ACOWAR (Rhysand's POV)

Chapter 3

(Rhysand's POV)

Mist from the river swept over the street, covering my jacket as I walked the path along the Sidra. It was still early, the sun just breaking over the horizon, but citizens were already awake—starting their daily routines. Except now, those routines involved rebuilding what they once had. As my boots clicked off the cobblestone street, people waved and smiled. I nodded back in greeting, but found myself afraid to meet their eyes. I wondered how many of them blamed me for what had happened. I did. I deserved every ounce of it. I should have never trusted those queens.

I blew out a breath, my steps moving from stone to wood as I crossed the bridge that led to the Rainbow. I stopped, leaning against the railing, my face reflecting in the waters below—muddled by the ripples.

Two females passed behind me, carrying a large basket between them. I glanced over my shoulder at the contents: children's clothes. I swallowed, my throat growing dry as I stared at the small socks and shoes. They weren't new. They weren't clean.

"Good day, High Lord," one of the females said with a nod. I turned. Deep green and purple eyes locked on mine, both sparkling with... was that happiness? Even with what they carried between them, they were happy?

"Good morning," I replied, looking away quickly. Neither seemed angry or disgusted by my presence. Everyone I passed seemed grateful, thankful that we had ended Hybern's attack—that Cassian and Azriel had held the skies, that Amren had held the river, and that Feyre... Feyre had killed the Attor, had defended the Rainbow.

I looked back over the river, the sound of the two females' footsteps fading behind me. Golden rays from the sun bathed the vibrant buildings across the way. Feyre had defended our people. My mate had protected them.

It had been a week since Feyre and I last spoke mind-to-mind. There had been no other outbursts from Tamlin, nothing beyond the normal hum of the bond. Yet, something was different. The prolonged distance must have been affecting our ability to communicate. Each day, the connection felt more and more strained. I feared that, if Feyre stayed much longer, it might go too silent—that it might take too long to send messages, or worse, that they might not go through at all. The thought twisted the knot in my chest even tighter.

Maybe I should have taken Azriel's offer to go to the Spring Court—just to check. Once he returned from Cretea, and once I returned from the continent, we'd discuss that option again.

Cassian was improving each day. After our talk, Mor had insisted he stay in bed at least one more day before testing his wings. I wasn't sure if Cassian listened because Mor was right or because he feared he might never fly again. But the next day, we found him on the rooftop of the House of Wind. Clad in his Illyrian leathers, Cassian stood at the edge of the terrace, toes over the ledge, just breathing. 

His face had been hard to read when he told us all to leave. I understood his need to be alone, but Mor... Mor was worried. Concerned about Cassian falling to his death. The look in Cassian's eyes told me, if he were to fall, he'd want it to be to his death.

Mor finally conceded when Cassian allowed me to stay, but made me promise not to interfere. The rest of them scattered—or at least, pretended to. Azriel hung in the shadows of the hallway inside, with Mor next to him, her hands over her eyes, only listening. I tried not to think about what she was listening for. 

The only one who seemed to have listened was Amren. I had been surprised by a distinct set of footsteps on the balcony above me. The scent of smoke and ash had been strong as the breeze swept across that rooftop.

Cassian beat his wings a few times, testing their strength, before dropping off the edge of the terrace. My heart had seized in my throat. Even if I trusted the healers, even if I trusted Cassian's judgment—his wings had been ravaged. When I had looked at them then, I could still see the shreds they had once been, almost as if that was what he had tried to jump off the roof using.

A small sound came from Mor, and Azriel had placed a hand on her shoulder.

Those were some of the longest seconds of my life before Cassian shot skyward, wings arching in front of the sun. The light shone through the membrane, clearly marking the jagged scars that lined them. Mor had choked on a sob, grabbing Azriel at the same moment, before winnowing them out. Nesta, from her place on the balcony above, had turned away and returned to her room without a word.

Nesta spent most of her time in her room. If she wasn't there, she was with Elain—except for the few moments when she watched Cassian stretch his wings outside. Elain didn't come out at all. She was still in shock, we assumed. Her entire life had been turned upside down—both of their lives had.

While I didn't particularly care for Nesta's attitude, it was a relief to know she was at least eating. Elain... she could barely keep anything down. Mor checked on them daily, but otherwise, the two sisters were left mostly alone.

The added stress seemed to be taking its toll on Mor, too. She had been quieter, more reserved than usual. Yes, she was worried about Cassian and his healing, but I suspected it had to do with Feyre as well. They had become close, and not having her here was affecting all of us.

I knew none of them would set foot outside of the Night Court unless I allowed it. I didn't worry about them trying to snatch Feyre back in the night. I worried about doing it myself. My restraint was crumbling more and more these last few days. 

Cretea, the continent, Feyre. I would have my mate back soon enough.