#i prefer the white mission winnow

[weirdfanaus]

The Path that Leads Home

Summary: Azriel, on a mission in Day Court, finds himself in a moment of weakness, but somehow he finds his way back home with a life-changing dream in mind.

Rating: Mature

Words:  3347

Pairing: Azriel (ACoTaR) and Original Character

Author’s Note:  All characters except the original one are from A Court of Thorns and Roses. The original one was created by a friend and she allowed me to use her in this story. You can find her under @majolishdustybooks​ .

No spoilers for A Court of Silver Flames

Also on Ao3

Azriel didn't know what to do. 

He had always known what was going on, but now he was lost. 

He was in the middle of nowhere, had muddy attire, no trace of the target he was chasing and a mood at its lowest. 

He sat down on a stump and felt how his syphons hummed in agreement; they needed a break too. He sighed, combing his hair with his fingers and angled his head towards the warm light. 

The sun shone and through the dome of leaves, its rays got to his tanned and tired face. 

And the only thing he wanted was to sleep. 

Azriel and his spies had been chasing his target for more than three months. And when they found that they had been hiding in a forest over the border with the Day Court, he didn't care who was supposed to take care of them. Thus, he winnowed near the frontier and used his connections and knowledge about that court to pass it as silently as possible. 

But the mission after passing it… was not as easy as it was supposed to be. 

The Day Court had always meant something else for the Spymaster. He was feeling closer to home, calmer and even younger. His instincts were different than usual and his lazy syphons, having a mind of their own too, were enjoying their time in the court of light more than they should. 

He was sitting against another tree, half of the front of his leathers open due to the heat and was trying to find the will to fight the sleep that was slowly conquering his whole body.

A voice broke the silence of the forest, the birds stopped singing and the Illyrian opened an eye and looked at at the owner of the voice:

"Wow! The Night Court's Spymaster sleeping? During daylight? I've lived to see this day! I thought that you, bats, slept only during the night. Is the Night Court no longer good for you, old man? Decided that you preferred the sun over the moon and the stars?"

His siphons suddenly woke up. 

"Nice to see you're alive too, Cyra," he replied with a tougher voice, sleep already clouding his body. 

"Darn! You really must like me, if you are still half asleep right now."

If it were autumn, her proximity would've been alerted by the fallen leaves. But because they were still enjoying the calm weather and longer days, the summer gave Azriel the lisp of the leaves’ help. 

"One of our guards caught Edgard trying to break into the main building." That sentence was a wake-up call for the Spymaster and when he stood up, back in the middle of the clearing, he noted how close he was to the female. 

The silence was familiar. He didn’t like to talk too much when it wasn’t needed, but her presence demanded it and his heart and mind was happy to oblige.

And that's why, even though it was not needed, Azriel's right corner of the lip rose and a "Hi" broke the silence.

Cyra's hazel eyes sparkled at his tone and, because of the light, they became greener. Her lips curved in a smile too, while saying: "Hello, Azriel. Nice to see you alive and well. Heard you made new friends." 

The male shrugged and stretched his wings lazily, while the female was assessing him, looking judgely. He knew that his wings were something meaningful to her, not only because they were his, but also because of her Illyrian heritage. His wings, scarred and darker than wet tree branches, connected her to her mother, whose wings brought the late female more pain than freedom. 

“Can we go to where you hold him? I need to winnow him to the Court of Nightmares and get him to talk.” Cyra was somehow caught by surprise by his voice, but she shook it off fast. 

“Yeah, he is kind of asleep now. You hit him hard.” Her voice was calmer, her body more relaxed than usual, not as guarded as she was the first time he met her. Back when she was cold, young and with strands of brown hair flying in the bitter winds of the Winter Court’s mountains, possessing a look in her eyes that would’ve killed him right there. 

“It’s of no surprise that you look like you got hit by a volley of arrows. Yeah, minus the blood. That’s all mud and probably… poop.” her hands moved with such speed, while she spoke, that only by looking at them, he felt more tired than before. 

“Cyra… I know I look like actual shit, but can we not talk about my attire right now? I would prefer to sleep, I haven’t slept five hours continuously for days and I think that I might pass out.” He stepped towards her in a manner very unlike him and Cyra’s face turned into an open book, worry filling its pages.

