A Storm of Shadows (Shatterborn Book One)

Chapter II, Dreamweb

Her fingers were numb with cold as she rapped lightly on the tall oak door. A few seconds passed before the rattle of bolts could be heard on the other side of the door. Azrael’s face appeared. “Emmaline! Where have you been? Come inside, it’s snowing. By the Nine, you’re freezing. Sit by the fire. Don’t drip on the books.”

Emmaline smiled slightly at Azrael’s fussing and walked through the small entranceway into the lounge. A large fireplace hissed and crackled, casting a flickering glow on the walls. Azrael came back in, clutching a thick woolen blanket. “Sit. Dinner is cooking, but I’m afraid…”

She turned to him with a smile on her face. “You were reading again, weren’t you, Az?”

He laughed. “Yes, child, I was. And a damned good book it was as well. Now. What did you do today?”

“I read in the Highgarden,” Emmaline replied meekly.

Azrael frowned. “Em, how many times have I told you, not-“

“-To take the books out of the library, I know, I know. It wasn’t from our library, though. It was a present.”

Where most other households in Herondale used all of the available space for bedrooms, Azrael had converted the entire second floor of their home into a library of sorts. Books lined all the walls and stacks of them grew out of the floor like saplings. It was the same in most of the house, even the lounge Emmaline sat in currently.

“From whom?” Azrael queried, eyebrow raised.

“That man who came here this morning. I think his name was Lucian. He gave it to me for my birthday.”

Azrael’s mouth was a comical ‘o’. “Oh, gods, Emmaline, I’m so sorry, I completely forgot…”

With that, he shot out of the room. Emmaline watched him go, a look of puzzled amusement spread across her face. A loud crash echoed from above her, followed by a string of oaths. She giggled and settled into the plump red velvet seat.

A few minutes later, Azrael burst out from the stairwell clutching a package wrapped in paper and tied together with string. He walked into the lounge, substantially calmer, a dozen apologies on the tip of his lips, only to find that Emmaline had curled up and gone to sleep.

He sighed and placed the package gently down on the table against the wall. In sleep, Emmaline had a fragile serenity that she never had when she was awake. She was slow to trust and quick to judge, but Azrael supposed that was his fault; he’d drummed those traits into her after all. Quietly, he edged through the teetering stacks of books. When he reached Emmaline, Azrael slowly pulled her blanket up over her body and tucked it behind her shoulders. Then, ever so gently, he brushed a lock of ebony black hair from her milky white face.

“Getting tender in your old age, aren’t you, Azrael,” a voice said drily from behind him.

Azrael turned calmly. “Lucian,” he said curtly. “I don’t believe I remember inviting you in.”

Lucian smiled thinly. “I didn’t know I had to wait. After all, this is, technically, my house.”

“Why are you here, Lucian?” Azrael’s tone had lost its calmness.

            “Easy, old friend,” Lucian said, holding his hands up in submission. His right hand glinted silver in the firelight. “I’m here to help you. Please, let me. If not for you, then for her.”

“We’re fine where we are,” Azrael said stiffly.

Lucian arched an eyebrow. “Not for long.”