#wing clipping

Dearest Readers, allow me to make a first introduction. 

You may call me Thorne, for even Velaris’s most stunning roses have them hidden beneath their petals. 

You may not know me, but as we approach our Great Court’s annual Blood Rite and Socialite Season, you can be certain that I know you.

I would like to inform you of a most interesting update in our Court’s dealings. A new Lord has been appointed to rule the Hewn City. 

Keir, the High Lord’s brother, seems to have earned this title through familial relation alone. The land certainly would not have chosen a Fae so physically disinclined. One must question what qualities, exactly, constitute such a label as ‘High Fae.’ It is this Author’s belief that Keir’s struggle to to keep his flaccid blond hair perfectly coiffed should discriminate him from the species. It is a wonder indeed that such a male could sire a female as beautiful as Morrigan. 

Morrigan has yet to be seen outside of the Hewn City since her father’s coronation, causing all of Velaris to wonder why, exactly, our most wise and cunning Lords have hidden her away. Perhaps Morrigan hides a secret much too hideous for even the leaders of the Night Court to accept. Even so, a fate such as Morrigan’s is a nightmare.

This Author wonders whether or not the whole of Hewn City might come to be called a ‘Court of Nightmares’ under Keir’s rule. Only time will tell.

Yours Truly,

Thorne N. Yrside

~~~

“Yrside… that doesn’t sound like a Night Court name…”

“It’s a fake name you twat.” Morrigan rolled up the thick parchment, smacking Rhysand flat on the head with it. “A pen name. Your-side. ”

“Ohhh.”

“My father is… he is enraged.”

“Sounds about right.”

“No, Rhys,” Morrigan huffed. Her pretty face was warped with worry, frown lines etching into her cheeks. “This isn’t just some little thing that ticked him off. This could be really bad. This isn’t all, whoever this person is has been releasing… I don’t even know what to call them. Plays?”

“Plays?”

“Like the skits the minstrels perform, out in the square. They’re out there in wigs pretending to be ‘Lord Mirror.’ My father is vain yes, but…”

“I guess that sort of rhymes with Keir. There are worse words… Fear, quee-”

“Hush, Rhysand!” Morrigan ducked a blonde head around the corner of the rocky alcove she and Rhys were hidden in, checking for eavesdroppers. “This kind of embarrassment is horrible for my family’s reputation. You have to do something, get Tyrn involved.”

Rhysand’s brows rose, gliding up his forehead and all the way to his fine dark hair. “You want me to talk to the High Lord?”

Morrigan crossed her arms. “Is he not your father?”

“He’s even worse than yours.”

“I doubt it,” she hissed. The words bit off at the end as footsteps echoed through the cavernous hall. 

Rhysand summoned his magic. He dove into the deep recesses of power within himself. Power that would only grow with time. He threw his hand forward, and a thin wall of shadow sealed their little corner. The shield warbled, threatened to dissipate, but it held until the servant passed.

“Whew…” Rhys smiled with pride at the successful show of magic. Morrigan did not smile back. "I'll- I’ll try Mor. For you,” he added.

“You better.” She looked both ways beside the alcove, then hurried out, leaving Rhysand behind.

~~~

“Rhys, you have to see this!” Cassian practically jumped Rhysand as he wandered into his mother’s cabin. “His hair really does look like that!”

Rhys stumbled back out of Cassian’s chokehold, but he peered out the open window. Morrigan was right. A few Illyrians, males that were not allowed in the training ring for their lack of strength, were being chased out from the town square. They laughed, toupees of fake hair falling down to dirty in the street. 

In Cassian’s hand was a pamphlet as well, thick and crisp like the one Morrigan had shown him. Rhysand snatched it from his sweaty palms.

He must have finished training early. With Cassian, they had to keep him in the ring until he was exhausted, or he would be up to no good. It seemed he had enough energy to go snooping around today. 

Rhysand crumpled up the pamphlet, shoving it into a wastebasket.

