Dance of Fate

Chapter Forty Two

I shivered against the harsh cold wind in the mountains of Illyria as I winnowed in. A second later Mor appeared alongside Feyre, and then Rhysand and Cassian.

Last night had been the best night of my life. We had all danced, had all drunk, had all laughed. I had never felt such pure bliss, and the thought that it would not last had only been a dull whisper in the back of my mind that was drowned out by music and laughter.

And after the night was over, Azriel had taken me in his arms and flown us to his private apartment. We had hardly slept. Instead he'd held me together in his arms, playing with my hair as I quietly smiled to myself.

But the next day, reality had come crashing back. We all had to go to Illyria, and Azriel had waited until lunch to tell me that he wouldn't be going. Instead, he would gather information from his spies in other courts, as well as in the human lands.

I'd forced myself to hide my disappointment and my worry, forced myself not to glance at him longingly as he gave me a polite goodbye in front of everyone. No one had said anything about it, or about how we had openly danced together last night. Even Rhysand, who seemed to finally have acknowledged whatever we were, acted as if nothing had happened. As an act of gratitude, I did the same in regards to him and Feyre.

I kept my face as unforgiving as the cold wind as I looked over the numerous tents packed around fire pits. At the joyless looking males who trained or flew above us. The place deprived of any sentiment, where there was no room for anything but brutality.

The place where Cassian, Rhysand and Azriel had grown up.

"I hate this place," Mor muttered under her breath. "It should be burned to the ground." I couldn't say I disagreed.

I spared a short glance at Rhys and Cassian, who remained silent and unyielding as a tall man approached them, flanked by five Illyrian warriors. My attention snagged on their siphons, only one per warrior, which were so much smaller than Cassian and Azriel's.

The leading male spoke. "Another inspection?" He jerked his chin at Cassian. "Your dog was here just the other week. The girls are training." I grit my teeth at the way he spoke of Cassian. The male remained expressionless, crossing his arms.

"I don't see them in the ring." The general said.

"They do chores first. Then when they've finished, they get to train." The male sneered. I felt my power rush up as my blood heated despite the freezing weather.

A low snarl slipped from Mor's lips. The male turned to her, his eyes looking her over, then Feyre, then me. I let loose on a bit of my power, just enough for it to simmer in my eyes. He stiffened.

"Hello, Lord Devlon." Mor flashed him a wicked smile.

The camp Lord gave the female a dismissive look over, turning back to the High Lord. I felt my nostrils flare.

"As pleasant as it always is to see you, Devlon, there are two matters at hand." Rhysand said. "First, the girls, as you were clearly told by Cassian, are to train before chores, not after. Get them out on the pitch. Now." He commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Second, we'll be staying here for the time being. Clear out my mothers old house. No need for a housekeeper. We'll look after ourselves."

"The house is occupied by my top warriors." Devlon countered. I rolled my eyes, not hiding my scoff.

"Then un-occupy it." Rhys said simply. "And have them clean it before they do."

The Lord shifted his gaze to me. I held it, refusing to so much as blink. "Your bastard sister, I assume." He seethed at me. I refused to react, even as Cassian snarled softly.