CHAPTER XI

"What is it?" asked Zivia, voice bordering on annoyance. She was out in the gardens with her wings spread out wide under the morning sun. At first, she was just alone sunning her wings when the Illyrian general joined her.

The High Lady has invited her for a casual lunch at the estate saying that Mor will be joining them. The night court's third-in-command arrived last night but insisted on meeting them the following morning.

She was deep in thought when she noticed Cassian looking, quickly averting his gaze when their eyes met and folding his arms over his chest whistling casually as if nothing happened. The gesture irked her but she refused to acknowledge the awkwardness and instead ignored him. Though she felt him staring again the moment she turned her attention away. She shifted, better positioning her wings against the sunlight when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him again, bending a little over backwards squinting at her wings. That was when she finally confronted him.

"Ah," answered Cassian, tucking his wings in earnest and rounded on her, "I was looking at your wings."

Her wings folded reflexively and she backed away from him.

"Oh come on, don't look at me like that." He said, "I was just trying to compare mine."

"What?" Zivia wasn't sure she heard him right.

Cassian started to answer when Feyre and Rhysand appeared.

"Are you harassing Zivia?" asked the High Lady while Rhysand's brows rose in accusation.

"Of course not." The general dismissed, gesturing at her. "I was wondering about Seraphim wings. You know, who have bigger wingspans." He wiggled his brows at them as if talking about an inner joke only they were privy about.

"So you are harassing her." Rhysand declared, strolling towards them.

Zivia took a quick glance at both the Illyrians' wings before replying, "Ours, definitely." She gave them a look that says she isn't as clueless about the subject matter as they thought.

Cassian's brows practically rose to his hairline at her statement. "Pff, of course they don't."

"Drop it, Cas." Rhysand warned, even though he looked just as doubtful albeit mildly interested.

The Illyrian general gestured at her. "Come on. Only one way to find out."

"I don't even think it's fair to measure up against her Cassian," pointed out Feyre as he took a stance in front of them and stretched out his wings, completely ignoring them both.

"You don't have to entertain the whims of this bull-headed idiot, Zivia," Rhysand told her before turning to Cassian. "Now tuck those wings before Azriel comes and sees you."

"What's he gonna do?" challenged Cassian, standing his ground.

"He might mention it to Mor. And trust me brother, you don't want Mor hearing anything about this."

There was a slight twitch in Cassian's jaw.

"You really are an entertainment." Zivia stepped behind Cassian and unfolded her wings, carefully aligning it against his. "Well then."

Feyre took it upon herself to measure the two of them, grinning like a fool at the result. He looked at Rhysand and gave him a shrug.

The High Lord slowly shook his head. "Lost cause, brother."

Cassian looked at Feyre as if he couldn't believe it and he refused to believe it because then he said, "Well that's only because of your feathers. Pluck them off and we'll see."

"How about I pluck all of your hairs down there?" countered Zivia though she herself couldn't hide the amusement in her voice. Cassian pursed his lips and looked at her as if to say 'point taken'. "Besides, what's all this fuss about wingspans anyway? Shouldn't you be more bothered learning better techniques than just sticking it in and leaving everything to size? It's like arguing which one has the bigger and longer sword when neither of you even knows how to properly wield one."

The High Lady chuckled as an embarrassed look passed between the two Illyrians. "She's a got a point you know."

"How did we even come to this?" Zivia was shaking her head. "I was just peacefully sunning my wings here. I swear you lots have got your mind wrapped up on other useless silly things."

Cassian sheepishly grinned at her while the High Lord muttered an apology on his general's behalf.

They're a handful, Azriel once told her during their time at the Continent when she asked about the Inner Circle, giving a particularly deep sigh when it came to his two Illyrian brothers.

She's actually starting to understand his sentiments.

Just then, as if on cue, the shadowsinger appeared from the doorway to the veranda, walked over to them and handed the High Lord a rolled parchment.

Zivia's eyes snagged on to his tucked wings, carefully examining it. "Ahh," she drawled, turning her head to Cassian. "I see where the insecurity is coming from."

Cassian stared at her, mouth slightly agape; he looked unamused and clearly a bit insulted. Feyre burst out laughing across from her and Azriel looked at them, utterly oblivious about what is going on.


