Crescent City: A Court of Thrones and Glass

Chapter Twenty-Two: Bryce

A/N: Thank you @xXxinsolitexXx and @TheShadyTree for voting!!! Sorry for the impromptu hiatus.....I may or may not have maybe accidentally dropped my phone in the lake......oops 🤷‍♀️😂. Anyways here's another chapter that's long overdue.

     Bryce hated the Illyrian camp. It was so fucking cold, and wet, and full of winged, territorial alphaholes. Including the one trudging through the mud beside her, a protective arm snaked across her shoulders. Not that Bryce was complaining; it was very cold for someone used to the city.
    "Are all war camps like this?" She raised her mud caked sneaker in emphasis as she elbowed Hunt. His greys wings were tucked in tight and he was wearing his battle suit—minus the helmet
     "What, loud, dirty, and full of testosterone? Most definitely," the angel supplied, a small smile on his face. Bryce almost laughed, but she was too busy glaring at the stupid mud splattered on her pants. "Camp not sophisticated enough for you, sweetheart?" Hunt teased. She playfully punched him in the side, then looked down at her nails, splaying her fingers.
     "You think one of these so-called warriors knows how to give a proper manicure?" Bryce joked, gesturing at the Illyrians bustling around them. Hunt grinned then leaned down to whisper in her ear.
     "I don't think manicures even exist here," he said conspiratorially. Bryce gave him a look of mock horror, then returned the grin. The pair reached the clearing where they were to meet Azriel who was hopefully bearing good news. Fortunately, Rowan, Aelin, Rhys, Feyre, and Azriel were already here. On the other hand, they did not look happy. As Hunt and Bryce got closer, they overheard the conversation.
     "That's a definite sign of Valg presence," Aelin said in response to Azriel. The Queen certainly looked better today than last night. In the study, it looked like the life was sucked out of her the moment Viviane mentioned Mantyx. Bryce couldn't blame her, but she also couldn't tell how much of the swagger and smiling today was a mask.
     "What's a sign?" Hunt interrupted, drawing Bryce into the little circle they created in the middle of the camp. No Illyrians were close enough to overhear, but they weren't alone.
     "Corpses that appeared to be drained, but had no physical wounds," Azriel reported, quickly filling Hunt and Bryce in on the conversation.
     "We had similar findings in our world when Erawan was around," Rowan informed, "and the victims were failed attempts at Valg possession, who were then used as food." Bryce shuddered, blocking the grotesque image from her mind. She had never even seen a Valg, but if they were anything like the demons from Hel, then they certainly weren't good looking.
     "I know," Aelin said, winking, "the gods have a wicked sense of humour."
     "So what's the situation in Winter?" Feyre asked Azriel. The Spymaster was wreathed in shadows. They were crawling up and down his arms, curling around his ears, partially concealing parts of his body from sight. It honestly reminded Bryce of Ruhn. No matter how much of an asshole her brother could be, she kinda wished he was here right now. Just a little.
     "Mantyx and the Summoner have taken full control. All the citizens have been placed under some sort of spell, while many of them, unfortunate, have Wyrdstone collars or rings," the shadowsinger answered bluntly. Aelin swore. So did Bryce. Hunt just grabbed her hand and kept listening. "I saw no sign of anything like wyverns or bloodhounds from Rowan's description, but my spies have reported Ilken hiding in the mountain caves."
     "How many?" Rhys demanded as he calculated numbers and odds. Azriel swallowed. Bryce prayed that the amount was small.
     "Enough that we'll need more than one Court to ally with us," Azriel said.
     "Get Cassian an exact count by noon," Rhys snapped. Feyre put a hand her mate's arm, urging him remain focused.
     "Have Mor draft letters to the other High Lords immediately. We're going to need all the support we can get," Feyre ordered Azriel. Although in Bryce's mind it was less of an order and more of a request. Nonetheless, the shadowsinger vanished, off to complete his tasks. Aelin ran a hand through her hair, the stress clearly weighing on her.
"The problem we're going to have," the Queen said, "is that we can't just slaughter our way through this one. These are Viviane's people, and their minds are not their own, whether we like it or not." Bryce was inclined to agree. She'd happily rid this world of Ilken, from what Aelin described them as, but full-blown war, Bryce wasn't sure she could stomach that. But she would, if it came down to it.
"If the people are corrupt, it would be a mercy to kill them," Hunt interjected, yanking Bryce out of her thoughts, "and with all due respect, you and Dorian didn't hesitate to slaughter all those Adarlanian soldiers, your Majesty." Rowan snarled at the angel and Aelin's face hardened. Bryce felt the air temperature rise as the Queen glared at Hunt.
"We didn't have a choice," Aelin growled, "my people were oppressed and massacred for years under Adarlan's rule, and many of those soldiers bowed gleefully to Erawan. We can explore other options now, but if you're so eager to kill, the Ilken bleed like men too." Hunt scowled as Rowan smirked at him.
"Agreed," Feyre said, "Outright war should be a last resort. Aelin, you said once Erawan was defeated, the Valg collapsed, right?" The Queen nodded. "So if we kill Mantyx, Winter will be free?"
"Theoretically. The infected still needed to be healed, though." Bryce thought about their predicament. The solution seemed fairly simple. Kill Mantyx and the Summoner, problem solved.
"So we infiltrate the Palace, behead some Valg bastards, and we're done?" Bryce asked.
"Yes, but there's an entire army standing in the way," Rowan answered. Shit. Bryce was done with this stupid war planning. She just wanted to go home. Just then, Lysandra crept up from behind Aelin and whispered something in her ear. Before Bryce could ask, Cassian came barging in to their little circle, panting and swearing.
"The Illyrians are rebelling," he announced, anger and frustration lining his every movement.
"What?" Rhys barked, demanding an explanation.
"They're refusing to fly," the General explained. Fuck. Just when Bryce thought nothing else could go wrong.
"You're their High Lord, can't you just order them to march?" Aelin asked. Rhysand pinched the bridge of his nose.
"That's how it's supposed to work, but these idiotic camp lords have gotten into their heads that they can do whatever they want," Rhys answered.
"Why won't they march?" Feyre asked Cassian.
"They refuse to lead and fight with females, no matter how trained they are. They are also upset with Rhys for changing schedules banning certain traditions, like clipping a females wings."
"Well then," Bryce answered, cracking her knuckles. "It's about time some Illyrian alphaholes got their asses kicked by some females." Bryce smirked at Aelin, Lysandra and Feyre. Their answering smiles were absolutely terrifying.