A Court of Wings and Ruin
Page 54
Cassian extended a wrapped hand, his fingers curling in a come-hither motion. “Scared?”
I wisely kept my mouth shut as Nesta stepped from the open doorway into the blinding light of the courtyard. “Why should I be scared of an oversized bat who likes to throw temper tantrums?”
I choked, and Cassian shot me a warning glare, daring me to laugh. But I felt for that bond in my mind, lowering my mental shields enough to say to Rhysand, wherever he was in the city, Please come spare me from Cassian and Nesta’s bickering.
A heartbeat later, Rhys crooned, Regretting becoming High Lady?
I savored that voice—that humor. But I shoved that simmering panic down again as I countered, Is this part of my duties?
A sensual, dark laugh. Why do you think I was so desperate for a partner? I’ve had almost five centuries to deal with this alone. It’s only fair you have to endure it now.
Cassian was saying to Nesta, “Seems like you’re a little on edge, Nesta. And you left so abruptly last night … Any way I can help ease that tension?”
Please, I begged Rhys.
What will you give me?
I wasn’t sure if I could hiss down the bond between us, but from the chuckle that echoed into my mind a heartbeat later, I knew the feeling had been conveyed. I’m in a meeting with the governors of the Palaces. They might be a little pissy if I vanish. I tried not to sigh.
Nesta picked at her nails. “Amren is coming to instruct me in a few—”
Shadow rippled across the courtyard, cutting her off. And it wasn’t Rhysand who landed between us, but—
I sent another pretty face for you to admire, Rhys said. Not as beautiful as mine, of course, but a close second.
As the shadows wreathing him cleared, Azriel sized up Nesta and Cassian, then threw a vaguely sympathetic look in my direction. “I need to start our lesson early.”
A piss-poor lie, but I said, “Right. No problem at all.”
Cassian glowered at me, then Azriel. We both ignored him as I strode to the shadowsinger, unwrapping my hands as I went.
Thank you, I said down the bond.
You can make it up to me tonight.
I tried not to blush at the image Rhys sent into my head detailing precisely how I’d repay him, and slammed down my mental shields. On the other side of them, I could have sworn talon-tipped fingers trailed down the black adamant in a sensual, silent promise. I swallowed hard.
Azriel’s wings spread, dark reds and golds shining through in the bright sun, and he opened his arms to me. “The pine forest will be good—the one by the lake.”
“Why?”
“Because water is better to fall into than hard rock,” Cassian replied, crossing his arms.
My stomach clenched. But I let Azriel scoop me up, his scent of night-chilled mist and cedar wrapping around me as he flapped his wings once, stirring the dirt of the courtyard.
I caught Cassian’s narrowed gaze and grinned widely. “Good luck,” I said, and Azriel, Cauldron bless him, shot into the cloudless sky.
Neither of us missed Cassian’s barked, filthy curse, though we didn’t deign to comment.
Cassian was a general—the general of the Night Court.
Surely Nesta wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.
“I dropped Amren off at the House on my way in,” Azriel told me as we landed at the shore of a turquoise mountain lake flanked by pines and granite. “I told her to get to the training ring immediately.” A half smile. “After a few minutes, that is.”
I snorted and stretched my arms. “Poor Cassian.”
Azriel gave a huff of amusement. “Indeed.”
I shifted on my feet, small gray rocks along the shore skittering beneath my boots. “So …”
Azriel’s black hair seemed to gobble up the blinding sunlight. “In order to fly,” he said drily, “you’ll need wings.”
Right.
My face heated. I rolled and cracked my wrists. “It’s been a while since I summoned them.”
His piercing stare didn’t stray from my face, my posture. As immovable and steady as the granite this lake had been carved into. I might as well have been a flitting butterfly by comparison. “Do you need me to turn around?” He lifted a dark brow in emphasis.
I cringed. “No. But … it might take me a few tries.”
“We started our lesson early—we’ve got plenty of time.”
“I appreciate you making the effort to pretend that it wasn’t because I was desperate to avoid Cassian and Nesta’s early-morning bickering.”
“I’d never let my High Lady suffer through that.” He said it completely stone-faced.
I chuckled, rubbing at a sore spot on my shoulder. “Are you … ready to meet with Lucien this afternoon?”
Azriel angled his head. “Should I be preparing for it?”
“No. I just …” I shrugged. “When do you leave to gather information on the High Lords?”
“After I talk to him.” His eyes were shining—lit with amusement. As if he knew I was buying time.
I blew out a breath. “Right. Here we go.”
Touching that part of me, the part Tamlin had given me … Some vital piece of my heart recoiled. Even as something sharp and vicious in my gut preened at what I’d taken. All that I’d taken.
I shoved out the thoughts, focusing on those Illyrian wings. I’d summoned them that day in the Steppes from pure memory and fear. Creating them now … I let my mind slip into my recollections of Rhys’s wings, how they felt and moved and weighed …
“The frame needs to be a bit thicker,” Azriel offered as a weight began to drag at my back. “Strengthen the muscles leading to it.”
I obeyed, my magic listening in turn. He provided more feedback, where to add and where to ease up, where to smooth and where to toughen.
I was rasping for breath, sweat sliding down my spine, by the time he said, “Good.” He cleared his throat. “I know you’re not Illyrian, but … amongst their kind, it is considered … inappropriate to touch someone’s wings without permission. Especially females.”
Their kind. Not his.
It took me a moment to realize what he was asking. “Oh—oh. Go ahead.”
“I need to ascertain if they feel right.”
“Right.” I put my back to him, my muscles groaning as they worked to spread the wings. Everything—from my neck to my shoulders to my ribs to my spine to my ass—seemed to now control them, and was barking in protest at the weight and movement.
