A Court so Cruel and Lovely

Chapter Three

The days began to slip by, one bleeding into the next, until a year had passed. I was starting to lose hope until my father came and declared for me to move into the Illyrian war camps on the edge of the battlefield.

"We are in need of more healers and a seamstress," he said, and all my hopes came crumbling down. I was an excellent seamstress, courtesy of my mother, but I was hoping to fight. I wanted to prove I could hold my own on the battlefield.

Of course he only wanted me to be their seamstress and a healer. Nonetheless, I nodded my agreement and so we went to the campgrounds.

***

The campgrounds were a complete mess. Injured males clambered to the healers tents but my father and I walked past them. We walked to where a larger tent stood. It was obviously his tent from the way the Night Court symbol - a mountain crowned by three stars - was emblazoned on the sides. Sure enough, when we walked in Cassian, Rhys, and Azriel were sitting there.

They perked up instantly upon hearing the tent flap open and close.

"What is she doing here?" Rhys asked.

"She's to be our seamstress," our father said.

"It's too dangerous," Cassian argued. "Even if she's not out fighting."

I groaned. "I know how to fight. Rhys trained me in secret."

"Still, it's dangerous," Rhys said. "We've been out here for a year and Hybern and the Loyalists are far more powerful than us."

It took me a while to process what he said. Cassian, Rhys and Azriel were the most powerful Illyrians of our generation. If Hybern was more powerful than them, then all hope was lost. We're not going to win this.

I didn't voice my concerns. I thought about the prophecy that a witch gave me once. One child's sacrifice for the other child's freedom. One shall live, the other is destined for death.

In the face of the War, looking at Rhys' hardened eyes, I knew one of us was not going to live through this war. And I could only hope that he would be the one to live. I would allow no other alternative.

***

I worked part-time in the healers tents. The part was helping sew and mending torn up fighting leathers. By the end of the day, my fingers ached and my magic was drained. And yet, I enjoyed the hard work. It made me useful in a way. I wasn't sitting around doing nothing while the rest of the world went to hell. I might not have been on the battlefield, but at least I was doing something productive.

Every night, my father dropped me off back in Velaris so I could bathe and do whatever I needed to for the next day. My mother was pleased that I was happy. She knew that I wanted to be on the battlefield, but she wanted me to be safe. Being the healer and seamstress was a good compromise, she'd insisted. It kept me out of trouble while allowing me to do something good for a change.

One day, Azriel was hefted into the healer's tent. I nearly freaked out.

"Bring him over here," I called. The male placed him down on my cot.

"Hey Moonshine," Azriel slurred, using my childhood nickname.

"Hello, Az," I responded, politely, assessing his injuries.

He was bleeding out of a wound in his right shoulder, which was his sword arm, and a gash on the side of his ribcage. He also had a fractured rib. I immediately began working. First, cleaning the wounds, then healing them. I'd done injuries like that so many times before it was like clockwork.