Wingless Illyrian

Part eleven (and a half)

She was everywhere, and yet no where to be seen. Her scent lingered in the hidden corners of the rooms. Random books of battle strategies littered the tabletops; books that anyone in the Inner Circle hadn't opened for decades. She had left her mark in the house and the lands. 

The ever-growing garden of flowers surrounding the townhouse. The trees that swayed in the wind, towering over the city. Taller than any natural tree would grow. The charred ground in the training rings on top of the House of Wind. 

It was almost as though she wasn't gone at all.

No one was able to drag Cassian out of her room. For hours he sat on the floor starring at her bed, like he was watching her sleep as he did when she was young. For days he stroked the matted fur of Mr Bumble. For months he slept in her room, waiting to be awoken by the light weight of a blanket being placed over his body. 

Every string of his heart urged him to go to the camp to retrieve her. To pull her back into the safety of the city. 

She was still young. She was still his to care for. His to protect.

It wasn't that he thought she couldn't take care of herself. He knew for a fact that she could. But despite this, he would still blame himself if anything were to happen. 

A parental instinct to protect. 

Mor and Azriel focussed their attention on getting Rhysand back into the city. Because if he was able to return, then the wards would be dropped around the city and Keena would be able to return home. 

Her absence had left the remaining members of the Inner Circle feeling hopeless and dimmed. She had always been their light in the otherwise darkness of the Night Court. The bouquets of flowers waiting for them when they returned from a difficult, and often infuriating, meeting in the Court of Nightmares with Kier. Everything about the child had lightened their lives. And the darkness had slowly begun to creep back in, in her absence. 

Even Amren seemed to distance herself from the City. Staying in her apartment with her books, only visiting Rita's for her nourishment. 

The city's nightly entertainment no longer seemed to hold their attention. The people of Velaris waiting to hear from their fearsome High Lord, waiting for good news about the world outside. The music had stopped and the world had come tumbling down.

(A.N. So I'm thinking of skipping the fifty years of Amarantha's reign and adding in the important moments as flashbacks as I move forward. Mostly because at the moment I'm still trying to figure out how to structure some of it.)

Thank you for reading!