marshmellowrio

[marshmellowrio]

Semblance of Control | Chapter 4

Word count: 2.2K

Semblance of Control Masterlist

"Welcome to your first Battle Brief." Professor Devera's voice fills the entire lecture hall. All cadets seem to be present for this class. First years in the front, second years behind them and third years fill in the empty spaces or stand in the back of the room.

"In the past, riders have seldom been called into service before graduation,” Professor Devera continues, pacing in front of the huge map of the Continent mounted on the wall behind her.

Colette focuses on the map, looking for the places she knows, all the while keeping one ear on Professor Devera, who continues talking in the background. The young woman’s eyes zero in on the Deaconshire province, a little under the bright pin of Basgiath and slightly tot the right. Where she knows Ruel is situated.

Once she’s found Ruel, she moves on to the right, more down on the map. Hoping her aunt and uncle are all right in Sumerton. They taught her everything she needs to know to survive on top of what she knew from her parents. But still, the turbulences along the border were already worrisome by the time she left for Basgiath. And they showed no signs of slowing down anytime soon.

“First topic of the day.” When Professor Devera flicks her hand, a mage light appears directly over the eastern border with the Braevick province.

Guess this class will let me know how my aunty Kenhan and uncle Dey are doing.

“The Eastern Wing experienced an attack last night near the village of Chakir by a drift of Braevi gryphons and riders.”

Murmurs rise in the hall, Colette’s not surprised though. That village lies right on the border of the two Kingdoms. The only thing that bothers her is the use of the gryphons. She frowns, Chakir is even higher up in the mountains than Sumerton, and they already avoid that altitude. They shouldn’t be at risk of being attacked by gryphon riders.

Six years later and they’re still not giving riders the full truth? The public, that is understandable, but these people here are going to face the real dangers. Colette glances behind her to the third years, nothing in their faces gives away that they know more. Not even the Marked Ones, their faces the picture of neutrality. They have to know though, right?

She turns back to the front, ignoring Violet’s whispering beside her. Colette puts her hand up in the air with confidence, effectively grabbing Professor Devera’s attention. “Cadet?”

“Why Chakir?” The dark brunette feels dumb the moment the question leaves her mouth, definitely not how she meant to word it. The snickers around her only confirm how she sounded.

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out here, cadet.” Professor Devera starts to turn away, but stops when she hears Colette’s voice again.

“No, that’s not what I mean.” Her eyes dart to the faces around her. “Well, I’ve lived in those mountains. It’s high up and I’ve always been told gryphons don’t do well at high altitudes. So it seems an unlikely target, hence my question.”

“You’re right, it is an unlikely target. Cadet Sorrengail, do you have something to add?”

Violet’s head snaps up from whispering to Rhiannon. She squirms in her seat but takes the challenge. “As cadet Wilder said, gryphons aren’t as strong at that altitude and neither is their ability to channel.” She says. “It’s an illogical place for them to attack unless they knew the wards would fail, especially since the village looks to be about what… an hour’s flight from the nearest outpost? That is Chakir right there, isn’t it?”

Colette raises an eyebrow at her neighbour, she had heard she was trained to be a scribe and being the General’s daughter probably helped her along. As prejudiced that may be. But damn, this woman is smart.

“It is,” Professor Devera’s lips start forming a little smirk. “Keep going with that line of thought.”

“Didn’t you say it took an hour for the squad of riders to arrive?”

Colette frowns, looking at the map. Her frown deepens when she hears Professor Devera’s affirmative answer.

“Then they were already on their way,” Violet blurts out, Colette nodding in agreement from beside her.

She stays quiet during Barlowe’s degrading words, instead focusing on the map. Calculating how much time would be needed before a squad arrived at the scene. Violet relays what she figured out a minute later, not only the gryphon riders knew the wards were failing. The dragons did as well.

“She’s right,” A hush falls over the room at Devera’s words. “One of the dragons in the wing sensed the faltering ward, and the wing flew. Had they not, the casualties would have been far higher and the destruction of the village much worse.”

When the second- and third-years take over, Colette summarizes all the different questions and answers. Marking the ones she thinks are interesting or weird.

Wingleader Riorson’s question intrigued her, even though Devera’s comment on the state of the village was made in the beginning of the lesson. He still remembered and thought it important enough to bring up again.

Colette thinks she’ll finally have the answers to why Chakir was attacked, but is quickly disappointed when the Professor admits they don’t know what they were searching for.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Assessments are in full swing, literally, fists are swinging left and right. But Colette’s gaze is fixed on Rhiannon and Tynan’s match. Seems like the women are on a winning streak today. Aurelie won the previous match from Ridoc and Rhiannon seems to have the upper hand right now as well.

Colette watches both of their moves, Rhiannon moves quick and packs one hell of a punch. Tynan’s good but too angry, he fights with his emotions, not his head. Rhiannon asks him to yield, he declines and tries to take her down. Only to wind up in the same position again with Rhiannon adjusting her position so he can’t get out of her hold again.

“I don’t know, Tynan, you might want to yield.” Their Squad Leader comments. “She’s handing you your ass.”

“Fuck off, Aetos!” Tynan snaps in return.

Wrong choice, buddy.

Rhiannon presses down further on his throat, turning his face red.

“He yields,” Emetterio, their teacher, calls out. Rhiannon backs away, offering her hand and her peace. Tynan takes it and both of them take their places at the edge of the mat.

“You,” Emmeterio points to Colette, “And you. Let’s see what you can do.” He points to Sawyer next.

Both cadets step up to the mat, taking each other in.

Handle him like a second-year, because in hand-to-hand, he is. He’s been here for a year, he probably has some tricks up his sleeve.

The fight moves quickly once the two get close enough to each other. Sawyer dodges her first attempt and counters quickly with a punch to the nose. Colette staggers back. Feeling the end of the mat with the heel of her foot. She goes in again with another hit to his jaw, which he blocks. Her hand throbs as it comes into contact with Sawyer’s wrist. She doesn’t let it linger and immediately follows up with a jab to his diaphragm with her other hand. Expelling all the air from his lungs. Sawyer gasps and one arm clutches his stomach.

Colette takes the chance to send a kick to the side of his knee. Bringing him to his knees, while she’s already moving behind him. She twists one arm behind his back, bringing it uncomfortably high. And grabs him in a headlock with her other arm, tilting his head. She drives her knee into the middle of his back, and sends her opponent to the mat. His face smacks against the mat. Colette releases his arm and braces her weight on her knees and elbows while tightening her hold on his neck and head. Now bringing up her other hand to secure the position.

Sawyer attempts one last time to get out but between the knee crushing his spine and the unnatural position she holds his head, he’s got no way out. So he taps out.

Colette releases the hold she has on him, stepping aside and offering him a hand up. “I didn’t expect you to go that hard.” He grins at her, rubbing his wrist.

“Oh, don’t worry, you got me as well.” She smiles right back at him, her nose bright red from the hit it took.

They reach the sidelines when Emetterio calls Imogen and Violet to the mat.

“Yeah, maybe a tip for next time. Go for the nose of the eye. You’ll do a lot more damage than a jaw.” He gives her a wink before he walks off to his friends.

The woman nods in thought and notices Liam, the blond from yesterday sitting on the next mat over. She walks over and sits down beside him.

“Good job.” He greets her.

“Thanks,” she smiles at him. “You already done?”

“Yeah, easy.” He nods to a scrawny cadet with a bruised cheek and blood gushing out of his nose, onto his shirt. “I didn’t even hit him that hard.”

Colette grimaces at the sight, “Oof.”

“Would you like to train with me some time? It’s been a while since I’ve had a decent opponent.” Liam bumps his shoulder against hers with a grin.

She snorts, “Decent, huh.” She smiles at him. “Yeah, I’m up for learning some new tricks.” Her smile quickly drops when the sound of bone snapping grabs their attention to Emmeterio’s mat.

Violet lies on the mat with Imogen hovering over her, still holding on to the arm she just broke. The Squad Leader pushes her out of the way and pulls Violet in his arms. He has the sense to ask, “Permission to take her to the Healers?” and barely waits for Emmeterio’s nod before taking off.

Liam and Colette exchange a glance before continuing to chat and planning their next training session.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

In the weeks that follow Colette starts to get ready for the challenges that she will have to go through. She joins Rhiannon every other day in helping Violet get better on her feet, not that they can do much since she’s been in a sling since assessment. The days in between she actually trains with Liam, their training varies between actual sparring and muscle maintenance.

After a couple of training sessions Liam invites someone he knows to give them some more pointers, as he explained to Colette in the beginning of their training.

“So this is who you’ve been spending your precious free time with?” A tall male enters the gym, the doors banging shut behind him.

Colette stops her squats and wipes at the sweat gathering on her forehead. She takes in the man while Liam goes up to him to greet him. His dark hair tousled and covering his forehead. Her eyes move down to meet his hazel green eyes, twinkling with the mage lights hovering overhead.

He’s handsome.

“Glad you could make it, Bodhi.” Liam says, pulling away from the man in question. He walks over to where Colette is standing. “Coco, this is Bodhi Durran. Bodhi, this is Colette Wilder.” He gestures to them both while speaking.

“Quite the legacy you’ve got going, Wilder.” He nods to the mat, throwing his jacket to the side. “Let’s see what daddy Wilder taught you,” he comments while walking towards the mat.

Colette exchanges a look with Liam, raising her brows, but moving towards the mat all the same. She knew the guy for all of two minutes and he’s already questioning her father, while asking her to fight.

Before turning, Bodhi calls over his shoulder, “Or was it mommy?”

“If you want to fight me, just say so, you don’t gotta be mean about it.” The young woman retorts. He struck a chord there.

The two start circling each other on the mat, Liam taking his spot as neutral watcher.

“Look,” Bodhi’s voice drops to a whisper, only Colette able to hear him. “Just because Liam has decided to trust you, doesn’t mean I do. You’ll have to earn that.”

Colette doesn’t respond, but takes on the offensive. The match doesn’t last long. After getting in a couple of well-timed jabs, Bodhi quickly got the upper hand. A first year might be easy to beat for a second year, but he’s obviously been trained well before entering the Quadrant. He ends the fight by getting Colette on her back, limbs restrained in one way or another. She’s quick to analyse her non existent moves and taps out.

“Although you lost,” Bodhi starts, taking off his shirt and wiping away his sweat with it. “Consider me intrigued, Wilder.”

“Thank you?” Colette frowns at his retreating figure while he goes over to the weight station. Her eyes follow the rippling of the relic that covers the upper part of his shoulder blade.

Taglist: @siobhanbooks @hiraethjules @marauders-eras @l-a-u-r-aaa

[marshmellowrio]

Semblance of Control | Chapter 3

Word count: 1.5K

Semblance of control Masterlist

After the cadets receive their standard uniforms, they’re shown to the dormitory’s and left to their own devices. Colette makes sure to grab one of the beds near the wall, with 155 other cadets on the same floor, it will give her a sense of security, maybe a false one. No, she wouldn’t put it past any of the other cadets to murder her in her sleep, but this way she would have one less side to protect in case of an attack.

She sees Violet and Rhiannon coming in to claim the beds on her right, right next to each other. She quickly puts all of her stuff away and walks up to the two of them, still talking quietly while dumping their bags.

“Violet and Rhiannon, right?” Colette hoped she had paid enough attention to Nyra when she called out Rhiannon’s name and that she wasn’t saying the wrong name to the dark woman.

Rhiannon looks her up and down. “Who’s asking?”

“Someone who wants an ally or two, and you guys are in my squad, so…” Colette trails off, not really having any other reasoning. The two woman across from her look at each other with distrust written on their faces. “My name is Colette, Colette Wilder.” She tries to meet them halfway. “And I want to help you,” she nods at Violet, “learn to protect yourself.”

“What makes you think I can’t protect myself?” Violet retorts. Fair question.

“You probably have a trick or two up your sleeve, you’re a Sorrengail after all, but I’m certain it can’t hurt to learn a few more. Especially if you have to go up against someone like, let’s say… our wingleader?” Colette answers.

