Author's Note: Hi all! I'm officially back. After a month long bout of dealing with a broken computer charger, traveling for work, getting sucked into the hell of despair known as the KoA release and dealing with the holidays I've finally finished the next update. Hope you like it!
"Papa," Sleepy, star-flecked violet stared up at me, blinking blearily, "when are the lights supposed to come?" She nuzzled her face into my shoulder as her small arms wrapped about my neck. Her thick lashes fluttered against my chin, sleep beginning to weigh on her.
"Soon," I assured Celeste, smiling as I adjusted her small weight in my arms, careful to not pull the blanket wrapped about her loose. She pulled the soft plum-colored fabric close; Azriel's birthday present that she already could not bear to be without. "Should be shortly now, stay awake for just a few more minutes."
She'd lost momentum rather abruptly after her birthday party, the remnants of the overly sugary cake Nuala had oh-so-thoughtfully crafted finally dissipating from her system, leaving a significantly less energetic but now cranky child in its wake.
I'd have to remember to thank Nuala afterwards.
"Papa," she whined again, her nose scrunching in annoyance as the small freckles on her nose wrinkled, her newly earned four-year-old patience flagging rapidly, "I'm not falling asleep, I'm awake."
A small round of chuckles echoed from our family watching and waiting around us, seated on the various cushions and lounges we'd hauled up for the occasion.
I couldn't hide my amused grin as I pulled her closer, bouncing her gently as I stood on the veranda watching the dark skies. "Of course not. My apologies."
"I'm not tired," she reaffirmed, pushing away from my shoulder and looking up, squinting her eyes. "Nuh-uh."
She cast a glance towards her mother, holding an equally sleepy Cenric against her hip, his face and hands buried in her dress as he swayed a little, barely on his feet.
"I'm not a baby anymore," she quipped, rubbing at her eyes fiercely, "Not like Cenric."
"Shut up, Celeste," her brother muttered sleepily, his forehead pressed into his mother's side with his eyes closed. Feyre chuckled as she cradled our son close keeping him upright, her Starfall dress rippling in the faint light, "I'm not tired either, I'm just resting my eyes."
"You're falling asleep-" Celeste started, ready to pick a fight, her exhaustion flaring her temper. I opened my mouth to try and placate the argument about to ensue when a slash of light appeared out of the corner of my eye.
"There!" I pointed a finger, boosting Celeste up higher and tracing the path of the first spirit to appear, "There they are." For there, trickling in from the horizon like drops of dew, spirits began to crest over the mountains from the darkness, their iridescent bodies shimmering as they sliced across the indigo sky.
Celeste immediately perked up, violet eyes widening as she caught sight of the second streak of light dancing overhead, her face lighting up in delight.
"Woah! So pretty!" She clambered up my shoulder, effectively elbowing me rather sharply in the face, to get to a higher vantage point. "Papa, do you see? Do you see the spirits?"
"I do," I assured her, adjusting her weight once more and kissing her cheek as her eyes fixed on the spirits darting past, even fewer again this year but still present and beautiful as always. "Nearly as pretty as you are."
"You think so, Papa?" she murmured, the glimmering light of the spirits reflecting in her wide eyes, her attention wholly focused.
"Yes." I smiled up at her, watching her reaction more than the spirits themselves, the way her small round face lit up and her eyebrows lifted in wonder. "They're what gave you to me, after all."
A faint twinkle of remembrance flickered in Feyre's eyes as she glanced at me, a small, subtle smile curving her lips. Remembering the wish I'd made on those blooms my mother had told me story after story about, remembering the small plea I'd sent to the Mother five years ago, for one more small gift.
That small gift now sat perched in my arms, her small fingers clenching my jacket and pressing close. I glanced down towards my other gift, his face no longer buried in his mother's hip.
Cenric had finally directed his attention to skies, watching the spirits fly past, amazement in his cobalt gaze. Feyre pulled him close to her as she too gazed skyward, her eyes alight with the glimmer of the spirits.
All of them, all of it, a gift.
"I wanna glow and fly, then I'd really be a fallen star." Celeste looked up at me, her face full of hope. "You'll be able to teach me to fly soon, right, Papa?"
She flexed those dark wings of hers beneath her blanket, strong and limber for her age and indicative of the talent with flying she'd likely possess. "Soon they'll be big right? Big enough to fly?"
I chuckled, pride swelling in my chest. "Yes, I'll be able to teach you very soon," I smoothed the silky black strands of her hair out of her face. It would only be a matter of months now before she'd be able to effectively hold her own weight while soaring, before she'd be strong enough to take off. "You'll be able to fly like those spirits very soon."