“You smell…” was her reply when she caught him right before he could fall. It was a sure thing that she was thinking whether she had a dead man in her arms or not, but his head moved against her hair, white strands finding their way through his dark locks and some even reaching in his mouth. He tried to get rid of them without using his hands, but when he realized there had been no progress made, he tried to use his hands, but the female moved faster than him. “And still act as a baby.” Azriel’s face was empty of any sign of emotion.

One moment they were in the middle of a clearing, in the forest, under the sun and the other they were in the middle of a living room. Warm colours, browns and a lot of white surrounded them then.

He would never get used to the great number of plants in that house. Even though in the years he had known her and they had started to get closer to each other, his house back in Velaris was almost as crowded as the one he was in. Stalks, leaves and flower petals covering almost every surface. 

He asked her once, while she was bringing yet another potted plant into his apartment, back in Velaris: “Why are you so keen on growing a forest inside my apartment?” 

Cyra just shrugged and while he waited for the more elaborated answer, which was coming, he watched how she played with one of the white hair strands that were framing her face, the rest of it was kept together with a clip. 

"More oxygen won't hurt you." 

"Yeah, but when there is no light outside, they use my oxygen. So…?" 

She made an annoyed face then and raised a finger in his direction. "You are already dark and broody, why not brighten the place a little bit?" 

"I get that you don't like my colour preference, even though we are in the Night Court, sweetheart. You didn't have to fill this place that much that I don't have any place to even stand. And it's my apartment!" 

The female shrugged, pissed off by his statement. She bit her lip and looked at the plant she was still holding. 

"Plants show us that even after weeks of cold weather, there is still a moment when the sun will come and we will have our moment to be reborn. They bring us all joy. I thought you needed some joy in your life, Az." 

He had always known, deep down, that happiness would come at some point, even though for much time he had lived in darkness, hurting. 

Cyra, with her bright hair and hazel eyes, sometimes even the colour of the plants she loved and cherished, was like the light at the end of the tunnel for him. She brought him joy, freedom and he felt like light, weightless, although he was always in the shadows.

And then, in the Day Court, surrounded by plants and flowers and vegetables, he was home. 

But he was still unsure what to do next.

The female started walking around the room, moving blankets on the sofa, opening cabinets and pulling out packages, cans, jars, utensils and plates.

The water was boiling on the stove when he finally decided to talk.

"I should've gone to sort the problem with Edgard."

"Don't worry about him, he will be there after you take a shower and have something to eat. We need to catch up. It's been a while. I want to know everything about your brand new High Lady." Cyra didn't raise her eyes from the cutting board, where vegetables started gathering. But her tone showed that she was in the mood to gossip. 

"I heard she likes soup." She rose her eyes to him and cleaned the tomato juice off one of her fingers. 

Azriel chuckled at that. 

There was a joke between the Inner Circle, about how Feyre gave Rhys canned soup when they sealed the mating bond. And Azriel knew that there was no way, the Spymaster of the Day Court would not find out about it.

She lived off tormenting his friends, usually the males.

"Can I at least have a bite… small bite… from what you have decided to cook?" He tried, but he was very aware that he was full of mud, probably smelled of deer poop and looked like he had got run over by dozens of wild horses. He knew Cyra very well and her eyes told him that he needed to get cleaned as soon as possible and there was nothing else to discuss. 

He puffed, sad that he had lost that ‘battle’ and aimed for the bathroom.

The bathroom was the same as he had seen it last. Toiletries spread out on the counter by the sink: toothbrushes, razors and different kinds of soaps, each specially created for certain use. 

He swiftly undressed himself and lowered in the already filled magical pool. The water was always warm and his muscles sighed in approval for the moment of peace. The last week had been filled with the smell of grass, branches and flowers. Their pollen sometimes disturbing his senses, a problem, which was once a disadvantage but had been redeemed by knowing the woman in the other room.  After all, he basically had a garden in his house back in Velaris.

He rubbed all the mud off and when he decided that he had spent enough time in the bathroom, he got out. And with a towel around his waist, he walked into the bedroom linked to the bathroom.

Sunlight bathed the room and the plants were sprawling towards it. On the bed placed against the wall, right in the middle of the room, sat a pile of clean clothes, black pants and underwear and a white short-sleeved shirt, which he put on. 