Violet’s eyes widen and she opens her mouth to say something, but Colette’s already talking again. “Oh come on, the Marked Ones already have it out for you and even a fool knows that a Sorrengail and a Riorson is a bad combination.” She makes sure to keep her voice slightly hushed as she says this, keeping half an eye on the people around them, making sure no one’s listening in on their conversation.

Violet ponders for a moment while Rhiannon narrows her eyes at Colette. “What’s in it for you?”

Colette breathes out a little laugh, “ You’re smart.” She purses her lips and nods. “As I said, I need allies in this death trap.” She shrugs and continues, “ I also don’t like people holding children accountable for the actions of their parents.”

Rhiannon gives her a small nod, “Doesn’t mean I trust you, though.”

Colette looks down at her feet with a small smile playing on her lips, “Good,” she catches Rhiannon’s eyes with her own, “I wouldn’t trust me either.” She sees Violet frown in the corner of her eye and turns to her. “I wouldn’t-,” Colette stops for half a second, “I don’t trust anyone here, you shouldn’t either. Keep her close.” She nods to Rhiannon while speaking to Violet. She walks off to get ready for bed, leaving the other two to ponder over her proposal to be an ally.

★・・・・・・★

After Captain Fitzgibbons, another name Colette learned yesterday, reads through all of the names on the death roll, Squad leader Aetos takes over, “Hopefully you all ate breakfast, because you’re not going to get another chance before lunch.”

Colette is positioned in the back row again, she sees the two women she approached yesterday whispering to each other but keeps her attention on her Squad leader.

“Second- and third-years, I’m assuming you know where to go,” he continues. He receives some non-committal noises of agreement from the front rows. “First-years, at least one of you should have memorized your academic schedule when it was handed out yesterday.” It’s a statement, one Colette can agree with, it’s the first thing she did when she woke up this morning. “Stick together. I expect you all to be alive when we meet this afternoon in the sparring gym.”

“And if we’re not?” Colette snaps her head to the first-year next to her and rolls her eyes at the question, before focusing on Aetos again.

“Then I won’t have to be concerned with learning your name, since it will be read off tomorrow morning,” their Squad leader answers with a shrug. “Sawyer?” He looks at a first-year next to Violet.

“I’ll get them there.” He’s tall, Colette notes, as he nods tightly at Aetos.

Dain orders us to get a move on and the whole squad breaks up, similar to the other ones around them.

“We have about twenty minutes to get to class,” Sawyer shouts at the nine first-years left before him. “Fourth floor, second room on the left in the academic wing. Get your shit and don’t be late.” He doesn’t wait for a reply and heads toward the dormitory.

Colette hears Rhiannon say, “That has to be hard.” She catches up to her and Violet, following the crowd toward the dorms. “Being set back and having to do this all over again.” Colette receives a smile from the two as she reaches them, seems like they’re warming up to her already.

“Better than being dead,” the smart-ass from next to her says as he passes the three of them.

“That’s true,” Violet replies as they head into the bottleneck in front of the door. Colette makes sure to stay on the outsides of it.

“I overheard a third-year say when a first-year survives Treshing unbonded, the quadrant lets them repeat the year and try again if they want,” Rhiannon adds. Colette cringes at the thought of completing her first year twice.

A bird whistle sounds from the left and Violet stalls, fixing her eyes on the door to the rotunda as it sounds again. Colette and Rhiannon follow her line of sight as she says, “I’ll be-”.

“We’ll grab your stuff and meet you there. It’s under your bunk, right?” Rhiannon asks before she can finish.

“You don’t mind?”

“Your bunk is next to ours, Violet. It’s not a hassle. Go!” She bumps her shoulder with Violet’s.

Violet is off with a thank you as Rhiannon turns to Colette and they share a conspiratorial smile.

“So, I’m assuming Violet knows our Squad leader?”

“You would be correct.” Rhiannon answers with a little laugh.

The two women make their way to their bunks along with the rest of the first-years on their floor. Rhiannon looks back and forth from Colette and the path in front of her. “So, why didn’t you cut your hair.” She tries to start a conversation to make it less uncomfortable.

Colette brings a hand up to her tight, low bun, brushing away the stray hairs that aren’t there. “It’s not that long, but I actually wasn’t aware of the fact that women cut their hair to join the rider’s quadrant.” She smiles awkwardly as they reach the bunks. “I mean, I’ve never had any problems with it while sparring so why would I?”

Rhiannon nods in understanding, grabbing her stuff and Violet’s. “I’ve always had mine this short or even shorter so I wouldn’t know what’s it’s like fighting with longer hair.”

“Maybe I’ll think about cutting it if it causes me to lose my matches, otherwise it’s not happening.” Colette laughs softly and Rhiannon joins in as they head back towards the academic wing.

The two of them keep chatting on their way to the doors to the rotunda and start to warm up to each other in the meantime. They step inside the rotunda and Colette’s breath catches. “Wow.”

Rhiannon stops a few steps ahead, feeling Colette lagging behind. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” She looks at Rhiannon, “You go ahead, I want to take this all in for a second.” Rhiannon nods slowly and continues on towards the academic wing.

Colette turns back to the six marble statues of the dragons, not having passed through the main rotunda yet. Her breath got taken away by the dragons instantly, she marvelled at the sight of them. Wandering closer to the black statue, she cranes her neck to look at it more properly.

The light filtering through from the glass dome, glitters on the black marble.

“I already knew you’re parents are tight,” Colette hears a voice call out from up above. She shifts her gaze a bit to find Riorson standing on the balcony, staring down. “But do you two have to be so fucking obvious?”

Colette frowns at his words and follows his line of sight, down to the middle of the rotunda where Violet stands with Squad leader Aetos at her back.

“I expected you to do a better job of hiding where your affections lie, Aetos.” Riorson starts walking down the steps. As he does, Colette starts walking to the space between them. His eyes brighten when they find hers, watching him closely. Monitoring him as he moves closer to Violet.

His focus shifts to Violet again as she bolts for the doors to the academic wing. Colette startles at the sudden movement, she casts one more glance in her wingleader’s direction before following after her… ally?

A/N: Let me know what you think of this chapter in the comments! There is a taglist for those interested in joining, leave a comment below and I'll add you for the next chapter.

Chapter 4 click here.

Taglist: @siobhanbooks @bada-lee-ily

[marshmellowrio]

Semblance of Control | Chapter 2

A/N: I've had the busiest couple of weeks, I apologise for the long wait.

Colette takes place along the edges of the growing crowd of cadets and riders. She scans the courtyard, mentally noting down all the exits and entrances into the multiple buildings. There are some good hiding spaces as well, covered by shadows and away from keen eyes. She really should’ve taken a better look at the map of the Basgiath War College to know which building is used for what purpose. There’s a four-story building leaning against the side of the mountain, she does remember that the flight field is up on that mountain. In the middle of the two main buildings is a massive rotunda, Colette wanders closer to it, passing the other main building closest to the cliffs.

A couple of hours go by, in which Colette sees Liam again, she goes to stand with him, not really knowing anyone else. And being alone in a place like this might be even worse than having allies along with enemies.

“So, how did you cross the parapet so fast?” Colette asks as she arrives next to him.

Liam laughs softly, “Nice to see you again too.”

Colette raises her eyebrows with a small smile, prompting him to answer.

The young man sighs, holding up his arm with the relic as if that might be a sufficient answer to her question. Colette draws in a small breath, her own hands coming up as if to touch his arm. She looks up quickly, “May I?” He nods with a small frown, not used to this reaction when people recognize his relic. Colette traces the soft swirls with her fingertips.

“I trained, hard, to make it across.” Liam fills the silence.

“It’s… different.” Colette whispers to herself, so softly Liam doesn’t hear over the chatter of the other cadets. “Is it the same for each one of you?” She lifts her head to meet his eyes as he answers.

“As far as I know.” The young woman removes her fingers from his arm and drops her hands to her sides.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes out with a small smile. Liam frowns again but doesn’t get a chance to say something as everyone around them turns to face the dais.

The both of them follow their lead, just as the man who stands in the middle starts speaking. “Three hundred and one of you have survived the parapet to become cadets today,” he gestures to the cadets in front of him. “Good job. Sixty-seven did not.”

There are ten of them up on the dais, Colette recognizes the handsome rider with the relic from the turret on the other side of the parapet, the one she couldn’t seem to place.

Now that she’s not under the pressure of fear and adrenaline, she takes a moment to admire his hardened features. His dark hair and eyebrows complimenting his even darker eyes.

“As the Codex says, now you begin the true crucible!” The man drones on, interrupting her line of thought. “You will be tested by your superiors, hunted by your peers, and guided by your instincts. If you survive to Treshing, and if you are chosen, you will be riders. Then we’ll see how many of you make it to graduation.”

Colette focuses her attention on the rider again, remembering that lethal grace with which he carries himself. She’s seen it before, on another man when she was younger, Fen Riorson. Then it clicks, his features resembling his father’s. Xaden Riorson. Just a boy when they last saw each other, grown into the body of a warrior.

Remind me to stay away from him.

“Your instructors will teach you, it’s up to you how well you learn.” He points a finger at the cadets before him. “Discipline falls to your units, and your wingleader is the last word. If I have to get involved… you don’t want me involved. With that said, I’ll leave you to your wingleaders. My best advice? Don’t die.” He walks off the dais with another, leaving eight riders up on the dais.

One of them, a brunette with wide shoulders covered in silver spiks, steps forward. “I’m Nyra, the senior wingleader of the quadrant and the head of the First Wing. Section leaders and squad leaders, take your positions now.”

About 50 riders push through the crowd to the front, they take up formation in front of the dais.

“First Squad! Claw section! First Wing!” Nyra calls out. A man closer to the dais raises his hand. “Cadets, when your name is called, take up formation behind your squad leader,” Nyra instructs.

One by one cadets are called up to the front, into their squads, each containing about fifteen people each.

Soon Nyra calls forth the leader for Second Squad, Flame Section, Second Wing. A broad male lifts his hand and Colette is one of the firsts to become part of the squad. She steps out, giving a small smile to Liam as she makes her way to the front.

As Nyra calls out more squad members, Colette tries to make note of their names but it all goes too quickly to remember. The only one she recognizes is Violet Sorrengail, daughter of General Sorrengail. The small woman stands one row in front of her, a little to the left. There’s a dark-skinned woman with small braids standing right in front of her Colette.

The sunrise this morning promised a beautiful day, now the sun cashes in that promise beating down on the riders and cadets gathered in the courtyard. Colette closes her eyes, tilting her head to the sky, taking in all the warmth she can get.

All of them turn to the dais, when everyone is sorted in their respective squads. Colette finds the wingleaders up on the dais engaged in some heated discussion.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” The woman in front of her asks Violet Sorrengail.

Do they already know each other?

“Quiet.” Our squad leader snaps in a hushed voice.

Colette raises her eyebrows, okay… try not to get on his bad side, message received.

“Dain Aetos, you and your squad will switch with Aura Beinhaven’s,” Nyra orders. She’s looking in our direction when I see our squad leader nod.

He says, “ Follow me.” As he starts moving through formation, leading us to the recently vacated area in Fourth Wing where Aura Beinhaven’s squad just stood.

Colette catalogues her squad leader’s name as Dain Aetos. Squad leader Aetos. She’s confused about the switch in formation until her gaze finds Violet’s form. She follows her eyes to the dais, seeing her fixated on Wingleader Riorson, now her own wingleader for Fourth Wing. And Cadet Sorrengail’s, she realises. A Riorson versus a Sorrengail, she should’ve known.

I really don’t want to get in the middle of this again.

Violet’s frail form grabs her attention, that girl needs someone to help her though, looking like that she will never win from Riorson.

Colette makes a resolution for herself to help Violet to the best of her ability, to become someone who can protect herself from people like Xaden Riorson. People with murder in their eyes. She’s a firm believer that children, who can’t stand up for themselves, shouldn’t be punished for their parents’ actions. It’s not fair to them.

Nyra looks at Riorson as she finishes assignments, and he nods, stepping forward.

“You’re all cadets now.” Riorson’s voice carries out over the courtyard, stronger than the others. “Take a look at your squad. These are the only people guaranteed by Codex not to kill you. But just because they can’t end your life doesn’t mean others won’t. You want a dragon? Earn one.” His voice pulls Colette in as most of the cadets cheer, she just stares at him, owning his place on the dais.

