Author's Note: Ahhh this has taken me so long to finish but it's done! I hope you all enjoy it! Thank you as always for all of the feedback, its so appreciated and gives me motivation to keep going! You guys are all seriously the best!
Also Cenric's portrait is available here if you're interested :) storyteller4271/art/Cenric-811869998
I had lost sight of Cenric and Valka as they raced up the mountain, their forms fading into distant black pinpricks. Turning abruptly, I plummeted for the copse of trees Azriel had disappeared into minutes before, the inhuman screech of rage following him still echoing off the cliffs.
I'd been scouting ahead when I'd heard my son's frantic shout and dove sharply, in time to see him shove Valka toward the rocky base of Ramiel as a grotesque form of boney skin and claws emerged from the shadowy trees behind them.
I'd had no time to intervene before Azriel had materialized from seemingly nowhere and slammed his power into the creature, the blue energy of his siphons sending it tumbling.
To my horror, it'd risen with ease.
Upon catching a glimpse of its face I'd had to suppress the bile that surged in my throat, watching as the hideous human head swung about and smiled toothlessly at Azriel before charging him.
Terror ripped through me like a blade.
I had to help—but being so close to Ramiel, I'd be easy to spot—
I followed swiftly after as Azriel raced for the dark patch of forest that Cenric and Valka had sprinted from, slipping easily into the covering shadows.
No one would see me here.
Hovering just above the ground I immediately shifted and landed softly in a crouch, my bow slung low across my shoulders, a quiver full at my hip. The glen was too still, a stomach-turning silence saturating the air.
Steadying my breathing through my mouth, I shot off soundlessly into the gloom, willing Azriel and the beast's tracks to appear.
What had that . . . thing . . . even been? One of the innumerable creatures that roamed the Steppes- one among the many I had narrowly avoided firsthand so many years ago? The shudder that raced across my shoulders told me that wasn't the case.
I slowed my stride, now creeping carefully deeper down the path, confused at the complete absence of tracks. It was as though someone had dusted the soft earthen floor with a broom. And the silence . . . from this distance, I should have heard sounds of battle, the horrendous cry the monster as it battled against Illyrian steel...
Anxiety pulled at me as I thought of my brother, somewhere within this copse of trees facing that creature. I willed the guilt from our last conversation away.
A sickeningly sweet smell suddenly assaulted my nose like a wall, putrid and something akin to a mixture of sugar and decay. Likely a marking the monster used to designate its territory.
I tightened my grip around my Illyrian blade, watching the shadows for any glimmer of movement. None came.
Running my hands across the smooth white trunks of the aspens, I struggled to find the source of that smell, for any marker that would show where it had vanished to. But the scent was everywhere, with no source that I could pinpoint.
I slowed my pace even more, willing my eyes to peer deeper into the darkness, to reveal anything: a flash of shifting skin, a rustle of antlers-
"Momma?"
The voice filtered through the shadows, no more than a whisper, but still sweet and lithe, like a cascade of tinkering bells. Exactly the same as it had once been, only deepened and roughened with age. Without thinking, I whirled toward it and stopped.
My heart spluttered. For in the shadows of the trees stood a pale, slim figure swathed in a torn white gown, tresses of inky night cascading down her slim shoulders. Her eyes glimmered like night skies filled with burning silver stars.
She stood tall now, her childish features having given way to a womanly figure and a long face, my face, but I would have known her in an instant.
Celeste.
I could not stop the choked sob that escaped me, the grip on my bow faltering as the world around me fell away.
Impossible.
"Is . . . is it really you?" Her voice was hushed, her eyes glancing to and fro as she tentatively approached me, shoulders shaking as tears leaked down her alabaster skin. "Please, tell me it's really you."
"Celeste." Her name passed through my lips in no more than a breath as I reached a tentative hand toward her as some dam within myself broke. I took a step forward, but something jolted through me, preventing me from reaching her, a subtle tug of wrongness.
I shook it away, willing to cease.
It pulled harder.
Instinctively, I tightened my grip on my bow.
