The following days went by fast. I trained with Azriel in the afternoon and read beside Nesta in the evening. I didn't see much of Rhysand and Feyre and the rest of their Inner Circle. They were busy with planning for war that seemed to get closer and closer for each day passing. I was slowly beginning to master my powers. Though it was a new and different way I had to wield it, I was making progress.

Training with Azriel had become a routine. We didn't talk much, and it seemed to suit us both fine. As promised, he had taught me to winnow. Compared to my learning to channel my powers to a potential multiple amount of Fae, this had been easy for me and I had got the grasp of it within a couple of hours. Each day I could winnow a little further.

Azriel was also very interested in the surge of power that I had sent out in the mountains by Hewn City, but I couldn't answer his questions. I didn't know how I had done it - probably out of desperation, a survival instinct, I thought to myself. And I didn't know how to summon it again.

Each morning I would wake up with his scent in my nostrils and Feyre's words would echo through my head. A mating bond… Could this be it? I shuddered at the thought. Wouldn't he be feeling it, too? Perhaps I was just delusional, and it was all in my head. A life of imprisonment and torture was finally catching up to me and was making me outright crazy. But it felt so real to me - how I longed for his company of the training sessions, looking into those hazel secretive eyes. And his scent. He didn't have to be present or nearby for the scent to be available to me.

During the day, I used the training as a way to distract myself from these thoughts. When I had successfully learned to winnow, we had moved onto the beautiful sword he had picked out for me. Azriel had taught me to become one with the blade, and it felt like dancing when we practiced dancing. When he moved, I moved. I wasn't very talented with the blade, and I knew I would lose a true fight against him within seconds, but I enjoyed using my body like this. I

One day, when we had finished training, and as I sat panting on the grass, I said to him, "Can I ask you about your… hands? What happened?" It was a risky question. A dangerous one. Our few conversations had always been very practical and formal. Nothing personal. And this question- it was very personal.

Azriel was sitting next to me, sharpening his own blade. Truth-teller he had called it. He looked up at me when my question had exited my mouth. I couldn't figure out his reaction, but in those hazel eyes something glimmered. A flash of memory. Very different from the cold, expressionless façade he had on his face usually. He looked down on his blade again, chewing on my words. When I had almost given up on an answer, his words sounded hoarse, "My half-brothers wanted to see what would happen if you pour oil on a bastard-born Illyrian's hands and light them on fire. I was eight."

My eyes went wide as they went down to look at his scarred hands, as they worked on sharpening the blade. Even with the scars, they were beautiful as they worked, clearly it was routine for them, having done this many time before. I didn't know how to reply to this. I could tell him I was sorry, but I knew that, if he was anything like me, pity was the last thing he wanted. "One time, my mother burned off my hair. She was always very creative when it came to torture; good at finding methods that a good healer could cover up again. But yet, it took months before my scalp had healed, and even more time before my hair grew out again." I knew that it didn't compare to having scars on such a visible place as your hands, but I wanted him to know that he was not alone.

Azriel's eyes bore into mine. He didn't say anything, but he showed me a sadness in his eyes. He understood why I had shared that with him. "In the war to come, we will fight for a better world," he told me. It sounded like a promise. A world without torture, without the smell of burning skin.

Then Azriel stood up suddenly. His brows were furrowed. "We have to go back. Now," he spoke. Something was wrong. Very wrong from the sound of his words. I stood up quickly, not asking questions. It was not in my place, and if it concerned me, I would surely be told. I hoped it wasn't Hybern. That it wasn't the war starting, because I was not ready at all, I thought. Azriel grabbed me tight and flew us back. Apparently, he had been holding back the past few days. Because now… As his wings tore the wind, it sounded like thunder. And he flew faster than ever. It took seconds before we were back on the roof.

I followed Azriel down the stairs where Rhysand, Feyre, Cassian and Nesta were gathered. Feyre and Nesta each sat in a chair, holding a tall glass filled with a golden liquid. Brandy perhaps. I noticed a new tattoo on Feyre's arm. One I hadn't seen before, formed as a thick, black band around her arm. Each male had a panicked look on their face as they beheld Feyre and Nesta. As we reached the bottom of the stairs, their eyes flew to us. Azriel, in particular. Around us, Azriel's shadows danced, eager to work.