“And I bet you feel pretty badass right now, don’t you first-years?” Again cheers sound, but Colette watches the other riders, faces locked tight, grim even. They don’t feel badass.

“You feel invincible after the parapet, don’t you?” Riorson’s voice only grows louder and Colette feels herself growing cold.

What game are you playing?

“You think you’re untouchable! You’re on the way to becoming the elite! The few! The chosen!” Every sentenced gets countered by louder cheers. Suddenly the cheers morph, into the beating of wings, rushing air following.

A riot of dragons comes into view and Colette sucks in a few sharp gasps, fighting to stay in her spot and not take a step back as they fly straight for the cadets – at speed. They pitch vertically, right behind the dais, on the outer wall. Colette notices how the wingleaders hadn’t even turned to watch, instead they watched the cadets in the courtyard.

A gust of wind has Colette facing the dragons again, forcing out a breath at their size and the pure power they embody.

A few screams scatter along the courtyard. Steam blasts Colette’s face along with the faces of those around her. Coming from the navy-blue dragon directly in front of them. Beautiful – deadly, but oh so beautiful.

Boulders crash onto the courtyard, crumbling from the wall underneath the eight dragons’ talons.

A cadet from the wing next to hers breaks formation and runs for the stone keep. Colette remembers the words carved into that arch from when she read it during her little sweep of the courtyard. A dragon without it’s rider is a tragedy. A rider without their dragon is dead.

Colette knows that a rider would not survive once their dragon died, cold hard truth, that’s what it is. A sudden contrast with the heat that scorched the fleeing cadet. Colette turns back to the front before she can see what damage it does.

Two more cadets scream and are executed without mercy. Colette locks her eyes on her wingleader, seems she was right about him not sounding genuine before.

“Anyone else feel like changing their mind?” He shouts, his gaze scanning the remaining cadets in formation. “No? Excellent. Roughly half of you will be dead by this time next summer.” Everyone keeps silent, Colette hears some muffled sobs. “A third of you again the year after that, and the same your last year. No one cares who your mommy or daddy is here. Even King Tauri’s second son died during his Treshing. So tell me again: Do you feel invincible now that you’ve made it into the Riders Quadrant? Untouchable? Elite?”

No one cheers.

Heat rushes directly at the cadets and Colette closes her eyes, letting the steam warm her body. She certainly wouldn’t mind if her own future dragon did that regularly, she’s always freezing. “Because you’re not untouchable or special to them.” Riorson points toward the navy dragon behind him and leans forward slightly, his eyes sweeping the crowd. He pauses briefly when his eyes meet Colette’s then he moves on. “To them you’re just the prey.”

Taglist: @siobhanbooks @bada-lee-ily

A/N: Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Chapter 3 click here.

[marshmellowrio]

Semblance of Control | Chapter 1

A/N: First chapter is up! I can't wait for all of you to discover my OC and what she's capable of!

Word count: 1K

Reaching the top of the stairs, the woman takes in her surroundings. She’s one of the first up on the turret, about three candidates standing in front of her now. Her eyes move to the man in front of her, he’s tall with muscles in all the right places, he definitely spent the better part of his teenage years training to be in the Rider’s Quadrant. The relic on his arm catches her attention, the swirls covering his wrist crawl up his arm, disappearing under his sleeve towards his shoulder. Her own arms are covered up by long sleeves and fingerless gloves on both of her hands.

Another candidate steps onto the Parapet and the line moves up. As the girl steps forward, she glances up again and locks eyes with one of the three riders. His dark eyes look familiar and she furrows her brows almost unnoticeably, she can’t remember where she’s seen them before. It definitely isn’t the man standing before her now, she’s sure she hasn’t seen his handsome face before. His arm also bears a relic, giving away some indication to his heritage. His dark hair blowing in the increasing wind, in her peripheral she sees the storm clouds rolling in. Here’s to hoping it doesn’t hit until after she makes her way across the Parapet.

The line moves up again, she gives a small nod to the rider she has been eyeing and steps forward, focusing on the Parapet. Only the tall blond in front of her remains, she hears him say his name to the roll keeper, “Liam Mairi.”

She doublechecks all of her weapons to make sure they’re secure enough to cross the Parapet safely, something she’s done five times since she wrote down her name at the base of the tower. Two daggers at her belt, along with a satchel with her throwing stars and another dagger strapped to her right thigh. Easily accessed by her dominant hand.

Liam steps onto the covered part of the Parapet, he doesn’t hesitate one second before he’s off.

“Name?” The roll keeper asks her as she steps up to the Parapet.

“Colette Wilder.”

The rider to her right glances to the Parapet and nods in her direction. “Off you go.” Colette closes her eyes, taking a deep breath and opens her eyes again. Then she steps into the open air of the Parapet, arms wide.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Colette steps off the Parapet, onto the courtyard, breathing heavily. Heavier than after any other workout she's done before. Parapet was scarier than she had anticipated, she’s not exactly afraid of heights but she is afraid of falling. Might not be a good personality trait for someone who just entered a quadrant where she’ll have to ride a flying dragon, miles up in the air, but it is what it is, right?

She doesn’t remember most of the Parapet because of the adrenaline taking over her senses as soon as she stepped on. Only now it was slowly ebbing away, leaving her out of breath and slightly shaky on her feet.

The redheaded rider next to her, asks for her name and Colette repeats her name for the third time today. The rider jots down her name, claiming her as alive. The rainclouds that were moving in before, finally reach the Parapet, soaking everything in rain in seconds. The rider with the scroll sighs, looking up at the sky and covering up the paper.

Colette welcomes the cold rain, cooling down her flushed skin.

“Congrats, you made it.” The other rider says without any enthusiasm. Yeah, Colette understands there’s not much to be enthusiastic about in a college surrounded by death. While also getting drenched in rain standing around waiting for candidates to pass the Parapet and join that very same college. If she survives until the end of the year, she’ll probably be right here, doing the exact same thing as him.

She gives him a small nod in acknowledgment, before moving on to lean against a wall not far from the end of the Parapet. As she approaches the wall, she recognizes the guy that went in front of her, Liam. She stands next to him, leaving an acceptable distance between the two of them.

The young woman finally gets to catch her breath again, slowly regaining some of her strength after being drained by all of the adrenaline.

“Scary right?”

Colette turns her head slightly to take in the blond next to her, looking him up and down again, seeing his face for the first time. Meeting his shiny blue eyes, she nods, “You can say that again.”

“Wait,” she shakes her head lightly, “you were already halfway across when I got on and I stepped on, like 10 seconds after you.” Her brows furrowed.

He extends his hand with a smile, “Liam.” He chooses to ignore her statement all together.

“Colette.” She takes his much bigger hand in hers, it engulfs hers almost completely.

“Nice to meet you Colette.”

She nods and lets go of his hand. “Likewise.”

Liam pushes off of the wall, “See you around.” With that he walks off further into the courtyard. Colette nods her head again, now that she’s alone it started to sink in that she belongs to the Rider’s quadrant from now on. She’s a cadet. At the mercy of her superiors. And dragons.

Suddenly a woman rushes off the Parapet, a broad man hot on her heels.

Colette lifts her head at the commotion, she raises her eyebrows and cocks her head slightly to get a better view. She sees the woman holding a dagger against the man’s breeches. Impressive.

“Violet Sorrengail.”

Colette straightens when she hears the name coming from the small woman’s lips. While the man pushes past her, Colette catches a glimpse of her face and hair. She turns to the teardrop shaped courtyard and walks away.

She’s not in the mood to get into that sort of drama on day zero of this first year in the war college.

A/N: Let me know what you think in the comments! This will be a Bodhi Durran fanfic, since I've been gravitating towards his character and the votes were pretty close together. If anyone's interested in a taglist, please comment below!

Chapter 2 click here.

[marshmellowrio]

Fanfic Masterlist

From here out, you'll be able to reach all of the chapters from Flight of the Night and Semblance of Control.

ACOTAR

Flight of the Night

Last update: 04/05/2024

Total chapters: 9

FOURTH WING

Semblance of Control

Last update: 05/25/2024

Total chapters: 3

[marshmellowrio]

Semblance of Control | Masterlist

A Fourth Wing fanfic.

A/N: Here's the aesthetic for my new fanfic on Fourth Wing along with a sneak peek preview of the dialogue. When I post a new chapter, you'll also be able to find them here. I'll also update my Masterlist to include both this story and Flight of the Night.

Disclaimer: I do not own these pictures, nor do I own Fourth Wing. Those rights go to Rebecca Yarros. However, the story of my character and how she is interwoven into the story is all mine.

"Are you insane?" My breath catches in my throat. I can almost hear the laughter in his voice as he responds, "Do you really want me to answer that, love?"

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

I gasp at the quiet. The void. And drop to my knees, not caring Xaden is right beside me, trying to hold on to me.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

"Oh, so I'm second choice? All right, I see how it is." She winks and the two of them laugh.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

"If you want to fight me, just say so. You don't have to be mean about it."

Last update: 09/13/2024 Total chapters: 4

★・・・・・・★

Chapter 1 05/08/2024 Chapter 2 05/25/2024 Chapter 3 06/10/2024 Chapter 4 09/13/2024 Chapter 5 - in progress

★・・・・・・★

[marshmellowrio]

Fourth Wing fanfic

You guys were pretty convincing in wanting me to write a Fourth Wing fanfic. For those of you who want to see Flight of the Night finished first, don't worry, I'll still be trying to write for that one as well.

So now, for who will I be writing. When I first read Fourth Wing, I wanted to write for Xaden. But I also kind of don't want to touch his and Violet's relationship. I tend to steer clear of established ships. And you know, Bodhi's been growing on me, plus there's way too little Bodhi fanfics out there. Trust me I looked.

Soooo...

I might just go with my gut either way, but I just want to put some feelers out there for now.

[marshmellowrio]

I’ve been so busy with my real life that I haven’t found the time and motivation to keep for Flight of the Night. And I’ve thinking about this idea I have for the Empyrean series, so maybe this will kickstart the writing sessions again.

Depending on the answers in this poll, I’ll probably post another one asking you who you would want to be the love interest.

[marshmellowrio]

Flight of the Night | Chapter 9

A/N: I'm sorry for those on the taglist, seems I forgot about it in the previous chapter, go check it out if you haven't yet!

Word count: 1.2K

We see the last of the servants cram into the carriage, the stout woman that opened the door for Feyre a couple of hours ago, ushering them all in and before long the carriage moves in the direction of the village I flew over during one of the surveillance rounds.

Rhys calls Cassian down from where he’s patrolling in the skies, he moves next to Rhys, letting Azriel and I bring up the rear. It doesn’t take long for Feyre to open the door after Rhys gently raps on the wooden surface.

I take another look around me, sweeping the area again. Noting the fading light casting a golden hue over the landscape before night falls, nothing stands out as I follow the others into the entry hall. Cassian turns in place, letting out a low whistle as he takes in all of the artwork and furniture.

“Your father must be a fine merchant,” he says. “I’ve seen castles with less wealth.”

At his words I take a look around myself, the paintings so vividly ordinary, so human. There’s no vibrancy in them, no life, to me anyway. I tune back into the conversation fully when Azriel steps away from my side to say, “If humans are aware of the threat, rallying against it, then that might give us an advantage when contacting the queens.”

I look to Rhys and Feyre who are watching each other intently.

“Come,” Rhys says. “Let’s make this introduction.”

We walk behind Feyre into the room holding her two older sisters, I take the both of them in, standing by the window. Their soft, supple bodies cower into the wall, on of them, the taller one, appears to keep herself steeled. The other one holds herself tall, but her shakiness reveals het true emotions, she’s terrified. She blinks, taking in the tucked wings, the lethal grace and elegant beauty. The taller one takes a step forward, effectively moving in front of the other while hiding a hand behind her gown.

“My sisters, Nesta and Elain Archeron.” Feyre introduces them, stopping a few feet in front of them.

By their thundering hearts, I know we’re still too close for comfort, perhaps that will always be the case.