She stopped suddenly, something like fear filling her eyes as she tentatively stepped away from me. My heart tore down its seams, begging, pleading for what stood before me to be real, demanding to know why I dared raise a weapon against my missing child.
Alive, she was alive-
She wiped futilely at her eyes, her frame shivering under her ragged dress in the frozen breeze. "They took me," a shudder raced over her too-white skin, her too-slim waist, "the Illyrians, they've kept me hidden all these years."
It was like a stone through ice, a crushing sensation that made my knees buckle. It was entirely possible, a sleight of hand used to put us off and if she'd ran . . . why hadn't we looked harder? Why had we believed them when they claimed her death?
I'd slaughter them all.
Another wave of that sickeningly sweet smell suddenly permeated my senses again, setting my head swimming, dragging me away from the revelation that lay before me. She'd inched closer again, her full, cupid's bow lips, her fathers, falling into that familiar pout, trembling with sorrow.
"Momma, please," her hand slipped around my wrist, amethyst eyes boring into my soul, "I want to go home," a choked sob, a plea, "take me home."
The smell was suffocating, hazing my mind.
Celeste.
"I miss you, please don't let them hurt me—"
Thud.
It happened so quickly it took me a moment to realize what had happened, to see the razor-sharp bit of steel protruding from her chest, the shaft of the arrow planted firmly in her back, right between where her wings once sat.
No.
Her face froze in terror as a bloodcurdling scream tore through her lips, her grip on my wrist impossibly tight as dark blood slid from her mouth.
My heart of ice shattered into a million, fractured pieces.
NO.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Azriel appeared from the shadows of the wood, his face hard as he let arrow after arrow fly, driving deeper into her exposed back.
I felt the reverberation in her hand clenched around my wrist as the arrows continued to pepper her, filling her body with holes as she looked up at me pleadingly, her blood drenching me.
The source of that sweet smell.
I barely had time to wrench my hand away before the illusion flickered, Celeste's soft, tearstained face morphing briefly into that of a monster, her sobs becoming a piercing, unearthly wail echoing through the dark copse. I didn't register the tears that streamed down my face as I staggered back, subconsciously nocking an arrow and pulling back, aiming from the creature's heaving chest.
Celeste's face appeared again, pained this time.
She was never coming home.
I pulled the bow taut.
"Please," it begged in her beautiful voice, warped and screeching now, "don't do this to me, please—"
I'm sorry.
Distantly, as though I were watching myself from far away, I saw the arrow fly, watched as it sank into pale flesh with a sickening crunch. Azriel was upon the creature before it hit the ground, his Illyrian blade driving deep through its neck and sending Celeste's head tumbling off into the snow.
I stood frozen as the head rolled thrice before slowing, the flickering of Celeste's face finally fading as it came to a stop against a tree trunk.
I didn't know when the sobbing began, or when the bow tumbled from my fingertips before me as I sank onto my knees on the cold earth, her pleading, dying, beautiful face brilliant and harsh in my mind.
No, the only thing I registered was the form that slumped down next to mine, broad shoulders brushing my own, wings draped in the dirt as my brother stared emptily towards that fallen creature before us, the steam from its blood rising in small clouds, his gloved hands barely twitching.
Cenric pushed himself up another ledge and felt his shoulder nearly give out beneath him. Cursing, he dug his fingers in tighter, like hell he'd lose here.
"Come on, pretty boy!" Valka growled from above him, loose tendrils of hair escaping from her dark braid and whipping around her face in the harsh mountain wind as she looked down at him, her black leathers stark against the grey stone, oddly devoid of snow compared to the surrounding valleys. "We've less than a hundred feet to the top."
Easy for you to say, Cenric groused internally as he shoved a foot deep into a crack in the stone and forced himself upward, his eyes scanning the "path," little more than a slightly less steep rock face marked with the occasional cairn. At least the view's not bad.
A tendril of surprise filtered through him at the thought and he immediately directed his attention elsewhere, damning the flush that undoubtedly covered his cheeks.
Maybe he could pass it off as a fever flush, although he doubted he'd need to. The female was already yards ahead of him again.
