Daylight

Chapter 34

When they finally reached the foothills of the Illyrian mountains, Lucien was grateful for the cloak Feyre insisted he wear. Unlike the seasonal courts which maintained a consistent unchanging climate year-round, the celestial courts and the continent experienced all the seasons, and winter was fast approaching.

Lucien shivered, and not just from the temperature. He was reminded of the first time he encountered Feyre in these woods. He hadn't been sure what to expect when he finally found her, but the dominating powerful female with terrifying wings wasn't it. At the time, he'd still believed the skewed stories of the Night Court and Rhysand's reputation. He had truly believed she was being held against her will... until the letter.

When the letter arrived, Lucien had begged Tamlin to let her go, but Tamlin had just raged at him and blown apart his desk once again. Lucien had wondered how many times they were going to replace it before calling it a lost cause.

"Tam, please," Lucien had implored. "She sounds like she's doing okay. Maybe we should just—"

"She can't fucking read, Lucien!" Tamlin had roared so loudly the windows had shaken. "She can't read. Fuck, she can't even write! Clearly, that fucking prick sent it to make me think she was fine. Now go back out there and find her. You're taking sentries with you this time and they've been ordered not to let you come back until you've found her."

When he finally did find her in those woods, he didn't want to take her back. She had looked healthy and whole again. But Tamlin had been his High Lord, and his word was law. Lucien had been too afraid of Tamlin's rage to defy him—he'd been on the receiving end of that rage on more than one occasion and was not looking for any reason to be again. But he'd been even more afraid of it when he had to return to Spring without her. He shuddered at the memory of Tamlin's fury. He'd come close to killing Lucien that day.

"Hey!" Feyre called out, startling him.

"What?" He shook his head to expel the unpleasant memories.

"Stop daydreaming about my sister. I said, 'are you okay with Az carrying you?'"

"I wasn't—whatever. That's fine."

Lucien wasn't thrilled with the idea, but it was what made the best sense. Azriel was stronger than Feyre and to cross the ocean, they'd have to winnow as far as they could and fly the rest of the way. So, Lucien just nodded.

To his credit, Azriel didn't roll his eyes or mutter when he clutched Lucien and took to the air. Feyre had erected her wall of air to keep the biting wind to a minimum. When they landed on the continent, it had already gotten dark.

"No point in carrying on in the dark. We might as well set up camp," Feyre suggested.

Lucien began assembled the tent while Feyre started a small fire. Azriel was flexing his wings and rubbing his hands together for warmth.

"Az, you ought to stay the night so you're not tired," Feyre suggested, but Azriel just shook his head.

"Well then, at least eat something before you go."

As Feyre turned around, Azriel rolled his eyes with a smirk. "Over five hundred years old, yet she mothers us like we're children," he joked.

"I heard that," Feyre sang.

"I meant you to."

She gave him a brief hug before adjusting the quiver of arrows on her back and retrieving her bow.

"Where are you going?" Lucien asked. "We packed plenty of food."

"I know," she said with a shrug. "I'm just going to shoot some targets."