It had been two weeks since my arrival in the House of Wind, and in Velaris. I still had not seen the city, whose beauty I had to suffice looking at from afar. I wanted to soar down myself and submerge into their river of lights and into the valleys of the streets. A motivation for healing when there were very few other sources of it. I had questioned Rhysand about the ways down since winnowing was not an option – and not something I had ever performed – and when I heard about the stairs, I knew that flying was my only option. It was Cassian that first offered to take me down, but I shook my head and returned back to eating the meal in front of me.

I did not want to be in the arms of the general. It hammered into me enough that he had carried me while I was unconscious and my head plunged me into a deep abhorrence that I had let myself fall to that state. I did not want to be in the arms of anybody, except my own that tugged at the skin of my stomach when I sunk into the bath.

Madja had given me the longest speech about how the mind impacts one's health far past the state of one's mind. She knew of a man who drove himself into sickness by the anxiousness of his own daughter's health. I assured her that I had enough will to survive, with or without pulsating motivation to rack my mind. Not that I was on the brink of death, but wings are tender things, and their healing takes longer than the same wound on skin.

I kept from Mor, who often spoke her mind without much thought. She was kind but… unkempt in her manners. I kept from Cassian who too closely resembled men that had tried to defile and use me for their own pleasure, desires, and gain. I would say I was keeping from the shadowsinger as well, but I hadn't even need to put thought to it. He kept from me like I was a harbourer of the plague.

I had not been there long enough to discover though if it was truly me that kept him at bay from the main living of the House of Wind or that was just his nature and I had nothing to do with it. We certainly had not had any sort of argument, and there is nothing I had done that would elicit that sort of reaction out of anybody here. I did run from him, at first, but if he took that as a personal vendetta against me, then he was more sensitive than a rabbit's ear. I doubted that the spymaster, singer of shadows, was sensitive.

But it was bothering that there was a possibility that he was. I was not always a likeable character, and I had come to accept that fate, but usually it was something I had said or done for them to turn their noses up at me. It was the unknowing circumstances that baffled me. The rest of the court said nothing about his sparse appearances and I dared not ask them. I dared not ask him either – I had not even said a word to him since Windhaven and I was content on keeping it that way.

I knew there was another in Rhysand's close court by the name of Amren. She had been mentioned a few times but was performing duties on his behalf down in Hewn City and would return at the end of the month. I was glad that Amren was the one to have taken the task and not Rhysand, for my own selfish sense of comfort.

One afternoon, I sat at the summit of the ten thousand stairs, tracing its winding path down the mountain steeple over and over again. If there ever was a day that I could, I contemplated attempting it. Just for the satisfaction of self-accomplishment. Perhaps, as well, a little crowing. They found me weak, and still appear as such to them. I saw it in the way they talked to me, the gentle but unavoidably condescending offers of assistance. I had plunged into one of the worst waves I had faced since my youth and they were there to see me raw to the bones. They had yet to see how I would eventually surface, as I always have and always will. It was not bound by my own motivation, it was bound to me with my training. I didn't learn to fight in offence, I learnt to fight to survive. It was ingrained in me since the day that I first displayed my ability that I was to survive, no matter the cost. There was hope, some days, that my survival would lead to more. I did not know if this was that more.

Later that afternoon, when the sunset burned my eyes and I found haven inside the walls, my feet took me where they willed, and I consented to their desires. The intricately carved door stood in front of me, but instead of knocking, I twisted the handle and let myself in.

The High Lord's office was a grand chamber. Slightly larger than my temporary sleeping chambers, one wall from end to end was covered in books, lined on a bookshelf carved from a deep redwood. Some of them were misplaced as though they had been recently touched or put back without thought. Others were beginning to cover in dust and I was overcome by the urge to use a dusting feather to erase all potential damage to the otherwise pristine condition of their covers and content.