Embarrassment filled him; he was acting worse than his father. The feeling was short lived as another sharp stab of pain tore through his shoulder nearly sending him tumbling to his knees as he jerked, bits of gravel skittering down the mountainside.
He'd torn his stitches. All of them, if the blood seeping through his leather was any indication.
Fifty feet to go.
He watched as Valka pulled herself up the last overhang, her petite form disappearing behind the jagged rock.
Twenty feet to go. He could feel the sweat beading on his neck, the pounding of his heart as it battled feebly against the tenacious claws of bloodbane remaining in his system. It seemed the healing magic in that mouthful of his mother's blood had run out. He closed his eyes and willed his heart to steady. Soon it would be over and the potion would be purged from his system.
Two feet.
Digging his frozen fingers into the cliff's edge he pulled himself upright and felt his stomach drop as his shoulder gave out entirely, sending him tilting dangerously backwards. Small, strong hands immediately clamped down around his wrist, pinning him to the cliffside before dragging him over the edge.
"Got you."
With strength surprising for her size, Valka heaved him easily onto solid ground, pulling him away from the perilous drop before him.
"Thanks," he muttered breathlessly, lying flat against the frozen stone.
"Look at you," she hummed somewhat more gently than usual, her mouth quirking in amusement, "using manners and everything."
Another blush crept up his cheeks. No doubt the exhaustion was getting to him. At least he'd made it.
Valka straightened and looked out, her eyes softening as she took in the view.
"We did it."
Cenric grunted his agreement, suddenly content to spend the rest of his days laying on that rock. Valka waited several moments before growing impatient and reaching down toward him.
"Come on, you need to see this." He took her hand with his non-injured arm and allowed her to drag him upright, directing his attention to the setting sun in the distance. "Look."
A quiet awe filled him as he looked out over the snow-covered valleys. The low sun filtered through hazy clouds, casting the sky into bleeding pinks and violets that in turn reflected off the snow beneath them. Violets nearly the color of her eyes.
The same color as the flowers that had adorned the posts of her bed, the large blooms with their curling vines.
A decision formed in his mind.
"Valka."
She'd already begun making her way towards the black stone in the center of the clearing before them but stopped as he spoke, tilting her head as she listened.
"I want lilies." She flicked her brow in a way that told him she was about to bite back with something sarcastic before he finished, "Lilies in the Illyrian tattoos I'm going to get for finishing this Mother-forsaken thing."
Much to Cenric's surprise, Valka threw her head back and let out a sharp laugh before looking at him and nodding.
"I think they'd suit you," she nodded over a shoulder, "now come on, let's finish."
He gave one final glance back towards the sunset, allowing the kiss of the sun's dying rays to soothe him before trotting after Valka, preparing himself for the fallout that was about to follow. Somewhere deep inside he could've sworn he felt a flicker of pride, a fleeting sense of approval.
He felt a small smile creep over his lips. She'd never truly left him.
"Now, how do we work this stupid piece of shit?" Valka growled as she surveyed the black rock before them, her hands planted firmly on her hips. "Sing some song and dance? Shout our prayers of sins and fornication to the great Mother and pray she blesses us with escape?"
Cenric cut her a look, clutching unconsciously at his mangled, useless arm. She ignored him, the same way she was ignoring the shakiness that had rooted itself in her since encountering the leshka.
Seeing him had awoken something in her, sent her into a sense of need, of unease. Peering beneath her lashes she glanced back at Cenric, curious just what the creature had shown him.
"How did you know?"
"Know what?"
She tried to keep her fingers from nervously flitting, betraying her unease with the vision, and with the strange black stone before them.
"That the leshka wasn't real?" Because she had definitely fallen for it, annoyance saturating her as she thought on her own stupidity.
The aura of ease that had seemed to slip over the little lord suddenly disappeared, his cobalt eyes shuttering.
"Because the person it showed me is dead."
An awkward silence followed, causing Valka to direct her attention elsewhere. That explained the lilies and his whole holy crusade.
Cenric gave a small cough and attempted a smile. "And, you know, the hanging bodies were a good clue too."