Mor was in a rather bad mood when she arrived for luncheon. She outright ignored everyone, talking only when necessary. It was eerily silent over the dining table; the clanks of knife against plates were the only sound.

The High Lord cleared his throat, speaking over them "Starfall is in three days. I think we should take this as an opportunity to rest before going back to the matter of the treaty." He took a pull from his wine goblet. "Preparations have already started in the city."

It's the first time Zivia heard the term 'starfall' and she wasn't sure what that meant. The High Lady's sister appeared just as confused across from her. "What's starfall?"

"It'll be both your first time, isn't it? It would be much better as a surprise" Feyre clapped her hands, eyes full of excitement. "I can't wait for you to see it!"

"Will Nesta be coming?" Elain's meek voice sounded like a boom of thunder and silence fell like a blanket over them. Cassian went as rigid as a prison's blank stone wall, holding on to his knife as if he was about to yield it.

"Well…uh" The High Lady was at lost for words. "I haven't talked to her about that." Elain sagged a bit in her chair, making her look more fragile. "Yet." Feyre quickly amended. She looked over at Rhysand, a silent conversation passing between them before turning back to her sister. "I'll see if I can give her a visit tomorrow." Elain just nodded and turned her attention back to her food.


Zivia found Mor by the river near the estate after lunch. She approached her slowly, not wanting to disrupt her from any thoughts she was having. The others have noticed the abrupt change in her but decided not to confront her for it and told Zivia that it wasn't that big of a deal.

"Morrigan has her moods," the High lord had told her. "You need not worry."

Though a frown seems to be his default everyday look, Azriel appeared genuinely worried. She couldn't tell whether to feel concerned about it, especially coming from Azriel, or it was just one of those times that he over-worries about Mor.

A shift of movement caught her eyes breaking her from her trance. Mor has noticed her presence.

"I'm sorry," she strolled closer to her. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything. I just wanted to check on you."

Mor smiled at her. "It's alright. I'm fine."

Lie.

Zivia walked to her side and stood at the edge of the river, both their reflections blinking at them from the flowing crystalline water. "Azriel's worried about you."

"He always is."

Zivia didn't know where to go from there. She wasn't even sure Mor wanted to have this conversation in the first place. "If you say so. I'll go on then."

Just as she was about to leave, decidedly letting Mor tend to her own emotions, a hand grabbed her by the elbow.

"Wait. Come with me."

At first, Zivia thought they were going to the House of Wind but they winnowed in front of a house she was unfamiliar with. She was sure they weren't within the immediate vicinity of Velaris or the night Court for that matter.

The wind blew with the last of the winter chill, carrying with it the scent of hills and forest ready to welcome spring into its embrace. She tucked her wings closer around her and suppressed a little shudder. Horses whinnied in the distance as they walked towards the entrance.

"Is this another one of the High lord's extravagant houses?" she asked bemused. "How many houses does he have?"

Mor paused by the doorway. "No, this estate actually belongs to me." She gave her a rather guilty smile before opening the door and beckoned for her to come inside. "I bought it some centuries ago for the quiet, to be alone with myself once in a while."

The interior of the house was simple yet beautiful. Pale velvet couches surrounds a fireplace situated on the far corner of the receiving room, a small table laden with fresh flowers sitting in the center. Wine colored gossamer curtains were peeled back to allow the most light to pour in from the gilded windows. The decorations were fairly reminiscent of the Night Court itself with pieces of Mor's personal taste here and there.

Mor walked over and stooped to pick up a stray blanket forgotten on the floor. "I never told anyone else about this. Even Rhys doesn't know of this place. This was my escape whenever I wanted to get away from them." She watched as she tossed the blanket away, her gaze briefly staying on the couch as the wool landed in a heap over one of the pillows. "It gets suffocating sometimes."

Zivia followed her to the back of the house and into the kitchen.

"It's been a bit difficult." Mor told her a she busied herself filling the teapot. "My time at the Continent wasn't as smooth as I imagined it to be."

Zivia pulled one of the kitchen chairs and situated herself a bit awkwardly due to her wings not fitting on the chair. "Did something bad happen?" She moved about, trying to find a comfortable position.

