Write Which You Dare Not Say

The blood under her nails was definitely not her own. 

She waited until Devlon winked out of her eyeline to look at him. 

“I was doing just fine without you.” But that was a lie. Her muscles in her legs were giving out and she was losing her footing. 

Rahne slipped around the shadowsinger, no mingling for her today. She tried to hold her friend up before she collapsed in front of the shadowsinger. 

“He was going to kill you,” Azriel said. “You’re burned out. You do realize that? He wasn't going to just hurt you. He was going to kill you.” 

“Let's just skip to the part where you try to teach me a lesson.” She smiled sideways up to him. Exaggerating her blinking. 

Her little shadow bounced on her shoulder.

Should we kill him, too? She sent it, but it didn't make it to Rahne. 

“What the fuck?” 

Azriel’s eyebrows pinched together. 

“Rahne?” her voice was pitching higher. “Answer me.”

“She can't,” Azriel said. 

“What does that mean?”

“I told you, you're burned out.”

She watched as her shadow twisted in on herself in frustration. “That's never happened before.”

“You've never hit the bottom so fast,” he said.

“How do I fix it?”

“You ready for the lesson?” He crossed his arms over his chest. 

This is where she would usually release her shadowfire, but she would never threaten him with flame after what those demons did. So instead she stabbed him in the thigh.

He caught her wrist before she could fully plunge through, but she broke skin. 

“Tell me how I get it back.” 

“It's not gone.” He squeezed her wrist until the blade fell to the dirt. “You shouldn't need magic to talk to her. You're just exhausted. Control your breathing,” he coached. “Focus on her.”

She tried blocking out the short breaths of the shadowsinger, the whistling winds off the mountains, the roaring in her head. She didn't fight his hands, still wrapped around her wrists. 

She willed the bridge between her and Rahne to appear. The shadow slowed her rolling, matching her master’s focus. The light path they’d communicate down. Neither had needed to use the mental visual in decades. It was strange to both of them. It’d been so long, they’d forgotten they ever relied on it. 

Slowly, so slowly, her little voice began to echo down to her. 

...ven, Rayven, Rayven. Her fear rushed through her weeping. 

Rayven crumpled with her shadow. So small, in her hands. A tiny wisp of smoke curling over her fingers, clutched to her chest. 

I’m sorry, she said back. 

“Rayven,” her name on his lips was soft. “Please. Can you stop being mad at me for a second and listen.”

What do you think?

Asshole, Rahne said. 

But? she pressed. 

Friend. 

Azriel watched their silent conversation. When Rayven groaned at the shadow he smiled. She had been talked into hearing him out. 

She let him follow her into her cottage. Inside he kept busy with heating water on her wood stove. He wasn't moving in a hurry like she usually did. He carefully poured rolling water over the leaves and handed her the first cup. 

She debated chucking it at his head, but she was exhausted and her bones were laced with ice after being in the cold for so long. 

She took the cup but did not yield a sip. He sighed, sipped his, and sat on her couch. 

“I'm sorry we lied to you,” he said finally. “You deserved to know.”

This male was so infuriating. Shielding her from information, butting into her business, playing savior, and now he had the audacity to give a humble apology. 

But she had lied and schemed just as much. 

“Me too,” she mumbled. 

“What was that?”  

She could've punched him, but his bright smile stopped her anger cold in her chest. 

She sat next to him and felt the events of the past few days set in. She traded her cup to hold Rahne in her lap. 

“I'm not staying in Velaris tonight.” She debated going to Emerie’s tent. It’d only be one more thing to explain to her tomorrow. 

He sipped from tense hands. “You can't stay here.”

Rayven leaned into the arm of the couch and tipped her head over the side. “I’m tired, Azriel. I don't want to talk anymore.”

“He was going to kill you,” he whispered. 

And the Highlord would never have punished Devlon for it. He couldn't kill the lord and get away with it either. He’d spend the rest of the decade under the Court of Nightmares, but he would've done it. For her.  

After a while she said, “I'm sorry I cut you.” 

“It could've been a lot worse.” And she knew he wasn't talking about his flesh wound.  

“I would've killed him if you hadn't shown up.” 

He set his cup on the low table at his knees. “Can you just listen?”

He took her silence as his go ahead. 

“We have been moving very precisely with the Highlord the past decade. He won't reign forever. Rhys knows that. We make one wrong move and the future we’re fighting for will never happen. We couldn't tell you about the rebel while you still wanted to come back to court. Had he not learned what we wanted him to know two things would have happened. One, he’d never believe any of my intel or trust my abilities ever again. And two, he would've found out way later than other courts and be furious. It was essential he knew only what I told him.” 

“And that was what?” 

“A lie,” he said casually. 

She shot up. “You lied to the Highlord?” 

“I lie to him all the time,” he said, like it was obvious. “I am very careful with the information I feed him. Why would I ever serve that male after what he did to you?” 

It was an effort to cool the heat rushing to her cheeks. “What didn't you tell him?”

His eyes shone with amusement. “I know where she is.” 

Something in Rayven sped up. “In Spring?”

He shook his head. “She’s not in Spring. She came through Summer.” 

“So not an abandoned rebel?” 

He waited a long moment, just smiling at her. “Your boyfriend did not know this?”

She wanted to hit him but her arms were too tired. Eris only knew what Azriel wanted him to. “You're the reason they all think she's in Spring.” 

“I was honest earlier. I was going to fill you in when we got back.” Azriel was the quietest of the bat boys, this was the longest she’d ever heard him speak without long breaks. 

“Rhys asked for you, too, you know,” he said. “He knew it was dangerous, but he did it anyway.” 

Rhys had tried to get her in the Rite with them.  Her stomach ached at her words to him. He wasn't like their father at all. If anything, she had felt more like the Highlord in the past day. 

“We found evidence of the female a few weeks ago on the shores of Summer. Cassian got her down. She did something to him when he touched her. Rhys and I were there, but she got away.”

Rayven’s chest tightened. If the boys together couldn't contain her, then she was no forgotten soldier. “Bet that stings,” she teased. 

“She took something from him,” he went on. “She didn't land a blow, but he was wrecked.”

Rayven went still. Eris’ words flashed in her mind. 

“Why tell me now? Why make me play this game?”

“I wanted to, but you were so eager to please that prick and get your place back at court. Had we told you about the rebel, could you honestly say you wouldn't have plotted around us to retrieve her?”

She chewed on her lip. She had planned to do just that, but of course they already knew her every step. Next to the Highlord she would have the platform to change things. She wanted it more than anything else. Protecting Ironcrest wasn't enough. 

“How did you know about Eris? Today wasn't what revealed me.”

“No,” he said. “I've known for a while. Rhys had his suspicions before it was confirmed. It was actually Cassian who suggested Eris. He saw your form at training about a year ago and knew only one other fire wielder with similar structure.”

“That's a great leap in your assumption to accusation. You're leaving something out.”

“I followed you a month ago,” he said sheepishly. 

“You spied on me,” she translated. 

“You were skipping training and were nowhere to be found in Ironcrest. Of course I followed you.” 

His confession moved something in her chest. “Fine, I forgive you. Can you guys quit lying to me? Can we work together now?” She wanted to sleep for the rest of her life. 

“There's more,” Azriel said. “But Rhys can tell you the rest later.”

“Can't wait,” she deadpanned. Her eyes were so heavy, she fought to hide it from Azriel. “Quit feeding lies to the Autumn spies. You don't have to tell them the truth, but do not risk Eris ever again.” 

Azriel had the decency to look sad for her. “I’m sorry for almost getting your boyfriend killed.”

“Beron wouldn't kill him.” She wished he were here with her. His promise of tomorrow couldn't come fast enough. “That's what scares me.”

“You're really not coming back to Velaris tonight?” 

“Rahne is too exhausted to winnow us and if I use my wings again I think they'll snap off.”

“I’ll carry you,” Azriel offered. 

“Not a chance.”

He held his hands up. “Fine, we can go back in the morning.” 

“We are not doing anything. You are leaving and I will go back tomorrow.”

“Not a chance.” 

“Are we going to do each other’s hair and tell bedtime stories? I’m not in the mood to play sleepover.”

“Is that what you want? I might have a story or two you'd enjoy.” He smirked. “You can tell me who braids better, me or Cassian.”

“Don't make me stab you again.” She was losing this fight and he knew it.

“Up to you, but I’m staying. I can sit outside if that makes you feel better, but I’m not leaving you alone after we pissed off Devlon. If he comes back and you're dead to the world, what do you think he’d do with that?”

Rayven shivered at the thought of his access to her unconscious body. He followed her train of thought. 

“Fine,” she said, getting up from the couch. “You don't have to stay outside.”  

She was expected to watch over the girls at the House, but after the conversation with the boys she was going to light all of Velaris on fire. 

Rayven lashed whips of flame across the open field outside her cottage till steaming dirt remained. Screaming herself hoarse, head tilted back to the stars. 

Rahne had licked up embers like snowflakes until she was as big as a cat. The shadow exalted in the destruction as she skipped around the field, leaving piles of fire in her place. She kept her attention on Velaris. Any of those bat boys came near her master, she’d burn them from the skies. 

On any other day, Rayven would never be able to take them, but standing in that room she could've reached into their minds and cooked them inside out. She was too angry to remember she loved them. 

Flames licked out in intense purges. Hair loose and whipping her face, she could barely see through it and the tears. 

Panting over her knees, she felt her fuel beginning to sputter. 

Oh well. Then she’ll spar with every tree and rock between her and Windhaven. She hadn't had an opponent she could demolish in a while. 

The shadowy flame flickered out in her hand, not even smoke remained. 

“All out,” said Devlon. 

Rahne hadn't warned her of his approach. “What the fuck are you doing here?” She centered her weight under her, running through attacks and blocks. The familiar weight of her dagger spun in her palm. 

“I saw the smoke from my tent,” his lips curled into a polite smile. “I came to check on you. I don't like how we left things earlier.”  Devlon had attempted to bed her many times over the decades. And every time she sent the disgusting male running. Today would be no different. But she had never humiliated him before today. 

“My earlier offer has expired.” She angled away from him, but never turned her back to the leech. “I don't need fire to kill you.”

He laughed, low and without humor. “You can't kill me. You're on my land, princess.” 

If she had any power left in her she’d have cooked him and dealt with the consequences later. With shadowfire, she was unmatched. He was powerless, never granted a siphon in all his years as Lord, but he was easily the better-trained Illyrian and far more valuable to the Highlord. If she killed Devlon, Windhaven would revolt. Sending Illyria into a civil war. The Highlord wanted Illyrian control more than a few females. Even if one of those females were his daughter. 

“These are Night Court lands. The princess outranks you.”

He stepped closer to her and Rahne slammed into him before he could get in arms length. She moved like she was cursing the bastard, but Rayven heard nothing from her shadow. 

His thick fingers twisted around Rahne and tossed her away. She was back in a heartbeat, her little form clawing at his chest leathers. 

He laughed at her minimal damage. 

“You've got nothing left.” His ugly face came into her field of vision. “How about a rematch?” 

She waited to move until he was just about to grab her. She jammed her palm into the hook of his nose then used his stupor to jump into flight. She and Rahne didn't need to speak. They knew where they were headed. 

She may not have had any fire left, but her wings were just fine. Rayven placed her feet on her perch and waited for the lord. 

Her heartbeats were even as she gauged her next move. 

Come and get me. 

He was a wing length away when she dove off the side and raked her nails down his wings. How therapeutic, she thought, to shred them with her hands. 

He landed awkwardly after the assault and she saw the blood leaking down his right wing. 

Rayven palmed the knife, thankful she hadn't disarmed in her room earlier. 

“Bitch,” he spat. 

“Last chance to leave alive.” She was in a giving mood today apparently. 

“You're not even pretty.” He looked absolutely insane stalking toward her. “What makes you think you can reject me?”

She flipped the handle away, catching the blade between her thumb and forefinger. She raised it to her eyeline, gauging the distance and path it’d take to the middle of his skull. 

Then shadows erupted. 

The shadowsinger’s landing rocked the earth under her feet. 

Devlon stopped short. 

Somehow Azriel’s presence ignited a new fury in her blood. She didn't need some alpha bat boy coming to her rescue. She lowered the blade, internally rolling her eyes. 

He’s mine. Rayven tried to send, but the winds swept it away. She really had nothing left. 

She repeated her words aloud, but Azriel ignored her and spoke to Devlon. “You are to remain in Windhaven unless called upon.” His voice was a lethal calm. 

“She almost killed two of my lords and I still inquired about her well-being after she razed one of my fields. To attack me after a simple disagreement?” Devlon tisked. “This is very unbecoming of a princess.” 