She snorted and rolled her eyes, grateful at least for his attempt at alleviating the situation. The male offered her another small smile. "I wouldn't have expected someone like you to fall for it."
Valka grimaced, her annoyance and shame returning. "I shouldn't have. It was . . . stupid. I don't know why I thought . . ." She trailed off, the silence returning.
"So, about this terrifying, weird-ass rock." She didn't look at him, instead flicking her fingers towards the stone. "How does it work?"
"You just touch it," he said flatly, seemingly content to drop the subject as he reached for the stone with his good hand. "It should do the rest."
"Oh, fabulous," she muttered, tentatively reaching her hands forward, her stomach churning uneasily with the strange power pulsating from the stone, sweat somehow beading on her skin even in the plummeted temperatures. "I've always wanted to be turned into shadows and thrown through the world."
"It's not so bad."
"Says the male born with shadows coming out of his ass."
"Are you going to touch the stone or not?"
Valka smirked at his annoyance, ignoring the unease that had filled her, the unidentifiable whispers filling the back of her mind. "Let's go."
Nothing had gone according to plan with the Rite, she was no closer to accomplishing what she had set out to do, and seeing Silbah . . .
She didn't have time to dwell on her mistakes.
She could kick her own ass for her stupidity later as she drowned herself in several pints of mulled cider and contemplated just how foolish she must have looked running toward that leshka.
That was if others didn't hand down punishment for her upon her return.
She tried not to dwell on it.
Pressing her palms against the stone, that vague feeling of wrongness consumed her in a wave before she felt the world around her bend and fade away with a twist, everything a vast, shadowy blur.
She nearly vomited at the sensation.
To hell with winnowing if it's anything like this, she thought sourly, no power or potential surprise in battle was worth feeling like your stomach was coming out of your throat. Just as soon as the feeling began, it stopped as the Windhaven camp materialized before her.
Relief crept in at the thought of at least being able to sleep in her own bed before she realized that something was wrong. Thick smoke assaulted her nose, the ground beneath her feet was slick with blood and that sound—
The din of fighting.
Blades clashed against blades as the world erupted into chaos around her. Vaguely, she registered the presence of the High Lord sending out waves of the killing power as Nesta picked off warriors before her, the General's orders ringing out loudly around them as he cut males down.
Warriors dressed in Illyrian leathers.
What the hell had happened?
"Look!" A voice cried, snapping Valka's attention, "The half-breed's whelp has returned!"
A heartbeat, that was all the time she had to react.
Without thought, Valka saw the glint of the arrows and moved, her instincts driving her. She heard the twang of those deadly bows, designed to kill, before she felt the piercing ash driven through her, tearing the breath from her.
Stupid boy, she thought as her vision danced and the world fell away beneath her, Of course this is how I'd die.
I didn't even finish what I set out to do.
Cenric had been so absorbed by the chaos around him when he'd landed that he hadn't even sensed the arrow flying for him before Valka pushed him aside and took the shots for him. He watched in horror as the arrows tore through her, blood spraying.
Another person he couldn't protect.
He heard the grunt as she hit her knees, hissing in pain as she turned her attention towards their assailants. "Bastards, you're all nothing but fucking—"
Something in Cenric cracked.
A pulse and a surge resounded as his power ripped through the dwindling suppression of the potion, rendering it useless as his magic flooded him once more.
Enough.
His shoulder sang in relief as his immortal healing returned, pushing the bloodbane away and working the ash splinters free from his shoulder.
Enough.
With a mere half a thought, all the remaining warriors were nothing but ash on the wind.
As the traitors disintegrated into fine particulates that swirled in the air before him, the warriors fighting on their side had the sense to look uneasy as he let his power flow freely, turning the enemy to nothing but mist.
His mind did not venture to them though as he dropped beside Valka, pressing his hand hard against the wounds in her stomach, in her chest. Panic seized him as blood pooled over his fingers and he caught her eyes, willing her to survive.
Valka looked up at him with that clear silver gaze, blood bubbling behind her lips as she clawed at his hand, grappling with his wrists. "Cenric please—"
"No," he snarled, ignoring the prick of tears that flooded his vision, "No."
