A Court of Wings and Ruin
Page 141
They all had to think me young and reckless.
No, Rhys said through the bond, and I realized I’d left my shields open. Believe me, if you knew half of the shit Cassian and Mor have pulled, you’d get why we don’t. I just … Leave a note. Or tell me the next time.
Would you have let me go if I had?
I do not let you do anything. He tilted my face up, Mor and Azriel looking away. You are your own person, you make your own choices. But we are mates—I am yours, and you are mine. We do not let each other do things, as if we dictate the movements of each other. But … I might have insisted I go with you. More for my own mental well-being, just to know you were safe.
You were occupied.
A slash of a smile. If you were hell-bent on going into the Middle, I would have unoccupied myself from battle.
I waited for him to chide me about not waiting until they were done, about all of it, but … he angled his head. “I wonder if the Weaver forgives you now,” he mused aloud.
Even the healer seemed to start at the name—the words.
A shiver ran down my spine. “I don’t want to know.”
Rhys let out a low laugh. “Then let’s never find out.”
But the amusement faded as he again surveyed Cassian. The wound that was now sealed over.
The Suriel wasn’t your fault.
I loosed a breath as Cassian’s eyelids began to shift and flutter. I know.
I’d already added its death to my ever-growing list of things I’d soon make Hybern pay for.
Long minutes passed, and we stood in silence. I did not ask where Nesta was. Mor barely acknowledged me. And Rhys …
He perched on the foot of the cot as Cassian’s eyes at last opened, and the general let out a groan of pain.
“That’s what you get,” the healer chided, gathering her supplies, “for stepping in front of a sword.” She frowned at him. “Rest tonight and tomorrow. I know better than to insist on a third day after that, but try not to leap in front of blades anytime soon.”
Cassian just blinked rather dazedly at her before she bowed to Rhys and me and left.
“How bad,” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“How bad was your injury,” Rhys said mildly, “or how badly did we have our asses kicked?”
Cassian blinked again. Slowly. As if whatever sedative he’d been given still held sway.
“To answer the second question,” Rhys went on, Mor and Azriel backing away a step or two as something sharpened in my mate’s voice, “we managed. Keir took heavy hits, but … we won. Barely. To answer the first …” Rhys bared his teeth. “Don’t you ever pull that kind of shit again.”
The glaze wore off Cassian’s eyes as he heard the challenge, the anger, and tried to sit up. He hissed, scowling down at the red, angry slice down his chest.
“Your guts were hanging out, you stupid prick,” Rhys snapped. “Az held them in for you.”
Indeed, the shadowsinger’s hands were caked in blood—Cassian’s blood. And his face … cold with—anger.
“I’m a soldier,” Cassian said flatly. “It’s part of the job.”
“I gave you an order to wait,” Rhys growled. “You ignored it.”
I glanced to Mor, to Azriel—a silent question of whether we should remain. They were too busy watching Rhys and Cassian to notice.
“The line was breaking,” Cassian retorted. “Your order was bullshit.”
Rhys braced his hands on either side of Cassian’s legs and snarled in his face, “I am your High Lord. You don’t get to disregard orders you don’t like.”
Cassian sat up this time, swearing at the pain lingering in his body. “Don’t you pull rank because you’re pissed off—”
“You and your damned theatrics on the battlefield nearly got you killed.” And even as Rhys spat the words—that was panic, again, in his eyes. His voice. “I’m not pissed. I’m furious.”
“So you’re allowed to be mad about our choices to protect you—and we’re not allowed to be furious with you for your self-sacrificing bullshit?”
Rhys just stared at him. Cassian stared right back.
“You could have died,” was all Rhys said, his voice raw.
“So could you.”
Another beat of silence—and in its wake, the anger shifted.
Rhys said quietly, “Even after Hybern … I can’t stomach it.”
Seeing him hurt. Any of us hurt.
And the way Rhys spoke, the way Cassian leaned forward, wincing again, and gripped Rhys’s shoulder …
I strode out of the tent. Left them to talk. Azriel and Mor followed behind me.
I squinted at the watery light—the very last before true dark. When my vision adjusted … Nesta stood by the nearest tent, an empty water bucket between her feet. Her hair a damp mess atop her mud-flecked head. Watching us emerge, grim-faced—
“He’s fine. Healed and awake,” I said quickly.
Nesta’s shoulders sagged a bit.
She’d saved me the trouble of hunting her down to ask her about tracking the Cauldron. Better to do it now, with some privacy. Especially before Amren arrived.
But Mor said coldly, “Shouldn’t you be refilling that bucket?”
Nesta went stiff. Sized up Mor. But Mor didn’t flinch from that look.
After a moment, Nesta picked up her bucket, mud caked up to her shins, and continued on, steps squelching.
I turned, finding Azriel striding for the commanders’ tent, but Mor—
Livid. She was absolutely livid as she faced me. “She didn’t bother to tell anyone that you left.”
Hence the anger. “Nesta is many things, but she’s certainly loyal.”
Mor didn’t smile. Not as she said, “You lied.”
She stormed for her own tent, and with that comment … I had no choice but to follow her in.
The space was mostly occupied with her bed and a small desk littered with weapons and maps. “I didn’t lie,” I said, wincing. “I just … didn’t tell you what I planned to do.”
She gaped at me. “You nudged me to leave you, insisting you would be safe at the camp.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Sorry? Sorry?” She splayed her arms. Bits of mud flew off.
I didn’t know what to do with my own—how to even look her in the eye. I’d seen her mad before, but never … never at me. I’d never had a friend to quarrel with—who cared enough.