“You sold Davina!” she snarled. 

Azriel held a hand out to his side to quiet her. 

“It is handled. You are dismissed.” 

Devlon hadn't taken her seriously, but he’d be a fool to challenge Azriel. Azriel definitely wouldn't kill him and Devlon didn't want to find out why that was worse than death. 

She let her thud onto the Town House roof echo through the walls. 

“You lied to me.” Rayven never threatened the shadowsinger with fire, but he was dangerously close to moving her to cross that line. 

“I don't know what you mean,” he said. He was standing on the ledge in his normal black. 

“You sent me to him with half the information,” she accused. “When I told you about the rebel, you had already told your Highlord.”

He let her yell at his back. 

“Look at me, you asshole!” 

A glance over the shoulder. “Doesn't feel good to be lied to, does it?”

“You could've gotten someone very close to me killed.” 

“Oh yeah? And who would that be, princess?”

Forget the fire, she was going to throttle him. She shoved him off the roof, throwing all her weight behind her. “Fuck you.”

He flew back up, hovering just past her reach.

“And don't call me princess again.” 

 “Or what?” he smirked. His boots were silent as he jumped onto the roof.

Or I’ll make you miss your step-brothers. She almost sent to him. His smirk fell to boredom, and she knew his shadows relayed a similar sentiment. 

“I’m so sick of you fucking bat boys.” 

She didn't look to make sure Azriel followed her, but Rahne definitely kept her sights on the shadowsinger. 

“Rhys, get in here now!” she shouted into the foyer. 

“Where have you been?” Cassian countered with equal intensity. 

“Where is he?” She wouldn't ask again. 

Rhys, always having to be ahead of everyone, was waiting in the door of the sitting room. 

The boys sat shoulder to shoulder on the couch, watching her pace as she yelled. 

“You're all fucking idiots. You played me this whole time. Nothing I told you was new information.”

“No it was not,” Rhys said. 

The flame in the hearth to her back roared. 

“You fucked up,” she continued. “Your little game almost got my best friend killed. Why lie to me? To me! Is it some sick test? After all this time, you don't trust me?” 

She waited until Cassian met her stare. “Even after what you saw today, you do this?” 

Rahne growled at Azriel’s shadow that tried to calm her. It found it wise to stay by its master. 

“You have one minute to explain yourselves. One of you may speak. Choose wisely.” 

Rayven stood before the three most powerful Illyrian males to ever exist, but when the smoke escaped on her exhale they had rightfully decided to look scared. 

Cassian was the one to speak. 

“Rayven,” he began. “You don't understand what we’re doing here. The dangerous course we have to navigate. You are far too quick to lose your temper. It’s going to get you hurt.”

“And you use your time to insult me. Of course I have no idea. I’m running Ironcrest, monitoring Windhaven, protecting the females you fucking idiots neglect, and trying to lift my banishment. Of course I’m in the dark.” She pointed to Rhys. “Because you've kept me there.” 

“You tricked the Highlord without considering the repercussions,” her brother said, annoyingly calm. “And you left us to clean it up.” 

“It had nothing to do with you!”

“No? Was it not Tarin’s understanding that I would be the one to arrive yesterday? Was it not my authority you swiped to get what you wanted? Congratulations, Rayven, you got to Spring. What now?” 

“You sent me in there blind. A highly valuable contact risked their life to get me the information you already had. You could've told me your Highlord knew about the female,” she said to the shadowsinger. “And the whispers he heard it from.”

“I don't report to you.”

“Nor I to you three. You go out of your way to make me look stupid. Always younger than you guys. News flash, dumbass, we’ve all settled. A few decades on me makes no difference.”

If Cassian had told the others about what Kallon and Bellius did, their faces gave nothing away. “You survived Illyria together. I had to do it alone.”

“That's not entirely true,” Azriel said. “What about Eris?”

Rayven cut all the fires in the house. “You don't know what you're talking about.”

“Don't I? Or do you smell of Autumn male because there's so many sheltered in Ironcrest?”

“I’m soon to reek of dead Illyrian.”

“I’m right here, princess.” 

 She stared at his hands until he tucked them behind his back. She looked each of them in the eye. 

“These are your brothers, right?” She gestured to the bastards. “Well Eris is mine.”

Azriel scoffed. 

Rhys saw the fight rising in Rayven’s eyes and sighed.  

“You want to come back to court more than anything. You were quick to threaten three of the Highlord’s biggest Illyrian supporters, almost losing your camp in the process.” He corrected his sleeve cuffs. “You schemed and plotted behind our backs to force his hand. We’ve been next to him for decades. We fought a war for him. Why don't we walk in and overthrow him right now?”

“Because you're cowards.” 

“Because we can't win,” Cassian said. “Wouldn't it be so nice to fix the corruption in this court and eliminate every cruel bastard?”

She growled, “That's what I’m trying to do.”

Cassian snapped in her face. “We’d have no one left.” 

“They were clipping Davina! What was I supposed to do?” Furious tears threatened to spill. “If no one in this court is left, so be it.” 

“We can train-” Cassian started. 

“No, I’m done waiting for the rest of these males to get the big picture. I’m done waiting for you assholes to help me. And I’m done trying to impress your Highlord.”

“The Highlord,” Rhys warned. 

“He is not my Highlord, and you are not my brother.”

“I will always be your brother.” 

“Not right now.” 

He rolled his eyes. The male really rolled his eyes at her. She was going to melt the stars in them. 

“Fuck you,” she spat. “The next male to stand in my way dies.”

Rhys held her stare. 

Rahne started spreading along her back. “You're as bad as him.” 

Eris! 

Rahne went another layer of wind below her to listen, but the Vanserra’s would never announce themselves to her. 

Dammit.

Rayven’s boots crunched on the leaves of the autumn court floor. She held the parchment she swiped from Emerie with two words she’d written for Eris and burned it in her palm. 

Even if she couldn't reach his mind here, the fires would deliver her message. The sun was setting and she was due back at court any minute, but she just needed to see his face.  

Come on, she begged the whispers of the winds to sing his safety. 

Leaves crackled behind her. 

“Oh, thank the gods,” she turned expecting Eris, but was met with the face of a beautiful stranger. 

“Who are you?” Her fire roared to life.  

The dark-skinned female tilted her head to the side and made no move to counter. Her tightly curled dark hair spilled over her shoulders. 

“You're Rayven,” she said. 

“And you're dead.” 

She held her palms up. “My name is Jesminda, but my friends call me Jess.” 

“Don't care.”

“Eris is coming,” she said. 

Her fire skidded. This could very well be a trap.  

The stranger’s lips formed a thin line. The flowy lavender of her skirts spread as she sat atop a boulder. She moved with a casual grace so much like...

“You’re one of Lucien’s.”  

She nodded. “I am the one who told him to warn you about Eris. Apparently, you did not listen.”

“Never will. Where is Eris now?” Rahne was not circling her ankles when she looked down for her. She was hovering the air above her head, which usually meant she was pissed. Another Autumn court fae that deceived her senses. 

“He sent me first, he won't have much time. He is expected back for departure.”

“To Spring?” Autumn’s shift was directly after hers, they were going too early.

“To Night,” Jesminda said. “You did not know?”

“You know my name, but not my position in my court? Who are you really?”

“A friend,” she attempted a cordial smile. 

“She doesn't have any of those.”  

Rayven gasped at the bloodied face of her best friend.

“What the fuck-” she braced herself for the rest of the ambush, but he held his hands up. 

All clear, he sent her and collapsed in the dead leaves before she could catch him.  

“I should've come sooner.” Rayven knelt next to her friend and made her own assessment. His cheek was caked in fresh blood from the gash at the cheekbone. His breaths were shaky between broken ribs. For him to look this bad an entire day later, Beron must've salted the wounds, so they'd linger. 

“I will roast him alive,” her flames scorched the vegetation around them. “I will kill him.” 

Jesminda didn't even flinch. 

There was nothing fatal, Rahne reported, but he had to be really hurt because Rahne wiped at his cheek and he let her. 

Beron was perhaps the least deserving highlord out of them all on most days, but this was unacceptable. 

Eris just shook his head and inhaled brokenly. “He can't know about you.”

“He did this to you because of me?” She decided fire wasn't the right option. She was going to take each layer off of his rotting corpse. 

“I knew he’d never believe it was nothing. When I didn't return with a body, he wanted a name.”

“You should've just told him it was me.”

His wild eyes met hers. “Are you crazy? He will kill you.”

“So instead you'll let him kill you? What name did you give him?” 

She tried to wipe the blood off of him but he swiped her hands away. “Don't.” 

“What do I do? Tell me.”

“You leave and never come back.” The blood on his face was thinned by a single tear. “If you come here again he will kill you. I only came to tell you we cannot meet here again. Don't send me messages anymore. You've never met me. I don't know who you are.” 

No, no, no. “I'm not leaving you here. Come with me,” she begged. “I can hide you in Ironcrest.” She was scrambling for a solution, and he knew it. She announced Ironcrest in front of this stranger. If she became an issue she’d roast her too. 

He shook his head. “I told him I caught a lesser scouting the Forest House. They got away, but he said if I returned defeated by a lesser fae unmarked then...” His body shook. “I should've had you hit me harder before you left.” 

Rayven couldn't help her scoff. “Broken nose wasn't enough for you?” 

He winced when the smile he forced pulled on his skin.

“So because you didn't kill someone, he beat you?”

Eris didn't respond. He didn't need to. Beron was the worst father in Prythian. Hers was cruel, but if he ever laid a hand on her it’d be the last of him having hands. 

Eris wasn't in the same position as Rayven. He was the oldest. He had six brothers to protect. Rayven only had herself and Rahne. 

“What's her deal,” her chin jerked to the female fixing her hands on her skirt. Her body language was relaxed, but a spy was always collected. 

“You may have the spymaster, but these woods have eyes. We’re lucky it was Jesminda that saw us.”

“And who can see us now?” She didn't really want his answer.

Jesminda was the one to respond. “These woods have been cleared. It is just us.”

Rahne was certain the area was clear as well, but Autumn and its inhabitants were slippery creatures. 

Rayven snapped her attention to the female. “Full offense, but I don't know or trust you.”

Eris’ cold hand wrapped around hers. “She’s okay,” he coughed. “She told me where to find you.”

“My message went to you?” 

“I think you mean, thank you Jess, for intercepting the obvious message before Beron could.” She was as smart-mouthed as the fox. 

“It was two words?” She was going to hurt that pretty face. 

“Meet now,” she quoted. “The exact day after Eris was punished for a mysterious encounter in the woods. Are you stupid or just that careless?”

Yeah, I’m going to hurt her. 

Before she could slip in her mind and convince her she was burning alive, Eris squeezed her hands. 

“You have to leave and promise to never return.”

Rayven’s heart cracked. “Don't say that to me.” 

He pulled himself upright and readjusted his bloodied tunic. “I’ll be fine,” his eyes didn't meet hers. 

“But I won't,” she cried to her friend. “I can't do this without you.” 

He pulled her into an embrace. She couldn't even wrap her arms around him before he was pulling away. “Go,” he said. 

“Eris.”

“I’ll find a way to see you tomorrow outside of Velaris.”

“I can't come to Autumn, but you can come to Night?” He never made any sense. She was about to give him another bloody nose. 

“He is meeting with Keir in the Hewn City tomorrow afternoon.” Jesminda answered again. 

“You're free to go anytime you’d like,” she bit out to the spy.

“I am free no matter what,” she said. She didn't have the flame, but something in her roared under the surface. “I’ll see you later,” she said to Eris and didn't offer Rayven a parting quip when she receded into a deadend Rahne had already scoped. 

“Why is Beron coming to Night?” 

“I don't know,” he said. “He’s only taking me and my two younger brothers.” 

“I met with the Highlord earlier, he didn't mention any of this.” 

“Keir requested a private audience,” he bristled.

The lord of the Hewn City wanted to meet with the Highlord of the Autumn Court. 

Her blood chilled. Keir was kept at the Court of Nightmares for a reason. 

“We have a very small window before I am missed. I’ll find you tomorrow.”

“Swear it,” she said. 

“I swear it, on my favorite little demon,” he fought the wince of his genuine smile. 

“If you don't, we’ll be right back here tomorrow, you hear me? I’ll march right into the Forest House. That's my swear.”

“Go,” he said again. “Don't come back to Autumn.” 

“Don't tell me what to do,” her threat fell short. She risked a kiss to his cheek and one last squeeze on his icy hands. 

Ow, motherfucker.  

Up, up, up, she chanted. 

“Okay!” She stretched her wings, but the fatigue was still present. She was going to hit her bed in the Town House so hard later. 

