Being up in the air felt just as discomforting as being on the ground. Usually flying meant the wind would tousle your hair, a cool breeze filling your lungs and leaving you feeling refreshed with a clear mind. This was anything but clear. Every breath Idrial took in felt heavy, as though the air was clouded with some invisible force that made each inhale and exhale consume far more energy than usual. Taking in a deep breath was near impossible and any attempts to do so in order to clear the foggy feel of her lungs, made Idrial cough as Azriel carried her through the air. Even the sound of their wings was muffled by Oorid's distinct lack of life or ecosystem. How anything could survive here was beyond any of them. Even the most terrible of creatures or beings must suffer in a place like this. Surely nothing could actually thrive here?
The landscape was clearly not thriving as they flew over barren land, eyes falling upon the black water of the bog, reflecting each of their bodies like a mirror made of pure obsidian. There were small inlets of land, any traces of grass completely dry and dead and thorn bushes tangling like some warped plant decorating a villain's lair from a children's story.
"It's awful here," Idrial murmured under her breath, warning signs flaring in her body that this was not a place for the living.
"Trust me when I say we won't linger for longer than necessary," Azriel replied, his skin uncharacteristically drained of colour. His usually tanned face seemed peaky, as though he felt ill to be in such a place. It was unsettling to see him look so uncomfortable; the Shadowsinger was usually an expert at keeping his face a blank slate to hide any signs of discomfort or displeasure.
As they continued to fly, following after Cassian and Nesta, Idrial noticed Cassian glancing back before descending into a cloud of mist. Azriel dipped behind them, keeping a safe distance and an eye out for any trees that may be concealed by the thick fog. Idrial had barely been able to hear Cassian and Nesta's voices thanks to the restrictive air, the sound unable to travel as far as it could in the clear air of Velaris. All she'd picked up on where sparse words about the magic that dwelled here and the terrible powers that waited to be unleashed. Their muffled conversation was little bother. If anything pressing needed to be communicated, their shouts could be carried through the air. However, when Azriel felt an ash bolt pierce his wing, his grunt of pain nor Idrial's frantic words could be heard as they tumbled to the ground.
"Shit, are you okay? Can you stand?" The pair had landed in a clearing that bore no stray trees or thorned bushes, minimising any further injuries. Idrial had gone unscathed thanks to Azriel wrapping his arms around her tightly and pulling her closely into his chest. He'd somehow managed to keep her above him as they tumbled so she hadn't been crushed by his heavy body, even with the pain shooting through his wing.
"I'll be fine. Can you see anything or anyone?" He replied through gritted teeth. It was clear he was concealing the true extent of his pain so as not to scare Idrial too much, but she was far too perceptive and knew him too well to believe him.
"The mist is too heavy but I think we're okay at least for now. Come on, let's get you up." Idrial outstretched her hand from where she knelt beside Azriel. He clutched onto her hand, using her for support as he sat upright and got to his feet.
"We'll wait here for Cassian to find us. I can't fly with my wing like this." Idrial didn't reply and only nodded as her eyes worriedly flickered to the bolt in his wing. Ever the perceptive individual, Azriel spoke up once more. "Stop fretting. I won't keel over just because of a little pain." His hand ruffled in her hair as he spoke, a small smirk stretching across his face. Idrial pushed his hand away, scowling.
As she opened her mouth to talk, Idrial was interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps and shouts coming from the mist. Within an instant, Azriel had his sword drawn and was in a defensive stance, ready to attack whatever was coming for them. She followed suit, drawing the sword attached to her belt. It had been a while since she'd last had to use one in any serious manner and she would have been lying if she said she didn't fear for her life or Azriel's in that moment. A fraction of that fear disappeared once the group of soldiers came into view. Fighting them would be far easier than any of the vile beings that dwelled in the depths of Oorid.
Swords clashed and Idrial found her body being fuelled by adrenaline. She wasn't entirely aware of the movements she made or the power she sent out, pure instinct keeping her alert and on her toes. There was no room for pausing or hesitating, even as Cassian thrashed down upon the soldiers, eyes burning with rage as his Siphons glared. Idrial barely registered the glowing light from each of Cassian and Azriel's Siphons, that immense power doing nothing to shake her or distract her from keeping herself alive.