“Cassian,” Feyre says, inclining her head in our direction. “Lyssa.” My face softens, letting a small half smile cover my lips.

“Azriel. And Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court.”

I don’t take my eyes off the two humans as Feyre introduces us, even when Rhys speaks up. “Thank you for your hospitality—and generosity.”

Elain’s lips tremble in response and Nesta’s reaction makes me raise my eyebrows. She looks us all over and says, “The cook left dinner on the table. We should eat before it goes cold.” She’s off before any of us can respond.

“Nice to meet you,” the remaining sister forces herself to whisper, looking at my face but avoiding my eyes.

I don’t involve myself in the tense conversation during dinner and I certainly keep quiet during the little spat between Nesta and Feyre. Focusing instead on keeping my wings as tightly tucked as possible in the human chair while listening to sounds and feelings around the compound.

Azriel takes Elain’s question on flying after she turns to the both of us sitting beside her. She seems to be trying, scared out of her mind while doing so, but she’s trying nonetheless.

After discussing sleeping arrangements for the five of us, Feyre and Rhys sharing a room and Cass, Azriel and I sharing the other. Nothing that hasn’t happened before, even though the human sisters seem slightly scandalized by it. Nesta quickly decides dinner is over.

While the other get started on writing the letter, I take the last of the dinnerware into the kitchen area. Elain ducks her head when she notices my presence, Nesta doesn’t react, not even as I put it down beside her.

“Can I help?” The question is directed at Elain, who’s back isn’t turned to me, but it is Nesta who answers with a harsh, “No.”

Elain’s gaze flicks up quickly to look at Nesta with wide eyes, “Nesta.” She scolds her older sister.

I smile softly at the beautiful girl, she offers me a towel to help her with drying of the dishes. Nesta moves even faster, cleaning the dinnerware like a mad woman, while Elain tries to keep up. I take a part of the load on me, drying off and putting it on the small table in the middle of the kitchen.

We work in silence until Nesta is done, she takes a look at the kitchen table, stacked with pots and plates. Then she looks between me and Elain and walks out.

Elain sighs softly but doesn’t say anything, she puts another plate on top of the others and I catch sight of her ring. “Is he kind to you?”

Her soft curls bounce as she snaps her head in my direction, still not meeting my eyes. I nod to her ring and she flusters.

“Very.” Her soft voice fills the silent kitchen. A melody so beautiful you can’t help but enjoy.

I don’t know why I want her to be more comfortable around me. I ask, without thinking, “Tell me about him.”

And she does, she tells me all about the man, Grayson, who has captured her heart. She tells me how they met, how he proposed, what she has planned for their future.

The more she talks and the more I listen, the more she starts meeting my eyes.

The dinnerware is all stacked in its respective space in the cupboards when Elain finishes the last of their story. I’m leaning against the kitchen table when she asks, “Is Azriel to you who Grayson is to me?”

Her question takes me by surprise and all I can do for the following moment is stare at her dumbly. “Excuse me?” I finally open my mouth to say.

Which apparently makes her unsure because she starts stammering, “I, I’m so sorry,” she looks down at her feet and I frown. “I—uh—I didn’t mean to overstep, I just—I thought you—”

I cut off her rambling, understanding what she was asking, “No, he’s not. Azriel’s not mine.” Giving her a soft smile, she lets out a breath.

“Is there anyone else?”

I study her face, her beautiful features and bouncy curls before I answer softly, “No.”

“Oh.” Another smile is sent her way and I open one of my arms towards the doorway.

Elain lowers her head slowly, and walks through the door into the common room. “I should head to bed,” She speaks loud enough for the others to hear.

They looks up, taking Elain in with me standing slightly behind her. They bid her a good night’s rest and return to writing the letter. Elain turns, giving me a shy smile and says, “Goodnight Lyssa.”

“Goodnight Elain.”

A/N: I hope you liked it, let me know in the comments!

Taglist: @inloveallthetime @mybestfriendmademe @blackgirlmagicforever @dreammoutlouddd

[marshmellowrio]

Flight of the Night | Chapter 8

Word count: 1.3K

“So, how are we doing this fine morning?” My hands clap onto the broad shoulders of Cassian and Azriel, who are sitting side by side at the table in the townhouse. Quite miserably, I might add.

Both males flinch and groan at the intrusion of the silence, not looking up from their plates. I greet Mor, Feyre and Rhys with a grin, while walking around the table to a free spot on the other side, opposite of the two Illyrians.

Their hunched shoulders and hooded eyelids show how affected they were by yesterday’s liquor. Rhysand looks quite well for the amount he had.

I can’t help but notice how even the shadows around Azriel seem quiet, retracted. As if they had been yelled at to be quiet. The male in question brings up his hand to rub at his forehead, furthering my suspicions.

Not long after Mor follows Feyre to go get ready for the journey to the Mortal Realm, and in consequence her family home.

I stay with the three Illyrians, who are slowly but surely recovering from their hangovers, after finally eating something and getting some much needed hydration.

❧ ⸻ ☙

We have all gathered in the foyer, when we hear Mor and Feyre coming down the stairs. I hear Mor say, “Lyssa will go in my stead.”

They join us in the foyer and I confirm. “I will.”

Mor bids us goodbye and winnows out, leaving Feyre to decide who she will be flying with. She takes all of us in, lingering on Rhys’s form before hastily declaring her choice as Azriel. I cannot help but giggle at the astonished faces of both Rhys and Cassian, Azriel ever the gentleman, bows his head slightly and says, “Of course.”

Cassian’s the first to go, winnowed away by Rhys. He raises his eyebrows and looks between me and Rhys right before they both vanish. I frown, looking back at Azriel, who gathers an uncomfortable looking Feyre in his arms when Rhys returns.

Feyre looks at him sharply, “Don’t let the wind ruin my hair.”

Realisation strikes me then that Azriel won’t be winnowing me in, as I’d previously thought, but Rhys will.

Seconds after they’ve vanished, Rhys returns for the last time. Faltering slightly as he takes me in.

He holds out his hand for me to take and I sigh, taking a step closer. His hand encasing mine and I keep my gaze fixed on our joined hands.

“You’re still mad.” The statement has me snapping my gaze up to meet his as his darkness envelops us, Rhys winnowing us to the border.

My grip falters and I grit my teeth when he squeezes my hand tighter to hold on. “Yes.”

The darkness around us gentles, “I’m sorry.” My eyes soften. “But, I needed you in Illyria, more than I needed you in Velaris.” I close my eyes, frowning and he continues. “I knew you could handle it on your own, you always do.”

The roaring wind around us clashes with the roaring in my head as the darkness vanishes, sending us in a freefall and snapping my eyes open right as I land a blow to Rhys’s jaw.

He grunts as I grip his forearms and we keep falling, I yell at him. “That is so not your decision to make! You isolated me! In Illyria, of all fucking places!” Pushing away from him, I roll around in the sky, facing the fast approaching sea level and my wings flare.

I soar on the current and the flapping of wings behind me tells me that Rhys also spread his wings, following close behind me.

Cassian’s only slightly in front of us, and I realise Rhys winnowed us closer to the border than the others, hoping to catch up to them.

I take a look behind me and see Azriel soaring on a current above me, Feyre still wrapped protectively in his arms. His bunched eyebrows tell me he’s saw the argument and I know it’s not over.

I know I have to actually have a conversation with Rhys about all this, when we’re not falling from the sky anyway.

Following Cassian through the fissure, I brace myself against the power emanating from the Wall. Going through the Wall feels like getting ripped in all directions, I am not meant to go through, no one is meant to go through.

The bite of the cold wind is instantly upon me. So different from Illyria. Softer. Almost like a child compared to a hardened elder.

I veer to the coastline, following Cassian’s trail and land next to him on the snow-covered ground. Cassian nods as he turns to me, but I sweep the horizon myself, turning my back on Rhys landing. When I turn back around, Azriel has landed as well, quiet as always. One look at Rhys’s face has me grimacing, if I see it, so can the others.

“Not a word.” Rhys hisses to a grinning Cassian as I stalk off deeper into the land.

“I wasn’t going to say anything.” He has the nerve to sound offended.

I call to him over my shoulder, “You sure were thinking a whole lot about it.” Laughter travels closer as they follow in my footsteps, Feyre comes up next to me, taking the lead to her family home.

❧ ⸻ ☙

Feyre enters her family’s estate quietly an hour or so later, Cassian and Azriel fly off to canvas the area. Before I can depart as well, Rhys grabs my wrist, effectively keeping me grounded.

“Tell me.”

The demand rolls off his tongue so simply, but the meaning behind them has me faltering. My hands shake as I look down at them, the rings on my fingers glittering, catching the light every so often.

“I felt like I was sixteen years old again. All alone, thrown to the wolves. I spent some time in the Illyrian Mountainpass.” Rhys sucks in a breath. “When I returned to the camps, I tried to keep it quiet for as long as I could, but they—they figured something was off. Didn’t trust me anymore.” I raise my chin, looking him in the eye. “I fought for their respect, all over again. Every day, again and again, I fought for respect and the next day, the next week, I would lose it, again and again.”

I sigh and look out to the sky, seeing Cassian circling back. “They wanted to clip me, defile me, rape me. The ones who acted upon it, quickly regretted it. I found some—sympathizers, is the best word for it, among the main camps and the last couple of years went by pretty fluently.” I snarl. “But those damned warbands.”

Rhys nods in understanding, I had been there with him and Cassian to kill them off. Letting my rage show then, they hadn’t been afraid, surprised maybe. “I was pissed at you for it, for shutting me out. It felt like you didn’t take into consideration what had happened to me in those Mountains.” Rhys shakes his head, his eyes lined with silver, as mine probably are as well, judging from the way my throat swells as I speak.

“I forgave you, a couple years ago. But then I saw you again, and ugh—it just resurfaced. I’m sorry.” A watery smile forms on my lips.

“I’m sorry, too.” He brings me in for a hug, and I accept greedily. Holding onto him tightly for the first time in fifty years, as if he’ll go back Under the Mountain if I let go.

A/N: Let me know how you liked it in the comments!

[marshmellowrio]

Flight of the Night | Chapter 7

Word count: 0.8K

A/N: A little chapter, in between assignments.

The following evening Cassian relays all that happened with Feyre and the Weaver to me as I get ready to go out.

We’re dragging Rhys along to finally loosen up a little bit, I fasten the buttons on my satin shirt. “And you’re going to the Mortal Realm tomorrow?”

Cassian nods from his place at my desk, eyeing the pieces of jewellery strewn across it. “Remind me why I’m coming and you’re not?”

“Rhys is asking Mor.” I roll my eyes, “Not that she’ll want to go, but he’ll try.”

Cassian twirls around in the chair with one of the rings in his hands, fiddling with it. “I know, but why am I coming? You’re better with words out of the two of us.”

My eyes glitter in amusement as I give him a grin. “He’ll want the extra protection.”

He looks unimpressed as he says, “That’s not a reason to leave you here, we’re equal in power.”

Now it’s my turn to look unimpressed, I gesture towards one of his Siphons with my head and make my way to where he’s sitting.

“Oh come on, you’re just as much a warrior as I am.”

I laugh softly and pick up my rings, gliding them over the correct fingers, “We’ll see what Mor says.”

❧ ⸻ ☙

Just as I thought, Mor was not in the mood to join the others in the Mortal Realm, no matter how much Rhys pestered her about it.

We had taken up a booth, the five of us, at Rita’s. Cassian and Azriel are well into their drinking binge, I watch as Cassian loses the card game again and Azriel grins. I smile softly, rolling my eyes when Cass groans from beside me and downs his drink in defeat.

“Why don’t you take Lyssa instead?” I tune into Mor and Rhys’s conversation when she drops my name.

Looking to the end of the booth, both of them are looking at me. I hadn’t realised they were still bickering about tomorrow. “What?”

“Three Illyrians might be pushing it for the humans.” Rhys reasons with her.

Mor sighs, “I think it would be good for them to see another female.”

While Rhys thinks it over I turn my attention back to the two Illyrians, right as Azriel slaps his hand flat on the table. My eyes widen and my brows furrow, immediately scanning the environment for a potential threat. Only when I hear Cassian’s boisterous laugh do I realise Az lost this round. I shake my head at the two of them.