She went to clean her leftover plate and teacup but Emerie had beaten her to it. Her shadow was frantic at her back, pushing her out of the tent. 

Davina! Her shadow shouted. Bellius took Davina!

Rayven’s stomach churned. 

Davina was once Devlon’s sister years ago. She escaped Windhaven and found refuge in Ironcrest. Devlon killed Kallon’s sister, Kali, decades before and Davina was given to him in exchange. Some male currency of honor demanded payment in the form of the Lord’s sister. 

Rayven pocketed her note to Eris on Emerie’s low table and checked for the knife at her thigh. 

Rahne shot past her into the cluster of tents. 

The wind pushed on Rayven’s heel. She shot into the sky, she was faster up here anyway.   

Kallon had Davina on her knees in the middle of the sparring ring in the East quadrant. Her tunic was shredded and only her clenched fists held it to her shoulder. 

Emerie had positioned between Kallon and Davina, curled over her knees in the sand.

Devlon’s sweet younger sister. The females were usually given varied names of their brothers, reminding them they’d always belong to the males in their bloodline. 

Davina wasn't a fighter, her place in Ironcrest was to overlook what little crops they could manage on the side of a frozen mountain. She had never stepped into the rings. Rayven cursed herself for not requiring the females to at least learn the basics, she wanted them to be able to choose. She could beat herself up later for the nativity. She had males to skin. 

Davina’s round face was bruised and her lip was split open. The other females were circled around, held back by the domineering Kallon. He held a long sword between him and Emerie, the tip knocked into the hollow of her throat. Drella and Venerya were shoulder to shoulder, any animosities from earlier squashed in front of this male. All of their eyes kept inspecting the slackened wing on Davina’s right. 

“Move, or you will be moved,” Kallon said to her second. Emerie stared him down the length of the blade. 

Rayven’s boots dented the earth under her. 

“You're dead,” she drawled to the male. 

The second he turned his back to Emerie she was dipping down to help Davina hold her torn tunic to her chest. She was shaking, her face was caked in salty tears.  

Don't waste a drop on them, Rayven sent to her. Davina’s face solidified into rage at her words. 

We can't kill them, Emerie sent her. 

I can. It will be up to them if I do or not. 

Don't get all of us killed for your rage.

Her second didn't look at her, she only nodded to Drella and Venerya to help her get Davina up. The girl cried out when they tried to get her to her feet. 

“Where is Bellius?” Rayven spoke over her camp. 

The females around the ring parted as Cassian presented the walking deadman. He gripped him by the back of the head and tossed him into the sand at Rayven’s feet. 

Thrown so hard his hand splayed beneath him to keep his nose from smashing into the toe of her boot. Blood leaked from his mouth and she could hear the broken ribs around his labored breaths. 

She tilted her head to the side. “There’s barely any left for me.”

“He's alive,” Cassian gritted out. 

She should thank him, he would've tore him in half if this weren't her camp. If this were as alive as Cassian could keep him, then half-dead was going to have to do. 

“You assaulted one of mine,” she said. The tip of her boot inched over his fingers. She rocked her weight over his crunching bones. Her voice rose to address the rest of the camp. “What is the punishment for harming an Ironcrest female?”  

The females murmured one word among themselves, Rahne echoing the sentiment. 

Kallon spoke for his second. “Devlon gave her to me.” 

Rayven made a show of looking around. “Does this look like Windhaven?”

Kallon bared his teeth and Cassian bared his. Kallon’s sword lowered slightly. 

“A sister for a sister,” he said to Cassian like it’d make him agree. 

“Devlon has no authority to give you Davina,” Rayven answered. “I freed her from you the second I kicked your father’s ass. Have you forgotten?” she asked Kallon. “Allow me to remind you.” The added yelp from Bellius was a nice touch in her threat. 

Rahne sent her warning in time for Rayven to school her features to calm. 

“He can have her,” the Lord of Windhaven spoke. 

“She is not yours to give.” She tried to speak the way the Highlord did. With absolution, above any contest. 

“He may do with the bitch as he pleases,” Devlon said again. 

Davina shook on the ground. Rayven took one heartbeat to thank the Mother for giving her Rhys for a brother.  

She let her voice fall into the deadly calm. “You may get away with terrorizing your females, but I command Ironcrest. The punishment stands.” 

“The Highlord will-”

“The Highlord isn't here. You answer to me.” 

She expanded into every corner of Bellius' mind and set him on fire, focusing on his wings. She showed his hands bound in flame, there was no escape.  

His eyes saw the flames, but no one else did. He thrashed and screamed for her to extinguish them. 

Devlon started to circle the ring, closing in towards Kallon. 

Cowards, Rahne hissed. 

“Ironcrest is mine,” she set her eyes on Kallon. “The females here are under my protection.”  

Bellius was keeled over, forehead pressed into the dirt, whispering prayers to the Mother for relief from the fire eating his skin. 

“Let him go, Rayven,” Kallon threatened.

She sent her feral shadow to deal with Kallon. Her little form wrapped around his neck. His fingers found no purchase, clawing at the shadow. She reached into Kallon’s mind and his chest started to move faster with the rising heat. 

She could cook them both before Devlon made it across the ring. 

“You know the punishment for harming Ironcrest females as well as he did when he put his hands on her.”

“She wanted it,” Bellius choked out. Rayven drowned his throat in flame. 

“You can bend a lot of rules, princess,” Devlon said. “But not this one. The bitch belongs to me and me alone.” 

Cassian bared his teeth at them. “You dishonor this court.” 

Devlon let out a low laugh. “You and I both know this is no crime. I can do as I wish with my property.”

“Davina is not your property,” Rayven snarled. 

“Would you like to take her place?” Devlon offered. 

“Gladly.” She crossed into the sandy ring. With Bellius left to thrash around, and Kallon choking on shadows, she just had Devlon left. “I’ll fight you for her. I win, she's free. You win, I’ll take her place.” It was a risky offer, to gamble with her life, but a tasty proposal for the Lord of Windhaven. 

But as he watched the males’ muscles twitch awkwardly, hatred twisted his ugly features. 

Rayven stepped around the dying males and closed the distance between her and Devlon. 

“What do you say, Dev? You and me.” 

Devlon erupted. He grabbed the long sword at Kallon’s feet and swung viciously at Rayven. Her feet carefully moved her across the sand, out of the way of his wild slashing. 

Cassian stepped forward to help, but Emerie held him back with an arm. This was Rayven’s camp. Hers to protect, hers to defend, hers to keep.

Bellius was out of screams as he violently ripped into his own wings trying to put the flames out. 

“Enough!” Devlon roared. He opened his mouth to speak again and Rayven drowned his mind in flame. 

Rahne tightened around Kallon’s neck like a noose. He clawed the flesh of his throat trying to detach the shadow. She squeezed till his eyes started to widen in primal fear. Rayven had spared him for his father’s sake decades ago when she took Ironcrest, but she had never spared a male from this rule. If Devlon didn't yield, she'd have three dead Illyrians on her hands.  The Highlord would kill them all if she eliminated three high-ranked males, even in her own camp.

Rahne raised Kallon to the tips of his boots, hanging from her little shadow, choked by flame. 

Rayven commanded Cassian over Bellius’ screams. “Take Davina to Citrine in the Western steppes.” 

He dipped his chin once in confirmation. He kneeled and held his hands out to her. “Can I touch you?” he asked, hushed. 

Her eyes widened, but she didn't deny him. 

Emerie didn't look back at her as she followed the bastard to the healer’s tent. Make it hurt. 

She cooked Bellius until his body and mind gave out. 

Pathetic, Rahne laughed around Kallon’s neck. 

Kallon was the next. Rahne squeezed till his eyes rolled back and he was done too. 

If they lived, they would never forget what it means to kneel before the only god the Illyrians served. And who commands that god in Ironcrest. 

Rahne released Kallon’s body and he crumpled to the ground. 

“You may either die in this ring with me here now, or I can let you take their bodies back to Windhaven. No healer here will touch them. Shadowfire can be so uncontrollable.” She held her hand out and let the flames mock the lord before her. “Who's to say how much of their minds will be left?” She blew out the last flame dancing on her pointer finger. 

He adjusted his weight and settled back onto his dominant leg. 

Yield. She roared in Devlon’s mind. 

Devlon pondered his ultimatum with his lips pulled to the side. “You can have her,” he shrugged. 

Rayven had to keep her jaw from falling slack. 

Rahne growled at the Lord of Windhaven, but Rayven made her stay by her. She had expected more fight from the prick. 

He looked Rayven up and down, his eyes lingered in certain places that sent a chill down her spine. He had the same look as the Highlord. The promise that this fight wasn't done. 

“I hope she was worth it.” He took off into the sky. 

A few of the females spat on their unconscious bodies as they dispersed. Rayven even let a few of them get some kicks in before she had Drella and Venerya remove them. 

The sun had set, they were all late to report to Velaris. She wondered which one of the boys would take the cover for her. 

After Drella and Venerya dropped the bodies outside of Ironcrest’s border, they were instructed to meet for departure. 

Rayven made a quick stop to check on Davina. Citrine said her wings were badly damaged, but not paralyzed. Cassian had gotten to Bellius before he could finish the clipping. Her chest felt lighter after the news, but was short lived when she met back up with her girls. 

They had convinced Cassian to carry their heaviest supplies. 

“Such a gentleman,” Rayven patted the duffle strapped between his wings. 

“If it makes the females happy, then I’m happy,” he said and from his smile, she knew he meant it. 

“None of them are going to sleep with you.” 

He hummed. “We’ll see.” 

“Don't touch my bat girls,” she warned. 

“Bat girls huh? You come up with that on your own? I kind of like it.”

“Get going,” she said with a smile threatening to bloom. “We’ll catch up.”

“You're not that fast,” he said. 

Their eyes met in silent challenge. Rahne was chanting a single word. 

“Race you back to Velaris?” He never turned down a good bet. 

Cassian braced to take off. “I don't need a head start.” Poor Illyrian male ego. 

“You’ll lose either way,” Emerie said. She threw her own pack on, albeit significantly lighter than the one Cassian bore. 

“Females,” he grumbled again and shot into the sky. “Last one there is faerie dust!” 

 Rayven turned back to her girls, taking in each of their faces. They had worked for decades for this moment. A single chance to prove themselves. They would not falter. 

And it was her wrath that almost lost it all. She could have killed the males, but their deaths would seal the deaths of the faces staring at her. 

“Is everyone ready?” She said to her squadron. 

Rayven had forbidden the females from bowing, but they still chose to defy her and dip at the waist. Only the males would ever bow to her.

Their run and jump into flight was shaky with their packs, but after they leveled out and adjusted to the awkward weight, they began to pick up speed. Emerie was last on the ground when she turned to Rayven. 

“I’ll see you in Velaris,” she said to her second. “Don't make them go slower for his sake.”

Her big brown eyes glowed with delight. “Never.” 

“You know where to go?” She asked her for the hundredth time. 

A curt nod from her second. 

“Make sure you all stay together. Velaris is not like Ironcrest.”

“I'm counting on it,” she said and leapt into the sky. “You be careful.”

She knew where Rayven was headed and knew it was a risk to slip in a visit to Eris when they were expected at the House so soon, but she had to check on him. 

Rhys hadn't said much in response to her conversation with the Highlord. She replayed the interaction to him, mind-to-mind. He had a plot of his own it seemed, and she wasn't privy to know yet. No one commented on his intentions with the lost female. She’d pick their brains about it later. They fought in the war with Hybern, a couple decades before she was born. They knew something she didn't. 

Cassian stayed behind to go with her to Ironcrest to inform the girls of their recent promotion. Hopefully, their sentiments on coming had not changed. 

The bat girls were vicious. They had to be. To brave Illyria as a female was a Rite of its own. A completely different journey of survival than the boys had walked. While they had to be brutal and harsh, the females had the added layer of personal protection. Males in Illyria felt entitled to any female they came across. 

The Highlord may reign over the Night Court and Devlon commanded Windhaven, but Rayven ran the Ironcrest camp. 

It was a struggle to maintain the flight with Cassian to the frigid mountains, but he didn't mention the sluggish pace. Rahne had found the strength in her to lead the way, she could never let a male think he was faster than her, even if that male was Cassian. 

Closer to Ironcrest, her wings began to ache. She dipped from the sky in exhaustion twice before Cassian had to comment. 

“You are going to run yourself into the ground with that shit,” he said over the wind. 

“I’m fine.” She strained her muscles to almost failure. 

“And if you fall from the sky what am I going to tell the Highlord?”

“Tell him he got what he always wanted,” she snapped.

“And what would I tell Rhys?” 

Rayven held out a single finger to him as her response. 