A sharp pain struck her side, pulling her attention from the body of a soldier she had killed. Idrial whirled upon the source, another Fae soldier whose eyes appeared foggy—as though the colour had been diluted by some cloudy substance. There was no time to think upon what that could mean as she sent a small blast of air and knocking him back to buy her some time to correct her footing and strike her sword at his neck. Blood poured from the gash as he collapsed to his knees, gasping for air until he eventually fell. Dead.
Idrial turned back to see the commotion had completely silenced. All that was left of their attackers were two soldiers on their knees. In the heat of the moment, Idrial hadn't registered the insignias they bore on their armour but could now clearly recognise it as Eris' markings. It was too early to know whether Eris had been the one to send them or whether it had been his father or perhaps someone even more sinister.
Azriel's breaths were heavy, partial exhaustion and partial pain from the ash arrow that had now been pulled from his wing, blood slowly cascading.
"Bind them," Cassian ordered, watching as Azriel summoned his Siphon's power to chain the two soldiers' wrists, ankles, and mouths.
"Something is wrong with them," Azriel commented as the two soldiers simply glared with nothing but violence and anger ablaze in their eyes.
"Their eyes looked cloudy, like there's something polluting them," Idrial added, keeping her breathing steady as she felt the wound on her side sting. The injury wouldn't be fatal and her Fae magic should keep it from getting infected though it still didn't make it hurt any less. There would be time to address it later when they were back in Velaris.
"They smell like they haven't had a bath in weeks," Cassian murmured as he scrunched his nose in disgust. Azriel and Idrial sniffed too, both grimacing at the stench that came from the bodies around them.
"Do you think they are Eris' missing soldiers? He said they'd been acting strange before they vanished. I'd certainly consider this strange behaviour," Azriel mused as he surveyed the bodies and blood that littered the floor.
"I don't know," answered Cassian, wiping the blood from his face with the back of his hand. "I suppose we'll find out soon enough. You both all right?"
"Fine." Azriel's voice was clipped but he remained certain that he would be fine for now. Idrial nodded too, forcing herself to keep her hand from applying pressure to the wound at her side. If they knew she was hurt they'd want to stay here to check up on her and the longer they stayed here, the higher their chances were of more soldiers finding them—or anything else for that matter. Plus, there was the matter of Nesta who was very clearly not with them.
Azriel continued on, accepting her nod as a good enough sign that she was okay and otherwise unscathed. "We need to get out of here. There might be more." In that moment, it seemed Cassian had remembered Nesta, his eyes widening as he shot upwards, not bothering to wait and see if Azriel was able to fly just yet. The Shadowsinger rolled his eyes, reaching out his hand for Idrial to take. Noting her hesitation, he said, "I can carry you. Don't worry. The wound from the arrow is already healing."
"Are you sure you'll be okay?" She asked, taking his hand with no small amount of trepidation.
"Yes. Now stop stressing you're like a worried mother," he teased, lifting her and rising into the sky. Idrial winced at the pulse of pain as he gripped onto her waist, hoping the sound didn't carry and he hadn't heard it. She couldn't help but notice that his movements were far less fluid than usual. His wings moved with that same strength as always, but she could tell it was hard for him especially given the fact that they bobbed in the air with every few flaps of his wings. It wasn't enough that she thought they might tumble to the ground, but it also wasn't exactly calming.
"I'm only worried because I care," she replied back, refusing to meet his eye as she watched Cassian ahead of them. He'd hung back a little after his sudden rush of movement, checking that Azriel was able to follow behind with Idrial in his arms.
They followed until Cassian dropped to the ground, shouts of Nesta's name emanating from his throat. He must have left her here, believing she'd be safe before coming after Idrial and Azriel. Once the two landed, they were able to trace Nesta's scent up to the water where it completely disappeared. Oh gods. Had she gone into the bog? Or had she been dragged in by something?
"I don't see her," Azriel's voice came from just behind Idrial. There was no movement in the water, nothing but that inky blackness sitting there completely still but laced with all kinds of threat.
"Nesta!" Cassian roared, the sound's echo dying fairly quickly as Oorid suffocated it. Idrial could hear the rawness of his throat as he continued to scream her name, wading into the water.