"And like you," she snuggled closer, the faint smell of her favorite vanilla and jasmine soap wafting from her hair, her cheek pressed flat against my own. "I want to be like you too, Papa."
Something tightened before melting in my chest as I tugged her closer, kissing the feathery wisps of dark hair on her head. Whatever I had done to deserve this, I was beyond words and beyond thankful for it.
Celeste glanced over my shoulder back to our family spread across the couches, her nose wrinkling in the way that I knew meant trouble.
"But not Cassian," She narrowed her eyes at the unsuspecting Illyrian who only gawked as Celeste regarded him with a look that had my lip twitching up in amusement before entirely dismissing him, flipping her hair out of the way and turning her attention back upwards towards the spirits. "Nobody wants to be like Cassian."
The howling that followed echoed across the glimmering night sky of Velaris.
That memory had been engraved into the deep recesses of my mind, one that I slipped away for moments precisely like this. For moments when my fury was nearly strong enough to break free and dissolve the world to dust.
The edges of the memory curled inwards then faded as I soared high above the mountain tops, wisps of mist floating through the air. The tendrils of spring had barely begun to creep into the impenetrable cold of the Steppes, thawing through its icy core.
The cold hadn't been entirely dissipated yet though as frozen wind bit into my face as I glided around the Illyrian Peaks, Cassian banking on my right, Nesta tucked securely in his arms, headed straight for the camp where Azriel awaited our arrival.
The shadowsinger had taken off immediately after the infiltration at the House of Wind and headed for the Steppes to see who and what was brewing. He had conveyed only brief messages since his arrival, with an ever-more-pressing urge that Cassian and I should get there as soon as we were able.
Nesta, with her insufferable temper, had refused to be left behind. Had refused to not check on the females in her unit.
Something edged came in Azriel's response about bringing Nesta, that perhaps it would be wise to leave her in Velaris. This had only fueled her stubborness.
Azriel had refused to divulge any further information until our arrival, something so unlike my brother that it set my senses further on edge. We'd spent the night clearing the houses and unpinning the less-than-welcome sign across the entrance to the Riverside Estate. Neither Cassian nor I had slept.
Instead, we'd set off at the break of dawn, me winnowing Cassian, Nesta and I to the edge of the peaks a few miles outside the camps. Feyre and Mor were still with Cenric at the cabin, supposedly nursing the worst hangover of his young life.
The memory of the power that had obliterated Serys had even taken me by surprise - my son's power already rivalled my own and only grew with each passing day.
The events of the night before pressed in on me, squeezing the vulnerable part that still sent me into fits of furious rage when I thought on it.
The fact that they'd infiltrated House of Wind without my knowledge left me rattled and furious. They'd gotten past the wards, had walked straight into our home, and had effectively evaded detection from both Azriel and I, a feat in itself.
Only once in the last century had anyone so carefully slipped into Velaris without my knowledge, with devastating consequences. And now it seemed that same enemy had slipped in once again.
The air around me withered as my power flickered at the memory. Cassian cast a concerned glance in my direction at the ripple.
We'd cleared the House of Wind quickly, having found little to no evidence of any other intruders. It seemed that only Serys had come, no sneak attacks or traps evident.
It had been the wings pinned to the front of the Riverside Estate that had sent me reeling, severed wings from Serys herself, a cruel, grotesque message that rekindled fires that I had hoped had been permanently extinguished in the last decade.
There had been the occasional murmur of another rebellion rearing its head, but Azriel had always been able to shut it down quickly, quenching the flames before they were ever even more than a spark. The Steppes had been otherwise quiet, almost peaceful in the last few years as they rebuilt their warrior castes and families began to flourish once again.
Apparently not though, I thought wryly as I banked around the familiar bend, the plume of smoke and distant rustling of movement indicating the Illyrian camps, if this horseshit was rearing its hideous head again.
In the distance I could make out the forms of Azriel and Devlon facing away from one another, nearly a hundred feet apart, even in the light of all that was transpiring.
These bastards had never given my brothers an ounce of the respect they deserved. If they wanted a King so badly maybe I'd purge them all and appoint Cassian. Mother knew he'd serve his people better than their current lords and Azriel might finally get some decent sleep at night.
I was nearly too eager to oblige the idea.
I landed soundly, sending a shudder through the earth. Cassian plummeted a bit more forcefully than necessary several feet away from me, his face twisted into a lethal sort of calm as he set Nesta gently on her feet next to him. The warriors of the camp took notice, their brows lifting as they beheld their general, his wings flaring wide in agitation.
I began picking my way towards Azriel who had turned his attention towards me, his eyes flat as he watched my approach.
Delvon sent a narrowed glare and sneer at Cassian before turning his attention back to me, his dark eyes hard.
