Daylight

Chapter 43

Lucien was exhausted. He was curled around a measly fire in the cave he and Feyre had fled to so many months ago. He had debated whether or not to use it to travel to Autumn, but decided that of the two courts, he was safer in Spring.

He doubted Tamlin would send anyone after him, but if he'd gone to Autumn, he was sure that, sooner or later, his brothers would come. Possibly not Eris, since it seemed he was finally growing a backbone and standing up to Beron. But the others were bloodthirsty savages that wouldn't be satisfied until Lucien no longer breathed.

Which he was already having a hard time doing at the moment. Every breath sent searing pain through his ribs. At least two were definitely broken, and half a dozen more were bruised. He could have healed himself, but he worried that he wouldn't have enough energy left to winnow. Even then, he doubted his ability to winnow more than a mile or two at a time in his current condition. Tamlin had effectively beaten the shit out of him.

But Lucien had intentionally allowed it to happen. Just as Feyre had. Tamlin needed to see the consequences of his rage with his own eyes in order for him to ever learn from it. Even then, Lucien doubted he would change. Some things just festered too deeply to ever be fully undone.

Lucien had been resigned to wait in this pathetic cave for a few days until his ribs had begun to heal before trying to go back to the Night Court... until he heard her.

Come home. Come home to me.

He bolted to his feet and winced sharply.

"Not smart, Lucien," he said aloud as he held his ribs and gingerly lowered himself back down to the ground.

He needed to get home. As soon as possible. To hell with waiting for his ribs to heal. He would winnow through the pain. It was a small price to pay for the reward that waited for him in Velaris.

He tried to stand again, but his vision swam, and the contents of his stomach threatened to resurface. He took several slow deep breaths until the nausea subsided. Peering out of the cave opening, he could see it was starting to get dark.

It wouldn't be wise to travel at night, injury or no injury, and especially if he planned to use the cave's transfer point to Autumn. Forcing himself to use reason and logic was almost as painful as his physical injuries.

Untying his bedroll from his rucksack and spreading it out onto the cave floor took twice as long as it normally would have. But even the smallest movement sent shooting pains through his side. He delicately rolled onto his back and closed his eyes.

Before he drifted off into a night of fitful sleep, he sent a short reply through the bond, just so she would know he heard her.

Wild horses, dove.

He had promised that even those couldn't keep him from her. And if they couldn't, neither would a few broken ribs.

🍂

Lucien woke only a few hours later to a hand covering his mouth. Instinctively, he snatched one of the daggers from his baldric, sending searing pain shooting through his chest. The stranger countered the blade with one of his own.

"Shh!" Azriel hissed, slowly lowering his hand from Lucien's mouth.

The Illyrian was crouched down, his wings splayed out wide enough that they blocked Lucien's view of the cave mouth.

"Azriel?" Lucien winced as he sat up. "What are you doing here?"

"Feyre sent me," he breathed, sheathing Truth Teller without a sound. "What the hell happened to you?"