TSTS Chapter 29: The Day Court Pt. 1
Chapter 29: The Day Court Part 1
The moment they arrived at the Day Court, an attendant approached her. âLady Archeron, if youâll follow me, Iâll take you to the first of our libraries so you may begin yourâŚresearch project,â the attendant finished uncertainly.
âThe first of your libraries?â Elain repeated, the barest hint of incredulity ringing in her voice. âHow many are there?âÂ
âHundreds,â a booming voice responded. Elain glanced up to see Helion striding down the sweeping staircase of the entrance hall, a broad smile on his face. He gave Feyre a kiss on the cheek. âWelcome to the Day Court, all of you,â he beamed. âI was excited to hear you would be coming to visit.â
âSorry - did you say you have hundreds of libraries?â Lucien asked.Â
âYes,â Helion replied. âSome larger than others, of courseâŚbut yes, hundreds. Most are organized by topic or the century in which they were written. Do you have any guidance on the information you are hoping to find? Perhaps then we can direct you to the most likely library that will contain that information.â
Elain blinked. âUmâŚto be honest, I donât know exactly what weâre looking for,â she confessed. âI had a vision, you see, in one of your libraries. It had dark mahogany wood and huge, arching windows and intricate gold detailing and-â
âThat sounds like the Hall of the Hallowed,â interrupted Helion. âOne of our largest collections, located in one of our tallest towers. It primarily contains books about curses, spells and hexes throughout the last few millennia.âÂ
âAll that fun stuff,â Lucien muttered under his breath.Â
Helion clapped his hands together and gestured at the attendant. âFinneal here can take the three of you to the Hall at once.â
âActually, Helion, I was hoping to speak to you in private,â Feyre said.
âWere you now?â Helion asked, a tone of surprise in his voice.
It mimicked Elainâs own. Hadnât Feyre said that she had business to attend to with the Day Court? If so, why wouldnât Helion have been aware of this business beforehand? Was it âsecretâ business, and if so, why would Feyre not fill Elain and Lucien in?
Before she could contemplate on it any further, the attendant beckoned to them. Elain looked questioningly at her sister.
âI will catch up with you later,â Feyre promised. Maybe she was imagining it, but the High Ladyâs face looked rather pale.Â
Feeling like she was missing something important, but not sure what else she could do, Elain simply nodded and let the attendant lead her and Lucien down a spacious hallway.Â
A common misconception about Azriel was that he liked being alone.
He was the Spymaster, after all, a position that required him to spend hours and hours on end in solitude, and so others often assumed that this seclusion was something he enjoyed - or, at the very least, found pleasantly comfortable. Add in his quiet voice, rather shy nature and inability to express his emotions in a robust way, and everyone simply thought heâd prefer to be alone than in the company of his chosen family and friends.Â
But none of that was accurate. In fact, it was the very opposite that held true: Azriel hated being alone.Â
He despised it, the quiet. The silence. The suffocating weight of solitude.Â
If his childhood had taught him anything, it was the damning power of isolation. Half his youth was spent in the cellar beneath his fatherâs home, ensconced in darkness, with no one to talk to but himself. So Azriel knew only too well how dangerous loneliness could be; knew how it could twist your sanity and warp reality and build your desperation to cataclysmic levels.Â
He was about five years old when his shadows first appeared to him. He still cannot explain why one day they were just there, as much a part of him as his limbs, like they had been there all along. And maybe they had; Az would be the first to claim that he did not fully understand the ins and outs of shadowsinging. But he had long harbored a secret belief that his shadows came as a result of his intense loneliness, of his desperate desire for someone to speak to during the endless hours in that wretched basement. The shadows heard his call for companionship - and they answered.
Now, no matter where he goes, he is never alone. He is never faced with deafening silence, not when his shadows are there to whisper to him.Â
But when things get too quiet, his uneasiness returns - such as now, as he roams the strangely hushed halls of the Mortal Manor alone, his shadows swirling around him but not uttering a sound.Â
Shortly after Elain and Feyre had left for the Day Court (Vanserra clutching the elder sisterâs hand as they winnowed away like he had any goddamn right to, Azriel thought angrily), Rhys, Nesta and Cassian had departed as well, returning to Velaris.Â
Rhys and Nesta had both tried to insist that Cassian wait a few more days before participating in something as risky as winnowing, but Cassian would have none of it. Truthfully, they didnât have much basis for an argument: Cassian was healthier than ever, Elainâs powers having cured him entirely and wholly. Not that the others knew that last part, of course.