She could've sworn she heard his eyes rolling. 

The expansive camp of Ironcrest was buzzing with life. The only camp where the women outnumbered the males. Winged fae scattered around the camp busy with daily upkeep. A few of the females were sparring on the Northern ridge. It brought a smile to her face to see her girls training. 

Rayven caught her second, Emerie, outside a tent coaxing a fire to life. She didn't look at them, but she was aware of their approach.

Cassian landed before her but didn't hold out a hand for her to catch this time. He knew how it’d look to the rest of the camp if its leader allowed an assisted landing, no matter how polite the gesture. 

As soon as her boots hit the snow, Emerie was ready to report. 

Rahne rushed to greet her friend. 

Emerie’s small laugh was music to her ears. Laughter in Illyria was in short supply. 

“Hey, pretty girl,” she cooed at the shadow. Rahne curled over her shoulder and idled into a calm rest. Emerie smiled like she could hear the shadow’s purr. 

If Rhys had found brothers in Az and Cass then she found a sister in Emerie. 

She was the ice to her fire. The calm to her rage. Rayven needed her to run Ironcrest just as much as she needed Rhys in Velaris. Maybe now he’d get to meet her. 

The males bowed as they crossed the camp, but eyed the bastard behind them on their rise. Rayven’s fire ignited the hearths of those who fought with the cutting wind. Some were pleased to not have to struggle, others grumbled some snide remark about how easy shadowfire must be to wield. Always undermining curses and cuts. 

She had been absent from camp for the last day, so there was much to report.

Drella and Venerya had fought and then made up and were now fighting again. Casita was drunk before midday. A new record, her second noted. 

“What has Kallon been up to?” She asked about her rival. His father was Lord of this camp until she arrived a few decades ago. 

Emerie sighed. “Pleasant as always.” She had more to say on him, but with Cassian present she kept her reports to vague details. 

He followed them a few steps behind, scanning the males of the camp. They bowed to Rayven, but with the Lieutenant of the Night Court present they saw a potential ally. He was a few days away from getting his siphon, and all the males coveted his rank. 

Emerie linked arms with her and led them into her tent. Cassian stayed at the threshold to stand guard. A few of them tried to approach him, he gracefully blew them all off without angering them, but also not appeasing them. This was Rayven’s camp and she loved him for respecting that, and making the others respect it too. 

When the light adjusted and she could make out Emerie’s humble home, the familiar scent of her second comforted her. 

In any other setting, they would stand rigid with their hands behind their back at attention, but here, in the tent that smelled of sweet cinnamon, purely Emerie, they lounged on her low lying bed. 

Rayven sighed into the plush mattress. 

“What's the bad news,” Emerie asked. 

“It's all bad news,” she said. 

Her hand waved to Rayven to go on. She laid back onto the throws and let her explain it all as they stared at her canvas ceiling. 

Emerie was her second for many reasons. First and foremost she was her closest friend, beside Eris. She had been thrown out and rejected by her sire around the same time Rayven had been, only she survived Illyria at eight, and without an Autumn heir to help her. 

She was fierce as any male and more perceptive than any shadow, but above all she was kind. And that was something Rayven was always learning from her.

But Ironcrest was not organized with hugs and the males here were not attuned to gentle affirmations. So demon princess it was.

But, here in this tent with her, she could be Rayven. Out there she had to be the Ironcrest Commander. 

Emerie didn't stop her once in her retelling of events. She didn't gasp at the dinner revelation, or exclaim at the border watch. She just listened. And when she had finally told her about training, she only commented once she had finished. And asked the one thing Rayven hadn't thought about.

“How are we going to get to Spring?”  

She hadn't considered the obstacle of travel, something she was sure the Highlord intended on being a problem. Rayven was the only one of the females who could winnow. 

“If we fly, it will take us maybe a week if we only stop for rest and restock supplies.”

“I can take one at a time.”

“You're going to make the jump to Spring eleven times?” Emerie eyed her. They both knew eleven jumps would wipe her out for days. Even if she could manage the feat she would never be conscious to continue the watch. 

“I can do it,” she said. 

“It hasn't been a kind 24 hours for you,” she observed. 

“When is it ever?” 

Her lips pulled to a thin line. She rose from her lying position and moved around the space gathering things Rayven didn't lift her head to see. 

“So we’re to border the humanlands, search out a Hybern rebel, and potentially rescue the Autumn heir, all while tricking the Highlord and his sentries?” She so eloquently put what took Rayven minutes to relay. 

She was the only person Rayven ever confided in about Eris. He’d kill her if he knew she was aware of him, but he was so infuriating sometimes and she was the only one Rayven trusted to vent to. Not even Rhys was aware of her ties to Eris, though after she was gone for almost two years having returned as a shadowfire master, she was sure he could figure it out. He never asked about it, though. 

“Yeah, that about sums it up,” She said, staring at her canvas ceiling wishing she could see the stars through them. “We can trust the bastards.” They would be essential to pulling this off. 

She returned with steaming broth, bread, and chilled mint tea. “Here,” she pressed the plate and cup into her hands. “Eat and rest.”

“I need to-”

“I'm second for a reason, yes?” She said with her authoritative voice. “I’ll tell the others and we’ll prepare for the flight to Velaris. The Highlord gave us till nightfall to appear in court. We’ve got a few hours. Stay. I'll handle it.” 

She wasn't going to take no for an answer and Rayven couldn't muster the strength to fight her anyway. 

“What about-”

“I'll keep him busy.”

She was losing the ability to form sentences, her bed was so soft and warm. 

You're the best. She sent to her. 

“I know.” Her smile was radiant. 

She could meet with him after she played the Highlord, but Lucien’s warning nagged at her. Autumn was no longer safe. At least nowhere near the Forest House. 

She cursed herself for not being able to reach out to his mind at this distance. She could send a message through the flames of the hearth in her room, but communicating under the Highlord’s roof was another risk entirely. She couldn't just leave it though, if Eris was in trouble she owed it to him to help. He’d do it for her. 

Rahne hadn't slept either. She paced and panicked right alongside Rayven in the night. Their flight was swift, but much slower than normal. She struggled to keep a steady pace. 

No racing today?

She didn't respond with words, only a small huff like she couldn't catch her breath. 

Another apology she owed. Maybe Rhys was right. She hadn't thought through every alley of her plan, and the consequences they’d have to navigate. 

They banked up the side of the mountain that held the House of Wind above the reach of Velaris’ streets. Winnowing here was impossible, so flying on no energy or sleep was the only option. 

Azriel had trailed them, Rahne reported. She couldn't go anywhere in Velaris without some bat boy hovering. 

Males. Her shadow mocked. 

Her feet landed uneven on the balcony off of the main hall. She took one breath to stabilize her shaking muscles and wiped her slick hands down her thighs. 

The Highlord, unlike Tarin, was always prompt in his arrangements. He sat atop the obsidian dais at the far end of the House of Wind. 

Rayven approached the throne’s steps with Rahne tucked in her wing folds. They argued over her staying behind, but if Rayven was stubborn, Rahne was unmoveable. She could at least order her to not leave the shade her wing casted; she was not risking her getting caught snooping. Everything Rayven picked up today had to come from her own wits. 

She should've bowed lower than she did, but that little girl stopped her bend at the waist. He didn't seem insulted by her shallow bow. 

“Father,” She fought the bile rising in her throat. “Thank you for granting me an audience.” 

“I called this meeting,” the voice of the Highlord carried over the rocky throne room. 

“Of course,” She made my chin dip, but held his eyes. 

“You were indiscreet in your false representation as my emissary in Spring.” 

I outsmarted you, she wanted to spit at him. 

He could not read her mind, but that didn't mean he couldn't read her face. She tried to school her features the way she had seen Rhys do hundreds of times. 

She swallowed. Here we go.

“I beg your forgiveness for my misguided judgment, and thank you for the opportunity to serve you in Spring.” Her stomach twisted like it was going to be sick, but she forced it away. 

“You have no rank among my court,” he paused for his words to hit their mark. She pretended to flinch and his mouth picked up on the side. “You take my daughter from me, then attempt to deceive me in the seasonal courts, and shame the court you've sworn allegiance to. Why should I let you continue to parade around as if you have any authority over my legions.” It was a question, but he began to speak darker, like he did when casting a spell. 

She made her eyes stare at the marble floor. “I only wish to defend this court in your name.” 

He was unreadable. 

“No male will willingly follow you.” A sick smile twisted his face. “I will allow you to go to Spring with females of your choosing. Two week watches, rotated with the cooperation of Lord Devlon and Lieutenant Cassian.” He repeated her words from Spring like he’d been there. “You and your females are to train with the spymaster and the lieutenant every day until your first shift following the spring equinox.”

One month from now. He was not only allowing her a rotation, but also knowledge and practice for the task. She forced her eyes to not narrow on the cruel male. There was a catch lurking around his words. 

“Thank you,” she said genuinely. 

“In return for your impertinence, you will send daily reports of your findings in Spring.” 

So not just a border watch. Rhys was right. 

“Of course. Any information I find is yours,” Rayven said. 

“The seasonal courts have aligned tightly for Tarin’s request. Why do you think I want our presence known there?” 

Translation: he would not have the seasonal courts banning together under his nose. 

“The authority of the Highlord is to be understood by the courts outside of Night,” She remembered the words from his teachings as a child. “Lest they forget our wrath.” Rayven met the eyes of the Highlord who looked slightly less furious, his mildly pleased look. 

She was passing with flying colors. 

“Have you forgotten?” Another layered question. 

“Not once.” She replied with honesty and he knew it. 

“There are whispers of a rogue Hybern rebel in the woods of Spring,” he said. And while her blood roared with fire, it suddenly chilled to ice. 

There was only one other person she knew who could hear whispers across the courts. Did he know? She needed to be precise in her response. 

“Just one?” 

“A female.” If he sensed her unease he did not show it. 

“Why would they leave behind one female?” She made her weight balance between her feet. She would not have her knees shake, giving her away in his throne room. 

His eyes simmered. “That is what you will find for me.”

“Am I to confer with the others in my efforts?” 

“I expect you to work closely with the males leading this operation. You may have the Ironcrest females answer to you, but you will answer to Lord Devlon and Lieutenant Cassian.” His word was law, and she was to obey. 

Yeah right. 

But Rayven said, “As you command it, Highlord.” She moved my shoulder a few inches forward into her parting bow, assuming he was giving her leave. 

“Rayven,” her name dripped like poison from his mouth. “Do not disappoint me again.” So it had been said, so he shall have it. 

He didn't need to warn her this was my last chance. 

She made it down the mountain of the House of Wind before she had to empty her stomach. 

A few passing citizens peered at her, some snickering. She sent images of dark flame into their weak minds and they found it wise to be somewhere else. 

She felt him before she heard the beats of his wings. 

Rahne decided to hell with her ‘stay hidden’ command and met with Azriel’s shadow. She couldn't tell his shadows apart, but she seemed to favor one above the others. 

“What happened?” Azriel asked. His scarred hands were solid under her arms. He pulled her up from her hands and knees and moved the loose hair from her eyes. 

Right on cue, the short staccato knocks of the shadowsinger propelled the day in motion. Today, she either proved a formidable member of this court or slipped to the depths of failure.

Rayven made her way around all the discarded clothes and sparring bags around the room and pulled the door open to meet shadows. 

“Back off,” She barked at them. 

“They're only making an assessment, princess.” Azriel dressed in sparring leathers. 

Rahne mingled with one of his shadows, sending messages of content. 

She stepped around him into the hall to make her way down to breakfast before their meeting with the Highlord. “Call me that again,” she dared him. 

Azriel did not laugh today. His eyebrows flicked up as he scanned the disheveled room behind her. “Making your own obstacle course?”

Rayven did not laugh either. 

He handed her a cup of hot breakfast tea as they walked down the hall. “Good morning,” he nudged her with his shoulder. 

She sipped on the creamy drink and mumbled a mornin’ back at him. 

“You're up early,” he noted. 

“We've got places to go, I wanted to be ready.”

“Rhys requests you join us at breakfast.” 

“Requests.”

His lips formed a tight line. “He wants to talk to you before you go.” 

“He’s not going?” 

Azriel changed the subject as he led her down the stairs to the dining room. 

“Did you sleep well?” His shadows had probably told him after their “assessment.”

She cut him a sideways look. “I slept just fine.” She recalled Rahne back and quickened her pace to reach the dining room ahead of him, but he caught her arm before the archway. 

Azriel was calculated in his look-over of her attire, taking in the belts she had strapped to her thighs and torso. He was quick to reach down and adjust a belt and tighten another. Before she could chide him for the touch, he had removed himself. 

“Now they won't fall off,” he smiled without condescension. 

