Olethros

sixty - azriel

"Hi, everyone," Mor's cheery voice filled the grim room. Cassian forced another smile, rising from his seat and wrapping his arms around her. Mor's eyes flickered to me, her lips tugging down. I supposed we didn't have the best interaction the last time I saw her.

"How are you doing, Az?"

"I'm fine," I answered as kindly as I could. It wasn't as kind as I thought, judging by the way she flinched and turned back to Rhys.

"Let's get drunk, yeah? You all seem like you need to relax," Mor suggested, clapping her hands together. Cassian hummed, laying a hand on her back and leading her to the kitchen. I let out a slow breath as I met my brother's eyes.

"Everything will be fine, okay?" He said softly. I nodded, clearing my throat. It didn't feel that way. There was a weight on my chest that told me something was bound to happen, and I knew he felt it, too.

"Here we go," Mor chirped, pouring whiskey into a iced glass. She pushed it across the counter to Cass, who bowed his head with a forced smile and threw it back. He didn't even grimace, nor sip. He swallowed it all and slammed the glass onto the counter.

It felt horrible to be sitting in the House enjoying whiskey while Freyja and Odessa trekked the Illyrian Mountains. Were they safe? Were they warm? Tired? In an inn? I knew nothing, and I didn't send my shadows because- once again- I was a coward. I didn't want to know.

Mor walked behind the chaise and brought a glass filled with whiskey over my head. I took it from her with what I hoped was a grateful smile, but surely it looked as if I bared my teeth to her.

Once each of us had our glasses, the other three settled on the seats. We sipped in silence, Cass swishing the liquid in his mouth before swallowing as he gazed blankly at the window. Rhys stared at his glass as the ice cracked, Mor stared at Rhys.

We all knew something felt wrong. It was in the air, hung between us like dust in the sunlight. It was obvious, but we refused to look at it. We were all cowards, and Morrigan just sat with us without knowledge.

"When will you return to the Spring Court?" Mor asked after a too long stretch of silence. Rhys cleared his throat, violet eyes straining as they looked to his cousin.

"We will be back there in a fortnight," he murmured. Mor swallowed her drink slowly, eyes crinkling as she studied him.

"What is going on? Was Freyja well yesterday? Did something happen?"

It was the question we all wanted to avoid. No, she was not well. Yes, something happened. I didn't bother answering, just letting the spiced alcohol sit on my tongue.

"Everything is fine, Freyja is well. It's just strange to see her there," Cassian chimed in, dragging the attention from Rhys, whose shoulders fell the moment Mor looked away.

"I'm sure it is. She didn't want to wed, but perhaps the Spring Court suits her. She has always enjoyed beauty, and surely the blooms are up to her standards," Mor thought aloud, gazing at the ceiling as she drank again.

I wanted to laugh. The beauty Freyja enjoyed was never flowers. It was the wildness in the mountain ridges, the crushing current of the Sidra, the violence in the training rings that she watched from above. Freyja's desire for beauty was not soft or delicate. It was as wild as her, fueled by the feral nature of these mountains. She'd been forced down to believe what she wanted was soft flowers and pretty smiles, but it was never truly her.

She wanted blood tainted skin and teeth in flesh. She wanted suffocating darkness and painful pleasure. She wanted me.

"Yes, well, we will see her again soon," Rhysand spoke, raising his glass to his lips. I felt it then, a rush of prickling heat down my spine, the scratch of my shadows on my jaw, the racing of my heart. I stilled, my eyes snapping to Rhysand. The glass was still at his lips, mouth open but his hand not moving. His eyes were on the window, brows pulling together.