“Lyss, you’re going with us tomorrow.” Rhys orders and I nod to him, showing I’ve heard his statement.

Cassian falls on me, throwing his arms around my body. “I told you!”

“Okay, now that that’s settled. Let’s get you drunk.” Mor says to Rhys, her hand shooting up to signal the waiter.

A couple of hours and many drinks later, I’m on the dancefloor with Mor and Cass, while Az and Rhys keep drinking in the booth, watching us.

Mor’s red dress, matching my shirt, twirls around her as she herself twirls all over the dancefloor. Cassian struggling to catch up to her, his intoxication becoming clearer as he trips over his feet.

I saunter over to the booth, my eyes hooded as I grin at the two males before me. Azriel starts shaking his head, before I reach them, but he’s too late to shuffle back into the booth as I grab his wrists, pulling.

The soft whine that leaves his lips has me throwing my head back in a laugh, but I push on, pulling him successfully from the booth and over to the dancefloor. Rhys follows suit, going over to Cassian and Mor, who drag him along instantly.

Once he’s on the dancefloor, surrounded by other fae, it doesn’t take long for Azriel to start moving to the beat. The liquor in his system quickly taking over his senses and I move along with him, enjoying his company.

My arms raise and my body moves on it’s own, letting the music take over. The dimmed lights filtering through my closed eyelids, a hand slides over my abdomen and they fly open again.

I recognise Azriel’s overwhelming scent as he pulls me back flush against his body, resting his chin on my shoulder and I close my eyes again. Dancing on. My body singing.

We break apart forcefully as an out of breath Mor crashes into us, followed by Cassian and Rhys.

“I need a drink,” Mor says as the three of them lead us back to the booth and we spend the rest of the night, talking and drinking amongst ourselves, often taking a break with a little dance.

A/N: I've finally finished ACOSF! I need more! But anyway, I've decided to not follow the books exactly, the storyline will be the same, but I won't be including all of the chapter in this story. Only the ones of importance to Lyssa's character or to the story will be included. Until I start branching off to tell Lyssa's story. Which will probably take place after ACOSF - that is if I don't change my mind once I've read AHOFAS.

This is what I had in mind for Lyssa's outfit for this chapter (but you are of course free to imagine anything) Let me know if you want me to continue adding these!:

Taglist: @inloveallthetime @mybestfriendmademe @blackgirlmagicforever @dreammoutlouddd

[marshmellowrio]

Flight of the Night | Chapter 6

Word count: 2.4K

“You were acting nice yesterday.” Cassian states in lieu of greeting me when I reach the training field on the House of Wind.

I hum as I walk towards the middle of the sparring ring, “Doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven him.”

“Yeah, I gathered that,” he pauses his string of movements to look at me more properly. “Want to fight it out again?”

I take a deep breath, before forcing it out through my nose again. “He locked me out.” I start on my own warming up sequences, but Cassian keeps staring at me. I know I’ve said this hundreds of times since Rhys and I got back, but I don’t care. I’ll keep saying it until it stops hurting to say it, or to even think it.

Cassian keeps quiet for a while, debating whether a reply is in the best way to handle me. The past replies he’s given me, have all resulted in him getting a beating, verbal or physical.

“I know.”

With my back to him, I still. A frown forming on my face.

Acknowledgement.

I grit my teeth, not turning, but I know I have his attention. I smell the apprehension. “It was hard.”

I hear him breathe out softly, “Tell me.”

My eyes close and my nostrils flare, before I turn to face him. To hell with this training session.

“Tell me what happened when he dropped those wards around Velaris.” Cassian’s face is anything but soft, except for his eyes. The harsh look because we were separated for 49 years, the softness because I’m finally talking.

“I wish I could just show you.” Although I don’t want to relive those years by remembering in a shared vision, it would be over as soon as the memory is over. Talking requires more time, it requires me to say it.

His face softens when he hears me say it, concern flooding his features.

I walk closer to edge of the mountain and sit down, dangling my feet of the ledge. Cassian takes a seat beside me.

“You know I was in Windhaven that day.” Cassian barely nods in reply. “I heard Rhys’s command to stay in Velaris and flew. I raced to the border, I knew he would seal it off. When I got to the border—” I suck in a breath at the feeling I so vividly remember. “It felt foreign, not home like it used to.”

The city beyond isn’t awake yet and I stare out at it. Letting the feeling of home consume me.

“When I got closer to that border, I felt the force of that shield driving me back. Telling me I didn’t belong there.” I swallow, before I choke on the words, on the memories. “So I went back.”

I don’t tell him that when I flattened my hand against that shield, I cried and screamed. I don’t tell him that I banged my fist against the shield. Again. And again. And again. I don’t tell him I collapsed, tears streaming down my face. I don’t tell him I stayed, for weeks.

Cassian bumps his arm into my shoulder and I lean against him as I close my eyes, relishing in the feeling of my best friend next to me.

❧ ⸻ ☙

Rhys and Feyre try talking to the Bone Carver again the next day, after not even entering the previous one.

Cassian drags me along after training to wait for them at the townhouse, I tell him they’re not going to be back until after noon, but he insists. Azriel and Mor turn up a couple hours later, joining us in the sitting room.

They indeed only return a couple hours after noon and Cassian is bursting at the seams with tension.

“Amren’s right,” Rhys drawls, leaning against the threshold of the sitting room.” You are like dogs, waiting for me to come home. Maybe I should buy treats.”

Cassian gives him a vulgar gesture from where he lounges on the couch before the hearth, an arm slung over the back behind Mor.

I know Azriel lingers somewhere by the window, behind my spot on one of the armchairs across from the couch. Feyre strides for the other one, claiming it as she stretches her limbs towards the fire.

“How’d it go?” Mor says, straightening.

“The Bone Carver,” Rhys says, “is a busybody gossip who likes to pry into other people’s business far too much.”

My eyebrows raise, I don’t know why he’s surprised, this is common knowledge.

“But?” Cassian braces his arms on his knees, demanding more information.

“But,” Rhys continues, “he can also be helpful, when he chooses. And it seems we need to start doing what we do best.”

I watch Feyre as Rhys tells us all about the Cauldron and the reason behind the temple pillagings. The more information Rhys offers, the more I start to wonder what the young female offered the Bone Carver in return.

Halfway through Rhys’s explanation, I feel Azriel’s looming presence take up the space behind my armchair. His questioning growing slightly tense. I keep quiet but store all the information, knowing every piece is important.

“I’ll contact my sources in the Summer Court about where the half of the Book of Breathing is hidden.” Azriel speaks when Rhys is done, placing one of his hands on the back of the armchair. I take a quick glance as I see it in my peripheral vision. “I can fly into the human world myself to figure out where they’re keeping their part of the Book before we ask them for it.”

“No need,” Rhys says. “And I don’t trust this information, even with your sources, with anyone outside of this room. Save for Amren.”

Azriel withdraws his hand and I turn in my seat, taking him in. “They can be trusted,” he says, steeling his voice and clenching his hands at his sides.

Struck a nerve there. My eyes go back to Rhys at the other side of the room.

“We’re not taking any risks where this is concerned,” he merely replies. I watch both males keep the stare, my eyes flicking back and forth until Azriel nods.

I settle in my seat again, bringing my knees up on the armchair, leaning against the armrest closest to the shadowsinger.

“So what do you have planned?” Mor continues the initial conversation.

We all watch Rhys as he picks at his fighting leathers and I frown at the action. “The King of Hybern sacked one of our temples to get a missing piece of the Cauldron. As far as I’m concerned, it’s an act of war—an indication that His Majesty has no interest in wooing me.”

My jaw clenches when I hear him say it. War, again.

“He likely remembers our allegiance to the humans in the War, anyway,” Cassian says. “He wouldn’t jeopardize revealing his plans while trying to sway you, and I bet some of Amarantha’s cronies reported to him about Under the Mountain. About how it all ended, I mean.” He’s cautious in his wording, not only for Rhys but also for Feyre.

Rhys says, “Indeed. But this means Hybern’s forces have already successfully infiltrated our lands—without detection. I plan to return the favour.”

I swallow and roll my eyes when I catch sight of Cassian and Mor’s mirroring grins.

“How?” Mor asks.

Rhys crosses his arms. “It will require careful planning. But if the Cauldron is in Hybern, then to Hybern we must go. Either to take it back…or use the Book to nullify it.”

“Hybern like—”

“Who says—” I start at the same time as Azriel. I look at him and give him an encouraging smile, when he hesitates to continue.

He nods before countering Rhys’s statement, “Hybern likely has as many wards and shields around it as we have here,” Exactly what I was going to point out. “We’d need to find a way to get through them undetected first.” I nod in confirmation.

“Which is why we start now. While we hunt for the Book. So when we have both halves, we can move swiftly—before word can spread that we even possess it.”

Cassian nods, buts asks, “How are you going to retrieve the Book, then?”

“Since these objects are spelled to the individual High Lords, and can only be found by them—through their power… Then, in addition to her uses regarding the handling of the Book of Breathings itself, it seems we possibly have our own detector.” Rhys says.

I look at Feyre, seeing her cringe at the attention. “Perhaps was what the Bone Carver said in regard to me being able to track things. You don’t know…” She trails off as she looks at Rhys smirking.

“You have a kernel of all our power—like having seven thumbprints. If we’ve hidden something, if we’ve made or protected it with our power, no matter where it has been concealed, you will be able to track it through that very magic.”

I do have to admit, that is pretty cool. What else is she capable of if she hones her power?

“You can’t know that for sure,” Feyre tries again.

“No—but there is a way to test it.” Rhys is smiling.

I groan, “Rhys.”

“Here we go,” comes from a grumbling Cassian. Mor gives Azriel a warning glare, to which he just gives an incredulous look. As if he isn’t the one constantly putting himself in harm’s way.

Rhys says, as if we haven’t even said anything, “With your abilities Feyre, you might be able to find the half of the Book at the Summer Court—and break the wards around it. But I’m not going to take the Carver’s word for it, or bring you there without testing you first. To make sure that when it counts, when we need to get that book, you—we do not fail. So we’re going on another little trip. To see if you can find a valuable object of mine that I’ve been missing for a considerably long time.”

“Shit,” Mor says.

“Where?” Feyre says after a second of watching Mor.

Azriel answers from beside me. “To the Weaver.”

Rhys holds up his hand to keep Cassian from objecting. “The test will be to see if Feyre can identify the object of mine in the Weaver’s trove. When we get to the Summer Court, Tarquin might have spelled his half of the Book to look different, feel different.”

He has got an odd way of loving his mate. First the Bone Carver, now the Weaver. He’s only letting her meet the horrid creatures in Prythian. No matter that that ring will be her future.

“By the Cauldron, Rhys,” Mor snaps, setting her feet on the carpet. “Are you out of your—”

Feyre is quick to push in, “Who is the Weaver?”

“An ancient, wicked creature,” Azriel says.

I pitch in, “Who should remain unbothered. Find another way to test her abilities.”

Rhys merely shrugs and looks at Feyre, he’ll let her choose. Like he does with all of us, he gives us the choice to walk away, always.

We wait for Feyre to make her decision, gnawing on her lip. “The Bone Carver, the Weaver… Can’t you ever just call someone by a given name?”

Cassian chuckles, and Mor settles back in the sofa, while I lean back against the headrest in amusement.

Rhys says to Feyre, “ What about adding one more name to that list?”

I cock my head in interest, what does he mean by that?

“Emissary,” Rhys says, ignoring Mor’s noise of dislike. “Emissary to the Night Court—for the human realm.”

Azriel says, “There hasn’t been one for five hundred years, Rhys.”

“There also hasn’t been a human-turned-immortal since then, either.” Rhys turns his gaze to Feyre again. “The human world must be as prepared as we are—especially if the King of Hybern plans to shatter the wall and unleash his forces upon them. We need the other half of the Book from those mortal queens—and if we can’t use magic to influence them, then they’re going to have to bring it to us.”

The silence that follows his statement is palpable, each one of us letting the truth sink in. My lips purse in thought.