"Cassian, be careful—"
"Let him be. You won't be able to stop him and we don't need both of you at risk in there," Azriel interrupted, his hand holding onto her wrist. She barely registered that he didn't release his grasp on her as Idrial scanned the water for any sign of Nesta or some other indication that she was okay.
"I don't see anything. We need Rhys," Azriel urged, stepping closer so that his feet were now wading in the water. His hand was still on Idrial's wrist as though he wanted—needed to be certain that she was still there and unharmed. Idrial could hear just how scared he sounded as he spoke, something that was rare in the Shadowsinger's voice.
"He's not answering," Cassian called back as he waded deeper, the water now up to his chest as his arms thrashed for any hint of something physical in the bog.
"Wait, look over there," Idrial spoke, pointing at a spot in the water that was rippling, a golden light glowing beneath the surface. Azriel cursed under his breath, hand finally releasing Idrial as he lurched forward for Cassian, Siphons flaring blue. As they all stared with bated breath, spears broke the surface of the bog. More spears continued to rise, then helmets and skulls beneath them, inky water droplets rolling off them.
"Mother save us," Azriel whispered, completely frozen in place as the dead rose from Oorid's depths. The three watched in stunned silence as Nesta also emerged, a golden mask upon her face. Her hair looked wild, the water pulling it out of the braid, and in her hand the head of a kelpie with its face frozen in a pained scream. Her eyes were filled with that same silver fire that had burned in her only days prior.
"Holy gods," Azriel breathed. Cassian whispered Nesta's name, so quiet Idrial wouldn't have known if she hadn't seen his mouth move. Nesta released the kelpie, the water swallowing it and removing all evidence of its existence. Her cold power rippled, none of them willing or able to stand against it. Idrial watched as Cassian and Azriel both bowed to that power.
Nesta reached for the gold mask upon her face, peeling it away from her face. The dead around her collapsed, motionless, and disappeared beneath the surface once more. Nesta, too, sank and Cassian lunged for her, grabbing her just as she went under the water. Her body was limp as he carried her toward the edge of the water where Azriel and Idrial waited.
Once they were safely away from the bog, Cassian laid Nesta down, leaning her weak body against what remained of a thick tree stump. Scratches littered around her mouth and jaw; she looked wrecked. Nesta blinked, her eyes no longer blazing with fire as she clutched the mask to her chest and recalled what had just transpired. Cassian wrapped her in his arms as she fell unconscious once more, offering a sweet reprieve from Mother knows what she had seen.
"We should head back to Velaris before anything else comes after us," Azriel offered, already taking Idrial's hand to prepare to winnow with the same poorly concealed pained look on his face.
Instead of returning to the House of Wind, their destination was beneath the Court of Nightmares. Nesta had been taken to a bedroom in the palace above the mountain where she had remained unconscious still, sleeping off the exhaustion from exerting herself so much while Cassian, Azriel and Idrial were accompanied by Feyre, Rhys and Amren. The two Autumn Court soldiers had been thrown into a cell, the blood of their wounds dripping between the grates in the floor into a pit of beasts, awoken by the scent of a potential meal. Azriel leaned against the wall by the singular door, Truth-Teller bloodied and in his hand with Cassian close beside him. Idrial stood at his other side, Feyre joining her as they all watched on as Rhys and Amren approached the two males.
"Are you feeling more inclined to explain yourselves?" Rhys asked, his hands in his pockets as he looked ever the jovial, yet menacing, High Lord. The Autumn Court soldiers still bore the same vacant expression, their minds not entirely present or cognisant of their surroundings and actions.
"They must be under some sort of an enchantment," Amren observed as she circled them both as though she were a viper waiting to strike her helpless prey. "They only drive seems to be to harm without reason or context."
"Why did you attack members of my court in the Bog of Oorid?" Rhys questioned once more, his voice exhibiting that familiar calmness that many had heard in years past before finding themselves victim to his wrath. The males made no attempt to speak, staring toward them all with visceral hatred.
"They're like rabid dogs, lost to sanity," Feyre mused.
"They fought like them too," Cassian chimed in. "No intelligence—just a desire to kill."