If he and Elain were on good terms - if hadnât fucked things up so badly - he would have sat her down and advised her to share the extent of her powers with the rest of their court. He would promise to respect whatever decision she made, of course, and he would never threaten or coerce her into it, but after Cassianâs âmiraculousâ recovery, he knew it was only a matter of time before Elainâs powers were revealed entirely. And he knew that it was incredibly important that the reveal be on her terms, not anyone elseâs.Â
As it was, though, Azriel was still trying to sort through the last mess heâd made and was thus disinclined to dig his grave any deeper.Â
A shadow swept over his collarbone in agitation. He frowned slightly, trying to listen, trying to hear what worried his wispy little friend, but all he heard was an incomprehensible buzzing.Â
He froze in mid-step. Glanced at the window to his left, where the last tendrils of sunlight had just disappeared behind the sweeping hills. Night had arrived, and so Vassaâs curse must have ended - until the sun returned, at least. And she had none of her friends here to greet her. To comfort her.Â
Another common misconception about Azriel was that he was cold and aloof and uncaring. But that couldnât be farther from the truth. Months ago, Elain had referred to his stoic persona as a mask - and she was exactly right. Heâd spent 500 years not knowing how to properly display emotions, but that didnât mean he didnât have them. Didnât feel them. He felt them so deeply, so profoundly, that sometimes he thought they might just drown him.Â
So he shoved them away before they could.Â
But todayâŚtoday, he would not do that. Shadows in tow, Azriel spun around, heading for the Queenâs Quarters.
âI canât read another word,â Lucien said. âI think I might be going blind.â
âThatâs very dramatic,â Elain said, only half paying attention to him as she diligently scanned the book in her hands.
Lucien groaned even more dramatically. His head dropped to the table with a resounding thud. âHow are we supposed to find something important when we donât even know what we are looking for?âÂ
A small huff of frustration passed through her lips. This was not the first time heâd asked Elain that question - and, just like the past four times, she had no answer for him.
Theyâd been in the library for at least 6 hours now. Stacks of books lay haphazardly across the table; even taller stacks were piled around them, lingering evidence of the many fruitless searches theyâd experienced. Feyre still had yet to join them, and if Elain had any spare room in her head, she would have wondered why it was taking her sister so long.
Elain rubbed her temples. âI donât know,â she replied finally. âI donât know what weâre looking for, I donât know what weâre doing here, I just donât know, okay?â The last word came out sharper than she meant for it to.
âI need to walk around for a moment,â she said after a few moments, intentionally keeping her voice level. âIâll be back.â
Without looking at Lucien, she slid out of her chair. Her legs felt like lead after sitting for so long, and her movements were stiff at first. Thankfully, her surroundings were more than enough to distract her.
The Hall of the Hallowed was even more marvelous than her vision had led her to believe. The ceiling was so high she could not even make it out; sweeping staircases with banisters made of multi-colored marble circled the space, each leading to a different level; the setting sun streamed through crystal windows, brilliant in a way only Day Court sun could be. If Elain wasnât mistaken - and since her Fae vision was virtually perfect, she must be correct - the tapestries artfully placed between the shelves were woven with actual gold, and the effect from the sun sparkling against the material was nothing short of glorious.Â
As the sun set entirely, the iron-wrought candelabras became illuminated, guiding Elain as she made her way up a small staircase and onto a new level of the Hall. She began weaving aimlessly through a new maze of shelves, picking out books at random in the hope that one of them would provide her with the unknown information she sought - the information that, she was starting to dread, might never be found. At least not in time.
At least half-an-hour later, she came to the end of the section. It was significantly darker over here, the books older and dustier. A strange but not altogether unpleasant feeling gathered at the base of her belly.Â
It was then that she heard the voice.
It was the same voice that had spoken to her that night in Pentalos - the night sheâd slaughtered all those soldiers; the night her powers had transcended beyond understanding, beyond reason. She still didnât know how sheâd done it. But she knew that she trusted that voice. Knew that listening to it then was one of the best decisions sheâd ever made - and so why would she ignore it now?
