A Court of Wings and Fate

14. Forcing Circumstances

The artwork above is not mine.

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    Mikael didn't search for Estelle again as they flew the rest of the way to the Night Court. The air became cooler, the further into the Illyrian Mountains they went. It wasn't cold, but the temperature difference told Mikael enough. It was late summer right now. Winters in the Illyrian Mountains had to be brutal.

    Briefly, he wondered if Illyrian leathers were insulated to withstand the cold mountain temperatures. He couldn't tell just by looking at Estelle's or the other Illyrians'. He didn't want to look at Estelle too long anyway. Not if she'd made such a mess of Ronan because he'd done something similar.

    Mikael studied the male who flew ahead of him. Dark bruises ringed his wrists and throat. More bruises were scattered across his bare arms. Mikael couldn't tell if they extended onto his chest or down his legs. There were a few patches on his wings that were missing feathers as well.

    Mikael tilted his head. She said he sexualized her. To what extent? A seed of hot anger took root in his gut at the thought. Umbra tightened around his arm. Mikael shoved the feeling aside. And...she said that he insulted me. She defended me.

    He grinned to himself. That must be a good sign. We had one conversation without arguing and she told off Ronan for something he said about me. Mikael frowned. Of course, she could've just been trying to make herself look good too. Umbra squeezed his arm again. I'll choose to believe she was defending me.

    Windhaven appeared in the distance. A large group of winged people was approaching. Peregryns and Illyrians soared past their group, waving and calling greetings. They reached the war camp and landed. Mikael scanned the gathering of Illyrians.

    There were three people waiting for them. A foreboding Illyrian male, an Illyrian female with crippled wings and large brown eyes, and a High Fae female who bore a striking resemblance to Estelle and Lysander. Mikael recognized her as Seren Marzena at once. He guessed the Illyrians to be Devlon and Jorah.

    Jorah launched into a brief welcome speech which Mikael vaguely heard. He was busy surveying the fenced in training rings, weapons shacks, and rows of shoddy huts. Some of the huts had undergone renovation, but most of them were lacking physical appeal. He spied uneasy expressions crossing the Peregryns' faces.

    "Don't Illyrians ever upgrade their housing?" Mikael whispered, leaning towards Nyx, who had come to stand beside him.

    "Usually not unless a hut collapses."

    "Can't Rhysand do something about all of this?"

    Nyx narrowed his eyes. "The Illyrian Legion might serve the High Lord of the Night Court, but their true loyalty is to their own Princes and Lords. Most war camps are in better condition than Windhaven. Windhaven is worse off because Devlon and Jorah have declared their loyalty solely to the Night Court, cutting themselves off from the Princes and Lords' resources. My father provides them with what he can, but the warriors don't want to accept our help."

    "I see." Not for the first time was Mikael glad that the Peregryns weren't as formally structured in terms of hierarchy as the Illyrians. He would've had that much more trouble to deal with when he became High Lord if they were.

    "Come on," Nyx said. "I'll show you where you're staying."

    "You already know?"

    Nyx nodded. "Dad has a specific set of instructions for you and Estelle. He let me know on the way over here."