Acotar and Tog [Discontinued, Will be deleted]

I Want to Paint You

Last night we had all been inseparable. Now, we might never be whole again. The Illyrians... The Queens... Keir. The magic of Starfall was already a distant memory with the promise of brutality in differing forms lingering closeby.

My eyes kept darting back faithfully to that threshold where Feyre had been. Waiting. Watching. Wanting. Wondering when she’d be back. How long we’d keep dancing. It felt like we had never stopped dancing.

Amren walked in with a fresh cup, filled to the brim, and inspected us sharply, though I was the only one who bothered to acknowledge she’d come back. She didn’t say anything until Mor came back with Feyre and saw what had been a hesitant smile drop on her face now that she was faced with a last meal. Only Amren and Azriel spoke for the remainder of lunch.

One day... or fifty. This was not going to be a pleasant trip.

Mor made quick work of her food, meager for what she normally consumed with such fervor, and her goodbyes. She winnowed all four of us into the north and suddenly, my lungs were filled with a cold numbness, full from scents of pine and blood and sweat.

Feyre’s gaze swept out in a hard line from left to right, reading the mud, the shanties, the cliffs atop which shirtless Illyrian novices trained to a bone breaking degree. It had only been recently that arriving in these camps did not issue a shudder down my spine. I used to live and breathe (and sometimes not breathe) in those hell pits, fighting for scraps of respect and dominance. Cass and Azriel too.

Within seconds of landing, Lord Devlon spotted us and his back straightened impossibly higher, a sneer already landed on his face. “I hate this place,” Mor said at the sight of him stepping forward, the blood caked about his clothes as if it could hide the veneer of arrogance. “It should be burned to the ground.”

A fair conclusion, even on a good day.

Neither Cassian nor I moved. I made Devlon come to me - him and the five other brutes attending him. A thrumming twitched at my fingertips - power asking me to do something. He hadn’t even spoken.

Devlon paused and eyed me up and down. “Another camp inspection?” Now he gave Cass a go. “Your dog was here just the other week. The girls are training.”

“I don’t see them in the ring,” Cassian said, folding his arms over his chest. His siphons caught the light, a subtle reminder that the High Lord’s dog would always outrank him.

“They do chores first, then when they’ve finished, they get to train.”

A morning’s worth of tension snapped inside my cousin, a snarl ripping out of her mouth low and sweet. Devlon turned his head to her, not expecting her presence, and had the decency to go still. “Hello, Lord Devlon,” Mor said, a lover and a sinner’s prayer all at once. The smile she flashed him was beyond atonement.

And just as Nesta had once ignored Cassian upon dinner, Devlon barely acknowledged Morrigan’s hello before fixing his waiting, agitated gaze on myself.

“Pleasant as it always is to see you, Devlon,” I said, nothing pleasant at all about the way I let the power relieve itself in my tone, “there are two matters at hand.” His mouth tightened. Sometimes I still thought about challenging him to a go in the ring. “First,” I continued, “the girls, as you were clearly told by Cassian, are to train before chores, not after. Get them out on the pitch. Now. Second, we’ll be staying here for the time being. Clear out my mother’s old house. No need for a housekeeper. We’ll look after ourselves.”

“The house is occupied by my top warriors.”

“Then un-occupy it. And have them clean it before they do.”