A Court of Stars and Dust

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖔𝖚𝖗

Cringing, I burrow my face into Cassian's shoulder to protect it from the attack of tiny ice crystals. Each gust of wind feels like a swarm of needles against my skin, and while the warmth radiating off him feels almost fragile compared to the surrounding storm, it's enough to keep me grounded for now—at least until we're safely back on the ground again.

"It's not too far, and I fly fast!" Cassian yells over the howling wind. "So no need to worry about your wings freezing and falling off." His words are supposed to come off as teasing, but they immediately draw my attention to my wings—how cold they feel, and how the ice seems to gnaw at them like rabid dogs. It doesn't hurt exactly, but a flicker of fear creeps into my veins. I can't lose my wings. They're the most important part of me. 

I am nothing without my wings.

Cassian's assurance that we won't be fighting this weather for much longer brings me a small sense of relief, but it doesn't stop the worry eating away at me. Realistically I know my wings won't freeze and fall off—they're built to endure this exact kind of weather... but at the same time, they haven't been exposed to this in so long. Who's to say they haven't gotten weaker?

A shudder ripples through me, and I squeeze my eyes shut. I don't remember it ever being this cold in the camp I was raised in, or even when I was flying a thousand feet in the air. All the time I've spent close to the ground—practically in the ground—must have weakened my endurance.

Yeah. I'm a pathetic excuse for an Illyrian.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

We must have only been flying for five minutes max, but it's already felt like hours to me, with the thought of dying from hypothermia or my wings snapping into little pieces echoing around my head. And just as I'm debating the consequences of twisting out of Cassian's arms and letting myself fall to my death, he lands on solid ground, jostling me slightly. The aggressive winds and biting cold are gone all at once, vanishing just as quick as they'd begun.

Cassian sets me down on my feet, cursing quietly when he sees how stiff and shaky my wings are, and how pale and cold to touch my skin in, and how my lips almost look as blue as Azriel's siphons. He's cringing worriedly—if that even makes sense at all.

"What the fuck, Cass, what'd you do to her?" The High... Rhysand asks, almost jokingly as he appears from around a corner, slowly approaching the two of us. "She's dead on her feet, and shaking like a leaf—did you drop her in a lake or something?" And in seconds, likely another one of Rhysand's clever little tricks, my body begins to warm again, somehow from the inside out.

I'm so utterly focused on the warmth spreading through me, seeping into every crevice of my body, that I don't think to look around at my surroundings—all I know is that we're certainly not outside anymore. I don't notice now my skin regains some of its lost colour, the pale hue fading as life returns to my body. As I subconsciously wiggle my fingers, I remain blissfully unaware that movement is creeping back into my limbs.

At least, that's until someone walks behind me and brushes against my wings.

Before I even have a chance to realise what I'm doing or what's happening, acting purely on instinct, I have the person in a tight headlock. They yelp—she yelps, because it's a female—and in under a second, people are surrounding me and pulling me off her with maybe more force than is necessary. The gold-brown haired female stares back at me with wide, bewildered eyes, and Azriel stands behind me, hands wrapped tightly around my wrists.

She shouts out a few apologies—I guess she knows that Illyrians can get a little protective over their wings, even if she didn't mean to touch me—and her eyes briefly flick behind me to Azriel, who simultaneously lets go of his bruising grip. I stumble forward, right back into the surprised female, who laughs gently and steadies me with firm, calloused hands.