Mortality | ACOTAR

1:2 Brother

Somebody call out to your brother he's calling out your name.
- Brother, Matt Corby
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CORA AND FLORENCE MADE EYE CONTACT, FLINCHING AS ARCHER HAULED HIS FOURTH CASE OF LUGGAGE INTO THE CARRIAGE. When he pulled back the dark haired fae male eyed his sisters with disdain.

"you are both so judgemental." he quipped, straightening out his shirt as their father exited the grand doors of the manor and began walking towards them; a ruffled looking Luka behind them. If his bruised knuckles were any indication, he'd been training.

"I brought two, you over packing oaf." Cora hissed back, smiling at the high lord of dawn. "Father." she greeted, saccharine smile ever manipulating.

It almost made Florence laugh, a breathless kind of whisper escaped her lips before the silence reigned again. She ignored Archers playful glare as she looked beyond her father towards blue painted shutters and pale stone columns. Her mother would stay, all of the servants would stay. Logically, Hybern and his enemies would care less about the Lord of Dawns household staff - not like they would care about her should the immortal side of her family have left her behind. Yet still - fear drowned her like an old friend walking away and not turning back, like a young fawn looking for the mother hunters stole away the night before. What if, what if she returned to find nothing. To find nothing but ghosts and blue, chipped paint?

She glanced back at the sound of Archers chuckle over something their father had said. She locked eyes with Luka instantly; his blue eyes were cold, numb. Yet he still tilted his head - still silently presented the question as a whisper in her head. Daemati. Are you okay?

Florence shrugged subtly, masking a strained, thin lipped smile as her father reached over to ruffle her hair, murmuring something about being distracted with human fantasies. Daydreaming, is what he meant. Not the grief she found shrouding her as the result of her decision. Then again, what if she had said no? Would Cora and the high lord have forced her to come anyway?

You didn't want me to come, why are you asking? She let the thought trail into the fog. Let it linger.

Because you're still my little sister.  You're upset.

I'm scared off what we will return to.

Home.

What's left of it.

Luka's face strained and twisted into a grimace. "Enough." He mouthed over their fathers shoulder as he talked tactics with Archer and Cora. "We'll win."

She looked over the grass of the front courtyard, at the apple trees and cherry blossoms. It was all she could do to nod before Cora tugged her arm and inadvertently pulled her back into reality  along with it. "We're to winnow." Her sister spoke, glancing down at her slightly shorter, human, frame. "The footman will follow, driving the carriage with the luggage and a few guards."

She gulped, already imagining the stomach churning journey to the Pythian war camp. "Do we-"

Archer laughed. pulling her from Cora to grip her hand himself. Smirking. "Call it revenge sister, for the luggage comments."

And then the world fell away.

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They had arrived at the war camp three hours earlier, (where Florence had luckily managed to keep the context of mer stomach intact) and her father and eldest brother had immediately been pulled into a high lord meeting. Cora had left to talk to a gaggle of females Florrie presumed where her friends and Luka stalked off to train. Leaving her to wonder aimlessly around the camp, feeling like an exploring child in a place they most definitely shouldn't be. Far and faeries alike ran about everywhere, and surge of human soldiers were training in the other side of camp. Was the infamous Jurian with them? Her mother had refused to paint him for what he did to that girl, had called him cruel. A shudder of agreement crept up Florence's spine in agreement. It was inhuman, in complete opposition to the point of this drawn out fight: freedom, unity.

A human man caught her eye contact, his green eyes locking in on her hazel. He was training and his short blonde hair blew slightly in the wind as she smirked at her, taking a slight step forward she allowed herself to smile back, at least she wasn't purely surrounded by fae. At least part of the human legion had already-

A hand gently met her back, making her jump with a start. "Florence Carlisle, correct?"

She span around quickly, only to meet a chuckling dark haired fae male with oddly purple eyes. He held out his hand and Florence took it cautiously, letting him bow respectively as her eyes darted around for the boy, only to fall absent.  When she turned back to her point of focus, said male was looking at her, bemused. 'Rhysand." He stated, "Heir to the night court."

Somewhere Florences heart dropped and fell to the floor, her fear scrambling after it under moss. The night court.

"Florence." She stated again, awkwardly holding out her hand for a shake as she cringed and remembered his first sentence. "Shit, I mean, Um sorry I-" She scrunched her eyes shut tight, pulling her head up to the sky in some kind of desperate plea. "I'm sorry," She continued gently, eyes open once again, "you know that." Please don't lock me up in your shadowy castle.

He laughed again. "I do. I'm a good friend of Archers, he said to tell you that you'll be suppering with your family in the dawn war tent." His eyes trailed her surroundings,  and his shoulders dropped slightly. "First time in this kind of environment?"

A friend Archers. The fear resided somewhere, hovering in silent submission. - if anything, she trusted her brother. Florence quirked an eyebrow, her fingers absentmindedly clutching the light blue skirts of her dress. "That obvious?"

"Only slightly." He grinned, "Come. Friends give over friends tours."

And as the high lord of the night court walked the youngest Carlisle around the camp he didn't utter the promise he had made to his good friend. To keep his family safe no matter what occurred in the battles to come, and that Archer would do the same for Rhys.