Tw: this book will deal with triggering topics. If you are easily triggered this is not the story for you, thank you.
(Book two in the Starlight series)
─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Danika Archeron had been through hell.
Forced to go back to Spring C...
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"Let's cause a little trouble."
─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
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ONE WOULD think I would have realized how cold it would be deep in the Illyrian mountains. But no. I forgot to even pack a coat. Apparently, spring was still little more than a whisper in the region.
Mor winnowed her and I in, Rhysand and Cassian flanking us. Feyre and Azriel had been the first on their way to the court of Nightmares while Amren stayed back in Velaris to decode the book.
Built near the top of a forested mountain, the Illyrian camp was all bare rock and mud, interrupted only by crude, easy to pack tents centered around large fire pits. Near the tree line, a dozen permanent buildings had been erected of the gray mountain stone. Smoke puffed from their chimneys against the brisk, cloudy morning, occasionally swirled by the passing wings overhead.
So many winged males soaring past on their way to other camps or in training.
The testosterone was near suffocating.
Gross.
On the opposite end of the camp, in a rocky area that ended in a sheer plunge off the mountain, were the sparring and training rings. Racks of weapons stood just a few feet to our right, utilized by males of all ages in the chalk painted rings. Training with sticks and swords and shields and spears. Fast, lethal, brutal. No daggers, much to my dismay.
There was no warmth here, no joy. Even the houses at the other end of the camp had no personal touches. As if they were used only for shelter or storage.
This was where Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel had grown up—where Cassian had been cast out to survive on his own. It was so cold, I was shivering. I couldn't imagine a child going without adequate clothing—or shelter—for a month, much less eight years.
