Chapter 29


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    But the word Cassian had used a moment ago snagged my attention as I released his hand and tried not to look


    too eager to step back to Rhys’s side. “You’re brothers?” The Illyrians looked simr, but only in the way that


    people who hade from the same ce did.


    Rhysand rified, “Brothers in the sense that all bastards are brothers of a sort.”


    I’d never thought of it that way. “And—you?” I asked Cassian.


    Cassian shrugged, wings tucking in tighter. “Imand Rhys’s armies.”


    As if such a position were something that one shrugged off. And—armies. Rhys had armies. I shifted on my feet.


    Cassian’s hazel eyes tracked the movement, his mouth twitching to the side, and I honestly thought he was about


    to give me his professional opinion on how doing so would make me unsteady against an opponent when Azriel


    rified, “Cassian also excels at pissing everyone off. Especially amongst our friends. So, as a friend of Rhysand


    … good luck.”


    A friend of Rhysand—not savior of theirnd, not murderer, not human-faerie-thing. Maybe they didn’t know—


    But Cassian nudged his bastard-brother-whatever out of the way, Azriel’s mighty wings ring slightly as he


    bnced himself. “How the hell did you make that bonedder in the Middengard Wyrm’sir when you look like


    your own bones can snap at any moment?”


    Well, that settled that. And the question of whether he’d been Under the Mountain. But where he’d been instead


    … Another mystery. Perhaps here—with these people. Safe and coddled.


    I met Cassian’s gaze, if only because having Rhysand defend me might very well make me crumble a bit more.


    And maybe it made me as mean as an adder, maybe I relished being one, but I said, “How the hell did you


    manage to survive this long without anyone killing you?”


    Cassian tipped back his head andughed, a full, rich sound that bounced off the ruddy stones of the House.


    Azriel’s brows flicked up with approval as the shadows seemed to wrap tighter around him. As if he were the dark


    hive from which they flew and returned.


    I tried not to shudder and faced Rhys, hoping for an exnation about his spymaster’s dark gifts.


    Rhys’s face was nk, but his eyes were wary. Assessing. I almost demanded what the hell he was looking at,


    until Mor breezed onto the balcony with, “If Cassian’s howling, I hope it means Feyre told him to shut his fat


    mouth.”


    Both Illyrians turned toward her, Cassian bracing his feet slightly farther apart on the floor in a fighting stance I


    knew all too well.


    It was almost enough to distract me from noticing Azriel as those shadows lightened, and his gaze slid over Mor’s


    body: a red, flowing gown of chiffon ented with gold cuffs, andbs fashioned like gilded leaves swept back


    the waves of her unbound hair.


    A wisp of shadow curled around Azriel’s ear, and his eyes snapped to mine. I schooled my face into nd


    innocence.


    “I don’t know why I ever forget you two are rted,” Cassian told Mor, jerking his chin at Rhys, who rolled his


    eyes. “You two and your clothes.”


    Mor sketched a bow to Cassian. Indeed, I tried not to slump with relief at the sight of the fine clothes. At least I


    wouldn’t look overdressed now. “I wanted to impress Feyre. You could have at least bothered tob your hair.”


    “Unlike some people,” Cassian said, proving my suspicions correct about that fighting stance, “I have better things


    to do with my time than sit in front of the mirror for hours.”


    “Yes,” Mor said, tossing her long hair over a shoulder, “since swaggering around Vris—”


    “We havepany,” was Azriel’s soft warning, wings again spreading a bit as he herded them through the open


    balcony doors to the dining room. I could have sworn tendrils of darkness swirled in their wake.


    Mor patted Azriel on the shoulder as she dodged his outstretched wing. “Rx, Az—no fighting tonight. We


    promised Rhys.”


    The lurking shadows vanished entirely as Azriel’s head dipped a bit—his night-dark hair sliding over his handsome


    face as if to shield him from that mercilessly beautiful grin.


    Mor gave no indication that she noticed and curved her fingers toward me. “Come sit with me while they drink.” I


    had enough dignity remaining not to look to Rhys for confirmation it was safe. So I obeyed, falling into step beside


    her as the two Illyrians drifted back to walk the few steps with their High Lord. “Unless you’d rather drink,” Mor


    offered as we entered the warmth and red stone of the dining room. “But I want you to myself before Amren hogs


    you—”


    The interior dining room doors opened on a whispering wind, revealing the shadowed, crimson halls of the


    mountain beyond.


    And maybe part of me remained mortal, because even though the short, delicate woman looked like High Fae …


    as Rhys had warned me, every instinct was roaring to run. To hide.