"I think it's best you see for yourself." I nodded for Devlon to lead the way, Azriel, Cassian and Nesta flanking behind me.
As we walked through the array of tents scattered throughout the camp I felt the piercing gaze of many of the females, faces blanched and tight, as we walked past. Their hands traced symbols to ward off evil as they slipped back behind the flaps of tents.
Whatever had happened could not be good.
"You've been warned, Lord," Devlon growled as he swiftly made his way up a small hill, his wings tucked in tight. "We've never seen something of this scale."
I sent a brief glance towards Azriel who kept his eyes forward, the shadows around him so dense his features weaved in and out of them as we summitted the hill that overlooked the deeply gouged valley outside of the camp.
All across the valley, strewn like scraps of fabric, were wings.
Hundreds upon hundreds of wings, flung carelessly across the dead winter grass, the red-hued membrane dull and leathery as the elements tore at them. And along the center of each of those wings, a thin line of silver: clipping scars.
Illyrian females.
Dread and disbelief tore through me, so violently that I felt the slightest tug on the bond, checking.
I couldn't even bring myself to respond as bile rose at the back of my throat.
"What in the actual fuck," Cassian ground out, lip curling with disgust as he took in the valley of discarded wings, his eyes narrowed.
Nesta remained motionless and silent, her face hard as steel.
"Cults," Azriel replied, his eyes icy as he too looked over the grotesque display. "Apparently this is their way of throwing their devotion behind their cause." The shadowsinger's pupils were so dilated his eyes were nearly black with fury. "There was a similar incident when this happened the first time but never on this scale."
"No shit, Az," Cassian hissed, instinctively putting himself between the discarded wings and Nesta, earning a hiss of annoyance from the stone-faced female, "This is completely-"
"The females," I cut in, looking at Devlon, "are they from your camp?"
"No," The general shook his head, idly scratching his chin, "all members of my camp were called out this morning, not a single female is missing their wings. I don't know how they dumped them without one of our warriors picking up on it."
"The females are spooked." He rustled his wings behind him, as though assuring himself of their presence, "I'm sure you've noticed but they've all taken to hiding in their tents, won't talk to anyone. Only those bitches calling themselves warriors have braved coming out-"
"Watch your mouth," Nesta snarled, locking her steely gaze with Devlon as her shoulders went rigid, "You don't speak of my unit that way, ever."
A familiar ache formed at my right temple as a memory of a similar stand-off from over a century ago came to front of my mind. Azriel remained stonefaced as ever.
Devlon's wings flared, a tell-tale sign of his temper spiking.
"You should know your place in this situation, witch," he hissed back, digging his boots into the mud, as a low snarl slipped from Cassian's lips. "Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of-"
"Those 'bitches' can take any of your warriors any day, so back off." Nesta's tone left no room for argument, the already frigid tempers somehow plummeting further as power rippled around us like a kiss of death.
Devlon had the good sense to at least blanch as Cassian positioned himself between the woman and the camp behind her.
To hell with him.
The Lord, wise from his first and last encounter with Nesta, only growled before turning his attention from her in dismissal.
I didn't miss the hiss in response.
"There's more this way, High Lord," Devlon grumbled, stepping around Nesta and leading us down a steep incline, "far more."
Devlon's little fit had left Nesta is a sour mood. So sour in fact that Cassian had suggested she go check on her unit before she leveled the camp and the mountain top entirely.
She was still pissed.
She stalked toward the training ring where the female warriors loitered, eyes narrowed and lips curling as they sized up every being walking past the ring.
The women trained on this mountain were deadly and ruthless and only a fool would be so careless to cross one of them. A trait Nesta had found to be bred into their very essence.
The waves of fury rippling off them had the majority of the camp's occupants keeping a good distance from the ring as they hurried past in the piercing cold.
Whoever had done this had hit female warriors hard, flaying open a box of worms they would not be happy to see.
Nesta stepped over the white markings that outlined the training field and headed for the straight-backed female with the long ponytail, her wings wide as she barked orders at the two girls sparring: fledglings who barely knew how to wield a fist, much less a blade.
Nesta watched as the two girls tussled, their forms limp. The shouting female barked again, this time a threat that immediately had the girls straightening their postures, refocusing.
Nesta didn't fail to notice the tallest girl's limp wrist or the smaller one's faltering pose, neither really trying.
A couple laps around the camp would change that.
"Look who finally deigned to join us in the midst of this hog shit," the female smirked at Nesta as she approached, her stone-grey eyes as sharp as Nesta's own. "I thought you'd taken off to go play dresses and parties for Starfall. Guess you got wind of everything."
The sparring girls immediately froze upon seeing their captain, their eyes widening as they immediately straightened and bowed, deeply, to Nesta.
