Tethered to the Starlight: A Court of War and Starlight

Chapter 22: Rhys

"How does this feel?" I asked as I placed firm pressure on each of my mate's hips.

"Still tender," she managed to croak out, wincing as she did so. Releasing my grip, I sighed deeply and perched myself on the arm of the lounger she was seated in.

"You're healing rather slow, I think it might be a good idea if we ask Madja to examine your pelvis."

"It's only been two weeks, Rhys. It's going to take a while for the shattered bones to fuse together," she ground out.

"Feyre, it should have taken days not weeks, especially with the Dawn Court blood in your veins; the healing process should have been expedited."

She snorted, "Oh you incessant mother hen, I'm sure I'm healing on a perfectly appropriate timeline. And besides, I may also be sore from typical tears in the birth canal after our daughter made an early arrival."

I brushed my lips to her forehead and relented, "As your mate it's my job to worry about you and now the baby. It's instinct."

She nodded in understanding, her attention returning to the abnormally small child wriggling out of Cassian's grasp. "Rhys, you sure she's not my kid? She's rather feisty for being so young."

I chuckled deeply, giving Feyre a sideways glance. She merely shrugged, and plastered a smirk across her beautiful mouth.

"Oh and I've been thinking," Cassian mused.

"Shit, that's never good," Feyre spit back, which earned her a throw pillow to the face in return.

"I've been thinking," he began again, "that Damaris is kind of a mouthful. Beautiful, yes. But, on the battlefield our little warrior is going to need a nickname. And lucky for you, Mor and I have conspired to figure one out."

"Well by all means do share," I said my words dripping in sarcasm.

Hoisting a giggling baby above his head and flaring his wings, the proud uncle bellowed, "I give you Ari, Princess of the Night Court."

"Ari, huh?" Madja asked. I had to admit the name was catchy, but why would I further inflate Cassian's ego? Feyre gave a simple shrug in response, her smile effortless.

"Alright, Lady Feyre, I'm just going to do an internal exam to see how you're fairing since the birth." She shifted her legs upward, allowing a slight bend at the knee. Placing a sheet overtop for modesty, she looked to me for confirmation. "It'll be quick, I promise."

She nodded and laid her head back against the exam table Madja had brought with her. I stroked her forearms lovingly and smoothed any remaining strands of hair from her face. She whimpered slightly when the healer reached a particularly tender spot.

"Looks like there's Illyrian blood in your little one after all, High Lord. Because there are talon marks most likely from your daughter's wings on the lining of your mate's birth canal."

"But we haven't seen any signs of wings yet."

"Doesn't mean she can't summon them at will like her parents can. I'd keep a close eye on her especially during the terrible twos."

Feyre scoffed, "Even Fae children go through that stage? Cauldron boil me, we are in trouble Rhys."

Rustling my mates hair I turned to the healer, "And her hips?"

"Likely shifted multiple times over the course of her pregnancy, especially if the baby used her wings to push against the bone. I guess your princess decided the womb was much too small for her."

Typical Archeron woman, I teased through the bond.

Prick. I chuckled inwardly.

"Will she heal soon?" I pressed nervously.

The healer began to pack up her things and move toward the door. "Yes, if Lady Feyre is still struggling to walk by the end of the week, send someone for me."

Following behind, I ushered her out of the door making sure to place a sack of gold coins in her weathered palms.

Turning back around to my mate I found myself at a loss for words. Wings. She had wings, I thought. If only my mother were alive to see her granddaughter and see what beauty my mate and I created.

She'd be so proud of you, Feyre said down the bond. Her words were a smooth caress as she locked eyes with me, her gaze unwavering.

She would have loved you, Feyre. She would have loved you like her own. A tear slid silently down her cheek and I hastily kissed it away before it could fall.

What are we going to do Rhys? I mean with the baby. Can you imagine the danger she'll be in once the other High Lords discover the power she harbors? Can you imagine the plans Hybern has for her?

Well then I think we first need to comprehend her power before another Fae tries to rip it out of her. She nodded once again returning her gaze to Cassian struggling to keep Damaris still.

My mate and I had called a family dinner in response to Madja's most recent discovery. Not to mention, we still had to contend with the 'boogieman' Hybern idolizes, the Cauldron, and just how my daughter fit into the equation.

As Nuala and Cerridwen made fast work of setting the roasted pig on the table, Mor chimed in. "So I've been thinking, if Hybern has been killing the prisoners to power his armies, why has he not made an attempt on Amren's life yet?"

I hadn't thought of that. "Maybe he isn't ready for an outright declaration of war from both the Night and Summer Courts," Azriel muttered, his shadows swirling around his head.

"Yes, but he wanted Damaris, why? That would obviously mean Night would declare War on Hybern at the very least."

Tucking his wings in tighter Azriel said, "It's most likely a power move on two fronts. First, kill my neice in order to have her immense power shift to him. Second, demolish the moral of our very court. In essence, if you kill the daughter of the most powerful High Lord and Lady in history, many Fae are going to be hesitant to fight knowing we couldn't even protect our own."

The room quieted instantly in a combination of fear and thought.

Mama? Dada?

Feyre and I both turned to Damaris sitting peacefully in her highchair awaiting her bottle.

Yes baby? Feyre and I said in unison.

Why is all da famiwy quiet?

Moving toward her highchair, I hoisted her into my arms and then into my lap back at my seat. Don't worry honey, everybody is just really hungry and doesn't want to talk until after dinner. She merely clapped her chubby hands together in reply and reached toward the table for her bottle. Holding the bottle for her, she drank in swift gulps, earning a warm smile from Feyre.

Turning her attention the group Feyre spoke, "I want to know the full extent of her powers. Hybern wants her, badly. So we need to know what exactly he wants from her."

"Aside from the prophecy,"Amren snorted, "I may know someone who can help. But she's going to need some convincing."

"Well who is it?" I blurted.

"The Weaver of the Wood."