A Bloody Crown

Chapter 28: Freedom

Three more days there, without a single scrap of information from Azriel or his spy teams. Cassian ordered the other Illyrians to dig a trench around the camp, saying idle hands lead to complaints. However, I'd continued to train with Cassian everyday, and Azriel after night had fallen, getting me out of the digging.

It fitted them well, I thought. The boldness of the sun with the quietness of the moon.

Except for one morning. The morning of the fifth day, slight thumping on my tent flap woke me up, and I snarled in annoyance.

"Cassian," I yelled, "Go away!" Silence came from outside, and I laid my head back down, ready to sleep for another hour until dawn.

Then the thumping came again, softer this time.

Growling, I flung myself out of bed, stomping to the entrance. 

I yanked back the tarp and snapped, "What?" But then I saw Azriel standing there, a jar of salve in his hands, and a look of amusement. I sighed, rubbing my forehead, "Sorry, Az," I murmured. "Cassian has been rather relentless the last three days. Thank you for the gift, I'll need it."

I took it from his hands, and set it on the same stand the last two empty ones were on. 

He paused for a moment, staring at me before asking, "Would you like to fly early today?"

I blinked, then nodded. "Sure, that'd be acceptable. Let me throw on some leathers." Azriel nodded, then walked away to the campfire, likely cooking us both breakfast.

I opened the jar of salve and rubbed it all over my body again, my muscles still aching at the actions. Twisting and turning, I tried to reach the base of my wings, where it hurt the worst, but I couldn't. The last couple days I'd gotten Feyre to do it, but I didn't want to wake her this early.

And I couldn't possibly predict what position her and Rhys would be in.

After I was fully dressed, I took the jar outside and found Azriel eating alone at the campfire, the grey in the sky just starting to appear. I walked over to him, and sat beside him on the log, letting my wings drape behind me.

He pointed to a small bowl beside him, filled with the same oats he was eating, topped with cinnamon. 

I gasped lightly, picking it up. His eyes flicked to me in alarm, then back at the bowl. "I love cinnamon!" I chirped, stirring it into the rest of the warm oatmeal. He nodded in relief, then ate the rest of his food in silence.

After we'd both finished, I turned to him with the jar in hand, and asked, "Can you apply this at the base of my wings? I can't reach."

Azriel froze, a calculation seemingly running through his mind. Once he'd stared long enough, he nodded once, and took the cool jar from my hands. I pivoted on the log, and stretched my wings out wide, cautiously avoiding the fire to my left.

He slathered the cool paste on methodically, covering every inch of the base of both wings, working silently as he went. I also sat in silence, feeling the early morning breeze, watching the sun break over the world, and hearing birdsong in the distance.

Once he was finished, he tapped my shoulder, and pocketed the jar. His explanation was simple, "In the event we need it while training."

I nodded in understanding, then allowed him to winnow me into the depths of the forest, the same place where we were a few nights ago when the Hybern soldiers nearly found us.

"Begin your warmup," Azriel said, then sat on a rock to my left, polishing and sharpening Truthteller. 

My wings extended wide, shifting and adjusting as I lifted them each slowly, then together, then hovering. After a few days, I could tell I was developing quickly, my back didn't ache as much after practice, and my wings were held up more on habit than force.