She didn't smile as she jerked her head over a shoulder, a sharp dismissal that the girls did not miss. They quickly gathered themselves before fleeing the ring, their lesson cut short for the day.
"Valka," Nesta ignored the grin the woman flashed at her, her bird like features as sharp as her gaze, as she got straight to the point. "What happened?"
Nesta's second only cut her another infuriating smirk.
Valka, while young, had taken up the mantle as Nesta's second when Myrie, her former second, had decided to step down from her position to marry her husband and have children, of her own choosing. While fierce and invaluable in a fight, Valka had a penchant for violence and taunting that made the more lewd warriors look like children.
She was exactly what the Illyrian females needed, but not something Nesta was not in the mood to tolerate at the moment.
"Not entirely sure," Valka stretched one arm above her head, flaring her wings, tauntingly wider than nearly all of the males in the camp, before cocking her head with a shrug. "Some nut-bags decided to go slicey slice with their wings and dump them off in the valley in the middle of the night."
So, she wanted to play that game.
Nesta sent Valka a look that would have made any lesser being flee.
The female only grinned lazily in response, stretching her other arm above her head.
"And what about the King?" Nesta looked pointedly at Valka who shrugged again, nonchalantly dropping out of her stretch, every movement oozing with arrogance.
"I haven't seen my brother since he fled the Steppes after the duel." She reached down and picked up a dented training sword, twirling it lazily, its surface reflecting in the dull winter sun. "My bet is it's just some die-hards trying to spook the females. They're getting desperate."
Valka was also the adopted daughter of the widow who had birthed the so-called "King," a young male with enough power to flatten Ramiel and the last amongst seven children who had been born of the late lord who had fallen in the battle against Hybern.
The same male who had challenged Rhysand for his throne nearly fifteen years before. Valka had only been a tiny child at the time and had cowered behind her mothers' legs as the bloody battle had raged.
Rhysand nearly hadn't walked away from it.
"Desperate enough to infiltrate Velaris again," Nesta cut in coldly, immediately snagging Valka's attention.
The sharp-faced female lifted a brow before tossing the sword aside, the chipped blade landing with a wet squelch in the mud.
"They're insane to try it," she shook her head, crossing her arms over her ample chest. "They've already lost this battle once. Why try again?"
"That's what I'm asking you." Nesta locked eyes with her again. This time Valka did not smile.
"If you're concerned about my mother you'll be happy to know she was up at the crack of dawn sobbing her eyes out over what those females did." Valka walked away toward the sword rack, her shoulders tight. "She might have birthed my brother, but she didn't make him King."
"She gave him the bloodright."
"She chose that path as much as we choose to be female upon birth." Valka's eyes narrowed. "Her husband took her time and time again to try and breed that damned beast form, which, by the way, they never succeeded in. She's lost all of her children, let her live in peace."
"And yet he still challenged Rhysand," Nesta studied Valka as she began hanging up training swords, searching for any flash of recognition. "And yet they still stole my niece away in the night and murdered her."
"You think I don't know that?" Valka replied, eyes distant as she continued her work. "Lest you forget it was my mother who held a ceremony mourning the loss of Celeste."
"Where is he, Valka?" Nesta pressed, ignoring that last comment, "Where is your brother?"
"For the last time, Captain," she cut back coldly, wings flaring slightly, "I don't know. I've served under you for the last five years, you know my word is good."
"Your brother's words were good too when they decided to stab the Night Court in the back all those years ago," Nesta stepped forward, unwilling to bend, "Don't think your brother took any mercy when it came to trying to destroy my family."
"Don't go there," Valka hissed at Nesta. "You already killed Enalius during the Rite years ago. That idiocy came from his father, Mother wants nothing to do with any of it."
Nesta let a sigh slip through her nose and rubbed at her eyes.
"If I knew, Nesta, I'd tell you," Valka straightened and pinned her with that metallic grey stare, her eyes bright. "What involvement could we possibly have? The only ones left are Mother and I. Please, just leave her alone. She's lost enough."
Something twinged in Nesta's gut but she finally conceded, turning her attention from her second. Valka had proven to be the most loyal lieutenant she could have asked for, her relationship to her traitorous brothers was something that she couldn't be held to. She'd been too small when it happened anyway.
"Keep an eye out, Valka," Nesta said over a shoulder, her steely eyes assessing the ring around them. "If you see anything, you talk to me first."
"Even before your insufferable mate?" Valka cooed.
"Yes." Nesta began stalking across the ring, the girls who were training on the far edge finally spotting her and bowing as she exited.
Grinning again, Valka bowed once, her dark curtain of hair swinging. "Of course, Captain."