“Hey!”

“Where did you even get that?”

“They were delivered to Windhaven today,” Cassian said with a shrug. “I gave the kid a coin.”

“What’s wrong?” Azriel asked Rhys, eyes narrowing in concern.

Rhys sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “It’s nothing. I guess Mor thinks these pamphlets, these… plays, could be bad news.”

“I doubt it.” Cassian ushered into the kitchen, filling a small bowl up with seconds of whatever Lady Selene had been cooking. It smelled good, but Rhysand had no appetite right now. “It’s just some harmless fun,” Cassian drawled, forcing bowls in front of both his brothers. “Keir deserves it anyways.”

“It’s all harmless fun until it’s not about Keir anymore.” At least Azriel understood. He gave Rhysand a contemplative look. “Have you told your mom? The High Lord?”

“Told me what?” Lady Selene came striding into the kitchen, a bashful looking Eira clinging to her black skirts. 

“Nothing,” Rhysand said quickly. He wasn’t ready to approach this beast quite yet.

The Lady of Night’s eyes narrowed, searching her son’s face, but Rhys kept it a solid mask, blank and apathetic. 

When Rhys did not crack under the pressure of her stare, she turned to a different Illyrian. “Cassian?”

“Don’t look at me,” Cassian said through a mouth full of food.

Her eyes narrowed further, turning to the other. “Azriel?”

Azriel’s shadows froze at her strict attention, his shoulders raising like a disgruntled cat’s.

“Azriel, what should you three be telling me?” Selene questioned more firmly.

Rhysand glared at his brother. He watched Az’s shadows curl and uncurl, nervously fidgeting as he tried to keep his eyes pinned to the floor. Selene’s gaze turned threatening, and Rhys could tell Azriel was about to crack. He reached out to Azriel in his mind, slipping past his meager defenses easily. Shut the fuck up, Az.

Azriel tensed, but it all came pouring out. “Someone handed out anonymous papers in the town square making fun of Keir and his leadership and now the street performers are mocking him.” He took a deep breath, relaxing slightly.

The Lady turned to her son. “Rhys,” Selene snapped. “Don’t you think this is something for me to know? Your father…” she gripped her temples tightly and turned away. 

Rhysand watched her bustle to the stove, stirring the pot of root soup and spooning some into a bowl for his little sister. Eira still hid behind their mom’s skirts, shy around the Illyrian boys. 

“What do we do?” Rhys asked quietly.