"If they're under a spell from Briallyn or Koschei, is it right to harm them like this?" Feyre asked, her voice echoing along the walls. It didn't take long for Rhys to disagree.
Amren then turned to her, "The fog around their minds and the fact that they endured Azriel's ministrations without showing an understanding of anything beyond basic pain at least confirms our suspicions." Idrial had looked away when Azriel had performed his 'ministrations' on them, as Amren called them. What he had done was far worst. In fact, torture was the more apt label for it. She understood they needed whatever information they could garner, but Idrial couldn't help but agree with Feyre that perhaps it was not entirely right to harm them like this.
"If that's how you justify it, then fine." Her voice was tinged with a coldness that Idrial duly noted. Feyre then shifted her gaze to Rhys. "We need to ask Helion to visit. Not for the—you know, but to break the spell upon them." Her mate agreed, eyes meeting hers as they shifted into silent conversation.
Moments after their private words ceased, Rhys declared, "They stay here, under guard. I'll contact Helion immediately."
"And Eris?" came Cassian's voice. "When do we tell him we found his soldiers? Or what we did to most of them?" Gods, Idrial hadn't even thought about how they'd deal with Eris after all this. Any hopes that he'd take this lightly were entirely foolish.
"You acted in self-defence. As far as I'm concerned, whoever was controlling the soldiers is to blame, not you," Feyre reasoned.
"There was no choice other than to fight them. If we'd had any other options we'd have obviously done that," Idrial noted, earning a warm smile from Feyre.
Amren nodded, adding, "We'll tell Eris once we verify everything. There's still a possibility that he's somehow behind this or aware of their bizarre condition."
"While I do agree, these two males have families who are surely worried about them. We should be as quick as possible." Nods of agreement came from each of the court members before they all left the males in that room and walked out of the dungeons of the Hewn City and up to the pillars of the beautiful palace Rhys owned above it.
Rhys headed for the room they had quickly stored the Mask beneath a black cloth, all surprised when they saw Nesta sitting at the table and staring at it.
"How did you get in here?" He asked, pure shock tinting his words. Surely Rhysand must have warded this room to prevent anyone from entering? Idrial thought to herself.
"The door was open." Nesta's reply was quiet, her voice lacking its usual energy.
"The Mask opened the door for you?" Amren's voice was demanding, almost as though she couldn't believe it had worked against Rhys' wards.
"I found myself beckoned here once I awoke." Idrial noticed the way Nesta's eyes scanned her, Azriel, and Cassian though she definitely lingered on Cassian for far longer, assessing if he was injured in any way. She many never vocalise her concerns, but it was all-too-clear how worried she was.
It was Feyre's turn to question as she asked, "Does it speak to you?"
Before Nesta could answer, Amren spoke up once more this time with anger tinting her voice. "Only a desperate fool would don that Mask. You're lucky to have been able to pry it from your face. Most of those who have worn it could never remove it. In order to sever it, they had to be beheaded. It's the cost of the power: you can raise an army of the dead to conquer the world, but you can never be free of the Mask."
Nesta remained steadfast as she faced her. "I wished it to let go, and it did."
"Like calls to like. Others could not free themselves because the Mask did not recognise their power. The Mask rode them, not the other way around. Only one Made from the same dark source can wear the Mast and not be rule by it," Rhysand offered, his explanation seeming an accurate analysis of Nesta's ability to wield it.
"So Queen Briallyn could use it," Azriel said. "Perhaps that is why the Autumn Court soldiers were in Oorid: she can't risk setting foot in Prythian and so found a unit to go in for her." A wave of silence washed over the room, Azriel's words sinking in deep with a likely explanation behind the soldiers' presence.
Nesta was the one to break the silence. "It should be destroyed."
"Well I'm afraid that's not possible. Perhaps if the Cauldron had been truly destroyed, the Mask might have been weakened enough for the High Lords and Feyre to join their power and do it," Amren said.
"If the Cauldron had been destroyed, then life would have ceased to exist." Feyre's voice rang with the harsh reality.
