Seven Courts of Love and Magic

Chapter 7

Nyx

I sit at the dinner table next to Atlas in the House of Wind with the rest of the family, playing with my food.

"Nyx, sweetheart, you've barely touched your soup," My mother says. I haven't, and I have no appetite. It's been weeks since I saw Zaria at the High Lords meeting, yet I haven't been able to shake that sense of unsettlement.

Cassian grumbles something from beside Atlas and leans over his son to make a pass at my bowl of soup. "I'll eat it for him."

Dad mentally slaps his hand away, rubbing his fingers against his temples. "Cassian, don't touch his food. Nyx, listen to your mother." He winces and I wait to see if anyone notices.

Cassian slides Atlas' bowl over to himself instead. "Fine, then, I'll eat your soup."

Atlas, in turn, takes my soup and Aunt Nesta and Aunt Elain rise to clear off the plates.

I lean back in my chair, rubbing my eyes with the backs of my palms. It's too loud in here, too many people. I can feel my chest starting to tighten. I push my elbows on the table and hold my head in my hands. Amren and Mor are having an argument in the corner, Auntie Gwyn an innocent bystander.

My parents clear the rest of the plates with a whispered conversation and pointed looks that indicate they're speaking to each other mentally. My dad stumbles with a cough, dropping a plate and sending it crashing to the floor. The entire room ceases, silent. Uncle Cassian and Atlas look up from their soup.

Dad clears his throat, standing up straighter my mom offering him a gentle hand.

"You okay, Rhys?" Uncle Cassian says nervously, but dad waves everyone off with a reassuring laugh. The clamor continues, the momentary interruption forgotten.

I look up to see Uncle Azriel alone by the window, immersed in his shadows, and a memory tugs at my mind. I was younger, a baby practically. Everyone would take turns holding me. Aunt Nesta would sit me on her lap and read me her latest favorite novel. In fact, she did that for a while, until I grew old enough to understand the words and dad told her she couldn't read to me anymore. Uncle Cassian was always fun. He'd throw me around and tell me to fly. Sometimes, though, that didn't end well because I didn't know how to fly yet and when our time together inevitably ended in my crying, he'd pass me on to Mor in a panic. Mor would fuss over me for a time, but then she'd start dressing me up and I'd cry even harder.

It was Uncle Azriel's arms I always felt safest in—the most calm. He once told me he was hesitant to hold me, afraid that his hands were too scarred and his soul too ruined to hold something so pure. Until one day, when I wouldn't stop crying. Everyone tried to calm me down, but nothing was working. Even my dad, who's arms I never cried in, couldn't soothe me. I reached out my little hand, wiggling my fingers in Azriel's direction, my face wet with tears. Rhysand insisted he hold me, reassuring him that it was fine. The silence was instant, the room hushed, my cries slowing. Cradled in his shadows, Azriel smiled down at me. Then, he started singing. His voice was soft and warm and it spread through me. From that moment forward, whenever I cried, Uncle Azriel's gentle voice was the only sound that could soothe me.

I amble over to him. He takes a sip of his ale as he glances towards me. "Too loud for you over there?"

I let out a small laugh and answer. "You know how it gets when Amren and Mor star arguing."

Azriel smiles. "Trust me, I do. You've always been like me in that sense."
I lean against the window to look down on Velaris, letting the lights calm me. "In what sense?"

"You like the calm, and the quiet. I always did too, still do." He leans against the window beside me.

Her laugh used to make me feel calm. Her smile, her round green eyes when she was happy.