A Court of Sparks That Became Flames

A Court of Sparks That Became Flames By: Melisa Ustunsoz

"Just hold still," I said in a tight voice. I was treating Cal's wound on his upper arm...I had given it to him by an accident. Training these past few weeks had been tough, but it was one of my requirements for being in Illyria. And I refused to balk away - to be seen as weak or anything less. Of course, that would have been much easier if I could even hold my stance, but the past year had taken its toll on me. I could barely walk for a few minutes without getting winded and my legs shaking under the pressure.

Thin - I had become so thin and fragile that it was a wonder the wind didn't blow me away. Deep down, maybe that's what I wished for. I felt like a shadowy remnant of life. Amongst the silver flames, I burned and burned for years - ever since I lost my mom. The flames caught and spread throughout my life - my dad, Feyre, Elain, Tomas, Fae, the war, Cassian. Before I knew it, I was engulfed... and you can only burn for so long without becoming ash. And ashes get carried away by the wind as it had on the battlefield a year ago.

Sometimes, I wondered how the strong currents of Illyria between the mountains didn't.

Maybe my fate was sealed from the beginning and my trying was pointless all along.

Cal's hiss of pain at the alcohol I dabbed on his wound brought me out of my thoughts. I explained, "It will stop burning in a second."

I just had to make sure that it didn't get infected. That would make the small wound a big issue. I lowered the alcohol pad and began measuring and cutting up bandages.

He breathed through his clenched teeth, "Thanks."

I just gave him a small nod in acknowledgment. 

Cal was different to say the least. Ever since I was banished here, I finally understood why most Illyrian men were called brutes. They were hot-headed in training and battle. If they did accomplish anything, it was thorough brute force and strength. They didn't take the time to think. It wasn't a surprise. From what I could tell, men were raised to be that way here. Whatever they felt - insecurity, doubt, weakness - on the battlefield, they squashed it by being a brute. They were taught to push aside their feelings and be a "man." On the other hand, the girls weren't assertive nor dominant. They were taught to serve and please. Yet, I was surprised to meet some that defied all those standards set for them. They constantly got stuck with kitchen work by higher-ups to learn their "lesson." I admired that they didn't stop fighting silently.

They reminded me of the sparks that can start a revolution. The silent seething anger that can overcome anything.

Maybe I would have been interested in talking to them... Even if that felt like something someone who truly lives - not just exists - would do. Someone who just exists doesn't really approach people and isn't approached by others.

The thought gave me a flashback to Solstice. I was surrounded by happy chatter yet it felt as if I was still looking through a window outside just the same. As if I had never entered the townhouse. No one had acknowledged my presence further than the initial entrance. Except for Elain...yet she had to knock down a glass of liquor before she could even talk to me.

I hadn't cared that Rhysand was still a dick to me, that Amren liked me but kept to her circle, that Cassian ignored me the entire night and exchanged matching lingerie with Mor...that Feyre ignored me after her efforts to get me there and judged me when I did accept the rent money.

It was that my dear Elain no longer could talk to me sober. Even when I felt like I was in such a deep hole that I would never feel anything again, I had felt the sting of the act.

They hadn't expected much of me - just for me to drink and tear apart.

Try.

Cassian had told me that I should try more.