A Bloody Crown

Chapter 20: Illyrian

I woke up on my bed, with a blanket pulled over me. Sitting up gently, and rubbing my eyes, I looked at the grey of dawn coming in through my open window. 

Shadows still swirled on the floor, the sun casting them through the leaves of trees and petals of flowers near my window.

After I sat, it all rushed back to me, the war, my meeting last night, Azriel flying me home. The movement of soldiers, the battle in Summer Court, moving my troops in a month. I would be gathered sometime tonight, whisked away to a war camp, and expected to defend people I'd never met.

Groaning internally, I cursed myself, wondering why I volunteered. I can't fight that well, it's no wonder Azriel hesitated.

Laying backwards on my bed, I stared at the ceiling, contemplating. If we were fighting Hybern, and they saw me..

But, nobody knew my face, knew me, just my name. Especially not if I can get a helmet from Rhysand that guards most of my face. 

Giving up everything I've worked for with the Queens and the King, all for a moment of family, of friendship. Not even knowing if they would give it back. Why did I accept? What the fuck was I thinking?

Something about following Rhysand, fighting with Cassian, flying with Azriel just felt right to me, in an intrinsic way that made all my other senses go out the window. It felt.. instinctive. Like I needed that bond, needed the pact.

And didn't they trust me awfully quickly as well? Though I didn't see the negotiations after the meeting at Nolan's, I didn't get the impression it was too debated, especially since Feyre took me to their most sacred city without any objections.

Not human. Not human, she said.

I've always wanted to fly, I thought. My mother, who I never thought was loyal to my father, said battle was part of my destiny. It's why she never let me out of it. I took pills from the fae lands until I was fifteen, something to do with my growth hormones.

Flinging myself upright, I gasped. Everything clicking- the battle instinct, urge to fly, a bond.

I'd read in the books of the library, Illyrians were relentless warriors, born and bred to fuck and fight.

When Azayzel knocked my head, something must have activated or come loose, activating my warrior senses, making me...

I scrambled out of bed, running down the hall towards the war room, chest heaving. Flinging the door open, I went to the set of wings I'd stared at for years, knowing I felt a connection.

Once, ten years ago, I caught my mother doing the same thing. But father never disclosed why he had them or where they originated.

They're his.

My father's.

Putting my hand on the glass case, a wave washed over me. A wave of belonging.

Illyrian, I thought.

I dared myself to say it outloud.

"Illyrian," I whispered, the word feeling off on my tongue, feeling.. wrong. "I'm Illyrian."