She couldn't hide her smile in return. “Thanks.”

At breakfast, Cassian was already working on his thirds by the looks of the conquered meal around him. 

“You look like shit,” Cassian said with a mouth full of lemon scone. 

Rayven wiped at her lip. “Got something right here.” 

Cassian swiped at his face and scowled when he found nothing. 

“Good,” Rhys said. “Get it out of your system before you head to the House.” He extends a hand to the setting placed across from him. 

She put on a face of nonchalance as she lounged in the seat next to the shadowsinger. She stabbed a fork into a defenseless chunk of fruit and popped it into her mouth before asking the question nagging at her. 

“We need to leave soon to make it in time.” She pretended to be interested in the first pastry she saw and began to pick at it. “Or are you not up for the flight, Rhys?”  

Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys shared a moment so quickly Rayven almost didn't catch it as it flicked across their faces.

“We need to discuss strategy,” Rhys said. 

“What do you mean?” She asked around a bite of cranberry muffin. “I can handle a meeting with the Highlord.” If she could survive in the mountains she could take a verbal assault from the Highlord. 

Cassian avoided her eye. 

“I don't doubt your capability.” Rhys picked at his sleeves like he was already annoyed with her. “What are you going to say to him?”

“My plan was to tell him what I was trying to do. If I explain he might not be as angry. If I can play it right he might hear me out.” She looked at each of the boys, they reeked of nervousness. 

“He isn't meeting with you to understand your intentions. He doesn't care. He is furious you were able to pull this without his knowledge.”

Azriel’s shoulders pulled tighter, but Rhys went on. 

“I think he’s going to give you a task to perform in Spring.” Rhys waited for her to piece it together. 

“Yeah, border control,” she said. 

Cassian rubbed his forehead and threw his forgotten scone onto his plate. Azriel sat emotionless. 

“Why didn't he explode last night?” Rhys asked. 

“Because we were in mixed company. He couldn't reveal to them he’d been deceived.” 

He nodded shallowly, but apparently she hadn't answered correctly. “Why praise you though? Why own it as his idea? He was going to agree to the rotations anyway. What changed?”

“I told them I’ll be in rotation with my own command.”

“He could've easily come up with a reason the other lords would believe to excuse that change of plan. Why didn't he?”

She chewed on his question for a moment. “He wants me there.”

Rhys’ eyes lit with stars. “Suddenly it's exactly as he wants.”

“Why?” she asked. 

“Exactly. What are his motives for letting a female have a shift.” He nodded again. “That’s what we need to find out.”

The Highlord always had a motive under a motive. She may have fooled him this time, but he invented the art of the pivot. She was now playing by his rules. 

“So I don't explain myself and play him for information.” Simple enough, right? 

“You have to be careful,” Azriel spoke up. Rhys shot him a look like he wasn't supposed to say anything. “If you poke around he will sniff you out in a second.”

“Maybe we should send the spymaster.” The agitation in her tone was obvious. 

Rayven didn't need to be the better daemati to know what was in her brother's head. She learned all his tricks years ago, there's nothing he can hide from her on his face.

Her short fuse was going to get in her way. She wasn't going to beat the Highlord on the battlefield of stubbornness. He was expecting that. It's probably what he wanted. To piss her off and have a reason to punish her. 

Rhys saw the thoughts as they passed over her face. 

As soon as Rayven stepped off the first step of the house Rahne finished the stride into her living room. 

She paced the room speaking aloud to her shadow. 

“Run, right?” She asked. “We should definitely run.”

Run, Rahne said back to her unsure. If she had eyes, they'd be narrowed. 

“Why wouldn't we run? He wasn't supposed to find out like-”

Rayven about faced. 

“How the fuck does he know?”

Another turn. 

“The boys would never tell him.”

Turn.

“We double checked everything,” She glanced at Rahne following her paces. 

No tails, she said. Offended that Rayven would ever question her abilities. 

“Then how-”

“Because you are foolish.” 

She turned one more time to see her brother. 

Rhys had the beautiful violet eyes of their mother, as every preening female loved to remind him, as if he needed more of an ego boost. Flecked with stars, they’d say. They shared the dark hair, tan skin, Illyrian wings, but her eyes were just a cobalt blue that seemed to impress no one. Another short fall of the demon princess. 

Those starry eyes looked into hers alit with distress. 

He was a brilliant masker. He held the resolve of a high stakes card player, but she was his sister. She could see right through him the way he saw through her. 

He was scared. And that scared her more than anything. 

“He’s going to kill me.”

Rhys shook his head. “Death would be too simple for him.”

He could have spoken all of this from Velaris. There is only reason the Highlord would allow him to come after her. 

“He sent you here to banish me for good.” She pulled the tie out of the braid Cassian gave her. 

“Too simple,” he said again. “He sent me to bring you home.” 

Her head snapped back up to his face before she could consider hiding her surprise. Rhys was not attempting a joke. 

“He... wants me back in Velaris?”

He swallowed and shifted his eyes around her makeshift home. “He said you have proven yourself worthy of his Court and are to report to his office in the morning.” 

She unweaved the strands and sat on the low table in the main room. The Highlord was satisfied with her actions. Maybe he was finally ready to forgive her. She hadn't realized a smile curled up her lips until Rhys snapped. 

“Wake up, Rayven. This is not a welcome home. This is a sentence.”

“But I secured the alliance with Spring, surely he appreciates the initiative. I'm guaranteed to come back to court!”

“No,” he bristled. “You’ve guaranteed you never will.”

“I got a command shift in Spring! The Highlord said he was sending Illyrian forces. I run Ironcrest. Cass and Devlon still get their shifts, I just added me on the tail end.” Rayven started pacing again as if informing Rhys of her intentions is the same as convincing the Highlord. “We can change his mind. We can show him-”

“Show him what exactly? Something he's had centuries to figure out? Think. You went behind his back and made him look a fool. You've barely thought this through.”

She had thought it through for months actually. Rahne spied for weeks over the Highlord’s communications to get the date, intercept, and get in that room before he could send someone else. 

He saw how his words sent her into criticism. “We are never going to change his mind. We need to plant seeds now to reap when we take over.”

“That's what I was trying to do! It's border watch. This is the least progressive thing I could win for us. I thought you, of all people, would understand that.”

He looked at her like she was stupid. Her fire pricked her skin. Rahne spun around their feet. Tears threatened to spill over her cheeks. Real tears this time. 

“You put a target on your back.” Rhys stepped closer to her and cupped her face with both hands. “We do not win this war with a single sly maneuver.” 

The gentle touch sent the tears loose. She recoiled from him. She needed to think about her next steps. 

“Today wasn't supposed to go like this,” he said softly. “We wanted to take you out after to celebrate.”

“Today never goes right.” She said to him in her house, but was looking at the child crying in the snow begging for help. Help she was never going to get. Rayven couldn't help her then and she couldn't help her now. She made her fire evaporate the liquid spilling over her cheeks.  

“I thought you were his most powerful heir," She mocked the voice of the Highlord. “Surely he can be persuaded to see how this benefits the whole court.” 

“I cannot fix this.” He turned to the door he didn't need. “We need to go.” 

“And if I say no?” She lifted her chin. Rhys wouldn't drag her back to Velaris, but would he let her escape?

He didn't turn back to his sister. “Then he will make us come after you.”

Rahne stalled her spinning. 

“You brought the bastards,” she growled. 

He flung the door open and strode out. Reluctantly, she stomped after him. 

Rayven took a long look around the cell she had grown to love. Memorizing the layout of the rooms, the clothes she had thrown about, the dishes she left on the counter. She inhaled the scent that was entirely hers and closed the door behind her. 

The bastards were standing with their arms crossed. Cassian said he wasn't going to rip on her, but when she saw his sorrowful face she wished he would. 

Rhys took Cassian’s arm and winnowed to Velaris. 

Rayven was left staring into the golden eyes of the Shadowsinger. His hands flexed at his side like he was fighting the urge to strangle her. 

“You lied to me,” he said through gritted teeth. 

“Would you have let me go had I been honest?” His shadows swirled. “Didn't think so.” Rahne started expanding to cloak her. 

“Can you really not see it?” His shadows did the same. 

She arched an eyebrow at him. 

“The game we have to play.” And then he was gone too. 

She debated escape. She could be in Autumn just as easily as Velaris, but Azriel left her as the last knowing she had no choice. The Highlord would punish them if she didn't go. 

They were letting her say goodbye. 

Mates. 

What every fae craved and yearned for. The ultimate love match. Mated they may have been, but love was another question. The Highlord would boast stories of their great love. A great love indeed. So great her mother stayed up in the mountains most of the time barely attempting to play court with him. 

Rayven couldn't blame her after what happened. Maybe they did love each other. Until Rava. 

She was supposed to be Rayven’s twin. 

Twins, Madja eagerly told their mother. Rhys remembered when she announced her pregnancy with them. Rava and Maevan were to be their names. Fae offspring were rare, Illyrian offspring even more, so twin Illyrians were unheard of. When they got the news, as Rhys explained, they couldn't have been happier. Their mother was ecstatic every visit with Madja for progress details until one appointment when she had lost the heartbeat of one of the babes. Rava had been absorbed by Rayven and her power. Her first and most egregious crime that cascaded through her entire life. She would never live down having killed her sister. 

Madja said it happens sometimes. Her power grew, like Rhys’, inside their mother, but Rhys was alone in the womb, with no other fetus to compete with. As Rayven’s power swelled, Rava had not progressed at the same rate, so Madja said the stronger fetus absorbed the other. Only she was born, they didn't even have a corpse to bury. Rayven had taken that from them too. 

She was given the name Rayven by her father upon birth to serve as a reminder of the life she took, and the shame she would always carry because of it. They didn't think her mother was going to be able to deliver her through her grief and when Rayven came out they say she didn't touch her for several days. 

She couldn't blame her. Her body became a gravesite and it's Rayven’s fault. No one is more aware of the tragedy than her. 

Soon after her birth a single shadow appeared. Madja had cursed and spit seeing her next to her in her crib. Madja didn't take a liking to the shadows. 

Rahne was the first word she had said that Rayven could understand. Some speculated she was the soul of her dead sister, trapped by Rayven in silent servitude. 

Rahne had never been silent a day in her little life. She never spoke in more than a few syllables, but she loved to parrot.  

Rayven had put effort into separating Rahne from Rava, pleading her case that Rava had never appeared to her, but they were set on their truth. Rayven was the scary, violent Illyrian half-breed bitch so jealous of her sister she killed her in the veil before life. 

So scary she became. Having a kill under her belt before her first breath. No Illyrian male could say the same. 

Her parents had never been the same after that, Rhys told her. She blamed him, he blamed her, and Rayven blamed the cauldron. It was the real cruel one, giving and taking away a mother’s child. 

The night they would’ve turned ten, they gathered at the House of Wind for Rava’s vigil. Not Rayven’s birthday. He never allowed a celebration for her birth on Rava’s commemoration, though Rhys had found ways to make it more than a day of grief after the Highlord took his leave for the night. 

On that particular death day, he had been disturbed from first light. This anniversary was different to him, and bothered him more than she’d ever seen. He walked into the living room of the Town House, took one look at the modest decorations the boys had attempted, and snapped. 

She wasn't Rava, and she wasn’t Maevan. He didn't make Rava’s death about her or even Rayven, it was about him, and the heirs he lost that day. He was not consoling to her mother who had lived it more than any of them. He took their effort as a serious offense to his ‘loss.’ It was never about Rava. 

He pinned the boys in their place with his power. He wasn't daemati, or Illyrian, but he wasn't the Highlord for nothing. He was skilled in charms and spells. Incantations of another language they never learned. Rhys was powerful, more powerful than the Highlord, but he hadn't been as clever yet. The Highlord had binded the boys with his greeting when they entered the house. His twisted incantations kept them in place. They could only move upon being released by his word. 

Her father yoked her up from the couch next to Rhys, frozen. Their mother’s tears streamed down her face, pleading with her mate to let her daughter stay. By the hair, he dragged her out of the house and tossed her down the steps to the icy stone. 

“Go.” 

“Dad, please,” she begged on her knees. “I don't-”

“You may seek out Lord Devlon of Windhaven.” The only hint he’d given her. 

Windhaven. Leagues across the Night Court. A length the boys could traverse easily, but she could barely fly in the daylight and couldn't winnow yet. There was no way Rayven would’ve made it if Eris hadn't found her. 

“Rhys!” She cried over and over. Even before she called for her mother, she knew Rhys wasn't going to be held for long. Once he and the bastards were free they would come after her. 

“Silence.” His voice had that prenatural volume it took when he was speaking a spell. 

“Daddy, please,” She barely choked out. 