“For now,” Selene said, “we wait, and we see what we can hear.”

~~~

Flex up, flex down. 

Now out, and back in. 

Curl, now straight.

Rowena repeated the mantra to herself over and over, flexing her wings in the mirror until her back ached. The skin of her clipped and torn wings had healed over the years, of course, but the weight in her mind had not gone away. Picking up a pen was sometimes the only relief she could find.

A week had passed since visiting the printers in downtown Velaris, and Rowena was still reveling in her success. Windhaven had turned temperate and lovely with the arrival of summer, and through her breezy open window she could hear the anxious chatter of Illyrians down in the dark square. 

Do you think another pamphlet will come tomorrow?

The writer must be from the Hewn City if they dislike Keir.

I haven’t seen a show this riotous since… I don’t even know when.

After Dark seemed a pot of gold waiting to be struck. 

Rowena slipped free a delicate key from around her neck, disentangling it from her black hair and inserting it into the locked drawer beneath her desk. Smooth paper, lightly indented with the friction of a quill, met her fingers. She would need to be fast tonight, and ‘only interested in new community works,’ lest her winnower think her suspicious. At times like these, she longed for the use of her wings. Paying a Fae to winnow her from the mountains into Velaris was not cheap. 

A knock sounded at the landing to her cabin on the hill, and she carefully tucked tonight’s final draft into a small bag. Aeron greeted her with a smile. “Where to today, Miss?”

“Velaris, the Artist’s Quarter.” 

“Oh no, Miss, Velaris is flooded with Darkbringers.”

Rowena cocked her head. Keir had sent soldiers, then. Foolish, now she knew exactly what strings to play when it came to getting under his skin. “Can you leave me by the Sidra? I’ll find my own way in.”

Aeron’s mouth thinned into a line, but he nodded. “Very well… but I’ll require a little extra.”

She dropped his dues, and an extra silver, into his hand, rolling her eyes at his polite smile. 

Wind flooded her ears as he led her into a shadowed portal. She gripped his arm tightly, and Aeron smiled as though he might laugh. She was an Illyrian, built for much harsher methods of travel, yet winnowing still made her sick every time.

They stepped out onto a wide brick walkway, the sparkling bend of the Sidra scenting the air with fresh mist. Aeron bid her goodbye, leaving her to venture through shadow.

Between alleyways and beneath awnings, Rowena scuttled through the heart of the city where Darkbringers indeed patrolled the streets. Their black eyed gazes lingered on male and female alike, even children, searching for the dirty rat they had been ordered to kill. 

Metaphorically kill, she hoped.

Further away from the river. Closer to the print shop. From the main artery to quiet veins. It took several blocks for Rowena to realize that she could still smell mist in the air, despite her growing distance from the Sidra's watery banks. 

The shadows around her seemed tainted with the smell, in fact. And something else, too. Something woodsy. Rowena turned her head, lowering her wings to peer behind her. Nothing. No Darkbringer, no Bloodhound.

She quickened her pace anyway. Rowena cursed herself for not thinking to bring an oil lamp, but then again, it would have brought unwanted attention to her. Not many fae dared to wander the streets right now. The ones who did were drunk out of their minds, and not a threat to Keir’s soldiers. 

Rowena may have been without flight, and not particularly strong, but a writer could be just as much of a danger to the Court as any brute.

“Where are you going?”said a low, quiet voice behind her.

Rowena stopped, drawing in a breath as she willed herself into calm.

“The paint shop,” she said, turning around. “I’m out of oil-sss.” Her words slipped. No Darkbringer stood behind her, no. It was instead the most beautiful male she had ever seen. He was Illyrian, which had her hesitating in her mental compliment, but she could not deny that his face was… quite perfect. 

“The paint shop is the other way,” he said. 

Then he was on to her. His words were a test, to see if she might act a lost fool. But she knew her way around Velaris, every inch of the city, and its people. Except maybe this male. But she would wrack her brain over him later. “I get my paints from Ressina.”

The Illyrian stood up straighter. Four blue siphons glittered along his arm leathers. It took work to earn those, she knew. Four was pretty good. “I didn’t know there were two shops.”

“Well, you don’t seem like the type to concern yourself with such things.”

He bristled, eyes narrowing for a moment, and she felt something cool and spindly brush her arm. The darkness around her had grown… dense. 

“Azriel, where did you go?” A voice called. Rowena recognized it, having heard Cassian’s shouts all across Windhaven. Azriel, the Illyrian was called then. She would do some digging in town. 