See, the voice said, only to her. It was clear as a bell and yet rang with echoing cacophony at the same time, like a thousand ancestors were speaking to her at once, their voices lapping over each other like waves upon the shore.
Anticipation sparked through her veins. She began picking books off the shelf at random, flipping through them feverishly.Â
See, the voice instructed again. Elain snapped the book she held shut and continued down the aisle. Clearly what she was supposed to find - what she was supposed to see - was further down the aisle.Â
Her head swiveled back and forth as her gaze oscillated between shelves, looking for that something, waiting for that feeling of rightness to swim through her. But she felt nothing.
What am I supposed to see? She thought back desperately.Â
You are looking, but you are not seeing.Â
Her steps quickened as she strode down the aisle.
See, the voice said, louder than before.Â
Instinctively, Elainâs eyes latched onto a volume at the end of the row. It was sticking out just a touch further than the rest of its bookmates. Silvery script danced down the dark indigo spine, spelling out a title in a language Elain didnât recognize.Â
The voice in her head had gone quiet, but it didnât matter. This book was the one she was supposed to find, she knew it, knew it like she knew flowers and soil and growth.Â
She reached out to grab the book.Â
However, as she began to slide it off the shelf, the strangest thing happened. The book - and it felt strangely light, oddly hollow - wouldnât come off the shelf. Not fully. She was only able to tip the upper part of it backward.Â
And then, to her utter amazement, the shelf itself opened ever so slightly, revealing a thin gap. A chilly draft blew out of it.
She let out a loud gasp. Mere seconds later, footsteps sounded behind her; she spun around to find Lucien staring at the newly-revealed doorway, his eyes wide as saucers. He must have heard her sound of surprise from the floor below and raced up to see what had shocked her so much.
âHoly gods,â Lucien said faintly. Elain nodded in agreement.Â
âWe have to see where this goes,â she said.
Lucien made a noise under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse.Â
âCome on,â she said, not bothering to wait for a response before slipping through the thin entryway the bookshelf had revealed.Â
Quite unlike the rest of the Day Court, the passageway was formed entirely of roughly hewn stone. A drafty chill permeating the air.Â
âWe shouldnât be in here,â Lucien said, appearing behind her, just like Elain knew he would.Â
He was right. A secret passageway was, in its very nature, not meant to be found. But she found that she did not care all too much.
âAre you coming or not?â she asked Lucien, sending a pointed glance over her shoulder. The determined glow in her eyes was both an invitation and a challenge.Â
âLead the way,â he said.
The Queenâs Quarters was not nearly as opulent as Azriel would have expected. Instead of ornate grandeur, the wing was full of soft, muted colors and plush carpets and interconnected, dimly-lit rooms. It was like a den. Like a home.
The attendant had been weary to let him in, but somehow heâd managed to sweet talk his way through the door. Or perhaps his shadows had simply frightened the mortal into submission.Â
Well done, he told his shadows silently. They started swirling around him excitedly, pleased with the praise. The corner of his mouth lifted ever-so-slightly.
He rounded the corner, coming to yet another room. The only light here came from a low burning fire. On a couch facing the fireplace lay the Mortal Queen, curled up on her side, red hair splayed around her. She was not sleeping though; Azriel could see her wide-open eyes reflecting against the firelight.Â
Azriel made sure she could hear his footsteps as he approached. Without looking up, she said, âFor the last time, Cartsen, I donât need anything. Iâm fine.âÂ
The queen sounded anything but fine. She sounded dull and lifeless and monotone, so unlike the vibrant voice of the Vassa he knew.Â
He cleared his throat. âHello.â
Vassa sat up and eyed him. âOh. Hello,â she said with a hint of dignity, sounding slightly more like her regal self. She brought a hand up to pat down her tousled hair. âI wasnât expecting visitors tonight.â
âIâm sorry for dropping by unexpectedly.â
They stared at each other.Â
âIs there something you wanted?â Vassa asked after a moment.Â
Azriel hesitated. This was unknown territory for him, comforting a female heâd never spent time with alone, and he didnât want to navigate it incorrectly. Didnât want to take a wrong turn and make things worse.Â
What would Elain do? he thought. Well, she would probably know just the right thing to say, and she would make Vassa feel perfectly at ease, and they would cry and laugh and the queen would feel just absolutely wonderful by the end. But he wasnât Elain, and he never would be.