No, Rhys said through the bond, and I realized I’d left my shields open. Believe me, if you knew half of the shit Cassian and Mor have pulled, you’d get why we don’t. I just … Leave a note. Or tell me the next time.
Would you have let me go if I had?
I do not let you do anything. He tilted my face up, Mor and Azriel looking away. You are your own person, you make your own choices. But we are mates—I am yours, and you are mine. We do not let each other do things, as if we dictate the movements of each other. But … I might have insisted I go with you. More for my own mental well-being, just to know you were safe.
You were occupied.
A slash of a smile. If you were hell-bent on going into the Middle, I would have unoccupied myself from battle.
I waited for him to chide me about not waiting until they were done, about all of it, but … he angled his head. “I wonder if the Weaver forgives you now,” he mused aloud.
Even the healer seemed to start at the name—the words.
A shiver ran down my spine. “I don’t want to know.”
Rhys let out a low laugh. “Then let’s never find out.”
But the amusement faded as he again surveyed Cassian. The wound that was now sealed over.
The Suriel wasn’t your fault.
I loosed a breath as Cassian’s eyelids began to shift and flutter. I know.
I’d already added its death to my ever-growing list of things I’d soon make Hybern pay for.
Long minutes passed, and we stood in silence. I did not ask where Nesta was. Mor barely acknowledged me. And Rhys …
He perched on the foot of the cot as Cassian’s eyes at last opened, and the general let out a groan of pain.
“That’s what you get,” the healer chided, gathering her supplies, “for stepping in front of a sword.” She frowned at him. “Rest tonight and tomorrow. I know better than to insist on a third day after that, but try not to leap in front of blades anytime soon.”
Cassian just blinked rather dazedly at her before she bowed to Rhys and me and left.
“How bad,” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“How bad was your injury,” Rhys said mildly, “or how badly did we have our asses kicked?”
Cassian blinked again. Slowly. As if whatever sedative he’d been given still held sway.
“To answer the second question,” Rhys went on, Mor and Azriel backing away a step or two as something sharpened in my mate’s voice, “we managed. Keir took heavy hits, but … we won. Barely. To answer the first …” Rhys bared his teeth. “Don’t you ever pull that kind of shit again.”
The glaze wore off Cassian’s eyes as he heard the challenge, the anger, and tried to sit up. He hissed, scowling down at the red, angry slice down his chest.
“Your guts were hanging out, you stupid prick,” Rhys snapped. “Az held them in for you.”
Indeed, the shadowsinger’s hands were caked in blood—Cassian’s blood. And his face … cold with—anger.
“I’m a soldier,” Cassian said flatly. “It’s part of the job.”
“I gave you an order to wait,” Rhys growled. “You ignored it.”
I glanced to Mor, to Azriel—a silent question of whether we should remain. They were too busy watching Rhys and Cassian to notice.
“The line was breaking,” Cassian retorted. “Your order was bullshit.”
Rhys braced his hands on either side of Cassian’s legs and snarled in his face, “I am your High Lord. You don’t get to disregard orders you don’t like.”
Cassian sat up this time, swearing at the pain lingering in his body. “Don’t you pull rank because you’re pissed off—”
“You and your damned theatrics on the battlefield nearly got you killed.” And even as Rhys spat the words—that was panic, again, in his eyes. His voice. “I’m not pissed. I’m furious.”
“So you’re allowed to be mad about our choices to protect you—and we’re not allowed to be furious with you for your self-sacrificing bullshit?”
Rhys just stared at him. Cassian stared right back.
“You could have died,” was all Rhys said, his voice raw.
“So could you.”
Another beat of silence—and in its wake, the anger shifted.
Rhys said quietly, “Even after Hybern … I can’t stomach it.”
Seeing him hurt. Any of us hurt.
And the way Rhys spoke, the way Cassian leaned forward, wincing again, and gripped Rhys’s shoulder …
I strode out of the tent. Left them to talk. Azriel and Mor followed behind me.
I squinted at the watery light—the very last before true dark. When my vision adjusted … Nesta stood by the nearest tent, an empty water bucket between her feet. Her hair a damp mess atop her mud-flecked head. Watching us emerge, grim-faced—
“He’s fine. Healed and awake,” I said quickly.
Nesta’s shoulders sagged a bit.
She’d saved me the trouble of hunting her down to ask her about tracking the Cauldron. Better to do it now, with some privacy. Especially before Amren arrived.
But Mor said coldly, “Shouldn’t you be refilling that bucket?”
Nesta went stiff. Sized up Mor. But Mor didn’t flinch from that look.
After a moment, Nesta picked up her bucket, mud caked up to her shins, and continued on, steps squelching.
I turned, finding Azriel striding for the commanders’ tent, but Mor—
Livid. She was absolutely livid as she faced me. “She didn’t bother to tell anyone that you left.”
Hence the anger. “Nesta is many things, but she’s certainly loyal.”
Mor didn’t smile. Not as she said, “You lied.”
She stormed for her own tent, and with that comment … I had no choice but to follow her in.
The space was mostly occupied with her bed and a small desk littered with weapons and maps. “I didn’t lie,” I said, wincing. “I just … didn’t tell you what I planned to do.”
She gaped at me. “You nudged me to leave you, insisting you would be safe at the camp.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Sorry? Sorry?” She splayed her arms. Bits of mud flew off.
I didn’t know what to do with my own—how to even look her in the eye. I’d seen her mad before, but never … never at me. I’d never had a friend to quarrel with—who cared enough.
