispered of threats and death were now frolicking around Elain’s knees, seemingly delighted by the proximity.
"Comfortable?" Azriel murmured, his voice dropping an octave, a rough caress of sound.
"Immensely," Elain replied, leaning her head back against the cushions, watching him with half-lidded eyes.
Rhys looked at Feyre. Feyre looked at Rhys. A silent conversation passed between the High Lord and High Lady—a mix of shock and I told you so.
Azriel’s thumb began to trace a slow, idle circle over the bone of Elain’s ankle. It was unconscious, possessive. "I suppose," he said, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a rare, wicked smirk, "you’re expecting a foot massage to go with the rescue mission?"
Elain turned her head toward him. She widened her brown eyes, making them big and luminous—the expression of a doe caught in a sunbeam, innocent and utterly devastating. She didn't say a word. She just looked at him with that weaponized softness, blinking slowly.
Do it, the look said. I dare you.
Azriel stared at her. The shadows surged, wrapping around his wings, blocking out the rest of the room as if to hoard this moment just for him.
He shook his head, a huff of air escaping his nose that might have been a laugh. But his hand shifted, his fingers digging expertly into the sole of her foot.
"You are a brat," he whispered, low enough that only she—and his shadows—could hear.
Elain just smiled, closed her eyes, and let her feet rest heavy and warm in the Spymaster’s lap.