    She was several inches shorter than me, her chin-length ck hair glossy and straight, her skin tan and smooth,


    and her face—pretty, bordering on in—was bored, if not mildly irritated. But Amren’s eyes …


    Her silver eyes were unlike anything I’d ever seen; a glimpse into the creature that I knew in my bones wasn’t


    High Fae. Or hadn’t been born that way.


    The silver in Amren’s eyes seemed to swirl like smoke under ss.


    She wore pants and a top like those I’d worn at the other mountain-pce, both in shades of pewter and storm


    cloud, and pearls—white and gray and ck—adorned her ears, fingers, and wrists. Even the High Lord at my


    side felt like a wisp of shadowpared to the power thrumming from her.


    Mor groaned, slumping into a chair near the end of the table, and poured herself a ss of wine. Cassian took a


    seat across from her, wiggling his fingers for the wine bottle. But Rhysand and Azriel just stood there, watching—


    maybe monitoring—as the female approached me, then halted three feet away.


    “Your taste remains excellent, High Lord. Thank you.” Her voice was soft—but honed sharper than any de I’d


    encountered. Her slim, small fingers grazed a delicate silver-and-pearl brooch pinned above her right breast.


    So that’s who he’d bought the jewelry for. The jewelry I was to never, under any circumstances, try to steal.


    Exclusive ? material by N?(/v)elDrama.Org.


    I studied Rhys and Amren, as if I might be able to read what further bondy between them, but Rhysand waved a


    hand and bowed his head. “It suits you, Amren.”


    “Everything suits me,” she said, and those horrible, enchanting eyes again met my own. Like leashed lightning.


    She took a step closer, sniffing delicately, and though I stood half a foot taller, I’d never felt meeker. But I held my


    chin up. I didn’t know why, but I did.


    Amren said, “So there are two of us now.”


    My brows nudged toward each other.


    Amren’s lips were a sh of red. “We who were born something else—and found ourselves trapped in new,


    strange bodies.”


    I decided I really didn’t want to know what she’d been before.


    Amren jerked her chin at me to sit in the empty chair beside Mor, her hair shifting like molten night. She imed


    the seat across from me, Azriel on her other side as Rhys took the one across from him—on my right.


    No one at the head of the table.


    “Though there is a third,


    ” Amren said, now looking at Rhysand. “I don’t think you’ve heard from Miryam in … centuries. Interesting.”


    Cassian rolled his eyes. “Please just get to the point, Amren. I’m hungry.”


    Mor choked on her wine. Amren slid her attention to the warrior to her right. Azriel, on her other side, monitored


    the two of them very, very carefully. “No one warming your bed right now, Cassian? It must be so hard to be an


    Illyrian and have no thoughts in your head save for those about your favorite part.”


    “You know I’m always happy to tangle in the sheets with you, Amren,” Cassian said, utterly unfazed by the silver


    eyes, the power radiating from her every pore. “I know how much you enjoy Illyrian—”


    “Miryam,” Rhysand said, as Amren’s smile became serpentine, “and Drakon are doing well, as far as I’ve heard.


    And what, exactly, is interesting?”


    Amren’s head tilted to the side as she studied me. I tried not to shrink from it. “Only once before was a human


    Made into an immortal. Interesting that it should happen again right as all the ancient yers have returned. But


    Miryam was gifted long life—not a new body. And you, girl …” She sniffed again, and I’d never felt soid bare.


    Surprise lit Amren’s eyes. Rhys just nodded. Whatever that meant. I was tired already. Tired of being assessed


    and evaluated. “Your very blood, your veins, your bones were Made. A mortal soul in an immortal body.”


    “I’m hungry,” Mor said nudging me with a thigh. She snapped a finger, and tes piled high with roast chicken,


    greens, and bread appeared. Simple, but … elegant. Not formal at all. Perhaps the sweater and pants wouldn’t


    have been out of ce for such a meal. “Amren and Rhys can talk all night and bore us to tears, so don’t bother


    waiting for them to dig in.” She picked up her fork, clicking her tongue. “I asked Rhys if I could take you to dinner,


    just the two of us, and he said you wouldn’t want to. But honestly—would you rather spend time with those two


    ancient bores, or me?”


    “For someone who is the same age as me,” Rhys drawled, “you seem to forget—”


    “Everyone wants to talk-talk-talk,” Mor said, giving a warning re at Cassian, who had indeed opened his mouth.


    “Can’t we eat-eat-eat, and then talk?”


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