ACOWAR (Rhysand's POV)

Chapter 1

(Rhysand's POV)

I had always found solace in silence. It was a welcome contrast to the relentless flood of thoughts from everyone else's minds, especially when I was younger and lacked the control I wielded now. That was one reason I cherished the townhouse—another refuge for peace and quiet. But this silence was different.

As I gazed out over the mountains, the setting sun bathed them in hues of pink and purple, while only the whisper of wind broke the stillness. The air was crisp here, carrying the scent of pine and the distant sound of the Sidra rushing below—a reminder of the sanctuary I had chosen for myself, far above the chaos of the world. Even with the two Illyrians and Feyre's sisters at the House of Wind, only silence filled the halls. 

As if summoned by my thoughts, slow, deliberate footsteps echoed from behind—Azriel. He had taken quickly to his healing, with Mor's assistance, and was up and walking within a few days. The only signs of his pain that remained were the occasional twitch of his wings—at least, the ones we could see. Like a prey animal, Azriel masked his pain, unwilling to let anyone glimpse the depth of his injuries. It was a survival instinct, one rooted in his childhood; he had never felt safe showing vulnerability.

I turned to face the spymaster who had paused a few feet away, shrouded in his shadows. "How are you feeling?" 

Azriel's eyes flicked to the long hallway behind him, where Cassian slept in his rooms. The healers had brought both of them here in the aftermath of Hybern, but Cassian . . . his wounds had been so severe that they had to administer a tonic to keep him still, to keep him from screaming. The healers came daily to change his dressings and assess the status of his wings. Initially, there had been doubts about whether they would heal at all. But now, it seemed they were making progress - each day better than the last. Thank the Mother for that. . . I wouldn't have known how to tell Cassian, how to handle Cassian if he woke up without his wings. 

"I'm up and walking, aren't I?" Azriel leaned against the wall, folding his arms. 

"True," I said. "But we both know that's not what I meant." 

Azriel sighed, his gaze drifting once more to the shadowed hall. "He'll wake up. I want to be here when he does."

The male looked thoughtful—his lips pressed into a thin line, a slight crease forming between his brows. I wondered if his reasons for staying up at the House were solely out of concern for Cassian's well-being. There was a weight in his posture, a lingering darkness in his eyes that I wasn't sure had anything to do with our brother's injuries.

I wanted to ask, but - we had limited time. I couldn't dwell on the possibles or the what ifs, we had to move forward. "Have you thought more about Cretea?"

"I'll go," he said quietly. "But not yet."

"I understand. I'm not exactly eager to ask for their help either.

"They'll join us," Azriel replied. "If Hybern isn't stopped in Prythian, it's only a matter of time before they turn their sights elsewhere—including Cretea."

I nodded. Azriel had always backed my plans, at least when others were watching. But I knew he'd give me the truth if I asked. "Do you think I'm making the right choice?" The question hung in the air between us.

Azriel turned, our eyes locking. I didn't need to say her name—he knew. Feyre. Her absence gnawed at me, leaving only the distant pulse of emotions through the bond.

"I don't know," Azriel admitted bluntly. "But Feyre is strong and capable. I think she'll be alright." There was a brief pause before he added, "The offer still stands."

I glanced up at him. As soon as he'd been able to stand after his injuries, he'd offered to spy on the Spring Court, to make sure Feyre was safe and track Hybern's movements. I had declined—for his safety, and hers. It wasn't worth the risk of being caught. Azriel's eyes narrowed, sensing my silent reasoning. It wasn't a lack of faith in his abilities—just my fear of what could go wrong.

I shook my head. "No. Thank you, though. I think it's best we stay in the Night Court until you're both fully healed." I gestured toward the room down the hall.

Azriel flexed his wings slightly, a silent gesture that signaled the conversation was done. Then, with practiced ease, he pushed off the wall and moved deeper into the House. As his figure disappeared down the hall, I remained, staring at the empty space he left behind. The silence of the House pressed in around me, thick with the weight of choices yet to be made

***

Cassian's room carried the faint scent of eucalyptus and mint, a lingering trace of the salve the healers had blended to soothe his wings. It was much like mine: a large four-poster bed to accommodate his wings, several dressers, an attached bathing room, and a sofa—where Cassian lay sprawled on his chest, his wings draping down his back and onto the floor. It was strange to see my brother like this, such an opposite to his usual self. 

I drifted closer to the edge of the sofa, catching sight of the empty vials on the low table beside him. The tonic - some kind of sleeping draught, had to be administered nightly to keep Cassian sedated. He had been. . . inconsolable during the few hours he had been awake after Hybern. Once we got him up here to the House of Wind, he had woken from his injuries and screamed. Not for me, not for Azriel or Mor, not even for his wings. He screamed for Nesta. Eventually Mor was able to calm him enough to get the vial down his throat, and he fell asleep shortly after. I didn't linger after that - I couldn't stomach it. Even now, looking down at the marbling of his wings, where new flesh met old, churned my gut. 

I couldn't understand what Cassian saw in the older sister. With her slicing, cutting words—perhaps that was what intrigued him. It was a challenge. Cassian had always loved a challenge, someone who could stand up to him. A part of me disliked it, whether out of a protective instinct for my brother or simply because I couldn't stand Nesta herself. 

I sighed, flicking the rim of an empty bottle with my finger, watching it wobble back into its place. I tried to remain focused on the task at hand—Hybern. It didn't matter what I thought of my brother's preference for females; none of it mattered while the king loomed above us like a dark cloud, threatening everything we held dear. 

I turned, making for the bedroom door when I caught it - the scent of ash, smoke, and steel - like a blade forged in fire. I pulled the door back to find Nesta standing there, her right hand reaching out for a phantom door knob. Her eyes locked onto mine in shock, before narrowing to their usual judging glare. 

"What?" Nesta spat. She took a step backward, distancing herself. 

"I'm not the one standing out in the hall." My voice rumbled in the empty hallway.

"I- I'm bringing more bandages for when the healer returns." We both looked down at her empty hands. She shoved them behind her. "Don't you have better things to do than brood over that brute?" She hissed, "Maybe find a way to get us out of this mess you created?" Cruel, calculating words. 

"Nesta. . ." I looked at her, at the female who had let Feyre go into those woods as a child. And I tried to understand what it was like. What it was like to be ripped of your autonomy, to be thrown into a Cauldron and to come out. . . different. To emerge and not have a home, to no longer have the safety of the familiar. And Elain. . . "If you ever need anything. . . " I let the offer drift between us. 

"No." Nesta quickly snapped. Her skirts whooshed as she turned and stormed down the hall, the only sound being her bedroom door slamming behind her.

As I glanced back toward Cassian's room, a mixture of hope and dread twisted in my gut. I needed to keep Feyre safe—shield her from the wounds of her past and the dangers that were sure to come, including the sisters who had failed to recognize her strength.