Azriel stepped forward and scanned Feyre and Nesta for any damage. Then he turned to Rhysand whose hands were red with blood. Whatever had happened, whoever had seemed to threaten the High Lady and her sister- they had not got out alive. "How did they get in?" Azriel asked his High Lord.

"Some powerful spell that enabled the king to destroy our wards. Amren is already out there, making sure it won't happen again, and that there aren't any more uninvited trespassers out there." Rhysand went to pour himself a glass similar to the female's, still with blodied hands.

It sounded like Hybern had infiltrated Velaris and had found Feyre and Nesta. Though I had yet to set foot in the streets of Velaris, Feyre had told me of the city. How Rhysand had kept it safe, and how it beamed with light and life. The view from my room confirmed her words. The thought of our enemy coming here was a frightening thought. Thank the Cauldron that nothing had happened.

Still standing at the foot of the stairs, I locked eyes with Nesta. My reading companion for the last few days. Not wanting to interrupt the conversation going on, I sent a look saying, 'are you alright?' Nesta looked like she was going to be sick, but she seemed to understand my silent question and gave me a slight nod, returning her focus to her glass.

Rhysand continued telling us that Amren was going hunting tonight, and that Hybern could attack any day now. We had to be ready. At the sound of those words, I swallowed hard. I didn't feel ready at all but standing in the room with these powerful Fae - my allies - I felt a surge of unity. That, together, we could beat Hybern. That night, I didn't get much sleep. Pictures of Amren through the streets of Velaris haunted me every time I tried to close my eyes. Instead, I sat before the windows, outlooking the city. Thankful that there existed such a place like this in the world. A place where night didn't cover the city in darkness, but in light - both from the bright stars above, but also from the faelights in the streets.

…

Two days later, Azriel didn't show up for training. No-one did for that matter. Not until late in the evening did Feyre show up at the House of Wind. She looked tired and was wearing her fighting leathers. One look at my face and she understood my confusion. "Hybern attacked the Summer Court today. They were not ready, their armada scattered along the coast. We went there to help," she explained, "Rhysand said it would be best if you sat this one out, taking that we have not discussed your exact role in the war. I'm sorry that we didn't come to tell you, but there was no time."

I had been pacing around the house most afternoon, wondering what was going on. Did something happen? Was it Hybern again? And the thought that had scared me most to my confusion - was Azriel hurt? But I couldn't be mad at Feyre for not telling me of this before now. "Don't think about it. Is everyone okay?"

Feyre nodded to my relief. "They're all back at the Illyrian Camp, working. I have a feeling that it wasn't the entirety of Hybern's army, only a small fraction of it. Next time, we won't be as lucky," she said with fear in her voice. Whatever she had been through today had marked her. It was her first battle. I couldn't begin to imagine what images were going through her head now. "I… I have to ask you something," she looked at me with careful eyes, "in a few days we will meet with the other High Lords to hopefully win them as allies. I'd like for you to be there. To convince them that it might not be a lost battle."

It was a big request and Feyre seemed to know. I had told her before how I didn't want to be a part of such things - only the war itself. And this… I thought of how my mother had probably planned to sell me to some High Lord, or perhaps a ruler from a distant land. She had known that a Fae in such position would be interested in having someone with my abilities in their possession. I could only imagine the ideas that would be born in the High Lords' minds if they were introduced to me. Definitely not something I wanted to partake in, but I couldn't say no. "Alright, but please don't expect me to showcase anything," I replied, seeing her eyes glimmer with relief over my answer.

"Thank you, Iris. And don't worry, we won't push you into anything. Your presence there will be enough." She gave my hand a tug, sending me a comforting smile. "I should get back. It'll be a busy night. I just wanted to let you know what had happened," she said. Feyre left the House of Wind, leaving me alone again.

I thought of Azriel, my mind almost automatically picturing his hazel eyes. As the spymaster, I wondered if he blamed himself for not seeing this attack coming. If the lives lost today would keep him up at night. Looking out the city again - it had become a favorite activity of mine - I sent out a silent prayer that he would forgive himself, that he wouldn't be too hard on himself. As if my prayers had been answered, I heard beats at the end of that thread inside me, louder than I had heard them before. Heartbeats.