“Az, there you are.” Rowena froze as the High Lord’s son approached, instinctively clutching her bag tighter. Tonight’s drafts… no, he wouldn’t possibly know what she carried with her.

But her movements seemed to trigger the interest of the strange, living shadows that had coalesced in the alley. They dipped into her bag, and she pinched it tighter. Azriel watched the movement, noting it. 

“Azriel?” Rhysand asked as he and Cassian caught up with their friend. 

“Who’s she?” Cassian drawled. Even in the stifling darkness, Rowena could see the approving glint in his amber eyes as he surveyed her figure.

“You don’t- ah- need anything then?” Azriel asked, forcing his deep tone into something light and… conversational.

“No,” she wracked her brain in a pause, looking for the least suspicious thing to say. “Thank you for your help, I won’t stay out long.”

The Illyrian nodded, much to the confusion of his friends. As they turned to leave the alley, Rowena glimpsed their wings. Three pairs, all perfectly intact and breathtakingly wide. Hmm. Perhaps tonight’s issue required one more re-write.

Rheana stood at the edge of Velaris like she had every day since her brother was taken from her, her wings out and stretched for flight. She waited for the feeling of her brother's magic to spike, but it never did. After her initial panic, she destroyed the shield he had created to alter it with just a simple thought, creating her own glamour to hide her city so their Inner Circle could go in and out as they pleased. She and her sister, Morrigan, had taken to rule over Night Court. Mor took over The Court of Nightmares, those few who were spared the so-called High Queen's wrath, Rheana was sure it was to just throw it in her father's face of how powerful she was now, nearly untouchable, while she ruled over Velaris and kept the Illyrians from revolting in the absence of a power keeping them in line.

When her mind started screaming at her, Rheana flew to Illyria, sometimes she would spar with any Illyrian male who thought he could best her or she would teach the girls who would watch her beat up a male larger than her, despite Devlon's wishes for the young females to stay in the house and help their mothers. She found peace in teaching the girls to fight, she saw something of herself in the hoard of teenage females that she taught. All of it was a good distraction for half the century that made her want to peel her skin off, the hollow of her heart had only increased as the days went by.

If physical aggression couldn't calm her mind, she would lock herself in the library of the House of Winds, greeting Clotho curtly and sitting on a soft couch, reading books till her eyes crossed and she couldn't see straight. She had managed to study everything in the giant library twice and talked to some of the priestesses who worked there. One of them had suggested she talk to the female who helped them with their trauma but she had denied it, thinking how could her trauma compare to any of theirs.

Her mind snapped back to her body when she felt a playful shove of Illyrian wings. "Hey Rhe, I got you some food."

She turned to meet Cassian's eyes, her eyes softened seeing her friend. "Cassian..." She shoved him back with her wings, a greeting of 'hello' that they had since they were children.

Cassian and Azriel, her oldest friends, were the only were who made sure she ate and was hydrated. Azriel himself threatened to shove some proper nutrition she needed down her throat if she wouldn't eat willingly. While Amren rolled her eyes at their motherhen antics, claiming Rheana wouldn't die of some unhealthy choices.

"Rhe, you there...?" Cassian waved his large hand in front of her face, making her snap out of another trance, she went in and out of the maze in her mind a lot after losing Rhysand.

"Yeah, yeah..." She nodded, made her wings disappear and sat down next to him on the grass, taking the basket he'd gotten her. "I've just been thinking."

"The usual?" Cassian sitting next to her, wrapping a wing around her. She nodded back, chewing on some meat he'd brought her. The usual, Rhysand, the Illyrians, Rhysand's safety, the priestesses in the library, and Rhysand being dead.

"It's been 50 years... he's dead..." She swallowed hard, "Amarantha hasn't died, if she had he would've been here 3 months ago."

Cassian leaned into her as she forced food down her throat, he and Azriel had been the only ones who kept her from breaking down about her brother's life at any and each moment. "I'm sorry, something must have been going on-"