"My mother," Valka gasped, her body shuddering beneath him as her life flowed into the mud. "Cenric, my mother—"
"You'll see her again," he tried to reassure her, even though he felt his own promises were cobwebs. "Just stay here, stay with me—"
Something like agitation flitted across her face and she opened her mouth as though to speak but only spluttered and gasped as another dark droplet raced from the corner of her mouth.
They'd hit an artery no doubt; organs too.
Cenric barely registered his father appearing next to him, sheathing a blade, the curse from Cassian's lips as he saw the damage done to Valka.
He only registered the pressure of another set of hands, slim and feminine, as Nesta pushed her palms down onto Valka's wounds as well.
"Get the healer now!" Her voice was like ice, but Cenric did not miss the slight waver there, the hint of dread that had slipped in.
No one else would die for this folly.
Cassian had expected a lot of things to come from this Rite, but the ringleader of the rebellion stepping forward freely? The Ironwood clan leader admitting his guilt and challenging Rhys outright as Rhys confronted him about the cheating Ironwood warriors who'd sought out his son?
A full confession with no prompting.
He shook his head.
It hadn't been on his list of things he'd been planning to deal with on the final day of the Rite. And his brother, freshly endowed with the information about the ash arrows and bloodbane, had been more than happy to deal with the fool and his so-called challenge. They'd slaughtered every last one.
Or rather, they'd been working on it before Cenric had appeared and finished the job for them.
Two hundred warriors and three clans wiped out just like that. Cassian felt ill at the thought of it, though not nearly as ill as he thought on the memory of Nesta's lieutenant going down as she took the fatal blow for Cenric, four ash arrows embedding themselves in her as she slammed his nephew out of the way.
The sound of his mate's cry as she'd watched Valka collapse still echoed through his mind.
Nesta did not show emotion easily and the fact that'd she'd lost it over her young Lieutenant . . .
Cassian watched her now as she sat by the female's bed, monitoring everything the healers did, her lips tightening in disapproval as they pulled bowls of bloodied water away from the cot. Valka had not stirred since she'd slipped into unconsciousness.
It'd be a miracle if she survived the night.
Valka's mother, the old Ironwood widow, stood in a silent vigil in the corner as she watched the healers work, her green eyes misty as she dabbed at them. Nesta hadn't let her any closer to Valka, standing as a solid wall of adamant between them.
Cenric sat across from them both, bloodied, his shoulder forced into a sling before he'd been allowed to attend to the female who lay before him. She saved my life, he'd said, shaking with fury, Numerous times. We can't let her die.
He could see the fear in his nephew's face, the cold that had set over his features as he watched the healers work fruitlessly over the fading female.
He knew that cold didn't come from just the female, but with the news that had been passed down from the clan leaders. It had been decided that given the degree of outside intervention on all sides, the Rite was declared null. None of the eighty who had survived would be forced to retake it, but none would ever be given the full honor and glory appointed to those who had truly passed the Rite.
It had been a lot for the boy.
Cassian heard the brush of canvas and caught the familiar scent of his High Lady as Feyre bolted into the tent, hollow eyes surveying the room, looking for her son. Upon seeing Cenric the tension eased from her body until she saw Valka laid out before him. Feyre's eyes widened before she bolted over, dropping her bow to the floor and immediately falling into a crouch beside the female.
Relief flooded Cassian as he watched her speak quickly with the healer before pulling a knife from her belt and slicing it across her wrist, allowing drops of her Dawn-gifted blood to fall into the fallen warrior's ashy lips.
With the healing gift, there was a shot she'd make it.
Cassian turned to leave and found Azriel standing in the shadows of the tent, his eyes dark as he watched the scene before him. He knew better than to say anything, Rhys had recounted the events from Feyre to him after they'd regained control of the camp.
Of what Feyre and Azriel had seen while facing a creature that had supposedly been exterminated centuries ago, of whom exactly they'd had to cut down to destroy it.
Anger, hot and searing tore through him.
He needed to do something, anything, that didn't leave him here standing idly. Pushing past his brother, he briefly clapped him on the shoulder before venturing out into the cold, silent night.