A Court of Blood and Feathers

5

Branwenn

A gasp echoes from my lips as time and space folds in on itself. Darkness. My stomach seizes and feels as if it's being flipped with the point of a heated poker. And then...

Light.

Not glistening, breathtaking sky. But stormy, tainted light of furious storm clouds, threatening to release their burden down on us lesser fae. The change in the atmosphere causes my stomach to roll and feathers to prickle. Cold battering against my thin clothes and ill-made scrubby boots. Fighting to penetrate and find ways under my feathers.

Nausea creeps up on me but I do the best to force the feeling back down. "Mind over matter," I whisper to myself, under my breath. Embracing the cold to bring down rolling nausea. This seems to help a bit, but I still must have been looking queasy, as the high fae who had just winnowed us here, took a step back from one look at me.

The male gives me a disgusted look, drops my hand of which I had been momentarily clinging too, and begins to stride towards an open, muddy and damp patch of field. I finally have a moment to take in my surroundings.

The Illyrian war camps.

So this is what all the fuss was about. I silently observed the run down, beat camp. There were a few wooden cabins at the far side of the camp, but not nearly enough for legions of the winged warriors. On the other side of the main training grounds and arena rings, was a forest of personal tents, pitched under tall trees of pine and oak. Leading further back into woods, snow and heavy ice coating branches and the ground in places. Looking out into the view, it wasn't as bad as I'd let my imagination run within a combination of fear and panic. The sun was setting slowly, causing a beautiful sunset. Not as lovely as the sunrise in the Dawn Court, but there is beauty in everything. Even the smallest and most bleak of situations and beings. A snow-covered mountains range converges all over, as far as the eye can see. My vision sweeps over the snow-tipped caps and dense forest around us.

There was no way to fly out of here and survive. It would take days by flight. I would surely die from starvation, freezing, or by the warriors who would be sent out to take me down. To ensure I wouldn't leave. The creature of a hybrid. The unknown variable. The dangerous unknown female.

Taking a deep breath in, I could smell it. The numerous grown males, the ego, the pain and sweat, the hurt. A shiver claims my body. I rustle my wings again, restless. 

"Come along, my little Birdie," my mother's voice reverberates in my ears for a moment, causing me to freeze. "Come on, don't be afraid. I did not raise a shy daughter, but a strong and demanding cook! It is your kitchen, you rule it, it is how you want it to be!"

Tears prick the edges of my eyes. I can do this... I think.

Pulling in my wings tighter to my body, I quicken my step to catch up to the high fae who had winnowed us here. He had taken to walking toward a sparring ring currently in use. Blasts of burnt orange and holy white light were shooting up from the crowd. My sensitive, young ears zeroed in on disgruntled sounds of a fight along with a hand full of swear words thrown in.

I speed up my pace to catch up to the century far. His face morose and uncaring. The only care of dropping me like a sickly dog and leaving this hell hole as swiftly as possible seems to radiate from his being. I know that look. It was the same of the chiefs from the kitchens that I've seen while cooking this past month. Trying to drown my emotions in scalding water. I am a reminder.

Even with my raven hair and wings to match. I am the polar opposite image of my mother. We share... shared the same face; the slim nose that rounds at the end, the doe eyes and thin lips. She was the Day, and I am the Night.