"So the Mask remains. It can only be dealt with. Not eliminated." Amren's words, while true, were not exactly helpful as well as rather redundant. What they needed to figure out now was how, exactly, they should deal with it. It seemed the usual wards would not be adequate considering Nesta's ability to stroll into the room with little effort at all.
Idrial listened as Nesta suggested they dump it in the sea, while Azriel warned that doing so would lead to others potentially finding it and that to keep it safe under their jurisdiction would be for the better. They deliberated how to lock away the Mask in a manner that would be Nesta-proof—or rather, Cauldron Made-proof. Feyre suggested that it might succeed if Nesta were in fact the one to cast the spells to create the wards, repeating that "like calls to like."
"Tell me how to do the spells, and I'll try. I cannot guarantee that I'll be successful but I'll do anything to keep that thing locked away."
"When Helion comes, I'll have him show you. He knows spells for warding that even I don't," Rhys promised, his voice sounding softer and gentler than it usually did when he spoke to his mate's eldest sister.
Cassian chuckled as he chimed in, "Considering that Nesta brushed off Helion's smouldering advances during the war, he might not be so inclined to help her."
"He'll help," Rhys assured. "If only for another shot at her." Nesta rolled her eyes, arms folded across her chest. Idrial knew she wanted to be there to see Helion attempt, and fail, to charm Nesta.
"We should get Madja to tend to your wounds," Feyre suggested as she took a step closer to Nesta. The suggestion made Idrial tense. Until that moment, she'd forgotten the injury that still ached at her side. The pain had dulled significantly, no longer as sharp or pressing as it had been but she knew the blood would have dried to her clothes and prying it off her skin would be neither enjoyable nor painless. She barely heard Amren chide that Nesta smelt like a swamp. In fact, she wasn't listening at all to Cassian ask about the kelpie, or Nesta's recollection of how it had ensnared her, nor did she hear Rhys ask to hear it speak to her through her mind. Her eyes stared vacantly at the floor, body unmoving as her thoughts lingered only on the wound at her side. If she went to Madja, the others would know of her injury and would reprimand her for hiding it. If she didn't, she would have to hope and pray that she had the materials to cleanse and bind the wound in her bathroom, either in the House of Wind or her own townhome. Though if she were to return to her townhome, that'd no doubt raise questions too. If she wanted to keep the others from noticing her wound, she'd have to simply grin and bear it until she could get a moment alone in her room.
Luckily, that moment alone came sooner than expected. Not long after the ordeal with the Mask and the wards, they had made the decision to stay in the moonstone palace for the night rather than return to the House given the fact they were all tired from fighting or facing kelpies and golden Masks. Idrial had found a room for herself with its private bathing chambers to give her the peace she needed. She couldn't explain exactly why she wanted to keep her injury a secret outside of the fact that she didn't want to cause any worry when there was already so much going on without anything else adding on to it. Besides, it's not like it was fatal so was there really such a need to fuss over it? Given the fact that Feyre had remarked about Nesta's wounds, Idrial knew she, and the others, would have fretted far more over her and she didn't want to be the focus of all the attention when she didn't need to be.
Idrial set down her weapons and pieces of leather armour, ridding herself of the heavy clothing and leaving her in a pair of thick trousers and a loose white shirt she'd donned beneath a tunic. She surveyed her side, noting the dark red blood that had dried to the shirt; there was more than she'd expected. Gently, Idrial pried the shirt away from her skin, wincing at the lance of pain that struck her. She hissed as she lifted the shirt to survey her side in the mirror that stood in the corner of the room. It was messy. The gash wasn't particularly dangerous to her health, nor was it big enough to cause significant damage, but that didn't make it much nicer to look at. She definitely needed to get it cleaned before any kind of injection set in and spread, maybe apply a salve if she could find one.
Looking in the mirror, Idrial noticed a figure standing at the door. Azriel. No, why is he here? Idrial turned, hurriedly pulling her shirt back down to hide her wound. It seemed she had been too late and Azriel had seen it, given the flash of concern on his face.
"What happened? Are you hurt?" He quietly demanded.
"It's nothing. I'm fine, Azriel," Idrial replied, frantic as he stalked over to her, eyes dark and cold, teeming with anger despite the worry that threaded his brows together. Azriel reached for her wrist, pulling her close to his chest so that she had no choice but to hold eye contact with him.