“You are no longer welcome in my court.” 

 His word was law when he spoke like that.  

It was the last time Rayven would ever be on her knees. 

And the last time she would call him dad.

The Highlord ordered Cassian and Azriel to not go after her, or he’d take their wings.  Rhys had to be bound with some threat he never revealed. 

It was the first time Rhys had manipulated the Highlord’s mind. Rhys wasn't as skilled at it as he is now. He couldn't rewrite everything without melting his brain, but he was slowly able to plant more and more ideas inside. After the first year of her banishment he had made progress. He was closer to convincing the Highlord he needed Rayven to keep up appearances in court. People would begin to question her sudden disappearance. He spun stories of her great power down the gossip of the court. She was away to train, he lied. 

The Highlord had come up with the idea to allow her at big events and important court councils. She was never allowed to speak and only ever seen long enough to count her attendance. Then, she was to return to Illyria until he called upon her again. 

Rhys had worked for over a year to get the Highlord to think it was his idea. It was what Rhys could manage to save her with his two brothers still trapped with the Highlord. He truly honed his daemati skills over that first year, gently persuading their father to lessen her banishment. 

The Highlord told them if she could find her way to the Illyrian camps and earn rank among the males in the frigid mountains then he would consider her coming back officially. It had been over six decades and she never touched a ring in her time up there. 

She rarely appreciated her cottage, but then she would remember where the boys were and wondered who really suffered that night. Her house wasn't enchanted with perfect temperature, or warded with magic locks, but it was entirely hers. 

It was nothing more than four walls when she found it. Not even a complete roof remained. 

Over the years, she had learned to make it her own. She eventually added more rooms and a second story that took her almost a decade to perfect. Rhys could only stay for short periods of time when the Highlord sent him. Every time he showed up and she collapsed another wall in anger he would give her shit for it. He said her real power was her affinity for demolitions. She swore at him and he helped her fix it. 

Rayven’s favorite spot had to be her crows nest. She fashioned a single, thin rail with one prong protruding from the tip for her to sit or stand. It was uncomfortable, but she was the only one who could balance on it. If someone wanted her they’d have to be able to fly and maintain a small hover area. Most males couldn't manage suspended flight for long. 

It was her perch she missed most sitting at the dining table in the Town House. 

The Highlord sat at the head of the table with her mother to his left and Rhys to his right. A few other highly placed council members sat between them. Cassian, Azriel, and Rayven sat at the opposite end. Today, she was no more than a bastard in his eyes. 

It could be excused, their separation. They had wings that needed extra room and Rhys usually kept his hidden.  

Cassian sat to her left shielding her from some reeking older fae. She was on the very end of the table, across from Azriel. 

He was the picture of disciplined boredom in this company while his shadows moved fluidly around his shoulders. Azriel wasn't going to participate here, but he never stopped watching. 

She shared a glance with Rhys as the Highlord stood to retell the catastrophic events of Rava’s death. 

Here he goes, he said. 

Rayven’s lips twisted to the side to keep from smiling. She decided to keep her sights on the shadowsinger across her. He was equally uninterested in hearing the Highlord drone on about his broken heart. 

For forcing all of them to mourn his loss with him, he rarely ever mentioned Rava. It was the same old speech about how his possession was taken from him and blah, blah, blah. 

It was sixty-four years to the day of her initial banishment. She was numb to his stale venom at this point. She just had to make it through the toasting and then she was free to disappear back to her mountains. 

Rahne wasn't paying attention either. She and one of Azriel’s shadows played by their feet under the table. Rayven ducked her chin to check on her shadow but she was shooting around her ankles. 

Shit.

She looked up to the Highlord with a glass raised and went to hold hers when the bastards froze. Going completely still on their own this time. 

The Highlord’s full voice lured her back in. “But this year we celebrate my daughter.” 

The eyes of every fae in the room cut to Rayven. She didn't dare try to look at Rhys. 

The Highlord’s cup was raised in the air. “Who has secured an alliance with the Spring Court,” he went on. “Strengthening the Night Court’s authority in the seasonal courts.” 

She realized he was waiting for her response. She had one heartbeat to decide, she wasted the rest with stunned blinking.

“Your will is mine,” She clipped out. Her voice rose slightly at the end, like a question. 

His eyes burned holes through her. 

I’m dead. It was a good seven decades. 

“To Rayven.” He spoke her name to me for the first time in years. 

Everyone tensely sipped their glasses. Rhys put his to his mouth, but didn't tip it back. Cassian raised his for the toast then put it back down without drinking. Azriel never touched his. 

Rayven drank hers for something to do. Her hands set the glass down too hard and it drew eyes back to her. 

Thankfully, she excused herself without having to argue. 

The Highlord wasn't daemati, but when his cold eyes seized hers, he didn't need to be. They were as loud as him speaking the words. 

Most of what she knew about flying was self taught. So when she could, she found time to relish in casual flight. She searched under her skin to the very tips of her wings feeling every muscle work together. Her mother had been clipped so long ago she couldn't remember enough to teach her how to fly. Another basic allowance she felt guilty for.

She chewed over Lucien’s warning as they soared. She made a mental note to send Eris a message later to check on him. 

Rahne was the fastest shadow she thought ever existed. So with a slow fly, she would grow bored and begin to show off. 

Her little form spun and flipped around like a sea mammal coasting through waves. Race, she goaded. If she had a mouth, Rayven was certain it would be foaming. They hadn't had the time or freedom to race in so long. 

Her little shadow vibrated in the air, sensing her consideration. 

Why not, she said to her. She flipped and lined up to her right wing. First one to the border wins? 

Ready, Rahne confirmed. 

Set, she answered. 

Go!

They moved faster than arrows. She flapped her wings so hard she knew her tendons would hurt later. Oh well, they needed this. 

Rahne slithered through the wind with ease. Her little form inched past her shoulder. A wing length ahead turned into two and then she was really showing off.  

Rayven pulled her wings in after a huge thrust and torpedoed to her. The Autumn Court was a few strides away now. 

She twisted and Rayven knew she was letting her catch up. Right when she had pulled so close her shadow sent her condolences to her master looking back from the finish line. 

What's that score again? Her form expanded into a dark hole to winnow through.

No count, she laughed. 

It was unnecessary. She’s never lost. 

Rayven took an extra long glide through her and where Autumn had been was now Night. 

And Cassian. 

He was arcing around the field they flew into outside the cottage. 

Well, she said to Rahne. We’re fucked. 

Fucked, she echoed. 

“You going to make me fight it out of you or can you just start talking?” His arms were crossed and his huge wings flapped quicker to keep him in place. 

“I had some free time,” she shrugged, pulling to a quick stop.

“To do what, exactly?” he growled. 

She fished the short flowers out of her pocket. “I was getting an arrangement for tonight.” She held them out to him. “Do you think they're pretty?”

“You have got to be out of your mind. The Spring Court?” 

“Did you tell him?” She chewed on her cheek. 

“Why would I ever tell that prick anything,” he said. 

When they reached her cottage he landed before her and held a hand up. 

She hadn't needed a catch since her second decade, but she granted him the gentleman act and took his hand into her landing. 

He squeezed and led them into the house. 

The current sitting room was the size of the original cottage. The small two-story addition felt like a shell around the bones of the shack she met all those years ago. But with Cassian just short of the ceiling, it felt tiny again. 

His large body flopped onto her low bed with a huff. “Care to explain?”

So she did. Rayven told him about her master plan to force the Highlord to accept her. She retold him about Tamlin and Lucien around her room divider, leaving the bits about Eris out. 

It wouldn't matter what she wore. She was only going to be there for ten minutes. 

She told him about taking border shifts since she’d been training and how her performance would move her rank up. Rayven threw on whatever white shirt she had clean and fresh black pants. He didn't laugh when she told him about going for a spot in the Rite. He didn't argue with her when she explained about getting to the stranded female first. He listened to all of it. He didn't argue once.  

When she was done and emerged from behind the standing shade, he tried to look mad. 

She spun for him and he lost the battle to frown. 

“You're going to get my bed dirty,” she plunked down next to him in his clean black clothes. He and Azriel were always in black, but tonight they would omit the fighting leathers. 

“Me? Have you seen your hair?” 

She hadn't. She could only guess its state after her race with Rahne. 

“Is my braid falling out?”

“That was supposed to be a braid?” His face contorted and she knew it was rough. 

She groaned and grabbed her brush off the side table. He was quick to take it from her and started brushing out the tangles. Rayven’s wings folded out of his way. 

“You don't have anything to say?” She asked as he tried to not pull on the knots. 

“I think they will have enough to say. You don't need it from me.”

He began to section half way up her head. 

“So Azriel knows?”  

His hands paused in her hair. “Who would've told me where to wait?”

If she made it through tonight, they were going to kill her. Azriel did not take being tricked lightly. 

He incorporated more hair as he moved down her scalp. “We haven't done this in so long,” she said tilting her head back to smile at him. “I figured you would have forgotten how to do it.”

“Yeah, well you definitely forgot.” His fingers pushed her head forward. “Keep your head still or it will be crooked.” 

Once he added all the hair, the remaining twist down her back took him no time. 

“Can I tell you h-”

“No,” She quickly cut him off. 

He held a hand over her shoulder and pinched his fingers together. 

Rayven handed him the hair tie off her wrist. He flicked the finished product over her wings and shoulder. The smooth braid was perfect. No pieces awkwardly pulled her scalp like when she would do it on herself. 

“Are you ready?” He handed her jacket over. 

“I guess.” 

Rahne wiggled and expanded to move them into Velaris. To take her and Cassian, she had to really stretch. They were the largest she ever moved. 

Azriel was outside on the steps of the Town House. He wore the same attire as his brother. Sleek in his normal black, minus the leathers.

Rayven wished the shadowsinger looked his normal bored, but he was absolutely simmering. His shadows flickered like steam coming off him. 

Rahne took off to meet Azriel’s shadows but one must have warned her against it because she returned to her master in a stumble. 

Anger, Rahne said. 

Yes, I picked that up. 

Please don't be pissed. She said in his mind. 

Pissed is not the right word. He sent back. 

He opened the door for her and Cassian, glaring as Cassian passed the threshold. 

Inside the Town House, Rhys was the first one to greet them. 

He was in his fancy lord shirt. A black tunic with silver threading. He dressed wonderfully, but his face looked sad.

She wished he looked pissed like Azriel, or carefully disinterested like Cassian. 

But when he and Cassian shared a look that Cassian quickly ducked she knew Rhys had gotten the debrief. Rhys didn't start shouting at her, though. He just opened his arms for her to walk into.

How did it go? She hadn't thought to ask Cassian.  

We'll talk about it later, his voice was calm in her head. 

Cassian attempted one last joke before they had to go in. “How old are you now?”

“It doesn't matter,” She mumbled, pressing into Rhys’ hug. 

“Seventy-four,” Azriel said. 

We’ll be in and out. Promise. 

She gave a small shake letting the nerves flick off her wings. 

Rhys pressed a kiss into her hair. 

But as she scanned the words he scribbled for her, she could see the efforts of a fearful subject. He didn’t want Beron as a highlord more than anyone else. Maybe she and him weren't so different after all. Somewhat loving their fathers but still undermining them for the sake of their people. 

She grew to love him and saw some of the reasons he taught her the way he did, but some secrets would always seem to remain solely his. 

He described an area of land to investigate where there were whispers of a powerful fae trapped in the Spring Court. Beron wanted her for her supposed ties to the King of Hybern. The meeting had gone according to plan, besides the conflict of her potentially angering the spring court highlord. 

Over the years she began to understand his cryptic words more, but sometimes he stumped her. Only half of what he had written made sense. 

“What in Hel does ‘siphon’ mean?” She asked Rahne. She had no clue either.

He was always reminding her to destroy any evidence of their partnership with empty Eris threats. She couldn't leave any trace of his notes and if she jeopardized his position in the autumn court then he’d flame her. 

She told him if he was so easily caught by scribbles then he deserved it. 

As if anyone would know what he actually meant. Was the female suspected to be Illyrian? He knows she doesn’t have a siphon. No Illyrians fought on Hybern’s side either. If he was suggesting she needed the bastards for this, she was going to wring his neck. 

She read his words one more time, ensuring she had the coordinates right, and let her flame eat the parchment. She could at least scout a few areas Eris described before she had to be back at Velaris. 

Rahne raced back to her over the brush yelling, Shifter! Shifter! Shifter! 

Rayven felt him in the treeline over her left shoulder. The winds of the spring court hung still, like they were stalling to watch. She unsheathed her dagger at her thigh and spun the handle in her grip. She did not notice Lucien to her right when he appeared around a tall shrub. Rahne guttered in the folds of her wings, embarrassed she hadn't sensed him first. 