In the middle of the chamber, under the graceful halo of light from the window behind it, was his desk which was carved from the same wood as the bookshelf. It had numerous assortments of belongings; from books, to notes and ink and quill sets and other odd pieces. The High Lord sat in his throne-like chair, partially hunched over a tedious looking pile of papers that crinkled and had folded lines through them. His violet eyes pinned on me as I overlooked his office.

It was not the first time I had come in here so there was no surprise at my unannounced entrance. It was rude of me, and I had already scolded myself the first time I did it, but there was no barking order for my manners to return and I took that with a firm grip. Never before had I experienced such welcome from a figure of his status.

It was safe in here. Nobody, I realised soon enough, disturbed Rhysand while he was inside of his office unless they had urgent matters to discuss. It had happened once or twice but they had been nothing of secrecy and dealt with in my presence. It was an unspoken understanding that I had gathered, that if my presence was not disturbing, then it would go unnoticed. I took advantage of it.

"Afternoon," he welcomed slowly at the absence of my own greeting. I gave him a short nod in both acknowledgement and my silent thanks before heading over to the small, single-seated chair that was buried in the corner furthest away from his desk. I curled on its cushion, tugging a book from the shelving that I had placed on there just the other day. It was historical and the words offered stories about the creations of Prythian.

Most of the information only settled in my brain until I closed the book and it disappeared with it. If I was truly invested in the information that it gave me, then perhaps it would wriggle its way further into my memory, but for that moment, it was simply a way to pass the time through the day.

"How are you faring?" I peeked over the book, off-put by the High Lord's attempt at conversation. I knew very well already that he was not to be disturbed while he was performing his duties. That was the silent agreement of being allowed in there. It felt like a test, but I did not believe that the High Lord had any reason to test me in my way of manners. Besides not knocking. "Madja informed me that you are healing well, but wounds are not always visible to the eyes. Even our Fae eyes." Rhysand sat comfortably, arms neatly folded over his desk and the papers moved off to the side.

"Wise words," I said, using my thumb as a holder for the place in my book. "I am fine. Thank you for asking." I looked back down to my book and resettled in my seat.

"You look tired."

I nodded absently, only passing him another blinking gaze over the top of the leather-bound paper. I had been plagued by terrors of the night since I had escaped. My healing sleep had been the last true sleep that I had gotten. I saw those men's faces, the silvery glint of their blades coming down to strike me. Ripping my skin piece by piece in an attempt to have me talk. I could taste the blood on my lips-

"Would you like for me to request a sleeping brew?"

I shook my head again, this time, closing the book. "No. Thank you." In a vicious way, I knew those dreams were helping me. It was a strange conclusion to come to, but I realised that those men were the danger that posed against me. When I awoke, I was able to remind myself where I was and who I was with. They would not be able to penetrate the city of Velaris. It was a slap in the face that I knew I needed to remind myself that I was safe. If I did not have them, it would feel like I hadn't yet escaped. I wouldn't have something to remind me of the difference between here and there. The terrors would pass in time naturally when my head knew I needed them no longer. They are cauterising my wounds. The ones that Rhysand can see. I wondered if that was his daemati ability or just his skill at reading people.

"Mor says you have been avoiding her."

I decided that it was best to put the book away. I carefully shut the pages and placed it back on the shelf above the seat I was propped on. I knew that Rhysand and Morrigan were close – I suspected they were family after I heard something of the sort in another conversation I was not a part of. "Morrigan is…" I had to choose those words carefully. "…a very free minded woman," I decided to answer with. "I am just not used to being around it. I don't intend to avoid, I just…"

"Need space," he finished with a soft chuckle that I was almost accustomed to hearing. I smiled warily to myself and nodded in affirmation, thankful that the words I chose were not offensive to him. The High Lord tipped his head from side to side. "I'll admit that it is probably not best to tell her that she's overwhelming but feel free to tell Cassian to bugger off any time you please. I doubt that you'll run into that issue with Azriel but he won't care either."