Rhys jerks his chin at Feyre. “You are an immortal faerie—with a human heart. Even as such, you might very well set foot on the continent and be…hunted for it. So we set up a base in neutral territory. In a place where humans trust us—trust you, Feyre. And where other humans might risk going to meet with you. To hear the voice of Prythian after five centuries.”

“My family’s estate,” Feyre is quick to answer.

“Mother’s tits, Rhys,” Cassian cuts in. I shake my head right when he flares his wings, almost knocking over the ceramic vase on the side table. “You think we can just take over her family’s house, demand that of them.”

“The land,” Mor says, reaching over to return the vase to its place, “will run red with blood, Cassian, regardless of what we do with her family. It is now a matter of where that blood will flow—and how much will spill. How much human blood we can save.” She reasons.

“The Spring Court borders the wall—” The fright is clear in Feyre’s voice.

“The wall stretches across the sea. We’ll fly in offshore,” Rhys says without blinking. “I won’t risk discovery from any court, though word might spread quickly enough once we’re there. I know it won’t be easy, Feyre, but if there’s any way you could convince those queens—”

“I’ll do it.” She says. “They might not be happy about it, but I’ll make Elain and Nesta do it.”

A sigh leaves my lips, this family is going to go through a lot. I just hope Feyre knows what she might be putting on the line.

“Then it’s settled. Once Feyre darling returns from the Weaver, we’ll bring Hybern to its knees.”

A/N: Hope you like it!

Taglist: @inloveallthetime @mybestfriendmademe @blackgirlmagicforever @dreammoutlouddd

[marshmellowrio]

Flight of the Night | Masterlist

Started: 22/02/2024 (dd/mm/yyyy)

Last updated: 05/04/2024

Total chapters: 9

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ACT 1

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Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 - in progress

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[marshmellowrio]

Flight of the Night | Chapter 5

A/N: Enjoy the last part of this scene.

Word count: 1.3K

“What’s your story, then?” Cassian says with a jerk of his chin in Feyre’s direction.

She straightens. “I was born to a wealthy merchant family, with two older sisters and parents who only cared about their money and social standing. My mother died when I was eight; my father lost his fortune years later. He sold everything to pay off his debts, moved us into a hovel, and didn’t bother to find work while he let us slowly starve for years. I was fourteen when the last of the money ran out, along with the food. He wouldn’t work—couldn’t, because the debtors came and shattered his leg in front of us. So I went into the forest and taught myself to hunt. And I kept us all alive, if not near starvation at times, for five years. Until…everything happened.”

I sit back in my seat, letting the words sink in. She was so young, younger than I was while enduring a vaguely similar situation. Teaching herself to survive. A new-found respect for this young fae finds its way into my mind, she already had my respect after what I heard from Rhys, but this…she has earned our respect twice-over.

“You taught yourself to hunt. What about to fight?” Cassian breaks the silence as he braces his hands on the table. “Lucky for you, you’ve just found yourself a teacher.”

A small smile graces my lips. Cassian might be a born leader, but he’s such a passionate teacher as well. He’d do good teaching more than the odd apprentice once in a few hundred years.

“You don’t think it sends a bad message if people see me learning to fight—using weapons?” I almost scoff at Feyre’s words. Damn the Spring Court and their old ways of thinking. No female should be denied the chance to learn how to use her body to defend herself or others.

Mor’s voice is venomous enough to make me look at her. “Let me tell you two things. As someone who has perhaps been in your shoes before.” She continues as Feyre takes in the atmosphere in the room. “One, you have left the Spring Court. If that does not send a message, for good or bad, then your training will not, either. Two,” a flat hand is placed on the table, “I once lived in a place where the opinion of others mattered. It suffocated me, nearly broke me. So you’ll understand me, Feyre, when I say that I know what you feel, and I know what they tried to do to you, and that with enough courage, you can say to hell with a reputation.” Feyre’s eyes lift to mine as I nod at her. She needs to understand that no one will judge here, we all have our pasts, and we will all heal. “You do what you love, what you need.”

I see her consider, the way her eyes move away from Mor’s to stare at the table. Gears turning in that pretty little head of hers. She lifts her gaze to Cassian’s, “I’ll think about it.”

“Let me know if you need some help, oh mighty warrior.” I wink at Cassian, but it is Azriel that responds.

“No novice wants your help in combat, Lyss, you are brutal.” I pout at the statement, even more so as Cassian nods in agreement.

My hand raises to my heart, and a grin starts cracking through my innocent facade. “You wound me, Az.”

Feyre suddenly states to Rhys, “I accept your offer—to work with you. To earn my keep. And help with Hybern in whatever way I can.”

I raise my eyebrows in surprise, where did this come from?

“Good,” he merely replies. “Because we start tomorrow.”

I raise my eyebrows, while Feyre sputters. “Where? And what?”

Rhys interlaces his fingers and I recognise the more formal stature, we’re talking business now. “Because the King of Hybern is indeed about to launch a war, and he wants to resurrect Jurian to do it.”

My gaze snaps to Azriel, seeing him observing a very still Amren. When? When has he figured this out?

“Bullshit,” Cassian spits. “There’s no way to do that.”

Mor groans, “Why would the king want to resurrect Jurian? He was so odious. All he liked to do was talk about himself.”

“That’s what I want to find out,” Rhysand says in return. “And how the king plans to do it.”

“Word will have reached him about Feyre’s Making. He knows it’s possible for the dead to be remade.” Amren contributes her thoughts.

“All seven High Lords would have to agree to that,” Mor counters. “There’s not a chance it happens.”

“If there’s one way, there is bound to be another way.” I say in response.

Mor continues after nodding at me, “All the slaughtering—the massacres at temples. You think it’s tied to this?”

“I know it’s tied to this. I didn’t want to tell you until I knew for certain. But Azriel confirmed that they’d raided the memorial in Sangravah three days ago. They’re looking for something—or found it.” Azriel nods in confirmation and shrugs at Mor when she looks at him.

“That—that’s why the ring and the finger bone vanished after Amarantha died. For this. But who…” Feyre breathes out. “They never caught the Attor, did they?” I shiver at the dread in her voice, another creature she had to face while still human. I can almost feel her pain.

“No. No, they didn’t.” Rhys says quietly, as if not to scare her off. He turns to Amren, “How does one take an eye and a finger bone and make it into a man again? And how do we stop it?”

Amren frowns. “You already know how to find the answer. Go to the Prison. Talk to the Bone Carver.”

I suck in a breath and I hear Cassian and Mor utter in unison. “Shit.”

“Perhaps you would be more effective, Amren.” Rhys says calmly, cornering a beast.

Amren only hisses back, “I will not set foot in the Prison, Rhysand, and you know it. So go yourself, or send one of these dogs to do it for you.” Cassian grins back, earning a snap of Amren teeth in return.

Azriel shakes his head at the two. “I’ll go with Lyssa. The Prison sentries know me—what I am. And he likes Lyssa’s gifts.” I clench my teeth as he avoids my gaze, he knows I don’t like being volunteered for something I don’t trust. And the Bone Carver it ranked quite high on that list.

“If anyone’s going to the Prison,” Rhys says before I can deny Azriel’s proposal, “it’s me. And Feyre.”

“What?” Mor demands, hitting her palms flat on the table, leaning her weight on them.

“He won’t talk to Rhys,” Amren says to us, “or to Azriel. Or to any of us. He might like the gifts Lyssa leaves him, but we’ve got nothing to offer him. An immortal with a mortal soul however…” She stares at Feyre. “The Bone Carver might be willing indeed to talk to her.”

All of our gazes turn to the young immortal in question, assessing her next move.

“Your choice, Feyre” Rhys says casually. And I believe him, if she says no, we’ll find another way. We will all try.

“How bad can it be?” Her response shows she has no idea what she’s up against in this immortal world.

“Bad,” Cassian only says.

A/N: Let me know what you thought in the comments! If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know!

Taglist: @inloveallthetime @mybestfriendmademe @blackgirlmagicforever

[marshmellowrio]

Flight of the Night | Chapter 4

A/N: A bigger one, this scene goes on forever, ughh. This hasn't been proofread, like every other chapter I have posted (oops?).

Word count: 3.5K

I watch as Feyre addresses Azriel, “How did you meet?” Azriel turns to look at Cassian, I follow his gaze. Cassian is a way better storyteller than Azriel, that’s fact.

“We all hated each other at first.” A grin ghosts over his lips as he starts, his eyes flickering between the four of us, Illyrians. “We are bastards, you know. Az and I. The Illyrians… We love our people, and our traditions, but they dwell in clans and camps deep in the mountains of the North, and do not like outsiders. Especially High Fae who try to tell them what to do. But they’re just as obsessed with lineage, and have their own princes and lords among them.” He holds my gaze before continuing, pointing a thumb in Azriel’s direction. “Az, was the bastard of one of the local lords. And if you think the bastard son of a lord is hated, then you can’t imagine how hated the bastard is of a war-camp laundress and a warrior she couldn’t or wouldn’t remember.” I see the casual shrug of his shoulders for what it is, a way to dampen the vicious, ancient anger raging through his veins at the thought of his mother. “Az’s father sent him to our camp for training once he and his charming wife realized he was a shadowsinger.”

“Like the daemati,” Rhys says to Feyre, “shadowsingers are rare—coveted by courts and territories across the world for their stealth and predisposition to hear and feel things other can’t.”

Something I have been wary of for centuries. Being secretive around Azriel was a feat not easily accomplished.

Cassian continues, “The camp lord practically shit himself with excitement the day Az was dumped in our camp. But me… once my mother weaned me and I was able to walk, they flew me to a distant camp, and chucked me into the mud to see if I would live or die.”

“They would have been smarter throwing you off a cliff,” Mor snorts.

“Oh, definitely,” Cassian says, his grin sharpening. “Especially because when I was old and strong enough to go back to the camp I’d been born in, I learned those pricks worked my mother until she died.”

A silence falls, simmering anger hanging like a cloud in the air.

“The Illyrians,” Rhys cuts in smoothly, “are unparalleled warriors, and are rich with stories and traditions. But they are also brutal and backward, particularly in regard to how they treat their females.”

Azriel’s vacant eyes lock on mine, my face schooled in a stone-cold expression.

“They’re barbarians,” Amren says and neither of the males object.

I keep silent as Mor nods. “They cripple their females so they can keep them for breeding more flawless warriors.”

Rhys cringes. “My mother was low-born, and worked as a seamstress in one of their many mountain war-camps. When females come of age in the camps—when they have their first bleeding—their wings are… clipped. Just a small incision in the right place, left to improperly heal, can cripple you forever.” I tell myself to keep breathing, keeping the memories at bay and listen to the story. A story I’ve heard countless times, but never becomes easier. “And my mother—she was gentle and wild and loved to fly. So she did everything in her power to keep herself from maturing. She starved herself, gathered illegal herbs—anything to halt the natural course of her body. She turned eighteen and hadn’t yet bled, to the mortification of her parents. But her bleeding finally arrived and all it took was for her to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time, before a male scented it on her and told the camp’s lord. She tried to flee—took right to the skies. But she was young, and the warriors were faster, and they dragged her back. They were about to tie her to the posts in the center of camp when my father winnowed in for a meeting with the camp’s lord about readying for the War. He saw my mother trashing and fighting like a wildcat, and… The mating bond between them clicked into place. One look at her, and he knew what she was. He misted the guards holding her.”

“Misted?” Confusion laces her voice. As Cassian chuckles sharply.

Rhys floats a lemon wedge into the air and flicks his finger, turning it into citrus-scented mist. I lean forward to catch the look on Feyre’s face, she takes misting entire beings better than I did the first time. She hasn’t seen him do it yet, but the insinuation of it, was enough to make me still when I realised the extent of Rhys’s powers.

“Through the blood-rain,” Rhys goes on, “my mother looked at him. And the bond fell into place for her. My father took her back to the Night Court that evening and made her his bride. She loved her people, and missed them, but never forgot what they had tried to do to her—what they did to the females among them. She tried for decades to get my father to ban it, but the War was coming, and he wouldn’t risk isolating the Illyrians when he needed them to lead his armies. And to die for him.”