"Not exactly. The continental High Lords were a bit difficult I admit, but other than that there wasn't much. It'll take time but I'm sure it will work out." There was a lace of doubt in her words. Persuading all of them at once proved to be difficult even for the Night Court's third-in-command. "I did enjoy the assortment of wines they have though. Some of the kingdoms' cellars were magnificent; I should tell Rhys to have one made."

Well, Azriel got that part right, Zivia thought.

Mor handed her a cup of hot tea before filling one for herself and remained standing, leaning by the counter. They both sipped on their drinks in silence. She patiently waited, figuring Mor might have wanted to tell her something and the fact that she brought her here, away from the others, means that it wasn't anything she wanted to let them know of. The strain in Mor's face was apparent and she wasn't sure whether to reach out for her or just let her be. Finally, she looked at her, expression full of uncertainty. She opened her mouth then shut it, dropping her gaze back on the cup in her hands.

"It's alright." Zivia almost whispered. "You can tell me about her."

Mor's head whipped up to her, eyes wide with surprise. She gave a sympathetic smile and nodded towards the receiving room. "I don't suppose that lilac coloured overcoat back there is yours. Doesn't seem to suit your style."

For a few seconds, Mor stared at her in equal parts shock and amusement. "You're just as sharp as your mother, you know, with a dash of your father's humour. Drakon must be proud."

"I'm not entirely sure about that." She muttered, glad that the tension somehow eased a little.

Mor tossed back the contents of her cup, emptying it in one fluid motion and heaved a deep sigh. "The thing is, during my time at the Continent, I've had a lot of time to think about…certain things…and how it affects my current situation with her. I knew from the start that this wouldn't be easy but…I'm not sure. I love her. I do, so much. After so many years."

"Mor…"

"I don't know if this is going to work out after all. Rhysand and Feyre are doing what they can but we are not sure if this will push through especially since we can't even determine our current situation with the Mortal Queens. I won't lie to myself, I am scared." Her hands fumbled around her empty cup; thumbs tracing lazily over its rim. "After I came back, I told her…she didn't take it well." Pain etched across her face as she looked over to the adjacent room, possibly the bedchamber, the echoes of their recent disagreement still lingering in her mind.

"Where is she now?"

"Back at the mortal lands. Said she needed time to clear her head."

Zivia carefully chose her words. "I think you should talk to her."

"I can't," Mor's voice was a groan of frustration. "I don't think I can face her after what happened." She shook her head as if to rid herself of the negative thoughts. Pushing out of the counter, she stood by the door staring at the garden lining the back of the kitchen. "I don't know what to do next. I want her but I can't bring myself to drag her into something that I know would eventually end up hurting her. By the Cauldron, I can't even tell anyone about our relationship! How utterly pathetic."

"It's not," said Zivia softly, joining Mor outside. "Don't be too hard on yourself. What you have is nothing to be ashamed of. It is a very wonderful thing to experience love no matter what form it comes. Love is love. It is the strongest magic possessed by fae and mortals alike and the only thing powerful enough to cross that barrier between our worlds."

Mor plucked a flower from a bush and rolled it over her knuckles. "Do you really think it possible?"

"Of course!" Zivia replied with a little too much enthusiasm. "I mean, have you seen how many half-borns are in Cretea? Imagine how crowded our island would be if the humans have that same animalistic…desire as a newly mated fae. Mother above, we'd be like rabbits in a small warren." She was glad that elicited a smile from Mor. She wouldn't know what else to do if she started crying in front of her. "My point is I understand how you feel. As much as we try to veer away from it, some faes back in our island couldn't help falling for a human." Her gaze went to the flower on Mor's hand. "Loving a mortal has its obvious drawbacks of course. I'm sure you're well aware of that." It has only been a few minutes but the petals were now limp over its stem. It's going to die soon.

Mor held the flower for a while longer before letting it fall to the ground. "And you? Have you ever fallen in love?"

"Well…" Zivia contemplated before continuing. "I did. Once."

Memories from three centuries' past came rushing back at her from the grave she'd tried burying them. Seems like even time wouldn't let her forget. Does she want to?

Mor was still looking at her, expression laced with worry and curiosity. She realized she was waiting for her to continue. Stomping down her growing anxiety, she went on. "Ours really didn't have a happy ending. But my fault entirely."

