Rattle the Stars

Chapter 16

This is not a drill. I repeat: This is not a drill. I finally got everything together enough to send out a new chapter :D

Cassian's POV

He touched down onto the grass, wings folding behind him. The forests were near the Illyrian Mountains, full of pines with a sharp wind in the branches. It was quite a way from Velaris, and he had to give it to the young queen. She could cover ground: And seem wicked while doing it.

Cas squinted at the area around him, using his fae senses to survey the surroundings. Aelin had given him more specific directions as to where she had seen the black blood; somewhere between an icy river and the edge of the trees where the sycamores went to pines. Her scent was faint, washed away by the gentle trickle of rain, but present. He hauled his body to the side, ignoring the rain on his brow.

Despite himself, his whole body was on alert. The scare with Rowan and Feyre and the attack had rattled him more than anyone, he figured, except maybe Rhys and Az knew. And... he needed to get off that train of thought because now he was spiraling into a line of worries about the Illyrian soldiers. They were tried and true, rotten to the core, but no one, he reckoned, deserved to have to deal with something like the Valg in their bodies.

Able to slow, Cassian paused and took his time exploring the clearing. Nothing. Nothing, under there or on that tree- oh. A heavy smear of crusted black blood marred the bark of a thick tree. His nose wrinkled, assaulted by a foul and rancid scent. "By the Cauldron," He muttered. "That's awful." It took a moment before his eyes and nose finally made their connection. There was more of the smell than there should have been.

Cautiously, he moved behind and past the spot. Cas felt his body go still. More of that blood. And much fresher. Whatever has spilled it was still here. A branch cracked, and he whipped around, tucking his wings in. A shape moved out of the woods, and his mouth went dry as he recognized the heavy outline of clunky wings.

An Illyrian. And one he knew. Jaspin. The former camp general had been one of the first to agree and throw efforts into training the females, and Cassian had been grateful for him ever since. His stomach twisted at the implications of the ring on his finger.

He had been correct as well about the blood. The former Illyrian had a heavy wound in his side, bleeding profusely. Despite that, he seemed upright and ignorant of it. Aelin's words filled his head, paired with Az's observations. The only way to kill them is to behead them if they are too far gone. It couldn't die from this wound.

Yes, it. Jaspin was gone. Only a Valg remained. This blight on his precious land... Cassian had killed so many across his lifespan, but- killing a familiar face? He had to. Put the poor male out of his misery. Drawing one of his ever-present knives, he lunged for the stumbling figure.

And the Valg moved, hissing. The knife clipped the wings, slicing the tendon along the outer edge. An ear-splitting shriek pierced Cas's sensitive ears. The Valg may have taken over the Fae body, but most likely wasn't used to the added bulk of such heavy wings. He could read it in the way they slumped, dragging in the dirt the way Feyre's once had.

They circled for a few moments as Cassian considered his limited options.

Forming one of his shields was easy enough, and freed from the now pouring rain, he could move easier. Except, well, Jaspin had formed a shield as well, the dark green Siphon on his chest creating an obsidian shield. Cassian cursed and ducked before pushing forward again and shattering the shield with his own. While the Valg may not have been accustomed to the wings, he knew how sensitive and vulnerable they were in battle.

It caused an earthquake-like collision, but all of those painful years of training with his brothers kept him on his feet. Gritting his teeth, Cas shoved the knife into the present wound. It physically hurt to hear the cry then.

It was Illyrian, wholly fae, and Jaspin's eyes had shifted back from black to their normal coffee brown. He had been wrong. The Valg hadn't taken over the fae entirely yet. Cassian pulled back, letting the body fall to the ground. Jaspin landed all wrong, limbs at odd angles, wings crushed. None of their training had been initiated. That could, however, have been because he was thrashing.

It took everything in him to creep back forward and bend over the thrashing body. As soon as he did, however, it stopped. Jaspin's voice was raspy and cracked, but his. "End me, please." It was a desperate plea. In all of his time of knowing the male, Cassian had never heard him beg.

"General." The final address of his title was an admission; a statement. Jaspin would not let the Valg win, would not let another ruler hold him. Loyal to the end. With a shuddering breath, Cassian drove the knife down, and turned away as the head rolled.

It was one of the first times he had ever done so.

(Yes yes I had to include a cliche rainy gloom battle. I couldn't help it. Also, I literally found it necessary to go back and re-read my own work because I forgot.)