I wisely kept my mouth shut as Nesta stepped from the open doorway into the blinding light of the courtyard. “Why should I be scared of an oversized bat who likes to throw temper tantrums?”
I choked, and Cassian shot me a warning glare, daring me to laugh. But I felt for that bond in my mind, lowering my mental shields enough to say to Rhysand, wherever he was in the city, Please come spare me from Cassian and Nesta’s bickering.
A heartbeat later, Rhys crooned, Regretting becoming High Lady?
I savored that voice—that humor. But I shoved that simmering panic down again as I countered, Is this part of my duties?
A sensual, dark laugh. Why do you think I was so desperate for a partner? I’ve had almost five centuries to deal with this alone. It’s only fair you have to endure it now.
Cassian was saying to Nesta, “Seems like you’re a little on edge, Nesta. And you left so abruptly last night … Any way I can help ease that tension?”
Please, I begged Rhys.
What will you give me?
I wasn’t sure if I could hiss down the bond between us, but from the chuckle that echoed into my mind a heartbeat later, I knew the feeling had been conveyed. I’m in a meeting with the governors of the Palaces. They might be a little pissy if I vanish. I tried not to sigh.
Nesta picked at her nails. “Amren is coming to instruct me in a few—”
Shadow rippled across the courtyard, cutting her off. And it wasn’t Rhysand who landed between us, but—
I sent another pretty face for you to admire, Rhys said. Not as beautiful as mine, of course, but a close second.
As the shadows wreathing him cleared, Azriel sized up Nesta and Cassian, then threw a vaguely sympathetic look in my direction. “I need to start our lesson early.”
A piss-poor lie, but I said, “Right. No problem at all.”
Cassian glowered at me, then Azriel. We both ignored him as I strode to the shadowsinger, unwrapping my hands as I went.
Thank you, I said down the bond.
You can make it up to me tonight.
I tried not to blush at the image Rhys sent into my head detailing precisely how I’d repay him, and slammed down my mental shields. On the other side of them, I could have sworn talon-tipped fingers trailed down the black adamant in a sensual, silent promise. I swallowed hard.
Azriel’s wings spread, dark reds and golds shining through in the bright sun, and he opened his arms to me. “The pine forest will be good—the one by the lake.”
“Why?”
“Because water is better to fall into than hard rock,” Cassian replied, crossing his arms.
My stomach clenched. But I let Azriel scoop me up, his scent of night-chilled mist and cedar wrapping around me as he flapped his wings once, stirring the dirt of the courtyard.
I caught Cassian’s narrowed gaze and grinned widely. “Good luck,” I said, and Azriel, Cauldron bless him, shot into the cloudless sky.
Neither of us missed Cassian’s barked, filthy curse, though we didn’t deign to comment.
Cassian was a general—the general of the Night Court.
Surely Nesta wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.
“I dropped Amren off at the House on my way in,” Azriel told me as we landed at the shore of a turquoise mountain lake flanked by pines and granite. “I told her to get to the training ring immediately.” A half smile. “After a few minutes, that is.”
I snorted and stretched my arms. “Poor Cassian.”
Azriel gave a huff of amusement. “Indeed.”
I shifted on my feet, small gray rocks along the shore skittering beneath my boots. “So …”
Azriel’s black hair seemed to gobble up the blinding sunlight. “In order to fly,” he said drily, “you’ll need wings.”
Right.
My face heated. I rolled and cracked my wrists. “It’s been a while since I summoned them.”
His piercing stare didn’t stray from my face, my posture. As immovable and steady as the granite this lake had been carved into. I might as well have been a flitting butterfly by comparison. “Do you need me to turn around?” He lifted a dark brow in emphasis.
I cringed. “No. But … it might take me a few tries.”
“We started our lesson early—we’ve got plenty of time.”
“I appreciate you making the effort to pretend that it wasn’t because I was desperate to avoid Cassian and Nesta’s early-morning bickering.”
“I’d never let my High Lady suffer through that.” He said it completely stone-faced.
I chuckled, rubbing at a sore spot on my shoulder. “Are you … ready to meet with Lucien this afternoon?”
Azriel angled his head. “Should I be preparing for it?”
“No. I just …” I shrugged. “When do you leave to gather information on the High Lords?”
“After I talk to him.” His eyes were shining—lit with amusement. As if he knew I was buying time.
I blew out a breath. “Right. Here we go.”
Touching that part of me, the part Tamlin had given me … Some vital piece of my heart recoiled. Even as something sharp and vicious in my gut preened at what I’d taken. All that I’d taken.
I shoved out the thoughts, focusing on those Illyrian wings. I’d summoned them that day in the Steppes from pure memory and fear. Creating them now … I let my mind slip into my recollections of Rhys’s wings, how they felt and moved and weighed …
“The frame needs to be a bit thicker,” Azriel offered as a weight began to drag at my back. “Strengthen the muscles leading to it.”
I obeyed, my magic listening in turn. He provided more feedback, where to add and where to ease up, where to smooth and where to toughen.
I was rasping for breath, sweat sliding down my spine, by the time he said, “Good.” He cleared his throat. “I know you’re not Illyrian, but … amongst their kind, it is considered … inappropriate to touch someone’s wings without permission. Especially females.”
Their kind. Not his.
It took me a moment to realize what he was asking. “Oh—oh. Go ahead.”
“I need to ascertain if they feel right.”
“Right.” I put my back to him, my muscles groaning as they worked to spread the wings. Everything—from my neck to my shoulders to my ribs to my spine to my ass—seemed to now control them, and was barking in protest at the weight and movement.
