A/N: I know- One at the beginning, I suck I'm sorry. But this is just to apologize in advance if this chapter is half first person. It's what I'm used to, and I tend to slip. I already fixed up the last chapter. So again, sorry for this note, and sorry if that happens. Onto the chapter---
Ilias could feel a bruise forming just above her cheek bone, and felt as a thin gash was carved into the side of her abdomen.
As Azriel attempted to slam his hand against her throat she ducked, her other arm blocking his attempt to make the near fatal move of shoving his knife through her stomach. Something that could be fatal if she wasn't given medical attention immediately. Maybe even if she did.
He seemed surprised, by her success in blocking what he thought to be an unexpected attack. She took the opportunity.
She was up in seconds, her hand pressed against his neck. She didn't realize just how hot the skin had gotten until he yelped, hitting her wrist hard enough her hand back to her, cradling it against her chest.
His neck was laced with burns, and her wrist felt almost broken.
"Sorry," She muttered.
He ignored her apology, and narrowed his eyes.
"Again." He barked.
"What?!" Ilias stumbled back, dropping her hand, a cry almost escaping her lips. "Your neck- You want to keep fighting? Those are awful burns. We're both bleeding it's not-"
"Again." He repeated.
Ilias returned to her temporary home bleeding, bruised, and tired. Azriel followed burned, and bruised as she was, but not nearly to the smae extent.
Creddiwen approached them both, informing them that dinner had just been served. They were expected to change quickly, and join them.
The ache in her bones distracted her from asking about clothes, she didn't have anything clean left. But spread on her bed was a pair of pants that seemed to flare around the sides, along with a top in the same light blue colour. And with sleeves that flared as the pants did.
She changed quickly, and washed her face, before re-braiding her silver hair.
"Yes, But how are we getting home?!" A woman's voice, raised to the point Ilias could hear it as she walked down the hall. As well as making her capable of identifying who, exactly, had yelled.
She wan't surprised when she saw her mother standing at the table, chair pushed out just behind her, arms crossed.
"We are trying to figure that out, but it's a bit of a difficult task when we don't know how you got here." Rhysand explained. His voice sounded calm, the way he spoke along with his choice of words, but his shoulders were tense. He looked just as angry and annoyed at their sudden existence as her mother. As everyone from home.
Their conversation, Dare it be said- near argument, was stopped when Aelin noticed her daughter. Blood seeping from a space on her abdomen from where Azriel had gotten a hit in. It was deep when she'd received it, it was still yet to heal enough that it stopped bleeding nevermind that the wound had closed.
"Ilias." Her mother murmured. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah, mom. Everything's fine. I just got a sparring partner worth my time for once."
"You're bleeding," she continued.
"I'm fine, mother. I promise. I'd just like to join the dinner party."
"Of course," Aelin looked down as she said it. She'd grown into herself in the new space, like she was always thinking, never around enough to make her usual comments. To be herself. "There's an open seat next to your father." She finished.
Ilias smiled, nodded, and approached her father. He did only acknowledged her. He didn't speak, only shifted over.
"Thank you." She muttered, smoothing out her pants as she sat.