A Court of Blood & Mercy || Elriel Dual POV

Chapter 22 - Blind Rage

Azriel had wanted to return to the Night Court.

He had intended to winnow away from the Kïngoak Forest, wrapping himself in work and reality and anything but the theatrics of the Vanserras, but he was thusly, unable.

Or perhaps, unwilling was the correct word, because as soon as Azriel saw Elain fold into that ridiculous golden carriage behind a preening and snide Eris Vanserra, he knew he would not be returning home for a while. Despite sleeping on the forest floor for a second night in a row like a godsdamned homeless squirrel, Azriel couldn't quite leave the Autumn Court behind.

And now, Azriel found himself in the somewhat humiliating position of stalking the Vanserra carriage from the clouds above the Winter Court, his face burning from the cold as his lashes frosted with flakes and ice. Cursing under his breath, he spread his wings wider, allowing himself to glide past a cranky flock of geese as he kept an eye trained on the glittering horse-drawn carriage.

Fucking hells.

Could there be a less efficient way to travel?

What happened to good old-fashioned winnowing?

He felt the ice and snow building up on his leathery wings as his spine tightened, the lack of nourishment and proper rest weighing on him as he tried to stay balanced in the building gusts of wind.

It was stupid, following Elain like this; as if she hadn't been more than capable of surviving on her own for the past two decades.

But something about the way Eris had watched her leave last night, her feet almost tripping over her skirts as she hurried out of the house; it made him feel uneasy. And protective.

Only now, his biggest concern wasn't Eris Vanserra, but rather the possibility of their ridiculous carriage falling off the side of the mountain, though he was grateful that the idiot had the sensibility to switch out the wheels for sleigh skis before the snow got too thick. He kept his eye trained on the horses as they rounded a sharp corner, taking the long route through the mountain passage into the forests surrounding Kallias' outer lands and fields beyond the royal forest. They were descending the mountain now, closing in on the final few hours of the trip.

It was becoming more and more apparent to him, especially now as he felt his fingers go numb from the cold, struggling to stay focused on the speck carrying Eris and Elain far below him, that perhaps, there had been a screw loosened at some point in his life: maybe in the dungeon as a child or at Rhysand's father's right hand.

Or perhaps, and ever more likely, he was born from the Mother herself with his mind altogether unbalanced.

He felt his blood pressure increasing just by watching the wobbly skis of the carriage scrape against the blackened ice, the edges getting dangerously close to the sloping drifts falling from the side of the mountain pass.

His mind began doing mathematical calculations, on how exactly he could extract Elain from a falling sleigh carriage without dying himself when he felt the ice crystals gathering too strongly on his wing.

And for the second time, or more realistically, the hundredth time that morning, he felt his breath mutter a curse against the Mother and the Cauldron.

Lowering his flight, he descended in the wind until he could grab hold of the roof, perching like a gargoyle behind the covered driver's portion, hidden from view by the ostentatious ornate carved decorations framing the monstrosity.

The horses no doubt felt an increase in weight, whinnying their displeasure before the Shadowsinger dematerialized into shadow, lightening the poor beast's load while still resting his aching wings and body atop the vehicle.