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acourtofladydeath · 7 months

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Take These Broken Wings: All Your Life

It's here folks, the climax of this story. Cassian follows through on his plan, causing a cascade of events throughout the House of Wind. Azriel’s life will never be the same.

This chapter includes blood, self harm, self mutilation, graphic depictions of self harm, panic attacks, and dissociation. New tags have been added on AO3 for this chapter, please read them in their entirety before you proceed.

Please consider your own health before and as you read.

If you or someone you know are struggling, there are resources that can help. You are not alone, and things will get better even if it doesn't feel like it right now.

My overwhelming gratitude to @pippsmcgee, @chunkypossum, @secret-third-thing, and @queercontrarian for their constant support and assistance editing this chapter.

Start reading "All Your Life" below the cut, or on AO3.

The air in Nesta and Cassian’s room was stiff and suffocating. Before the attack, they’d slept every night with the window spanning the length of their bedroom cracked open. Given the location of the house and the nature of its residents, almost every room had a window that opened large enough to fit a person through. Now the windows were closed16973, much like Cassian’s demeanor since the trial. Not being awoken by a cool mountain breeze had been an adjustment for Nesta, and the implications of its absence choked off what little air remained.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to get someone to stay with you?” Nesta asked Cassian for what felt like the hundredth time. Gwyn needed her urgent assistance in the library on a task for Merrill, and it would be the first time Cassian had been alone since the trial. They still hadn’t talked about what happened that day.

“No, I’ll be fine,” Cassian responded from his seat by the window. The view before him was full of snow-capped peaks, freshly kissed by the rising sun. He didn’t look up as Nesta walked over to kiss his forehead in goodbye. Cassian flinched away just as her lips touched his skin. It was subtle, but Nesta felt it all the same.

She pulled her hand back from his shoulder and tucked it into the small pocket of her dress. Nesta clenched her hidden fist hard enough to feel the bite of her nails as they pressed through the soft flesh of her palm. Nesta secretly hoped that maybe a moment alone would help Cassian work through some of… well, whatever he was thinking.

Cassian just gazed after the clouds that floated by, his eyes full of an emotion that Nesta couldn’t quite place. She walked toward the door and looked back, only for a moment, and took in her mate. Her eyes glanced at the disheveled bed where Cassian had lain for a greater part of the past days before skating across the braces on his wings to gaze upon his quiet façade.

“I’ll be gone for less than an hour, okay?” She didn’t tell him how to contact her. He knew how, but Nesta knew he wouldn't. Cassian had barely spoken to her. She couldn’t blame him, not after everything the Camp Lord’s had said about him and forced Nesta and Azriel to reveal.

“I love you, Cassian.”

Uneasy about Cassian’s potential response, Nesta quickly left for the library. Something inside her twisted, and she wondered if she had made the right decision.

When the door closed, Cassian forced himself to gaze unseeingly out the window for a minute longer. She couldn’t know, couldn’t suspect. It would ruin everything. Once he was sure he could no longer hear her footsteps, Cassian stood on unsteady feet and walked toward his bedside table.

Inside were the vials of medication that Madja and the healers had been using to try and piece his body back together. But what did any of it matter if his soul was broken? What good were their attempts to heal him if he had no heart left to try and survive? If he couldn’t be a male worthy of the people he loved most?

No, Cassian thought as he shook his head. He didn’t want to die- he had too much to live for. But he couldn’t live like this anymore. Not as a broken, cripple of an Illyrian, forced to carry the weight of his failures on his back every day. Cassian had to cure himself of this sickness, and so they had to go.

His wings had to go.

Cassian’s hands shook. He knew what he wanted to do, what he had to do, but the task was still monumental. A curse slipped from his lips as Cassian nervously fumbled the vials. There were only two he needed… one of which he’d stowed away for this exact purpose. The drawer contained so many concoctions that the healer hadn't noticed the extra he’d included.

His healing journey had not been easy. Madja explained early on that the sheer amount of damage meant large masses of scar tissue would accumulate through his wings as they healed. The best way to treat them and prevent further loss of function would be to regularly remove the accumulated scar tissue. Every day since, the healers cut into his wings and carefully stitched them back together, over and over again. Madja and the other healers used faebane to slow the healing process and decrease the amount of scarring left. During each procedure, they massaged and manipulated the incisions to slow the scar tissue. The process was incredibly painful, but the pain wasn’t what scared Cassian.