Mor let her words hang in between them before quietly asking, "What happened?"

The scene played out in her head. Of all the things, his face was the first to come up in her mind and a little jolt of pain tugged at her chest. He was a beautiful mortal and he stole her heart with that innocent smile of his. They were happy. But for some stupid reason, she felt undeserving of it.

"I left him," she mumbled.

Thinking back, she believed that she was just scared – afraid of letting herself love when she knew that one day it would all be gone and she couldn't imagine how it would be for her to see it all die and have to outlive whatever it is that they had.

Mor was silent beside her.

She was trying so hard to stop tears from forming in her eyes lest they start falling and she couldn't stop.

"I later realized how stupid I was for doing that." There wasn't even a wall separating them from each other but she acted like there was one. Fear took her in its iron grip and wouldn't let go. With time, things became a little easier for her to forget but the pain felt all the same – like a hammer shattering her heart into a million pieces – every time a slip of her memory reminds her. He let go of her too, just as she did with him, going on with their separate lives.

"After some years, I went to see him." A cloud had partially covered the sun, casting shadow on both their faces. She took a breath to calm her thundering heart. "Only to find him on his deathbed."

She felt a flinch from Mor.

The memory was as vivid as if it only happened yesterday and not centuries ago – she remember seeing his frail body on the bed, how light and cold his hand were when she took it in hers, remember as he called out her name with his dying breath and told her how he waited for her to come back all those time. "I begged the Cauldron then, to give him another day – even just another hour. Anything, I would have done anything if it meant I can be with him for just a little longer. But it was too late, I was out of time."

The wind stopped blowing and the trees stopped rustling as if to mourn with her. She started shaking her head. "It was the biggest regret of my life."

The sky cleared and she turned to Mor. "Funny isn't it? How an immortal like me can run out of time?" She lifted her face towards the sky, soaking up the heat to make her feel alive. "They come and go, like specks of dust compared to the eternity we have."

Shifting on her legs, she reached out for Mor. "I don't want you to make the same mistake that I did. Dwelling on what might happen isn't any better than wondering what could've happened. As much as it scares you too, take comfort in knowing that though she may not be with you for the rest of your life, you will be for the rest of hers. That is a thousand times better than all the what ifs you'll have if you let this all go. Be with her. Make it work – together."


Zivia hadn't heard from Mor the following days though she once saw her talking to the High Lord, but then leaving just as quickly as she came. She doesn't know if she was able to talk to Briar and mend things between them and could only hope that there was at least some progress. But it was Mor, she'll manage.

The clouds parted, revealing a night sky full of glimmering stars, the moon casting a bluish glow over the city and the mountain peaks. Zivia focused her attention on an incoming figure from the horizon as she detached herself from the railing. Azriel landed soundlessly on the balcony later, wings tucking gracefully on his back. Without any preamble, he presented a box wrapped in teal silk ribbon. "Feyre asked me to deliver it to you."

Her brows creased as she took it from him. She inspected the box; it had no other markings around it except for the Night Court's insignia embroidered on the ribbon itself. Placing it on her hip, she carefully pulled on the silk band and lifted the lid. Tissue paper crinkled as she dug inside until her hand met soft fabric. She picked up the garment, running her fingers over the delicate material and smiled despite herself.

The other day, she and Feyre, along with the High Lady's sister went to a shop in Velaris to have their dresses made for the upcoming Starfall event. The tailor must've sent hers along to the estate.

She set the dress back into the box and replaced the lid. "Thank you."

Azriel must not have heard her or there was something else he came for because he still lingered, his expression all but serious.

"Are you waiting for me to try it on?"

He looked at her, visibly taken aback. Blush crept up on his neck all the way to his ears. "Wha – I. No…sorry." He collected himself and turned to leave. "I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good night."

The sudden formality in his voice made her instantly regret her decision to tease him.

"Wait!" Zivia yelled, almost dropping the box as she tried reaching for him. "I was only joking. Mor's fine." The Illyrian halted mid-stride, his wings already open for flight. "She's all right, don't worry."

He gave her a curt nod over his shoulders before soaring into the night sky, disappearing among the clouds that started to swallow the moon and the stars once again.