Maybe the better question to ask was what would Elain tell me to do? Well, that was easy. He could almost hear her now, the sweet and steady cadence of her voice a melody in his ear. Just be yourself, she would say. Just be Azriel.
He shrugged. âNothing in particular.âÂ
Vassa cocked her head to the side ever-so-slightly. âOh?â
He shook his head. âNah.â With an exaggerated sigh, he plopped down on the sofa across from her. âI was just wandering the halls, bored out of my mind and I thought, well, hanging out with you would be slightly more pleasant than hanging out with just my shadows. No offense, guys,â he said hastily as his shadows buzzed angrily around him. Just go with it, he told them silently.
Vassaâs mouth was agape. âExcuse me?â she choked out. A hint of anger blazed in her blue eyes.Â
Hiding his satisfaction, he just nodded. âYep. I saw the sun setting and I realized that you would have shed your feathers by now, and since no one else was around, I thought you might want to hang out.â
âShed my feathers?!â she repeated with a hiss, teeth bared.Â
This time, he grinned at her.Â
She sat back, her angry expression fading, although her eyes were still narrowed. âYouâre winding me up,â she accused.
âYouâre too smart to be wound up,â he replied.Â
âAnd you have too many responsibilities to let a slight obstacle like this keep you down,â he added, a bit more quietly.
Then she chuckled, rising and shaking back her long tresses. She crossed to the other side of the room and poured them both a glass of whiskey.Â
She held out the tumbler. If Azriel wasnât mistaken, there was a new light in her eyes, brilliant and bold and something like hope. âYou know, Shadowsinger,â she said, âYouâre a bit of a softy.â
He took the drink. âDonât tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold, after all.âÂ
The red-haired queen inclined her head. âAs do I.âÂ
Azriel tipped his glass toward hers. âTo reputations,â he said.Â
She clinked her glass with his. âTo reputations.âÂ
They both downed their glasses in one heavy gulp.
Elain and Lucien walked for at least 30 minutes before either of them spoke.Â
âI donât like this,â the red-haired male said through his teeth, eyes darting around.Â
Truth be told, neither did Elain. The passageway had hit a sharp southward decline about halfway through their trek. At this point, they must be below the ground floor of the castle, level with the dungeons; perhaps even lower for all she knew.
It was pitch black, and though she could see fine with her Fae eyes, the mere knowledge that they were walking in all-encompassing darkness - that anything could be lurking around the corner in wait - made her rather anxious. But her curiosity outweighed her nerves, and her unshakeable confidence in the journeyâs inevitable answers gave her courage, so she continued down the path.
A sudden cracking sound had her jumping nearly a foot in the air. Elain blinked as light filled the corridor.Â
âSorry,â Lucien murmured. His left hand was raised slightly; floating above the center of his palm was a twisting, curling flame.Â
âThatâs okay,â she said, heart thundering in her chest. She nodded at the flame. âThanks.â
The pair walked for another ten minutes or so, not encountering anything noteworthy except for a few rats - Lucien let out a terrified and ironically rat-like squeak when one skittered over his foot, which she found rather funny - before they came across an old wooden door. There was the faintest light pulsing through the cracks beneath and above it; an unnaturally golden light, brilliant and magnetic.Â
They shared a wary glance. But when Elain looked back at the door, taking in the strangely pleasant golden light, a sense of calm washed over her like a summer rainshower. The light called to her the same way the voice did, enticing her forward, roping her in.
She managed to take a step forward before Lucien gripped her forearm.Â
âHold on a minute,â he said seriously. âYou donât know what youâre walking into, Elain. We need to discuss this before we go barging into some hidden lair beneath the foundation of the godsdamn Day Court -â
âI am meant to go through that door, and I am meant to meet whoever exists beyond it,â she said earnestly. Urgently. There was no time to waste, no time to argue; how did he not understand?Â
âWhoever exists?â Lucien repeated incredulously. His mechanical eye whirred in its metal socket.Â
âThere is a presence inside that room,â Elain confirmed. âThere is someone beyond that door that I am supposed to meet. And I know in my gut - in my soul - that it will do us no harm.â She believed what she was saying entirely. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that presence was of no threat to them.Â
She lifted her chin. âAre you coming or not?â Without waiting for an answer, she approached the door and twisted the knob. The door opened on silent hinges.
