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“Please do something,” Rhysand pleaded. Pleaded. I let out a sigh. I couldn't believe they were asking me to do this. As if Elain and I hadn't made enough sacrifices for these thrice-cursed fae.
“Hold still, Cassian!” Morrigan's irritation was clear in her voice.
“What can I do that one of you can't do? In case you're blind, we hate each other.”
The High Lord gave me an infuriating smirk. “Precisely.” I furrowed my brow, not understanding his logic. He sighed. “Cassian needs a distraction to get his mind off of… all that's happened. He mostly just sits and mopes, and whines when Mor takes care of him. And since I’d like it if my Third didn't murder my army commander, especially as we’re on the brink of war, it would help if she got a break from him for a little while.”
I scowled and he put up his hands defensively. “Just for a little while. I promise not too long.” I let out an exasperated sigh.
“Fine. But if that brute does anything, I will not hesitate to take away what he loves most.” The High Lord winced.
“You're a little late.” I felt a cold wave of shame as I realized what he meant, and pushed my way through the door to avoid answering.
Cassian sat hunched over on the edge of a huge bed, shirtless and leaning his forearms against his knees, his wings covered in bandages that wrapped around his back and chest, obscuring most of his tattoos. Despite that it had been two weeks since… everything had happened, I could see the bandages were still thick in places. I wondered idly if they had made any progress in healing. Morrigan stood in front of him, the look on her face irritated. She turned when I came in, and her expression became one of relief.
“Oh, thank the Cauldron!” I scowled at the mere mention of that metal death trap. She moved quickly towards the door, as though she couldn't get out of there fast enough. “I’ll be back in a little while, just going to get some more supplies and take a little walk. Thank you!” Before I could answer, she had already left.
“What are you doing here?” I turned towards Cassian. His voice didn't have its usual swagger or pompous arrogance. It sounded morose, and defeated. He was definitely not the same as the day he had visited us in our home. Or the day he came on his own and saw through every wall I’d ever put around myself.
“The High Lord asked that I give Morrigan a break. I was getting claustrophobic in that cabin.” It was only partially true. I did need to get out of there, but the offer had been extended to Elain as well. I jumped on the chance to… I didn't even know why I had answered so quickly that I would go. But better me than Elain. I’d sacrifice myself a hundred times over to protect her from anymore of this fae nonsense.
He snorted. “The High Lord? Morrigan? And I thought your sister was the formal one.”
I bristled at his tone. “Well, if we're going to be informal, I guess you're just Cassian.”
He barely looked up. I let out a huff and crossed my arms.
“So this is how the commander of all his armies goes? Sitting here, letting something like this get him down, make him forget to live?”
He didn't answer.
“Just because you can't fly-”
“My wings are my life!” he growled, his eyes flashing. Good, some emotion. I stared at him, daring him to break, to look away first.
“Really? Because it certainly doesn't look like much of a life to me. I know-”
“You don't know anything, sweetheart,” he said, his eyes glittering coldly. “Since you are new to being Fae, let me remind you of something; Illyrians are considered lesser faeries. I’m a bastard, considered the lowest of them. Wings are what make us the warriors we are, what set us apart. I ignored the most fundamental rule from our training: protect your wings at all costs. The men I command will never follow a flightless bastard. No matter what Rhys says, I will never be useful again.” He let out a frustrated sigh. “I would do it again to save Azriel, in a heartbeat, but it doesn't mean life will ever be as I knew it again.”
No wonder Morrigan had been going crazy taking care of him. I’d barely been in his presence for a few minutes and I wanted to throttle him.
“You are something else, you know that?” I seethed. “You say ‘I don't know anything?’, but you couldn't be more wrong. First off, you don't know that you're flightless; you haven't healed enough to try. Second, I would die if it meant that Elain would never hurt again. I tried to save us, and look where it got us.” I gestured to my fae body, the one I still wasn't used to. “I hate myself, what I’ve become. But Elain needs me. I won't leave her to suffer this alone. And that's where we differ -- I won't give up like you clearly have.”
I couldn't do this anymore. I couldn't fight with someone who had no intention of even trying to get better. I spun around, and took a step towards the door.
I felt him grab my wrist suddenly and pull, harder than I expected. The next thing I knew, I was turned around and falling forward. I held my hand out, trying to break my fall, closing my eyes and preparing for the impact.
And hit something solid. And muscular. I prayed to whatever higher power there was that it was not what I thought it was.
I peeked, and to my horror, I was staring him in the face, barely inches from him, his hazel eyes just as surprised as I was. I had landed with one hand on his shoulder, the thankfully unbandaged one, and his leg in between mine, one of my knees against the bed.
“Oh… Oh!” We both whipped our heads to see Mor standing in the doorway. I felt a feeling of dread as I realized how this must look. I felt my face burn in embarrassment.
“It's not-”
“I’ll just check back later,” she said, a huge grin on her face as she turned around and left the room. “Have fun you two!” The singsong tone made me even more embarrassed, if that was even possible. I could feel Cassian chuckling, and I smacked his chest hard with my hand. He didn't flinch, and only laughed harder.
“You-” I shoved myself off of him and stormed away, his laughter echoing in my ears as I slammed the door behind me, unable to will my cheeks to stop burning or my heart to stop pounding. The High Lord was climbing the staircase as I made it to the landing, his eyes dancing in mischief and that infuriating smirk still on his face.
“Get me away from that brute,” I demanded. His smirk widened into a grin and he grabbed my hand. “Thank you,” he said simply.
“For what?”
As the black shadows enveloped us, I could have sworn I heard him say: “For making my brother laugh again.”