"I hate not knowing what's happening to my own brother!" She exclaimed and cut him off, Cassian let her get up and pace around. "We don't know nothing of what's happening Under the Mountain, what she has planned, who..." She inhaled deeply, her siphons glowing purple, "Who all she might have killed until it's always too late! There is word in the wind that my brother killed two dozen Winter Court children. He would never. Not children." Her voice broke slightly, not wanting to think of the fact that whatever was happening to him Under the Mountain might have... No, she would not think that.

Cassian stood up after her, stroking her back to calm her, "Rhysand must have thought of something, and besides, you would feel it." He pointed to her chest over her heart, "Right here... Even if you can't feel his magic, you would just know, if there was evil in your blood or if he was dead."

She knew what he meant, whatever was in their bloodline was a lot different than they had ever seen, it was a different type of fibre that connected their blood. Connected them on another lever. Powerful children of a powerful man. The only blood family either of them had left alive.

When he pressed his fingers over Rheana's heart again, she gasped, and she felt a sharp rush of power. It wasn't her power. It was his power. She looked up at her giant of a friend with a wide smile. Her violet eyes were suddenly full of life. Velaris also felt it, as little the power was, of its High Lord's return.

"Rheana... What's wrong?" Cassian asked before correcting, "What's so right?"

"He... He's." She gasped again. "We need to get to the House of Winds."

She flew before Cassian registered her words, her wings spread wide as she leaned forward to fly faster. She saw a pale figure standing in the House, she felt it in her, and her insides sang his name. Her brother. Her family.

Rhysand... Rhysand is safe... Rhysand is alive...

She stood next to him too fast, and the two eyes met, beings made from the same thread of fabric, they each took a step closer to each other, there were no words said, but everything that needed to be said was heard.

Both of them were glad that the other was there. Alive. Just an arm's reach from each other. Safe, safe, safe. The power in their blood sang.

He looked like a ghost, and she would have thought he was one, she had dreamt of this moment so long she wondered if this was just another dream. But he was not a ghost, not as a smile appeared on his lips, he took another step towards her, Mor appeared behind them a worried look on the female's face as he fell into Rheana's arms, and Rheana noticed the lack of muscles on him, noticed how pale he was.

"She's real, Rhea... My mate is real. She's my mate." Rhysand whispered before passing out in his sister's arms.

It was silent since Rhysand had returned, he had only said one sentence to Rheana before he passed out. She had decided against bringing their entire Inner Circle to see him at once, given that he hadn't woken up.

She had almost cried when she was able to lift him up like he weighed nothing, had she been able to lift him under any other circumstance, she would've teased the hell out of him. But there was nothing funny about how much weight Rhysand had lost in his captivity, nothing joyous about Rhysand being so thin that she could nearly see his bones in some places. It spooked Rheana that whatever went down Under the Mountain turned him into nothing more than a pale, thin, tired creature after fifty years of it. Her brother, the High Lord, was so weak it cracked her to pieces.

Rheana tucked her brother in his bed at the townhouse in the clothes he'd worn when he had winnowed back at the House of Winds, she set the messy hair that had now fallen over his face back, they had grown a lot since the last time she'd seen him, she despised the physical changes she saw, not liking that thought of equally scaring mental changes. She watched him, taking a seat next to his bed, he looked so tired and tensed in his state, and she kept her breathing quiet, feeling that he might be disturbed by any light movement.

The bargain tattoo on the right hand's pinky finger hummed against her skin, the word 'Alltaf' written in cursive, surrounded by swirls of starlight. An old fae language. She looked at his hand to see the matching tattoo in the same place but the word 'Aeternum'. Their oldest bargain. Her eyes followed his hand to the thinness of his arms. She'd only ever felt the way she did looking at him once, felt so melancholy, she couldn't help her mind wandering to escape from her body. To that one awful day. The awful memory.

Rheana was sitting moodily in the House of Winds, her father had put wards up in the house so that she couldn't leave the place even by the 10,000 stairs. Her father and brother had gone after the Spring Court royalty that had taken the lives of her sister and mother. Her mother and sister's final words were still ringing in her ear, their deaths should have been her revenge to take too, but Rhysand had not taken her side and watched as her father locked her in the house.

