Chapter 14

I coddled a bowl of milked oat within my arms across the table the next morning. My attempts at retrieving a night of good sleep that would last until at least midday did not transpire. So bathed in my bad fortune with a sound aching in my head, I grumbled at anyone who neared me and spoke. Rhysand had risen early along with Cassian to speak once more before he left for a few days to visit some of the camps. I had an inkling which ones they were focused on but didn't voice that suspicion. Azriel hadn't been seen yet, though I doubted that he was nursing a rough head, and rather just remaining somewhere quieter like I should have been.

Cassian donned his Illyrian leathers, the seven siphons displayed proudly. I'm not sure if it was my lethargic nature or something else, but my eyes dragged from each one with close inspection. Nothing extraordinary, except for the fact that there were seven.

"You plan on fixing your hair today?"

My spoon paused half-way to my mouth. I changed nothing except for the direction of my eyes to settle them on Cassian, my face already cemented in a scowl that I knew would last for another few hours. It was true, about my hair. I didn't bother checking the mirror to know that mess that I felt. Though it was typically straight and black, much like theirs, it was also washed the previous day and the strands puffed out far more easily than if they were slicken with oil.

"Don't rile her up," Rhysand chided, scuffing the back of his general's neck. "I'm the one that has to deal with her all day. You're leaving."

Cassian rubbed his head with a chuckle. "Just making sure you have something to keep you busy." Rhysand gave a peeve huff which said that he had already enough on his plate. "You can start by cleaning up the breakfast on her face."

My face dropped into a frown, a hand slapping to my cheek where there was indeed, a piece of oat. "Why aren't you feeling worse?" I grumbled. "You drank more than me."

"I'm twice your size and twice as practised," came his swift response. I couldn't argue with his logic. Drinking was a pastime that I hadn't truly been able to enjoy before. That was the first in years that I let myself do so. He left in short time after, I could just scarcely hear the flapping of wings against the wind since I sat so near to the open balcony.

I pushed the unfinished bowl across the table and drove my head deep into my arms instead. For a time, it was so dark and quiet that I tricked myself into believing that I was asleep until ceramic scraping across wood flared my eardrums. Rhysand sat directly next to me on the seat and had just dragged my bowl back within close reach. He scooped up a small spoonful of oat and then held it towards me.

I stared at it. "I am not being spoon-fed by a High Lord," I whispered, resting my head again. "That is the epitome of pathetic."

"There's nobody around to witness." He said it with a brutal smirk, violet eyes glimmering.

"My conscience will," I rebutted. He pressed the spoon forward, teasing me like I was a stubborn babe. "I feel like you are just taunting me now."

He made a mirthful huff through his nose and placed the spoon back down. "You should try and eat it all and get some energy. Otherwise, you'll feel just the same later."

I hummed, contemplating eating more but I couldn't even stomach the image right then. "You're a daemati," I mused. "Can you just whisk the feeling away? Make me think it's not there?"

Rhysand stretched one leg over the chair so one rested on either side of the long bench. "I'd much rather have the pleasure of spoon-feeding you. I get a far more amusing reaction." I couldn't be bothered to do anything but sigh and close my eyes as the morning sun grew more potent. I was being rather ridiculous, and I knew I would reprimand myself for it later when my senses returned from their vacation. Acting like a child in front of one the most powerful High Lords in Prythian's history? Very stupid.

I saw the shadow, even behind my closed eyelids. A gentle, warm hand laid across my forehead. It became a suction, the pain becoming brittle and breaking away from me until it was detached completely and removed by the touch. "I can hide the pain for some time," he murmured, "but it may come back on its own." I did not want the hand to leave after it had brought me such relief. But alas, the warmth lightened, and my head lifted like a dog following a treat. I hadn't thought he take my musings literally. Rhysand smiled as my eyes fluttered open. "Don't tell the others I can do that. I've made a point before that it wasn't something I could do for them."

"Then why risk exposing yourself?" I asked. It meant to come far lighter and mirthfully than the grumble it formed with.

"I'm still attempting to undermine Cass's efforts," he chortled. "And against his efforts again, I prefer it when you're not scowling at me. It's off-putting." I gave a tipped smile now that I felt like I could produce a proper one and swirled the spoon around the oats once more. "You looked happy last night. For the most part."

"I was happy," I agreed, ignoring the one part of the end of the night but it hardly counted against the other hours of fun. "I enjoyed myself."

"That's good to hear." I smiled wider, and truer. Because he sounded truly like he meant it. The thought that my happiness meant something to another was a long-lost part of my imagination of childhood. "I also noticed that you took my advice. How did you feel about that?"

At first, I didn't understand what he was talking about until my actions came racing back to me. I had reached for his hand. Not his sleeve, but his hand. And then I took Rav's, though that contact ended before we began to dance. I found myself, instead of answering, ducking my head bashfully. "You truly care about it, don't you?"

"I care about you, Annika," he said. My stomach swirled. "At first I thought you were more or less the same as Az. Just preferring to keep his distance. But it's been born from fear, and I don't want anyone living in fear here. I want you to be comfortable."

"Thank you." I couldn't find words more important to convey how much I meant so. I looked down at the hand that had been at my forehead. "You didn't have to touch me, did you? You can shatter minds without lifting a finger."