"Duly noted." Leaning on the arm of the chair, I brought my knees to my chest and clasped my hands over them to keep them steady. I replayed his words about the shadowsinger over in my head. It presented itself as a good opportunity to figure the spymaster out. Or at least scrape the surface of his mysterious being. "Is that shadowsinger always like that then? Distant, I mean?"

The corner of his lips drew into a smirk, one side higher than the other. "Yes," was his simple answer. "He is reserved, especially around strangers. But that is just his nature. He wouldn't be one of us if he couldn't handle the doghouse this place can become sometimes." I nodded for what felt like the tenth time with a little more relief than I intended to reveal. Rhysand lifted his chin slightly and stared at me. "Don't be insulted if he does not take to you as quickly as the others will."

"I won't be," I answered in honesty. I was not taken with him. Nor was I yet to be taken to Cassian or Morrigan. I was not particularly taken with Rhysand either, but it was only natural to seek shelter in the strength of a pack when you are not at your best to defend. I could watch Rhysand here – watch how he acted and behaved.

I drifted my attention to the far wall opposite the bookshelf. A large map of a land was plastered behind a glass pane that was framed. Meandering towards it, I crossed my arms and looked over the details that it was drawn with. There were no markers of territory on this, no way of telling where the courts were unless you were versed in Prythian's geography.

Rhysand rose from his chair and sauntered around his desk and came to stand next to me. I was cautious of the space between us and took a subtle step to the left to enlarge the gap. "Where are we?" I questioned.

"Have a guess."

My shoulders sunk and I looked to the map. I looked over every inch of it, hoping to see something that would resemble what I had seen in my mind. But I couldn't even grapple with what the scaling of the map was. Would it take a person a day or a year to walk from the northern end to the southern?

"We are still in the Night Court," Rhysand added after the elongated pause developing between us. I nodded as though that meant something to me. I scanned fervently over the map, trying to see if there were any signs of the Illyrian Mountains. I only succeed in creating another tense silence. I bowed my head as Rhysand took a step in front of me, his back to the map. "Do you not know where the Night Court is?"

"I've never seen a map of Night Court," I muttered, "let alone Prythian." Rhysand was undoubtedly shocked at that revelation, his brows flying towards the lining of his black hair, his pointed ears twitching back. "I think it was their way of trying to control me," I spoke on. "I saw plenty of maps of the camps, I even helped create a few. And the mountains. That's all they needed me for. They wanted to make sure that I was doing what they wanted. My powers were theirs, not mine." I gave a dismissive shrug and turned away from the map. "I don't think looking at a map does anything to help me anyway. The best way for me to use it is to have been somewhere myself. My mind has its own map. If I've never been somewhere, it doesn't exist."

"You should learn." His hand rose and cupped. I predicted its path to land on my shoulder which impulsively twitched out of the way. Rhysand gave a hint of an apology through a soft smile. "It is important for any court member to have knowledge on the courts, where things are. And it could become important for you one day."

I looked back to the map again. "Alright," I conceded without argument.

"Alright," Rhysand repeated. "I'll ask Cassian to teach you. He hasn't got much going on these days."

My head snapped towards his figure which donned a casual smile. "Can't you?" I demanded without thought. "Can't you teach me?"

A bellowing laugh filled the room. Cocking an eyebrow, the High Lord said, "Fair warning, I won't be keeping it a secret that I am already your favourite of us." He rolled his shoulders in an untensing manner. "Mother, I can already see his pout forming. You've given me good fuel."

"You're not my favourite," I snapped. Rhysand's laughter didn't fade but it transformed into a different version of the same sound. "Madja is."

"You bite. I'm not surprised."

"I have sharp teeth." This time, a true smile rose, and the apples of my cheeks rounded under my eyes. "I promise I've only bit one man."

"I don't believe you." His eyes narrowed and I mimicked his expressions. "It's at least two."

For the first time in many days, I was overcome with the sensation of laughter filling my chest. I bowed my head to hide it but the action was fruitless so I tossed it back instead. Rhysand laughed louder at the sight of my uncontrollable racks and I knew then that it truly would be an honour to serve him.