A Court of Spies and Shadow

Shadows In Darkness

The first whispers of war that caught my shadows' attention was when I was eighteen, days before the blood rite.  I wanted to ask Rhys, but I knew that he needed to ready for the rite, and even if he didn't, he'd made a solemn oath to his father before coming here.  He was bound into silence that kept him from sharing his true fears about Court business with us unless he'd been allowed by the High Lord.

My greatest fear was losing the family that I'd chosen to love, the family that had chosen me in return.  I knew better than to believe the High Lord would ever let me fight side by side with my brothers.  Even the High Lord had heard of the great warriors with whom his son had aligned himself with.  The two most powerful Illyrians in history would die for their friend, as he would for them.  So naturally, in the middle of a war, my coward of a High Lord would be more worried by a legion of the three of us than an entire continent and some territories.  He seemed to truly believe that Rhysand's hate for him went deep enough that Rhys would actually murder him in the middle of a war that we had little chance of winning. 

My shadows told my that the human slaves were rebelling all around the world.  This would not be a war of a few countries and territories fighting to keep their slaves under control.  It would be fae masters against any opposition, and as the Night Court refused all slave trade, they may well side with the slaves.  The country of Hybern, the one that took up the majority of the Blackland, was one of the richest and most powerful in the world.  The cruel king had began this war, with his insane laws always being redrawn to benefit his people, and making the humans with less rights than animals.

  "This will be a bloody war, love," my shadows whispered, "leave.  Fly far and fast, and pack little.  We will take you someplace safe."

The voices were soothing, both one and many, but I knew my heart this time. No thank you, I can't leave my friends.  They will die in that war and the High Lord would find his son anywhere we take him.  Not to mention their own wills.  Cassian will not leave his people to die, nor will Rhysand.

"So be it." They whispered, "But remember that your skills in the coming war are invaluable. We are invaluable to a High Lord seeking to win a war.  We have heard that the High Lord fears each of you separately enough that he will bind Rhysand into being unable to reach out to you.  You will know whether they are alive or not, but you won't be able to correspond.  They will have no idea whether you or the other is dead or alive.  We cannot see how long the war will be, but we do see that it will take its toll on each of you separately before it is out.  It will leave some scars that no number of centuries will heal.  You will not be the same, love."

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The day of the rite was absolute shit.  We knew that we weren't exactly loved, but the amount of times my shadows heard whispered plans of how to kill the three of us were staggering.  The camp mother and the majority of females had helped bind all of our wings that morning to get used to how off-balance we would be without them to help right ourselves with.  Rhys and Cassian had trained me well.  I had nearly surpassed Rhysand's fighting skills, and we were all well above the average Illyrian going for the rite.  Tradition stated that the rite would use no magic and no wings, and Rhys and I took the former rule especially hard.  Going into the blood rite, my shadows would not be able to be used to their full potential, and Rhys was banned from using any form of power, daemati or otherwise. 

As the three of us joined the ranks of all of the other warriors-in-training who had been checked for any stashed weaponry or food, I began to fret.  I knew the other two were skilled, but with all of the intel my shadows had gathered, there was one thing clear.  Whether we found each other or not, we all had a great many who wanted us dead.  These were not just males trying to survive the rite for the whole week, this was their families, ancient grudges against the High Lord, prejudices against half-bloods and low-born, illegitimate bastards.  Some truly hated us, but we were aware of the automatic obligation to kill the strongest Illyrians in any camp, possibly in history. 

If we could avoid it, we would avoid killing most of them.  These males were awful and rude, but they would become good soldiers in the coming war, and we all knew that the bigger the body count, the more they would hate us, and we could not afford the loss of morale.