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In the sixth month
of a disastrous reign in the house of money
in the street of money in the city of money in the country of money,
our great country of money, we (forgive us)
lived happily during the war.
-Ilya Kaminsky, We Lived Happily During the War
…
They’d been sitting on the roof of the town house for an hour, drinking solidly for half that time. Rhysand had poured himself a glass but Cassian was drinking straight from the bottle, leaning back in his chair as if content.
It took that hour, and the liquor, for Rhys to finally say, “Out with it.”
Cassian hadn’t been subtle, not with the glances he’d stolen, committing every inch of Rhys to memory. But it was his wings that caught his particular attention: scarred, as they already had been, but no more than before, the only part of him that seemed to stay the same, even as his skin grew paler and his body grew thinner and the scars multiplied.
“There were entire years where I went to bed every night wondering about your wings,” he said. “What she would do to them. Because I knew, that would break you. The only thing that could.”
“She didn’t know,” Rhysand said. “She didn’t remember, didn’t care to ask. I kept them away, kept them hidden.”
“For fifty years?”
“Yes,” he said softly.
“I think I would rather die than go fifty years without flying.”
“Some days I felt the same.”
Some great weight sat on Cassian’s heart, some great creature that tore at it bit by bit.
“I would do it for you,” Cassian said, only realizing when Rhys started quite how long he’d been silent. “I would cut off my own damned wings for you, you bastard.”
Rhys raised a brow. “What I did, everything I did, was to protect you.”
“And I love you for that,” he scowled, “but I don’t forgive you. Not for trapping us here, for sacrificing yourself… for leaving.”
Rhys stood, setting his glass down and holding his arms out. “Come on.”
Cassian scowled. “Sit your ass down.”
“Come on,” he said. “You’re mad. Hit me.”
“I’m not going to hit you.” He stood.
“Worried you’d lose?” Rhys cocked his head, giving him a wild grin.
“Just worried a strong breeze could knock you over.”
Rhys threw a punch. Cassian took the hit, not bothering to block it.
It was a solid punch, or it should’ve been, with proper form and full force behind it.
Rhysand just wasn’t strong enough for it to do anything.
Rhys hesitated, his smile vanishing from the look on Cassian’s face. “Don’t do this. Don’t act like I’m broken. That’ll be what kills me.”
“We need to get some muscle on those arms before I beat you up,” Cassian said, attempting a teasing tone.
“I’m sorry,” he said, sitting down, his head in his hands, “for what I did. I would do the same thing a thousand times, but that doesn’t mean I don’t regret it. There were no right choices, I had half a second to protect my people. And we’ve both seen the things she did to Prythian. I would never for a moment regret saving my people from that.”
“And the things she did to you.” Cassian’s words sat beneath that great thing in his chest, that great anger threatening to escape. He sat.
“That’s not the point,” he said, head snapping up. “That’s not what matters.”
“Cauldron, Rhys, it’s the only thing that matters. I can’t help running through it again and again. If I had been by your side—“
“You would be dead!” Rhys snarled at him. “Both of the males at my side when Amarantha took control were dead in a moment. So forgive me if I take no pleasure in imagining that.”
“We didn’t know if you were alive.” He snarled back. “For fifty years, the only thing that kept us going was the fact that the shield you put up hadn’t fallen. Mor told me again and again that that was proof. That you were alive. But we didn’t know if we were ever going to see you again, didn’t know if you’d still be you when we did. And then, when you spoke to us, when after fifty years, you spoke to us for the first time, I…” Cassian stood, that great anger boiling over in his chest. He turned away.
“You were angry with me.” He heard Rhys stand behind him, but he didn’t look back.
“No,” he said. “I was angry with myself. Because for fifty years, do you know what we did? We kept the wards up, we took care of the city, we cried, and we waited for you. But we also went dancing, we laughed, we drank, we did all the things you’re supposed to do when you’re happy. And all the while, you were Under the Mountain, getting tortured and fucked and—“
Rhys hit him, hard enough to knock the wind out of him this time. Before Cassian even knew what had happened, they’d hit the ground, limbs flying as the wrestled. Rhys slammed him back against the ground but Cassian just grinned.
It took a moment, a long moment after they’d stopped fighting, to realize Rhys was laughing.
Cassian sat up, leaning back against his propped hands. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard you laugh.”
Rhys let out a short breath, some dark truth dancing on it. “Yeah. Me too.”
Cassian reached for the bottle he’d abandoned, taking a swig.
“For what it’s worth,” Rhys said, a teasing smile on his face, “I forgive you.”
It was Cassian’s turn to laugh. “You bastard.” He shook his head. “I forgive you too.” He took another swig.
The world was still terrible, the threat of war on the horizon, but even the knowledge of that seemed to fade.
Rhys laughed, his whole body shaking.
And maybe, just maybe, Cassian started to forgive himself.