Elain was right - there was someone behind the door.Â
It was a female. She was sitting at a desk, facing away from them and poring over a large volume, muttering to herself while furiously scribbling notes on a sheaf of paper. There was no other furniture in the room beside the desk and chair, but the walls did have nooks carved out in the stone. Each nook was filled with books and a few dimly-burning candles. There were even more books on the floor, stacked neatly in towering piles throughout the cavern-like space.Â
In the time it took Elain to take in her surroundings, the female had stopped writing. Slowly, she stood up and turned.
It was a priestess - or something like it. A Day Court priestess, Elain presumed, not only because of where they were but because of the signature glow that seemed to emanate from the depths of her rich and dark skin, the inherent golden ambiance that all Day Court residents seemed to carry. There were other significant differences between this female and the other priestesses she had met, as well. Instead of a soft blue gemstone, the shining circlet on her brow held a brilliantly-bright garnet; her robes were pure white instead of blue-gray; she wore no shoes on her narrow, delicate feet.Â
Most telling was that she was not - could not - be Fae. At least not entirely. Elain could tell that the second she laid eyes on the priestessâ face. There was something otherworldly about her, and Elain was reminded of another non-Fae immortal who she knew; like Amren, this female was made of something different than the rest of them.Â
The priestess-like figure spread her arms.
âLady Archeron,â she said in a soft, melodious voice, inclining her head slightly.Â
âHello,â Elain breathed back. âHow do you know my name?â
âI know many things, child.â The femaleâs eyes swept over Elain before flicking to Lucien. âLord Lucien,â she said, her eyes shining with sudden emotion. âYou are very welcome here.â
There was a pregnant pause. âThank you,â Lucien said finally, a hint of discomfort in his tone.Â
After smiling brilliantly at Lucien for an extended moment, the priestess turned her attention back to Elain.
âSeer. Kingslayer. Life-Maker. You have many names, Lady Archeron. I wonder, which do you prefer?â
âElain,â she replied. âJust Elain.â
The female made a humming noise. âSo humble. So powerful.â She cocked her head to the side. âSo small,â she observed.
âIâm not that small,â Elain said defensively.
âYouâre certainly not tall, though,â Lucien added in an undertone. She shot him a scowl.
âI knew you would come to see me,â the priestess told Elain, continuing as if neither of them had said a word. âI have been waiting for you.â
âHow could you know that?â Elain asked. âI didnât even know this passageway existed until an hour ago.â
âI did not know how you would find me,â the female clarified. âI just knew you would.â
âWeâre going to need more of an explanation than that,â Lucien said.Â
âBecause to know is my gift.â She straightened up, onyx ringlets falling to her waist. âI am Isira, a Flame-Keeper of the Day Court.â
âFlame-Keeper,â Lucien repeated suspiciously. âHow is that possible? Fire is a gift of the Autumn Court.â
âCalm yourself, Lord Lucien,â she said kindly. âThese hands hold no fire power. The Flame that I protect is much more important than that.â
âWhat is this Flame you speak of?â Elain asked.
Isira crossed the room and picked up a book off the floor. She handed it to her.Â
She did. And then she blinked.Â
âBut thereâs nothing here,â she said, nonplussed.Â
âYes, there is,â Isira replied.
Elain frowned. âIs this supposed to be a joke?â
âThis is no joke, Lady Elain. You may not see anything when you look at these pages,â said Isira, âbut I do. Only I and the other Keepers are entrusted with the knowledge in these books, and so only we can see them.âÂ
âIs that how you knew I was coming?â Elain asked. âFrom one of these invisible-worded books?â
âNo, child. I knew because the Voices told me.â
âThe Voices,â Elain echoed, exchanging a wary glance with Lucien.
âYes. The Voices of Before.â
âLikeâŚghosts?â Lucien asked. Maybe it was the way the candlelight bounced against him, but he looked paler than usual.
âYes. And no,â Isira responded. âMy gift - and the gift of all Flame Keepers - is to know the Past.â
âHow much of the Past do you know?â Lucien questioned.Â
âWhy, as much as we want,â the priestess said. âYou see, the past, unlike the future, is solid. Stagnant. Permanent. It has already been carved into stone.Â
âBut so much of our past is told only in partiality - those in power, those who win wars, those who conquer - those are the ones who are allowed to write history as they wish, and often, they write it to present themselves in the best light. Often, they do not tell history as it truly happened, and so the integrity of the past is threatened.