The Vanserra’s were invisible to her. What does Beron do to them under that rock?

His russet skin glowed under the red hair he and Eris shared. He was always darker than Eris, regardless of the sun they claimed to get in Autumn. His brown eyes were rich like ale, not the light amber of the bastards. 

He was breathtaking every time she saw him. He knew it too and used his stunning beauty to his advantage. 

“What a pleasure it is to see you again, Rayven.” He gave an emphasized bow at the waist. “A strange place to run into each other.” A sly smile. 

She kept her eyes scanning for Tamlin, who was no doubt in his shifter form somewhere. “I could say the same to you, Lucien.” She did not bow back. 

“I am a guest at the Spring Court,” he said. “Your business here has concluded. You are now trespassing these lands. What would your highlord say about that?”

“Quit scaring her,” the spring court heir’s voice came from behind. 

She pivoted to keep them both in her eyesight. Lucien laughed. 

“I thought I made myself clear earlier,” she said to the idiots blocking her way back to the open sky. 

They had penned her here. She didn't risk looking up to confirm, but the canopy here would tear her wings up. She thought about risking it and asking Azriel to help her later, but Lucien pulled her attention. He placed himself on a rock a few paces closer to Tamlin. 

Tamlin sighed at his friend. “We’re not looking for trouble.” He held his palms up. 

“Good. Then stay out of my way.” She could maybe make a run, hoping to break into open air, but these were his lands. Probably even more so than Tarin’s at this point.  

Rahne gravitated closer towards Lucien. His eyes never strayed from Rayven, but he was keeping her shadow in mind. She did not like when something was sneakier than her. And Lucien was a fox among wolves. 

Tamlin tracked her escape attempts and sighed. “We just want to talk.” 

The heir and her best friend’s brother had only a handful of years on her, but she was the one with the reputation. 

Lucien was from the flame, like Eris. She doubted her fire would be able to burn him even if she could manage to reach him. It barely ever reached Eris, and that was when he went easy on her. 

Lucien must have known where her thoughts led. He said, “You have shadowfire, but it’s two against one. Can we skip the dance and talk?” 

“I like those odds.” 

Some scary demon princess. They knew exactly who she was. Not the dark demon, but the outcast daughter. She hated them for it. 

Rayven leaned down and snatched up a few short bulbed weeds. Yellow and bright against the tan of her skin. 

“I apologize for my fathers behavior earlier.” Tamlin said. He searched her face, but she kept it neutral. “You will be safe here. I promise.” 

She could easily take any seasonal court male, so he was probably right. It was the Illyrian males she needed protection from. 

Rahne kept her silent focus on Lucien in the folds of her wings. 

“You followed me here to say sorry?” 

Lucien answered, “We tracked you here because you are a sloppy scout. You are lucky it was our beautiful faces that found you instead of the less favorable.” 

Flames licked up her throat. Did Lucien know his words mirrored hers earlier. Knowing the fox, she would have guessed it likely. 

“You're looking for her too?” Tamlin redirected. His eyes didn't search the woods, the way they did in the manor house. He knew how to monitor the forest with more than his sight.

“She must be special, to have so many lords placing bounties on one single soldier.” She hoped her opening was broad enough to get them to reveal themselves. 

“Is your highlord aware of her yet?” Lucien asked this time. 

“The Highlord’s will is mine.” Acid rose in her throat. 

“That doesn't answer my question.” He wasn't eager to ask where she received this information. 

“Why does Tarin want her?”  

Tamlin answered. “I think he used to know her.” 

Lucien casually laid atop his rock, but his eyes cut to his friend. A true statement from the heir, then. 

She owed him a truth. “I recently came into this intel, and as we already know, the Highlord does not appreciate his time being wasted. There's no point in relaying an unreliable tip.”

“You don't plan on telling your highlord?” Tamlin pressed. 

“I didn't realize this was an interrogation.” 

Lucien smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. “Cute. The princess of the Night Court has a sense of humor.” 

“Oh, I can be hilarious.” Her fire ignited, the shifter yielded a step, but Lucien lounged on his boulder. 

“Easy, we aren't looking for a fight. We want to help.” Tamlin said. 

“I am not asking for it,” she said. 

“And yet you need it,” Lucien snarled. “You're lost in the Oaks, she would never be here. Besides, most of Spring has been searched at this point.” 

“She's not here,” Tamlin said. 

“Then where is she?” 

“We don't know,” Tamlin admitted. “We’re searching Summer and Winter when we can, but half the time I’m busy running my father in circles. He never gave a name, but he asks about her like he knows who it is.” 

Lucien barely shook his head at Tamlin. He was telling her more than he was supposed to. She would’ve done anything to have Rhys there to read Lucien’s thoughts. 

“If I can get her back to Night then I can hide her.”

“Or give her over to your highlord,” said the fox. 

“The other highlords want her alive. He is the only one who will accept her death. I get to her, find what she knows, and dispose of her.” 

“That simple then?” He uncrossed his long legs and rose gracefully.  “I’m done here.” 

Tamlin kept his distance, but he offered one more comment in parting. “Don't tell him.” Then he was gone.

Lucien paused in his step. Her ears strained to hear his soft voice. “Do not meet him there again.” 

A Summer Court fae had led Rayven to the room she currently sat in. She had offered the beautiful female a smile and name upon entering, but she was quick to shake her head and lead her to the room they had been waiting in. The highlord of Spring was nowhere to be found. 

Rayven had never actually been to the spring court before, but Tarin’s grand manor couldn't be mistaken. Significantly larger than its surrounding ramshackle homes of the spring court’s lesser fae. Many fae found refuge here after the war, but suffered loss so great they had been stranded here. They had no homes to go back to.

 The heir across from her was blonde, fair-skinned, with the young- boyish look that suggested he’d not yet lived a full human life like the boys had. He lounged in the seat to the right of the head of the table which had remained empty. The lords of the seasonal courts had not seemed to hold punctuality to a high regard. At least, not the same as their flora. 

She sent Rahne out to scope the massive hall as she readjusted in her seat, not at all accommodating for winged guests. She still hadn't learned to hide them on command as Rhys could. He had tried to teach her to use Rahne to pocket them, but her shadow could never sit still long enough for the task. 

The sun behind the young heir’s shoulders was a blinding reminder of his father’s poor time management. They agreed to meet before midday, and the sun was soon to crest into its afternoon descent. She needed to secure this deal and be back before dinner or the boys would start looking for her. 

In Tarin’s correspondence with the Night Court emissary, they had not understated the gravity of this meeting. He was under the impression that this meeting would be with Rhys. She’d make it up to him later. It wasn’t her fault the males here refused to verify whether they corresponded with females or not. 

But Rhys wouldn't have sat there as long as she had. Tarin would have shown up a minute late with Rhys’ commands delivered on the mouth of his pretty heir. But Rayven wasn't supposed to be here, so she waited. Her time was running short, though. 

“Do you have a more pressing engagement?” the heir asked. The first thing said since her arrival. She only knew she had been sitting with Tamlin based on Eris’ description. His eyes kept scanning the long dining room, as if tracking movements along the walls. Rayven let out a bored sigh to call him away from her inspecting shadow. Green eyes slid to her checking my nails. 

“I wish to secure the details and swiftly report back to the Highlord.” She feigned blind loyalty to the Highlord. “Tamlin, I presume? We haven't been formally introduced. I’m Rayven.”

The Highlord would never allow the news of Rava to escape the Night Court, so her reputation was a disguise. Officially, the Night Court only deployed the princess when absolutely necessary. Shadow fire was rare and feared even more. The Highlord only sends the demon when you’ve pissed him off, or he wants his word to be law. 

Really, he sent her when the boys were otherwise busy and what she needed to do was fairly simple. None of the lords she’d met with were aware of being slighted by the Highlord. And if any became wise to the disrespect, none of them voiced it. The Night Court was notoriously cruel among the gossip of the other courts and the Highlord would have it remain so. If I were to only be used as a last resort then my lack of presence was easily excused. 

Except today. Tamlin didn't flinch when she said her name. Rahne didn't send any warnings of apprehension. Either he had incredible mental shields, or he had no idea who she was. 

He glanced towards the doors. “Well, Rayven,” he chewed her name out. “We were set to meet at the end of the week. Suddenly we get a request to move up the meeting, and now without the Night Court’s heir. Then you show up bright and early, well on time, when everyone knows no one actually meets at first light.” 

“The Highlord has ordered the cooperation of our courts. This deal is paramount to the security of the human lands.” She forced my mouth into a smile like Rhys would. “You’ll forgive me for any anxieties as we navigate this delicate potential alliance.” 

His eyes rolled as she finished her sentence. “You're not supposed to be here,” he translated. 

She waited for his eyes to meet hers after his hundredth glance at the doors, like he was seeing through them. “And you have somewhere else to be.” 

She recalled Rahne back to report. Shifter, she warned in whispers over and over. 

His mouth pulled to the side in what was an almost smile. “Careful. I’d like to part with a Night Court emissary safely returned and the dinner table intact.”  His green eyes flashed bright.

He started as if to threaten this emissary again when he suddenly stiffened upright in his seat. His elbows snapped off the table and his chin tilted parallel. It almost looked like Rhys in the Highlord’s office. The double doors of the hall opened unceremoniously as the highlord of the spring court strode to his carved head seat. 

“Well?” the thick man questioned as if she had been the one wasting his time.

Her power swelled in the pit of her stomach. She needed to be wise to get what she wanted, but her fuse was shorter than her patience. She had never seen the spring court’s highlord, but I suspected him to look like his pretty heir. The blonde hair is where the resemblance stopped. The eyes were green, but they lacked the light Tamlin had. 

Rahne started to pull tighter around her ankle, her warning sign of impending conflict. 

She attempted a smile at the reeking alpha male staring down at her. “Thank you for being so accommodating with the abrupt change of plans.” She attempted to rise to meet him. 

“Where is the boy?” he interrupted. Eyes locked on Tamlin.  

She attempted to move past his disrespect, nothing she hadn't witnessed in Windhaven. 

“You've requested the assistance of the Illyrian forces of the Night Court for supplemental border protection along the human lands. The Highlord acknowledges its position in our lands and the loss of spring court lands from the treaty, so we will help hold the line against humans.”

“A female came all this way to say yes?” he asked his son. 

Her power pricked against the back of her skin. “This female,” she ground her teeth together. “Has a name. And she is done being spoken over. I come to your court to inform you of the specific legions assigned to your lands and iron out any wrinkles in shift details.”

He doesn't ask her name, just waves his hands as if to say ‘go on.’ Tamlin’s eyes shift between her and his highlord, piecing together what Tarin could not. 

“There will be shifts between the Illyrian legions led between Lieutenant Cassian, Lord Devlon, and myself.” 

He laughed, loud and boisterous. Tamlin’s shoulders tensed. 

“The Highlord of the Night Court is sending females for sentry duties,” he said. “And sends a female to deliver the disrespect.” 

Males. Arrogant, ungrateful, entitled fucking-

Rage, Rahne called to her. Her shadowy form was trying to cool her master’s heating skin. 

Tarin wasn't done insulting her, though. “First he mates with a lesser fae, then sends one to do his business. At least the boy would’ve presented better than,” his dull eyes scanned up and down, lingering disgust on his face at her wings. 

“Rayven.” she finished for him. He seemed to understand what lesser fae sat at his table now. The Night Court only sends the princess when you’ve pissed the Highlord off. Tamlin may not know of her, but Tarin’s hatred couldn't be concealed. 

Tamlin met her eyes as her flames swelled, his head shook slightly, but the flames had already broken over skin. 

“So you do know who I am.”

Tarin’s eyes narrowed as she rose from her seat, unfurling her wings to their full span. She could slash his eye with the right flick at this distance. Then he wouldn't have to look at this female ever again. 

“You’re beginning to annoy me, Tarin.” Rayven inspected her nails casually. 

Tamlin’s eyes were glued to the invisible dust on the table’s edge. 

“I came as a courtesy to your people. We may discuss placement and rotations at a later time if you're going to be so irrational, but the Highlord has given his command. You will do well to remember this kindness. He does not like to repeat himself.” Her hands pressed into the table leaving marks in the oak. “And neither do I.” She let the tendrils of flame leak over the table to the roosting male, reaching into his mind to let him feel the temperature rise in the room. 

“You come to my court and threaten me?” He didn't rise from his seat, knowing Tamlin would take any blow meant for him. 

Rayven decided she hated this male. A highlord or not, she wasn't walking out of here without a command shift. “The Highlord remembers the females who died in the war. With this in mind, he has authorized females to take rank among the fae sent for border control. So you will be accepting of any commander sent to your court and you will treat her the same as you do any sentry sent in your aid.” 