He could handle pain.

What he couldn't handle was the absolute failure he had become. He’d failed his mate and Azriel when he’d allowed those Lords to take stock of their private relationship in front of Windhaven. He’d failed his soldiers when he’d allowed his personal feelings to come in the way of being their general. He’d failed Devlon when he let the male fight for him instead of defending Devlon’s life, telling him to run. He’d failed Rhysand, robbed him of a functional General of the Night Court with wings to command the Illyrian legions. And he’d failed himself from the second he let his guard down and thought he might be able to find common ground with the other Camp Lords.

A moment later, Cassian found the bottles he needed. He’d carefully planned and managed to convince each new healer that the last bottle was gone so they would send for more. In the week since the trial, Cassian had siphoned off bits of the faebane to a separate vial when he took each dose. He’d taken less than he was supposed to in an attempt to amass enough for his plan to work. Between what he’d saved before and the new vial the healer had dropped off at his session last night, Cassian finally had enough.

As he tucked both vials into his pants pocket with trembling fingers, Cassian took one last longing look out his bedroom window toward the sky. Toward the sanctuary he’d never be able to visit again.

Nesta wouldn’t be gone any longer than absolutely necessary, so Cassian had to work quickly. His hands shook as he worked the harness around his wings. He’d made sure Madja and the other healers trained him to take them off without assistance. He’d assured them it was only in case of emergency, but he’d known it was all leading to this moment.

It took him longer than he wanted to admit to remove each brace from his wings. Knowing he didn’t have much time left, Cassian stripped his shirt and laid it next to the braces on the bed. But he took the time to do one more thing. With his shaking fingers, Cassian wrote a short note for Nesta and Azriel, which he placed between the braces where they were sure to see it.

As he left the room, Cassian pulled an oiled sword from the wall beside the door. Unsteady feet carried him to the bathroom down the hall, his useless wings dragging on the floor behind him. He wouldn’t sully his and Nesta’s bathroom with this act. And besides, he needed to be able to lock her out and this bathroom was easier to blockade.

Cassian stumbled into the bathroom, still not used to the weight of his limp wings behind him. He placed the sword on the sink counter and stared himself down in the stone-ensconced mirror for a few seconds. Before he could second guess himself, Cassian shut and locked the door. Moments later, he’d stacked a sturdy trunk, a pair of shelves, and any other moveable piece of furniture in front of the single door into the bathroom.

This bathroom was relatively small compared to the one connected to his bedroom, and though he’d moved most of the furniture there wasn’t much room to maneuver. A bath took up most of the wall behind him. To his left, though he dared not look through it, was a large window. The light that shone in through the panes danced across the blade before him tauntingly.

Even though he was certain that this was the right decision, none of this was easy. Cassian’s ragged breathing sawed out of his chest as he approached the vanity. With one hand he fumbled in his pocket and drew out the two vials full of faebane.

It should be enough. It had to be enough.

Cassian looked up at his haggard reflection in the mirror for a moment. He took in the bags under his eyes, the atrophy in his muscles from being bed-bound and injured, and the sallow skin from his lack of regular sun exposure. His once vibrant curls hung limp and greasy on his face. And his wings- one of the great prides of his life- now hung weak and lifeless off his back, as if they were part of his broken soul. Cassian had to cut them off before they infected him further.

He took one shaky deep breath and as he exhaled slowly, Cassian cut off his bond to Nesta completely. For the past several minutes he’d been pulling away slowly, not enough to notice, but hopefully enough that his complete separation took more time to register. I’ll come back to you, he thought, this is all so I can come back to you, to both of you. With sturdier hands, Cassian uncorked and downed both bottles of Faebane quickly. And before he had another moment to think, he lifted his sword.

Bracing one hand tightly on the sink, Cassian hefted the weapon up and over his shoulder, placing it at the base of his wing joint, closed his eyes, and began to cut.

Continue the chapter on AO3.

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