âThat is why we exist. That is why us Keepers are so important to the balance of the universe. We alone possess the truth of the past. We alone hold the knowledge of yore. We alone remember.â
âBut how is that possible?â Elain asked, her eyes wide. âHow can a single person know everything that has ever happened?â
Isira burst out laughing, the sound light and tinkling. âDear child, I must not be explaining correctly. Keepers do not hold all the worldâs knowledge within ourselves - but we can access it whenever we wish.â
âThe Voices of Before,â Lucien murmured.
The Keeper nodded. âExactly. Whenever we wish to learn something new - which is always, since us Keepers have an innate and unquenchable thirst for knowledge - we merely ask the Voices of Before to share with us. Sometimes they speak to us directly; sometimes they provide it to us in a book that only we can read.â She gestured vaguely to the hundreds of tomes stacked behind her, presumably with pages as blank as what sheâd shown Elain.Â
âOftentimes they share with us knowledge that we did not request. That we were not even aware existed.â Isira looked steadily at Elain. âIt was approximately two and a half years ago that one of the Voices of Before spoke to me about you, Lady Elain.â
Approximately two and a half years ago, Elain had recently been thrown into the cauldron. Had lost her humanity. Her heart twisted of its own accord.Â
âThe Voice told me of a mortal female who was recently turned Fae. It told me how the transformation occurred. It told me that when the Cauldron took her into its liquidy grasp, it found her so lovely and purehearted and honorable that it gifted her powers beyond measure.â
Elain felt her composure begin to slip as memories of that evening clouded her head. But then Isira spoke again, and the clear, quiet voice steadied her.
âAnd most importantly, the Voice told me that this had happened before.â
It felt like the world stopped moving for a moment. âWhat?â Elain finally breathed out. âWhat do you mean this has happened before?â
But Isira was shaking her head. âI cannot say,â she said, âI do not know. The Voices did not share that with me. But they did tell me this: That which you seek is closer than you think.â
Lucien groaned under his breath. âAnother godsdamn riddle.âÂ
âThat which I seekâŚ,â Elain murmured to herself. âThat which I seekâŚâ Her head shot up. There was only one thing she was seeking, truly, only one thing that would put this entire mess to an end.
âKoscheiâs soul,â she said, eyes wide. âPlease. You must tell me where it is.â
âI told you, I donât know.â
âThen ask the Voices to tell you!â Elain begged. âIf this has happened before, if this is a repeat of the past, then they will know what we should do now. They might even know exactly where Koscheiâs soul is. Please, please ask them.â
But Isira was shaking her head. âThe Voices would not tell me more. It is not their place to say, nor is it mine to ask again. Just remember, Lady Elain, to watch closely. Watch those around you. The answers you seek are right in front of you. You are nearly there.âÂ
Elain had never felt more frustrated in her entire life, and that included her complicated feelings toward both the crimson-haired male beside her and the hazel-eyed Illyrian warrior back at the Mortal Manor. She was about to start begging again when Isira suddenly shifted her attention to Lucien.
âLord Lucien, there is something you must know as well,â she said seriously. âAbout the truth of your origins.â
The youngest Vanserra brother took a surprised step back. âWhat do you mean?â he asked, a fearful gleam in his wide eyes.
Isira owned her mouth to speak, but before she could get a word out, the floor started to rumble, dust filling the cavern as the rocky interior trembled viciously. Instinctively, Elain clutched Lucienâs wrist; he wrapped an arm around her waist.Â
âWhatâs happening?â she yelled in terror.Â
But her question was deemed unnecessary as the shaking immediately ceased. The dust in the room was replaced with a nearly-blinding luminescent glow. Then, after a few seconds, Lord Helion strode out of that glow.
The priestess fell to her knees and bowed her head. âHigh Lord, please forgive me,â she said, rocking back and forth. âThe Voices asked me to share. Please understand.âÂ
The High Lord merely said, âIâll speak with you later, Isira,â in a low, dangerous voice, refusing to take his gaze off of Elain and Lucien. His usual friendly and convivial face was twisted in fury.
âHow dare you take advantage of my hospitality? How dare you trespass in the Caverns of the Keepers?â he snarled.
Elainâs grip on Lucienâs wrist tightened. They were in deep, deep shit.