The lord of the spring court found it wise not to speak. 

“I do not threaten, Tarin.” She pulled the flames back and extinguished them in a dramatic hiss. “It is your honor any Illyrian would willingly come to this garden to protect your court when, clearly, you cannot, or else you wouldn't be asking every other court to send aid.”  

The lord of the spring court and his heir stared at the demon, Tamlin’s mouth hung slightly agape, while Tarin’s eyes simmered with a fire of his own. 

“Don't piss me off next time I arrive. Or do and maybe I’ll let you speak to the Highlord yourself. As I’m sure he will be nicer to you than I was.” 

Fragile male, Rahne laughed, tucked behind her shoulder. She had to bite her smile back. 

Most fae had the wisdom to look scared in the presence of the demon princess. Tarin boiled with rage, but let her take her leave. Tamlin looked at her once more with devastation.

That's more like it. 

“And next time, don't be late.” She walked out the double doors letting the echo of her boot heels make their way back to Tarin. The urisk female who had led her into the chamber hall was in the foyer. She didn't meet her eyes as passed her, but one side of her mouth was raised.

Late! Rahne sang to her. 

They had been wandering the meeting area for a few minutes. Wasting precious minutes she didn't have. 

A large hand wrapped around her elbow and yanked her down the rocky terrain. 

“Can you ever follow directions?” Eris growled in her ear. 

“This is where we agreed,” Rayven said, ripping her arm from his grasp. 

He pointed to the rocky incline to the Forest House. “Outside the perimeter.'' He repeated his written words from their letters. “Here.” He stopped them when the ground changed to soft grass. Eris rubbed a hand over his jaw. Most of Beron’s court was under the ground with only the house as the tip of the rocky iceberg. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled. She hated saying almost as much as he hated hearing it. 

He squared his shoulders. “At least I convinced him to let me investigate.”

Rayven didn't need Rahne to tell her what he was feeling. She could see right through it. He was going to have to return with an answer. 

Eris was the same age as the boys, but his youngest brother and the spring court’s last living heir were on the same decade as Rayven. She had only met Lucien in passing since her first encounter with Eris that chilling night. His youngest brother and the spring court’s last living heir seemed to be in close company recently.

“So what was so sensitive you needed to tell me that I had to come to this graveyard?” She said, kicking a rock over. 

“I am jeopardizing a lot by helping you,” he said. Embers licked behind his eyes. 

She took a step toward him. “And I love you greatly for it,” she offered him an exaggerated smile. 

Eris rolled his eyes. “I couldn't risk this information being intercepted. If someone was a better daemati,” he elbowed his friend, “then I wouldn't have to wake you so early.”

“But then you’d miss out on seeing this beautiful face,” she gestured to herself. “It's not everyday the disgraced princess of the Night Court gets to stretch her wings.”

“A pleasure,” he deadpanned. 

Eris was her oldest and most complicated friend. After the Highlord kicked her out, she was left to find her way to Windhaven at ten. 

He said he couldn't stand another year with the reminder of his daughter's death looming in his halls. Never minding the daughter he had. 

The first time Rayven winnowed was by accident. That night, she was blinded by the ice whipping down the mountains. Half dead in the snow, her fire presented in her panic. Rhys would later attribute it as a physical manifestation of daemati powers. While he could read and alter memories, Rayven could only communicate mind-to-mind, and apparently, convince others they were burning alive. A fire cool to the touch, but devastating in the mind. And completely useless on her. Her brother had tried to teach her to read and manipulate thoughts in his limited time allotted with her, but the lessons had never yielded any results. 

Rahne had been with her, but she couldn't make the warmth needed to keep the princess alive. She had circled her for hours, exhausting herself trying to create any kind of friction to warm her master.

Hours of shivering and wandering the mountainside, she was going to succumb to the frozen winds when Rahne expanded bigger than she’d ever seen her do. She wrapped herself around Rayven in one last embrace and they thought of bonfires under stars. 

And then they were sitting in the forest of the Autumn Court. Azriel had tried to teach her to winnow using Rahne before, since she couldn't in the traditional sense like Rhys. Azriel had so many shadows at his disposal, it was easy for him to travel through them. Rahne was no bigger than a cat on her best day. 

Rahne released her and began scouting the surrounding trees, frantically looking for a way out when he appeared from the treeline. 

Rayven was lucky, she later reflected, that it was Eris and not one of Beron’s other sentries. He found her when he was truly the age he’d always look. He took one look at ashy flames simmering on her shoulders and recognized it as shadowfire. He taught her how to master it in secret meetings between their courts. She must have scorched him for being an asshole a hundred times, and even more did they end in screaming matches, but he always showed up to the next lesson. 

Eris wasn't daemati but he always seemed to know what others were thinking. Perhaps the hypervigilance it takes to survive Beron gave the Vanserra boys daemati powers of their own.

They never bothered with pity. Neither of them could stand it from the other, but he knew what today was. 

His voice cut through her reverie. “And your highlord has agreed to this proposal?” He asked wryly. 

She shrugged. “He said we would send Illyrian legions.”

He raised his eyebrows, urging me to continue. 

“He just never specified which legions,” she finished.

His lips twisted to the side as if biting back a sarcastic comment. “You haven't thought this through.” 

Her power licked up her back at the insolence. Older or not, this male wasn't going to question the demon of the Night Court. Rahne had begun to circle around her ankles faster in anticipation. 

“Careful,” his flames danced. “Don't piss off the only friend you have.” 

“The bastards are my friends,” she said. 

“The bastards are Rhysand’s friends,” he corrected. “Not yours.” 

Unfortunately, that would always be true. Rayven didn't grow up with them the way Rhys did. They were true brothers. Not in blood, but bond. Rhys was her brother, but she never really got to be their sister. 

“Are you going to tell me what you know or are you going to keep wasting my time?”

He laughed under his breath. “Tarin is looking for a female.”

“Aren't we all,” she wiggled my eyebrows at him and his face fell into a distant resolve. “Who?” 

His body language became rigid as he turned an ear to the rocky incline to the Forest House. “A stranded soldier Hybern left behind, he seems to think.” 

“But you don't,” she finished. 

“I don't think Hybern would leave such a clumsy loose end.” His eyes were set up the incline now. “I think she's more powerful than Tarin let on. He has Lucien and Tamlin out looking for her most days.”

The highlord of the Spring Court was searching for an ex-Hybern soldier on Prythian soil. A colossal bargaining chip if a Hybern rebel were to be caught and in his possession. 

Something the Highlord would also want. An asset so invaluable that even a scorned princess might finally return home. If only she could get to her before Tarin. 

“Your father would be very pleased if you happened upon her first,” Rayven suggested towards his glory.

“Beron,” he corrected, “would use her and torture her for information she may or may not have if she’s nothing at best.” The shine of his eyes dimmed. He would be the one forced to do it. “And if she’s as powerful as I believe, then this is the last place she should be.”

“And you’re telling me because you don't want her in Spring either.”

He shakes his head. “Spring or Autumn makes no difference. If she’s found in Spring he will make me retrieve her.”

“And you want me to get her first.” 

“It's not about want,” he said. “Beron cannot get his hands on her.” He tore his eyes from the rocks behind them. 

“I understand,” she said. Beron could never send Eris after her in Night. She was going to have to kill this female if she couldn't find her and hide her in Ironcrest. “None of them should.” 

“This better be worth it.” Eris leaned forward and brushed his lips on her forehead, the only goodbye she would get. He put the scribbles of his findings in her hand. 

He beckoned her to lift her hands up between them. Come on, they wagged.

“I’m going to change Pyrithian,” she promised him, and then decked him in the face. 

Rayven had the misfortune of being born a few decades after everything important, it seemed. She was a few decades short of her first hundred years, but that didn't matter to the boys- and especially not the Highlord- who would always see her as a young fae. The boys were completing their first full cycle the coming moon, and the bastards were getting their siphons later that week, something the Night Court heirs could covet together. 

The coming celebrations loosened her restraints with the Highlord and her presence in Velaris would be necessary for the next few weeks. Rayven was only to make appearances when it was appropriate for the court. The Highlord could only stomach the demon long enough for the required court affairs. When she wasn't galavanting at parties or silently simmering in council meetings, she was to remain in Illyria. 

Following the poorly executed coup Kallon’s lord and father organized, Rayven took Ironcrest as her own. If the Highlord wanted it back he was welcomed to try. She considered appealing to the Highlord to move closer to her camp, but her luck had been pushed and she enjoyed the flight across the other camps anyway. It kept her on top of the movements of the other camps, especially Windhaven. 

Her mother lived in Velaris by all official accounts, but after the boys finished their fifth decade, she found more and more reasons to be in Illyria. She didn't have daemati powers like Rhysand and Rayven, but she wouldn't have needed them to know the day would be hard for Rayven. It’d be hard for her mother too. 

Rayven focused her breathing as she straightened her leathers, hoping to the stars she strapped them correctly. She navigated the path up to her upper level balcony and stretched her wings in the open space. She loosely braided her dark hair down her back to give her nervous hands something to do. 

Her singular shadow, Rahne, returned from her morning scan of the camps, whispering about sentry positions, some kitchen gossip, but nothing out of the ordinary. 

She needed reports of her normal flight patterns to reach the boys in order to accomplish what she needed to do. Rahne had warned her a second too late when she had ascended her rail to plunge off the side of her nest when he appeared. 

“Going somewhere?” The shadowsinger said.

Rhane was quicker than his shadows, but his were silent. She raced the wing length between them to meet with his many shadows. 

Rayven groaned and fell off the side. He turned to level out as she caught a drift back up to him. His laugh carried over the wind. 

“Aren't we pleading our case to Devlon today, or did I get my dates mixed up again?” 

The rising sun kissed their wings in greeting. He’d at least let her fly to the Windhaven border. 

He allowed her a few strides before he said, “The Highlord asked that you stay here. It will be hard enough for us to convince him as is.”

‘Asked’ was a very nice way of putting it. 

The boys had lived a full human lifetime that lunar cycle, so they were certain they knew everything there was to learn and she was a naive first cycle fae. They were meeting with Devlon to discuss their participation in the Rite that spring. She’d been training alongside them nonstop for months. Rhys told her it was important for her to have the training regardless of her participation in the Rite. 

Of course, Devlon would never allow a female to participate. While Rhys had previously been denied for being a half-breed, as Devlon put it, he could still persuade the Lord of Windhaven. Rayven, on the other hand, had the misfortune of being a half-breed and a female. The worst crime to the Illyrian brutes with ways as archaic as the mountains surrounding them.

The drifted over the path to the camp only used by the clipped females. Rayven shuddered at the thought of losing her wings to these males. 

“Hey,” the shadowsinger said, as if he could hear her thoughts. “We’ll find another way.” The tip of his wing barely brushed against hers. She stopped the shiver in her shoulders. 

The males were always fighting over wingspan. They had more surface area, stronger for single thrust flight and carrying cargo, but the females were faster. Their wings were made for speed and agility. What took the males three muscle groups to turn on a pin, the females could do it with one. Sure, they were able to carry full grown males for miles, but the females were able to fly that same distance twice in the time it’d take them.

“Am I allowed to say it?” he asked. 

“No.”

He tried to brush her wings again, so she folded hers in and dropped, parachuting her wings out in the final descent to land her feet on the stony path. They were within a few minutes of Devlon’s council tent. 

“Why can't I go and beat some respect into that bastard?” she asked. 

“You know why,” he sighed into his landing. 

“The Highlord can make them submit and listen.” Her frustration began to manifest in her movements. Rahne started whispering calm over and over to her. “Hel, I could easily change their minds.” She wiggled her fingers at him. 

He rolled his eyes at the violence she suggested. “We’d lose every Illyrian allegiant we have,” he said. He was trying. Really trying. 

Tears welled in the demon’s eyes. “This is so stupid.” Her gaze was set in the direction of the tent she’d never be inside, knowing this was where he’d leave her. 

“We’ll find another way,” he repeated. The hand by his thigh tensed, and then he was stepping back to take off. 

“I’ll fill you in when I get back?” He spread his wings to depart. 

She took in the mass of the shadowsinger before her. Even without the siphon, he was truly something to be feared. 

She mumbled a fine and met his eyes. He jumped into flight, sending one shadow back to lick at her wet cheek.

“Gross,” she swatted it away and could almost hear its giggle as it returned to Azriel. 

She watched as he grew smaller in the distance, until finally, he winked out of eyesight. 

She wiped her eyes free of the crocodile tears and turned to her real destination. 

Dumbass, Rahne snickered, expanding for their departure.