“A real prize, your father,” Mor grumbles. I cast my head down, he never did me wrong. But his methods could be…harsh.

“At least he liked you,” Rhys counters. “my father and mother, despite being mates, were wrong for each other.” I grimace, I sometimes wonder how often a mating bond is set between two beings while they’re not right for each other. “My father was cold and calculating, and could be vicious, as he had been trained to be since birth. My mother was soft and fiery and beloved by everyone she met. She hated him after a time—but never stopped being grateful that he had saved her wings, that he allowed her to fly whenever and wherever she wished. And when I was born, and could summon the Illyrian wings as I pleased… She wanted me to know her people’s culture.”

“She wanted to keep you out of your father’s claws,” Mor says, swirling her wine. Azriel finally looks away from me and I let loose a breath, his memories finally clearing. I have no doubt I was involved in that memory from the way he had stared for the past few minutes.

“That, too,” Rhys adds drily. “When I turned eight, my mother brought me to one of the Illyrian war-camps. To be trained, as all Illyrian males were trained. And like all Illyrian mothers, she shoved me toward the sparring ring on the first day, and walked away without looking back.”

“She abandoned you?” I understand Feyre’s deduction but it still has me narrowing my eyes.

“No—never,” Rhys says, with as much ferocity as I felt for his mother’s memory. “She was staying at the camp as well. But it is considered an embarrassment for a mother to coddle her son when he goes to train.”

Cassian laughs, catching the look on Feyre’s face. “Backward, like he said.”

“I was scared out of my mind,” Rhys admits. “I’d been learning to wield my powers, but Illyrian magic was a mere fraction of it. And it’s rare amongst them—usually possessed only by the most powerful, pure-bred warriors.” His eyes flit to me and I give him a lopsided grin. “I tried to use a Siphon during those years. And shattered about a dozen before I realized it wasn’t compatible—the stones couldn’t hold it. My power flows and is honed in other ways.”

“So difficult, being such a powerful High Lord,” Mor teases.

Rhys rolls his eyes. “The camp-lord banned me from using my magic for all our sakes. But I had no idea how to fight when I set foot into that training ring that day. The other boys in my age group knew it, too. Especially one in particular, who took a look at me, and beat me into a bloody mess.”

“You were so clean,” Cassian says, shaking his head. “The pretty half-breed son of the High Lord—how fancy you were in your new training clothes.” I snort, I can totally imagine young Cassian thinking like that.

“Cassian,” Azriel’s dark voice cuts in, “resorted to getting new clothes over the years by challenging other boys to fights, with the prize being the clothes off their backs.” The flatness in his voice revealed how much he cared for the Illyrian ways.

Cassian chuckles, he had a completely different experience, just as horrifying, but different. “I’d beaten every other boy in our age group twice over already, but then Rhys arrived, in his clean clothes, and he smelled… different. Like a true opponent. So I attacked. We both got three lashings apiece for the fight.”

From my side of the table, I see Feyre flinch.

“They do worse, girl,” Amren cuts in, “in those camps. Three lashings is practically an encouragement to fight again. When they do something truly bad, bones are broken. Repeatedly. Over weeks.”

“Your mother willingly sent you into that?” Feyre asks with a soft voice. She has a lot to learn about Illyrians and their customs, I think to myself.

“My mother didn’t want me to rely on my power,” Rhys says. “She knew from the moment she conceived me that I’d be hunted my entire life. Where one strength failed, she wanted others to save me. My education was another weapon—which was why she went with me; to tutor me after lessons were done for the day. And when she took me home that first night to our new house at the edge of the camp, she made me read by the window. It was there that I saw Cassian trudging through the mud—toward the few ramshackle tents outside of the camp. I asked her where he was going, and she told me that bastards are given nothing: they find their own shelter, own food. If they survive and get picked to be in a war-band, they’ll be bottom-ranking forever, but receive their own tents and supplies. But until then, he’d stay in the cold.”

“Those mountains,” Azriel adds, his hard gaze locking on mine again, “offer some of the harshest conditions you can imagine.” I know he still feels guilty about what happened to me, but I only duck my head not being able to bear his loaded gaze.

“After my lessons,” Rhys ignores the exchanged looks, “my mother cleaned my lashings, and as she did, I realized for the first time what it was to be warm, and safe, and cared for. And it didn’t sit well.”

“Apparently not,” Cassian takes over. “Because in the dead of night, that little prick woke me up in my piss-poor tent and told me to keep my mouth shut and come with him. And maybe the cold made me stupid, but I did. His mother was livid. But I’ll never forget the look on her beautiful face when she saw me and said, ‘There is a bathtub with hot running water. Get in it or you can go back into the cold.’ Being a smart lad, I obeyed. When I got out, she had clean nightclothes and ordered me into bed.” She had done some good for all of us. “I’d spent my life sleeping on the ground—and when I balked, she said she understood because she had felt the same once, and that it would feel as if I was being swallowed up, but the bed was mine for as long as I wanted it.”

“And you were friends after that?”

“No—Cauldron no,” Rhys says. “We hated each other, and only behaved because if one of us got into trouble or provoked the other, then neither of us ate that night. My mother started tutoring Cassian, but it wasn’t until Azriel arrived a year later that we decided to be allies.”

Cassian’s grin stretches as he reaches around Amren to clap Azriel on his shoulder. A sigh falls from the shadowsinger’s lips and I smile fondly at the two of them. “A new bastard in the camp—and an untrained shadowsinger to boot. Not to mention he couldn’t even fly thanks to—”

I clear my throat interrupting him as Mor lazily cuts in, “Stay on track, Cassian.” He looks at the both of us, the apologize clear in his eyes, but he shrugged feigning indifference to Feyre. Mor kept her eyes on Cass as I shifted mine to Azriel, noting the tense shoulders and faraway look in his eyes.

“Rhys and I made his life a living hell, shadowsinger or no. But Rhys’s mother had known Az’s mother, and took him in. As we grew older, and the other males around us did, too, we realized everyone else hated us enough that we had better odds of survival sticking together.” Cassian finishes their story and I turn to Feyre.

“Do you have any gifts? Like—them?” She jerks her chin to Azriel and Rhys.

“A volatile temper doesn’t count,” Mor says and I grin at her, sometimes I wonder if we spent too much time together. Or if it’s Cassian that’s so predictable.

“No. I don’t—not beyond a heaping pile of the killing power. Bastard-born nobody, through and through.” I lean forward at the same time as Rhys, but Cassian continues, “Even so, the other males knew that we were different. And not because we were two bastards and a half-breed. We were stronger, faster—like the Cauldron knew we’d been set apart and wanted us to find each other. Rhys’s mother saw it, too. Especially as we reached the age of maturity, and all we wanted to do was fuck and fight.” I roll my eyes at that.

“Males are horrible creatures, aren’t they?” Amren says.

“Repulsive,” Mor clicks her tongue and I laugh softly.

Cassian only shrugs. “Rhys’s power grew every day—and everyone, even the camp-lords, knew he could mist everyone if he felt like it. And the two of us… we weren’t far behind.” He taps his Siphon with a finger. “A bastard Illyrian had never received one of these. Ever. For Az and me to both be appointed them, albeit begrudgingly, had every warrior in every camp across those mountains sizing us up. Only pure-blood pricks get Siphons—born and bred for the killing power. It still keeps them up at night, puzzling over where the hell we got it from.”

I feel Feyre’s eyes slide to me, probably remembering I am pure-blooded Illyrian. Cassian notes her gazing as well and confirms her suspicions. “ This fucking priss of a lady, as Rhys said, is the only pure-blooded Illyrian out of the four of us.”

“Shouldn’t you let her tell her own story?” I raise an eyebrow at Azriel’s low voice intercepting.

“If you are wondering,” I turn to Feyre properly. “I am not one of those, born and bred for that killing power.”

“You were bred for it.” Cassian intercepts, pointing out the fault in my statement.

I hum lowly, “While that may be true, sadly, for my parents anyway, I was born female. Not the son they wanted. My father is a camp-lord,” I see Feyre mentally note the present tense. “Although I was bred to kill, he wouldn’t allow me to train. He’s very traditional in that sense.”

Feyre’s gaze moves to my wings, trying to see if I bear any clipping marks, not that she’d know what to look for. Her scrutiny makes me tuck them tighter against me, straining the muscles as usual. “I haven’t been clipped.” Her gaze snaps up again to meet mine, my face void of emotion. ‘Rhys’s mother helped me in that matter, got me the illegal herbs she used herself when she was younger, stalling my cylcle. She helped me, along with these three, get away when my first bleeding came.”

“You got away.” It’s not a question. I frown, it doesn’t feel like that.

Cassian says, “Oh, she got away, alright.” Amren shoves his broad shoulder and I’m thankful for her respect for me.

“Something like that.” I respond to Feyre. Rhys and Azriel flinch in unison, I might’ve never actually talked about it, but they know.

Feyre furrows her brows, not able to hide her curiosity as to what went down all those years ago.

I don’t answer her questioning gaze, opting to stare at Rhys instead, I do not want to get into that with her on her first day with us. No matter how open Cassian is with her.

Azriel breaks the silence, taking over another part of the story. “Over a decade later, the War came. And Rhys’s father visited our camp to see how his son had fared after twenty years.”

“My father,” Rhys says, swirling his wine, “saw that his son had not only started to rival him for power, but had allied himself with perhaps the two deadliest Illyrians in history. He got it into his head that if we were given a legion in the War, we might very well turn it against him when we returned.”

Cassian snickers. “So the prick separated us. He gave Rhys command of a legion of Illyrians who hated him for being a half-breed, and threw me into a different legion to be a common foot soldier, even when my power outranked any of the war-leaders. Az, he kept for himself as his personal shadowsinger—mostly for spying and his dirty work. Turns out he already had Lyss in his tight quarters so she didn’t pose a threat to him. We only saw each other on battlefields for the seven years the War raged. They’d send around casualty lists among the Illyrians, and I read each one, wondering if I’d see their names on it. But then Rhys was captured—”

“That is a story for another time,” Rhys says sharply, making me lift my brows. We all had our boundaries in sharing past memories. Cass might be the most open one but that doesn’t mean he’ll tell her everything, there are some things even he wouldn’t tell her upon first meeting. “Once I became High Lord, I appointed these five to my Inner Circle, and told the rest of my father’s old court that if they had a problem with my friends, they could leave. They all did. Turns out, having a half-breed High Lord was made worse by his appointment of three females and two Illyrian bastards.”

“What—what happened to them , then?”

Rhys shrugs. “The nobility of the Night Court fall into three categories: those who hated me enough that when Amarantha took over, they joined her court and later found themselves dead; those who hated me enough to try to overthrow me and faced the consequences; and those who hated me, but not enough to be stupid and have since tolerated a half-breed’s rule, especially when it so rarely interferes with their miserable lives.”

“Are they—are they the ones who live beneath the mountain?” Feyre asks.

“In the Hewn City, yes. I gave it to them, for not being fools. They’re happy to stay there, rarely leaving, ruling themselves and being as wicked as they please, for all eternity.”

“The Court of Nightmares,” Mor says as all are faces grow tight, thinking about that horrid place.

“Ans what is this court?” Feyre gestures to all of us, and the darkness clears.

It was Cassian, who answers with bright eyes, “The Court of Dreams.”

Feyre contemplates for a moment. “And you?” She says, and I know it’s directed to us females.

Amren merely says, “Rhys offered to make me his Second. No one had ever asked me before, so I said yes, to see what it might be like. I found I enjoyed it.” Always a person of little words.

Mor leans back in her seat and I focus on her. “I was a dreamer born into the Court of Nightmares,” Mor says, twisting a curl around a finger. “So I got out.” I almost scoff at the simplicity of that statement. Her escape from the Hewn City was as simple as mine from the Illyrian camp.

I take a breath, “My father was camp-lord when those three were in the camp. Cassian was a nuisance, he followed me around everywhere to annoy my father. Even as a five-year-old he knew how to get on someone’s nerves.”