It had been a few days since that loss, she could feel the hollow darkness in her father's eyes that stayed long after he'd screamed so loud she wondered how it hadn't deafened her and her brother. The sound was so gut-wrenching their hearts broke the same every day just remembering it. When her father had scented the Spring royals in the air, he had vowed to kill them all. The loss of his mate was felt by everyone in the court. A male as powerful as her father, with the loss of his mate and a child, was just a chemical waiting to give off a deadly reaction.

After she was brought back home, Madja was instantly by her side, a new healer back then, she had helped bathe Rheana and put a tight bandage on her. As days passed, Madja tried every salve, but the giant gashes the High Lord of Spring had given her would only scar, never heal. Her scars of shame, she would call it while trying to look at the wounds in a mirror. Three large, perfectly symmetrical claw cuts on her back, half-healed forever.

She'd fought trying to join them in their murder spree but that had ended with her father locking her up. She waited for them, and as the minutes passed by she grew worried.

Had they been ambushed? She wondered. No... Her father was more powerful than the High Lord of Spring. She reminded herself

After half an hour of worrying, the shield her father had put up fell, which meant either that he wanted her to come to them or... she would not think of the other reason.

She felt Rhysand winnow in the House of Winds before he did, he carried a newfound power with him when he landed in front of her. She looked at him, seeing her brother covered in blood and guts of the Spring heirs. There he stood, not just her brother, but the High Lord of the Night Court. The two siblings wordlessly rushed to each other and melted in a tight hug, falling to the floor, Rheana not caring about how foul Rhysand smelled, or that her clothes were getting dirty as they both silently cried in each other's hold. Only knowing one thing, that the other was safe and they were to keep it that way.

"Wake up, brother." She whispered to a sleeping Rhysand, she had refused to finish eating the food that Cassian had brought back for her, she would only eat after her brother was up, and she would eat her meal without her brother, which was a week ago.

It had been a week since he had returned and he had not moved an inch, she could feel his heart beating low, there had been a cut on his chest that had bloodied his shirt making her rip it off and call Madja instantly, seeing the cuts and bruises, bile rising in her throat seeing some whip lashes, to be marked by some lashes, she couldn't fathom what he was hit with, or how frequently. Madja had put bandages on his cut, and a salve on the lashes, some of them in his skin while some were still fresh enough to look red. Everyone had come to visit him one by one after, while she had not moved much at all from her spot, she'd only done so to put another top on him and cover him with a blanket, so that he would not get cold. Or to cut his hair back to his usual hairstyle.

She also noticed a new inking at his hands, making her wonder who he had bargained with and what he had given away.

He thinned every day, he grew more pale than when he had arrived each day of that dreadful week and she feared her brother might not wake up. Her hunger didn't matter, she hadn't had a bite of food or a sip of water, and she'd starved for way longer than that anyway. Azriel had decided against being true to his words and let her be with her brother while he visited, not forcing her to neither eat nor drink.

"Please wake up, Rhysie... Please, I need you." She gripped his hands, a tear falling from her eyes. As she said those words, the tattoos on both their little fingers began to glow. Their bargain began to glow, as if energising at the contact and the words.

"I need my brother. I need him." She said more to their bargain now. It was as if the tattoo and their bargain itself gave Rhysand most of his colouring and muscles back. Gave him his health back.

His heart picked up a faster and steadier pace, and the High Lord of the Night Court woke up with a startled gasp.

Tensions were high outside Cassian and Nesta’s room at the House of Wind. Emerie, Azriel, and Rhysand had been sitting in the hall over a day as Madja and a team of her best healers worked on their friend’s mangled wings. Nesta refused to leave his side. Madja allowed her to stay in the room only as long as Nesta agreed to follow all instructions and stay out of the way, which she had. There was no time to fill anyone in on his status. While the camp lords had not intended to kill Cassian, the combination of the paralytic, faebane, and the shock to his system from trauma and blood loss had caused his body to shut down quickly. 

Rhysand had never seen Madja call for so many extra healers. Typically she brought along an apprentice or two to train. On particularly bad occasions, like after the King of Hybern had shredded Cassian’s wings and Azriel had been stabbed by Jurian, he and Morrigan had lent a hand. Madja called for six additional highly trained hands, and specifically refused the help of any apprentices or the Inner Circle. Such a thing was unheard of. 