It was an accusation, but one without torment. Rhysand lifted his fingers, then drummed them against the wood. "I just wanted to gauge whether it was the alcohol last night that made you reach for me or not."

My throat croaked with a smile. "Just what I had been questioning."

"May I conduct some more research into the matter?" My brows rose in the odd question, but Rhysand made no move for further explanation of the strange request. I nodded with caution. Both arms reached for me. I remained as still as I could will my muscles, but I watched his hands like a deer watching a bear.

Then his fingers attempted to rake through my hair. Their path was swiftly blocked by knots before it could make much difference. "I'm not sure you're going to make it any better."

He hummed through his lips. "I've had practice with long hair before."

"Oh?" Despite the occasional snag, it wasn't the worst feeling in the world. I couldn't compare it to a mother brushing her child's hair, but it had a similar type of familiarity to the motion. Something that I liked—a feeling I burrowed deeply. "Did you used to have long hair or did you practice braiding Cassian's?"

"Neither," came a soft reply. I sensed the change of tone and examined his face. His eyes became distant. A slight, but sad tilt at his lips. It was hollow. "I had a sister." He kept reframing my hair, ignoring the resonance of the word. Had. I couldn't bring myself to ask. I didn't want to know, and I didn't want to put him through whatever story it was that she was not here. He finished whatever task he set upon my raven locks, laying most of the strands over either shoulder, running them between each of his hands. I felt the brush of his knuckles against my clavicle. "There," he declared, the softness still lingering. "Just as beautiful as always."

I followed him around for most of the day. Which meant sitting in his office, tucked into a book. I could have just gone back to my room and slept the day away, but every fibre of me wanted to be near him. I knew that I must have seemed like I was trailing like a lost puppy, but I didn't care.

As I sat in his office, a book folded in my lap, I waited until the High Lord seemed finished on whatever he was currently working on. "Rhysand?" His head tipped up. "I never got to ask you. Who asked you to help me? I don't even know anyone that would want me away from the camps."

His mannerism shifted. He sat back in the high-spined chair and folded his hands together. "I don't think you knew him. Knew him well, at least."

"Him?" I echoed. I would love to say it narrowed the potential names down, but I hadn't really had many names of women that I knew to begin with. And most of the names of men that I had, I barely knew at all. The ones I did know well would never have let me fall into the High Lord's hands. "Can I have a name?"

He looked to be contemplating it. Eventually, he shook his head. "He doesn't want you to know just yet. Forgive me, because I don't like keeping secrets from any of you, but it is for the best."

"It's for the best that I don't know who asked you to help me?" I drawled. I was met with silence. "I should be thanking them as much as I should be thanking you. But it doesn't make sense."

"No?"

"No," I affirmed. "You didn't know who I was or that I would be there. You didn't know of my existence until I was right in front of you. So how could somebody have asked you?"

I could see the calculation happening inside of his head. He wanted to be careful with what he told me, but not so much that it became frustrating for the both of us. "He didn't know what you were either," he divulged. "When I met you, his request… Came to mind. It just so happened that you were a visionary, a perfect addition to my circle." He purred the last few words, perhaps in an attempt to brush over everything else he said. Someone that didn't know who I was yet cared enough to ask a High Lord to pull me away?

It felt like a puzzle that was near completion, but he was hiding the last piece from me.

#

My neck bent at an awkward angle when I woke. Unsurprisingly, I was still curled up on the office chair, a new blanket strewn over me. Rhysand had spent most of the day in here working, but I caught him drifting off at some points until I fell asleep. It was not the pleasant sleep I hoped that it would be, and I felt if not worse than before. The strain of dreams lived true into reality.

Unoriented and alone, my eyes hazed white as I searched the House of Wind for any forms of life and activity. The main sections of the House were empty and dimly lit as no light penetrated the large windows. Just as my search came to an end, I finally found both Azriel and Rhysand on a railed balcony overlooking the city, talking softly under the moonlight. The world in front of me shifted back to the office, not having any desire to pry at a private conversation.

Slinking from the chair, I kept the blanket around me, folding my wings close to my back so the material could cinch at my front. It wasn't that I was cold, but the smell was…. I didn't even want to admit it to myself. It was comforting, that's what I would settle on.

The halls were unusually quiet, even for this time in the late evening. Had I missed dinner? I mazed my way through the House, smiling gently at the twin wraiths. Peeking around the corner of the door, Azriel and Rhysand were still talking but by the look on either's face, it didn't seem of anything of too much importance.

Azriel became the first to see me, his inquisitiveness multiplying each second that he looked at me. Rhysand leant against the railing, only glancing in my direction before a soft chuckle rose and he looked back out to the city of Velaris.

"Have you not given her any coats, Rhys?" Azriel drawled to his High Lord. I believe it was the first time I've heard Rhysand's shortened name from him. "Is it a ploy so she will have to come to you in search of warmth?" Rhysand huffed loudly, though remained in good nature. Azriel moved towards the door.

I pulled the blanket tighter, leaning against the arched threshold as he passed me. Rhysand remained at the railing, a soft hue painting his face from the city's lights. Without looking at me, he said, "Are you going to join me or watch me?"

I wasn't sure. I just found myself here because nowhere else felt right to be. But my feet gradually eradicated the distance from me and the railing, a soft breeze lifting at my hair.