Cassian’s grin only reveals truth as he takes over. “And when Rhys and Az came to the camp, they joined in.” I purse my lips at his statement. “But she had fire, handed our asses to us, multiple times. Her father might’ve not let her train, that didn’t mean she didn’t find a way to do so anyway. Slowly, the annoyance turned into acceptance that we weren’t going to leave her alone as long as it meant pissing off her father.”

“He still seethes whenever we join her in the camp.” Rhys adds.

I smirk, “He still seethes because I outrank him now.” I hold Feyre’s gaze and see she knows there’s more to the story than what we’re telling, so I give her another crumble. “I am Cassian’s Second, Colonel of the Illyrian armies.”

A/N: Let me know what you thought! Maybe any theories on how this story is going to progress? Obviously this is a romance fanfic (I'm sorry if you didn't realise that already), but I wanted to give my character some depth and not just have her exist because of her love interest. Do keep in mind this is a slow-slow-burn. It will be some time before we will be happy go lucky, not to say that there won't be any tension. Because there will be, a lot of it. If you want to be added to the taglist, please leave a comment saying so!

Taglist: @inloveallthetime @mybestfriendmademe

[marshmellowrio]

Flight of the Night | Chapter 3

Word count: 1031

“I asked Rhys if I could take you to dinner with Lyssa, just us girls, and he said you wouldn’t want to. But honestly – would you rather spend time with those two ancient bores, or us?” Mor grips my chin and brings my face next to hers, both of our faces the picture perfect image of innocence.

“For someone who is the same age as me,” Rhys drawls and Mor lets go of my face, “you seem to forget-”

“Everyone wants to talk-talk-talk,” Mor says, giving Cassian a warning glare as he opens his mouth and I snort. “Can’t we eat-eat-eat, and then talk?”

Azriel chuckles from across the table and starts digging into his food. Giving the cue to the rest of us to start eating as well, Mor clinks her glass against Feyre’s. “Don’t let these busybodies boss you around.”

She’s one to talk, I think. Cassian beats me to saying it, “Pot. Kettle. Black.” He frowns at Amren’s plate while I shove another bite into my mouth. “I always forget how bizarre that is.” He takes her plate and dumps half of its contents on his own before passing the rest to Azriel, whose hand is awaiting.

“Cassian.” I scold at the same time Azriel excuses to Amren.

“I keep telling him to ask before he does that.”

Amren gestures absentmindedly towards me, “If you two haven’t been able to train him after all these centuries, boy, I don’t think you’ll make any progress now.”

Cassian doesn’t even look up from his, now again, full plate. I take a sip from my glass of water.

“You don’t---eat?” Feyre questions the ancient being across from her.

“Not this sort of food.”

I smile when Mor cringes next to me. “Cauldron boil me,” she says, taking another gulp from her wine. “Can we not?”

Rhys chuckles, “Remind me to have family dinners more often.”

I roll my eyes and lean back in my seat so I can look at him behind Mor and Feyre as I say, “Last time you said something along the lines of, never again, remember?” I grin as he grimaces.

My plate is almost empty when I hear Azriel start talking and look up to see him holding out his siphons for Feyre to see. “They’re called Siphons. They concentrate and focus our power in battle.”

I look down at my own hands, seeing the two emerald Siphons glittering in the light.

“The power of stronger Illyrians tends toward ‘incinerate now, ask questions later.’ They have little magical gifts beyond that---the killing power.” Rhys clarifies. At times I rather liked the incinerate now, ask questions later part, it kept me alive long enough.

“The gift of a violent, warmongering people,” Amren adds. I furrow my eyebrows at her, seeing Cassian give Azriel a sharp look as he nods.

Rhys goes on, “The Illyrians bred the power to give them advantage in battle, yes. The Siphons filter that raw power and allow Cassian, Azriel and Lyssa to transform it into something more subtle and varied---into shields and weapons, arrows and spears. Imagine the difference between hurling a bucket of paint against the wall and using a brush.” Nice metaphor. “The Siphons allow for the magic to be nimble, precise on the battlefield---when it’s natural state lends itself toward something far messier and unrefined, and potentially dangerous when you’re fighting in tight quarters.”

Cassian flexes his fingers, while staring at his red siphons. “Doesn’t hurt that they also look damn good.”

“Especially in the bedroom.” I counter as Cassian grins at me. Azriel closes his eyes and Mor sucks in a breath beside me.

“Illyrians.” Amren mutters.

Cassian bares his teeth and takes a drink of his wine. I continue eating as Feyre starts fumbling for words, “How did you—I mean, how do you and Lord Cassian—” Cassian spews out his wine across the table, Mor leaping up and me coughing as a piece of food gets lodged in my throat.

I cough harshly as my throat clears, tears having formed in the corners of my eyes, I take my glass and drown the liquid inside. Cassian howling with laughter across the table.

“Cassian,” Rhys drawls, “is not a lord. Though I’m sure he appreciates you thinking he is.” He surveys all of us. “While we’re on the subject, neither is Azriel. Nor Amren. Mor and Lyssa, believe it or not, are the only pure-blooded, titled people in this room.” The muscles in my entire body tighten at his words. “I’m half-Illyrian. As good as a bastard where the thoroughbred High Fae are concerned.”

“So you—you four aren’t High Fae?” Feyre says to us, catching my gaze for a second.

Cassian settles down enough to answer her. “Illyrians are certainly not High Fae. And glad of it.” He hooks his hair behind an ear—showing the round edge. “And we’re not lesser faeries, though some try to call us that. We’re just—Illyrians. Considered expendable aerial cavalry for the Night Court at the best of times, mindless soldier grunts at the worst.”

“Which is most of the time,” Azriel clarifies to her.

“I didn’t see you Under the Mountain.”

I still.

“Because none of us were.” Mor, she speaks up, daring to break the silence that had fallen.

Rhys’s cold voice explains. “Amarantha didn’t know they existed. And when someone tried to tell het, they usually found themselves without the mind to do so.”

“You truly kept this city, and all these people hidden from her for fifty years.” The wonder in her voice almost makes me snarl.

This city was safe, yes, protected. Not all had had that pleasure. My heart beat harshly in my chest, I hadn’t forgiven him, not yet.

Amren says, “We will continue to keep this city and these people from our enemies for a great many more.”

I grit my teeth, this dinner is proving to be more loaded than I expected.

Mor turns slightly away from me, towards Feyre, to explain, “ There is not one person in this city who is unaware of what went on outside these border. Or of the cost.”

A/N: Let me know how you liked it and if you wanted to be added to the taglist!

Taglist: @inloveallthetime @mybestfriendmademe

[marshmellowrio]

Flight of the Night | Chapter 2

A/N: Here is chapter 2 of this little fanfic idea I had, I've had way more response than I had anticipated on the first chapter. Thank you for that! If you're new here, you can find it on my profile. I'm still figuring out how to work Tumblr, so bear with me while I figure out how to put in links and masterlists and all that stuff.

Word count: 1113

I left the townhouse after breakfast, not needing to be there any longer as Amren and Azriel spoke to Rhysand. Opting to wander into the city, I remember to tuck in my wings close as the icy winds nip at the exposed skin. Several citizens send me smiles as they pass me in the streets. I don’t even realize I walked onto the Palace of Thread and Jewels until I’m standing front of the Ruby Dream. I cringe when I remember the official name of the atelier, it seemed a good idea when we were drunk, but I really should’ve sobered up before giving Rhysand the filled in form. Not that it wasn’t a nice name, it’s just a mouthful. Ruby Dreams, Emerald Kisses and a Sapphire Embrace. It's kind of obvious why we shortened it to Ruby Dream. Kenna laughed at me when she first found out, but she loved the sentiment of it, she told me after she was done laughing.

I’m welcomed by a warm and calming sensation as I walk through the door, Kenna’s voice drifting out from the backroom, “I will be right out, look around all you want!”

A grin blooms on my face, “Don’t bother, it’s just me.” Little wheels are heard rolling over the floorboards and Kenna’s head becomes visible in the doorway to the backroom as she leans back in her swivel chair.

I start walking her way to the atelier in the back as she straightens, “Hey, I didn’t expect to see you today?” Her sentence sounds more like a question, combined with a set of furrowed brows. “Is something wrong?”

I reach her work station and lean against it as she turns  to face me properly. I chuckle softly, “No, nothing’s wrong.” She sighs in relief and turns back to her workspace. “Just stopping by.”

“Well, in that case,” she shoots a grin to me and I know what she’s about to say. “There’s plenty of work to do, if you’ve got some time to spare.” She gestures to the pile of custom orders and I frown at it, sighing.

I really needed to sort that out. “We’re not taking anymore customs for the time being.”

Kenna snorts, “I’ve been telling you that for months.”

Rolling my eyes at her, I take the pile of forms in my hands and walk to my own workspace, which… is not how I left it. “Kenna?” My eyebrows raise and I look at her.

She smiles shyly, and I narrow my eyes, she’s not shy. “Mrs Hallow needed some adjustments to her ring and she absolutely did not want me to touch it.”

I breathe in deeply, “Mrs Hallow needs to chill, this is her fourth adjustment this month, what does she want this time?” I put the stack of orders in the paper organizer.

“It’s all on the form, she basically wants the stone to be set a little deeper.”

I sigh once more but sit down at my desk and start reading through the form, looking at the ring and seeing what can be done.

The rest of the day is spent working through all of the custom orders, planning which ones to start around what time. The adjustments to Mrs Hallow’s ring only took about half an hour, so I just worked through the stack of paper, forgetting all about the dinner in the House of Wind.

“I thought you had a diner tonight, that’s why you had the day off, wasn’t it?” Kenna breaks through my concentration.

“What?”

Kenna stands up, stretching and points to the clock on the wall. “Dinner? Our High Lord?”

My eyes widen and I shoot up out of my chair. “I-”

The female laughs and nods, “Go, I will lock up.” I grab the jacket I had thrown over the back of my chair earlier and whirl towards my friend, giving her a quick hug before running to the door.

I hadn’t realised it was closing time already, which meant that I was officially late for dinner. My wings flare out as soon as I scan the streets, making sure there’s no citizens around that I could hit. I take to the skies, rushing to the House of Wind, I should’ve known I would get lost in the paperwork.

As soon as I touch down, I hear Amren’s sharp voice, “-your bones were Made.”

I take a moment to breathe in deeply, so I don’t seem as flustered. I stroll into the dining room a second later, feeling the tension as Amren and Feyre stare at each other.

Amren’s eyes flicker to me as she notices the movement in the corners of her eyes, “Nice of you to join us.” I roll my eyes with a small smile in response.

Cassian turns in his seat to see me walking up to him as he’s closest to the doorway. “Oh please, we all know she loves to make an entrance.”

“I learned from the best.” I wink at him right before I reach him and pull him in for a half hug while pressing a kiss to his cheek. Giving Azriel’s bicep a squeeze, I continue to round the table to reach Rhys.

I treat Rhys with the same courtesy as Cassian but his attention remains on Feyre. “She’s pretty.” I whisper with a small grin playing on my lips.

“Don’t you dare.” He hisses in return as I walk away with the grin widening in amusement.

“Good evening,” I stop in between the High Lord’s chair and Feyre’s. “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure.” The human girl looks away from Amren and she takes me in, which makes Amren lose interest and turn to Mor. Feyre’s eyes widen when she looks at my wings and I tuck them in just a little bit tighter. “Don’t worry, I’m not as much of a brute as the other two.” I cock my head to the side, gesturing to the two other Illyrian’s at the table.

“Lyssa, nice to meet you Feyre.” I give her a dazzling grin and I see Mor match mine in the corner of my eyes. Glancing to her for a second, our eyes meet and my grin only widens.

“Be nice.”

“Oh come on, Rhys. It’s been so long since I’ve had someone new to tease and flirt with.” Feyre’s cheeks turn slightly flushed.

Rhys pinches my side, “Behave.” But when I watch him study Feyre I know he’s glad I got some sort of reaction out of her. I roll my eyes, but go to sit down. Deciding to listen to him for once, I settle into my seat next to Mor.

A/N: Let me know how you liked it and if you wanted to be added to the taglist! (I'm sorry of I'm not doing the taglist thing right, I literally do not know what I'm doing here?!)

Taglist: @inloveallthetime