Wingless Illyrian

Part ten

Rhys had only been gone for a few hours but the Inner Circle waited for him in the foyer. They hadn't been able to relax since her winnowed in his cloud of starry darkness promising that he would return.

Mor paced the length of the room, muttering under her breath about knowing it had been a bad idea for him to be sent alone. But in typical Rhysand fashion, he had not cared to share the details of the location. And even the spying shadows weren't able to find him.

Azriel rested his back against the wall, wings tucked tightly against his body uncomfortably, shadows moving around him irritably.

Cassian was sat on the floor, wings hanging and legs crossed like a child who had been put in time out. He was looking down at Keena who had sought comfort with her head in his lap as she spun a small blade against the ground.

Amren lounged on a chair, her mind a million miles away as she swirled the blood in her glass.

Keena had woken tucked into the sheets of her bed and Cassian sleeping in the small armchair that were not equipped for the size of his wings. She creeped out of her bed, stepping over the floor boards that were known for making the loudest noise. Despite her efforts, however, Cassian grumbled awake. A tone of panic settling over him when he saw the empty bed, only calming when he saw her with a blanket in hand and making her way towards him.

"You didn't have to sleep in here. I'm sure your bed is more comfortable, Dad."

"It's okay, sleep would've never come with Azriel's shadows acting the way they were." He sat up, stretching his wings out behind him. "Good morning, Princess." He placed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

"Did he come back last night?"

"Mor and Az were still waiting when I carried you up. Knowing Rhys he drank a little too much and slept on the floor somewhere." Cassian tried to joke, but both knew their High Lord would never leave them to worry. Whatever he had been thinking and planning was set into motion without their knowledge.

Three days. That is how long it had taken for any word to reach Rhys. And even then his voice was only faint in their minds. Something about signing a peace treaty between the lands that was taking some time to finalise.

Keena had kept to her room, twirling knifes between her fingers and staring at walls. The restlessness ate away at her. At least the other members of the Court still had duties to attend to.

On the fifth day it was too much. She hadn't trained with anyone in days. Not even Cassian had time to spar.

The morning was dark, the weather should have been a sign to stay in the house. Within the city. But the urge to return to the camps was too great. No one would notice if she were gone, only for a few hours. At least that was what she told herself was she changed into her fighting leathers. The knifes slipped into the hidden pockets with ease. The coolness of the material calming her eagerness.

Her bed hadn't even been made, not since she refused to allow Nuala and Cerridwen to help her. Mr Bumble remained on the armchair that Cassian had taken to occupying in the evenings as he read through the reported, which seemed to be the only time that they spent together.

With one last look into her room she disappeared.

The illryian camps were her home. As much as anyone in Veraris would try to argue with her, there was something that always brought her back. Even when her bleeding began and the men became more brutal. Or when her power grew so uncontrollably that she took out three cabins, one being Lord Devlon's.

The smell that lingered in the air--the blood and sweat--had long since stopped bothering her. Especially when she had contributed to the scent. The long hours under the unrelenting gaze of the sun. The blood that stained the sand of the rings from where she lost concentration. The camp had become a part of her, and as hard as they tried to push her away, she would always return for more.

Keena had found Killian and Marshall circling each other in the rings. The latter having only completed the Rite that year, making it atop the mountain in time that rivalled her fathers'.

She rest her chin on the wooden post they used to hang the unused weapons for the younglings.

They both had strengthened dramatically. Neither showed any sign of being the cocky, self-assured children they had been upon their first meeting. Now they were warriors. Killian was ready to compete in the Rite the following spring. A fact that Keena had yet to accept as she was still being declined the honour.

She winced as Killian flared his wings in the attempt to stop from falling over the hole in the ground. Marshall took the opportunity to begin an offensive strike. Hitting the younger with a force that knocked the wind out of him.

A laugh escaped her lips as Killian fell back on the ground. The warriors stopped their sparring, instead turning to her with a mischievous look in their eyes. A knife slipped into her hand on instinct.

There had been many occasions when Devlon found joy in testing her abilities, or maybe it was to shame the males who were unable to defeat her while they had the obvious advantage. It was only on the rare occasion that she used her power to shift the ground causing a stumble, or allowing the slightest shock of lighting to pass through the metal.

"Are you going to be playing fair today, Keena?" Marshall teased.

"I hardly call a two-v-one fair. But if you insist, blades and fists only. It'll make my victory all the more sweet."