"I'm not going to ask you again. What. Happened."
Idrial sighed, closing her eyes as she gave in. He wouldn't leave her until she offered an honest answer. "In the fight with Eris' men, towards the end I got stabbed by one of them. I didn't say anything because of your wing, and then there was Nesta and it just wasn't worth worrying anyone. I'm hardly anyone that holds much priority when it comes to pressing concerns."
Azriel flinched at her words, annoyed that he hadn't noticed, that she hadn't said anything until now, that he hadn't been able to protect her from harm. And that last comment about how she didn't believe she wasn't worthy of being worried about had hurt just as hard as the ash arrow in his wing, if not more. Azriel ever so gently lifted her shirt, his hands ghosting on the skin of her stomach as he surveyed the wound and uttered under his breath that he knew something had happened to her. It seemed he'd noticed her wincing under his touch earlier.
Idrial looked away from the softness in his gaze, feeling her cheeks warm as she felt his callused fingers brushing delicately against her side, careful not to cause any additional pain.
"Come on, let's get you cleaned up," he whispered, voice low and far calmer than it had been before.
Idrial followed Azriel into the bathing chambers, guiding her to perch on the side of the bathtub. He had retrieved a clean rag that he dampened beneath the warm water of the taps, kneeling before her. Azriel lifted her shirt once more and Idrial's hands ghosted against his, nudging him to let her hold the shirt while he worked. He offered a soft smile as he ever so gently began to clean the blood that had dried around the wound before moving to press the rag against the gash that had begun to scab over.
"You really shouldn't have kept this to yourself, you know. You're lucky it wasn't serious."
"I know. Like I said, I didn't want to concern anyone. There's more important things to worry about—"
"No. There's not," Azriel cut her off, not continuing his thoughts.
"Azriel, you cannot honestly believe that Nesta or the Mask are less important than a little gash I got in a fight. You even had an arrow in your wing, for goodness' sake!"
"Az."
"What?"
"You never call me Az, even when everyone else does. Why?" Idrial was glad she was sitting down, else her knees would have definitely buckled at the look in Azriel's eyes as he looked up at her, pausing his ministrations at her side. She couldn't place exactly what that expression meant. Didn't want to consider anything that might play into her many dreams and wandering thoughts of him.
"I don't know." Her voice was quiet, barely even a whisper as she replied. "I suppose I just like Azriel."
"Do you mean the name, or me?" Azriel smirked, chuckling at her widened eyes and pink cheeks. "I'm only teasing. Still, I don't like the way you talk about yourself sometimes. You dismiss your injuries because someone has worse ones. You act as though you aren't worth worrying about because there are other existing concerns. I couldn't care less if a hundred Illyrian soldiers were on the brink of death. I would still worry for you more even if the only injury you bore was a singular scratch on your face."
Idrial was speechless. What should she even say to that? She didn't have to think of what to say as Azriel finished cleaning her injury, reaching for a healing salve he'd pulled seemingly out of nowhere. When he saw her furrowed brows, he chuckled. "The perks of having shadows at your beck and call." Azriel gently applied the salve and Idrial hissed at the slight sting.
"Sorry. Not much to be done about that. I'm being as gentle as I can be."
"It's fine. It's nothing I can't handle, at least," Idrial replied, focusing on her breathing as she waited for him to finish.
"There, all done." Azriel rose from his position, offering a hand to help her up. "You should change that shirt and get some rest. I can bring up some food later so you've got enough energy to heal. I might bring some bandages to wrap that up for you too."
"Thank you. For the help. And for what you said. It was very kind of you." The smile he sent her was warm, and it made her heart feel as though it was glowing beneath her chest.
"Rest up, Idrial. I'll be back later." She watched as he left the room, closing the door softly behind him while she focused on not falling to the ground. The sincerity of his words and that gentle smile were far more devastating than any blade or magic power could be. Idrial managed to stumble her way to the bed, sitting down with little grace as she stared blankly ahead. She needed sleep. A lot of it. Anything to distract from the racing thoughts that coursed through her mind. She could deal with Azriel's return to her room later, after she had slept off some of the exhaustion and nerves that flooded through her.