β
First Cassian and Azriel appeared in the doorway. The High Lord's general and shadowsinger- and the most powerful Illyrians in history.
They were not the males I had come to know.
Clad in battle-black that hugged their muscled forms, their armour was intricate, scaled- their shoulders impossibly broader, their faces a portrait of unfeeling brutality. They reminded me, somehow, of the ebony beasts carved into the pillars they passed.
More siphons, I realised, glimmered in addition to the ones atop each of their hands. A Siphon in the centre of their chest. One on either shoulder. One on either knee.
For a moment, my knees quaked, and I understood what the camplords had feared in them. If one Siphon was what most Illyrians needed to handle their killing power... Cassian and Azriel had seven each. Seven.
The courtiers had the good sense to back away a step as Cassian and Azriel strolled through the crowd, toward the dais. Their wings gleamed, the talons at the apex sharp enough to pierce air- like they'd honed them.
β
β
Sarah J. Maas (A Court of Mist and Fury (A Court of Thorns and Roses, #2))