As they waited, Emerie leaned against the wall, arms folded and one leg kicked back. Rhysand had slid down the wall several hours ago. Now his legs were bent up to his chest, elbows rested on his knees, and his head hung heavy in his hands. Azriel stood rigid by the window, unable to break his stare from Cassian’s door. Emerie watched him flex his hands and knew what ran through his mind. She knew what he must be reliving after what Cassian had endured because she was reliving it too. Their scars ran deep.

Loss, damage, physical, mental, and emotional pain that no amount of training could prepare anyone to live through. This was trauma in its purest form, and Cassian was not the only one injured. Emerie shut her eyes tight as she tried to push away the memories that had threatened to consume her from the moment Nesta had recognized the agony in Cassian’s wings through their bond the night before. The images and phantom pains that Emerie still fought back daily had only gotten stronger after what she’d witnessed in that tent.   

Hours later the door to Cassian’s room opened and Madja, exhausted and flecked in more blood than anyone was comfortable acknowledging, entered the hallway. Rhysand was instantly on his feet. Azriel remained still, but Emerie took a step off the wall, arms still crossed and wings held in tightly to stave off the pains. Rhysand quickly approached the healer, expectation written across the wrought lines of his face.

Madja stared down at the floor. This healer, a female whose skills went beyond all others, one of the only people in all of Prythian who could order the High Lord around, could not meet his eyes. Rhysand’s eyes bore down on her. Emerie tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, tried to remember that he was in pain, but she did not like the way he looked upon his master healer. 

With a deep breath, Madja raised her head and squared her shoulders to address Rhysand. Her face was schooled in a practiced calm as she began to speak with a steady voice. “We have stopped the blood loss, and managed to prevent amputation. His organs were shutting down and we almost lost him, but I am now sure that physically he will survive this.” 

“His wings,” Rhysand cut in, voice hoarse from lack of use and water. As he continued to speak his tone was harsh as he asked the question Emerie already knew the answer to. “Will he fly again?”

“No,” Madja said, voice firm and sure though it sounded like she did not want to be. “His wings were too damaged and there was noth-”

“You have to do something. He can’t not fly,” Rhysand said, voice rushed and angry as he took one step toward the healer. “He has to fly, Madja. You have to do something. His wings have been bad before, and you’ve always fixed him.” 

Emerie watched as some small part of the healer permanently broke, and she stepped forward to try and prevent the crack from growing further. “Thank you, Madja, for saving his life. We are so thankful. Is there anything that you need us to do?” 

Madja looked gratefully at Emerie for a brief moment before she responded. “No, thank you dear. Nesta has all the instructions and we will visit again soon. He needs rest before we work again.” 

Emerie smiled warmly at the female as she kindly nodded her response. Madja ushered the healers, all in various states of dishevelment, out of Nesta and Cassian’s room before they left the House of Wind together as one with Morrigan as their guide. Em watched them leave as she used her body to create a barrier between the healers and the High Lord. Azriel still had not moved from where he stood, eyes locked on the door that was once again shut. When they had gone and she was certain they were out of ear shot, Emerie turned angrily upon the males behind her. 

“Are you proud of yourself,” Emerie spat at the High Lord, who was still fuming mad about the now undeniable fact that his friend would no longer be able to fly. 

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” Rhysand retorted as anger rolled off of him in dark waves. 

Emerie cocked an eyebrow at the High Lord, her hands on her hips. “Oh yeah? Nothing wrong? You do know that your words have an effect on people, correct? You had no right to guilt her like that.” 

“I did no such thing. I simply asked-”

“No,” Emerie said back. She wanted to shout, but she knew that Cassian and Nesta did not need to hear this right now. To try and preserve their peace, Emerie worked to keep her voice low, yet strong. “By bringing up the past times she was successful, you just confirmed to Madja that you believe this was likely her biggest failure to date. And it’s not. There’s no way to recover from the wounds he received. He’s lucky to be alive right now.”