Back in the kitchen, the female, now with her long white hair bound, was mixing something in a bowl, the water in the pot boiling behind her. He reached it and the smell it emanated was a sign that its contents were done. Opening cabinets with familiarity, Azriel strained the vegetables and dumped them in an empty, clean bowl, placing it on the counter. He seasoned them and watched Cyra take a tray with meat out of the oven.

"Take a plate and pick your favourite." She said, tray in one hand and a fork in the other, gesturing towards a cupboard where he knew she held plates. 

Minutes later, the two of them sat at a table by the window, plates before them, glasses filled with lemon water. The sun was covering everything on the table, the flowers in the vase spreading their petals in approval. 

Everything in that house loved the sunlight. He preferred it over the darkness of his past and shadows.

"I've heard that Rhysand got a mate." Cyra, even though she wasn't a fan of talking, was the one that usually started a conversation between the two of them. 

And this conversation wasn't something he felt like doing after the week he had just had.

"Yeah, he did," was what left his lips as he chose to pick at his vegetables and steak instead of looking at her.

"When?" she stopped eating altogether, now sitting in the chair in a way that favoured conversation.

"When what?" 

"When did the mating bond go… boof." she moved her arms as if she had just finished a magic trick. 

"I don't know… maybe around the annual snow fight? We were in the Steppes when Feyre found out that Rhys kept the fact that they were mates from her. “

“So, she is what… angry at him, takes some time off from all of you and they sort it out?”

She jumped in, making her usual assumptions, and Azriel just nodded his head in approval. “And they do the whole cook a meal thing and stuff like that.”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“What do you mean by ‘something’?” she looked at him confused.

“Cans.” the word made her burst into pure laughter. She moved her hands and was almost going to spoil a glass’ components on the table, but Azriel caught it just in time.

When she calmed a little, she wiped some tears from her eyes while saying: “If Cassian gets the same treatment, I swear to the Cauldron that the three of you are destined to have mates that know nothing of the culinary arts.” 

Azriel just puffed at her statement, which made Cyra shrug and plaster a small smile on her slightly tanned skin. 

“She will learn…” he said hopefully, but Cyra just continued to look at him, smiling. 

“It’s not like she will starve by not knowing” They looked at each other longly, thinking about a night around 200 years ago in a cabin in summer court, during a horrendous storm and a bag of potatoes.

“At least I knew how to mash potatoes,” she added a second after while grabbing another bite from her serving.

Her words, her tone and her actions right after she said that, made Azriel burst into a laughter of his own. He didn’t stop for a while, thinking of the awkwardness that went on between the two of them that night. Possibly thinking about that she started laughing too.

Still laughing, she collected the dishes off the table when they were finished, his plate almost empty, except for some leaves she used for seasoning. 

“How’s Cas?” she asked while cleaning the dishes. Azriel walked around the counter, right from the dining area and propped himself against the now clean marble. 

“In the Illyrian Mountains. He is trying to help Feyre's older sister figure life as Fae out.” he said while crossing his arms. 

“Oh… is he all right? After what happened during that last battle…” 

“It’s been a rough period of time for all of us. And I also know that I should’ve come by sooner…”

“I knew that you were alive. I could feel that you were also well, as much as somebody can be after a war… That’s what mattered,” she told him while drying her hands with a cloth. They looked at each other for seconds that felt more like hours. The silence was familiar, calm and it assured both of them that there was still time left, it wasn't running out, just yet.

“I think…”

“We should…”

They started talking at the same time. And sharing a mind connection had never been weirder and more useless before. But they held their minds from each other most of the time and that path that connected them was used in the most important situations.

And that was one of the reasons why they were that day together, because, in his state, Azriel used that connection to call for help. Help that he knew would come unconditionally.

They had decided decades ago that for this eternity to not be a burden, they needed their space. Also, the secrets of their Courts were bigger than them and they needed to be kept safe. 

But the last war woke up something in him. Something that he had known since he had first met her during that mission in the Winter Court.

“You say first.” As she could feel the fight that went on inside his head, she broke the silence. Cyra looked off guard, something that he wasn’t used to, but he had seen before.

His hands were sweating, he was nervous and he didn’t even know why. It wasn’t like that was the first time they shared their hopes, dreams and insecurities with each other.

They were mates.

“I think… I think that we should try to have a baby.” He said. His voice small, eyes partially filled with fear, scared of rejection. He didn’t expect her to be always on the same page as him.

But Cyra didn’t look as angry as he had expected. She played with her fingers, one holding her wedding ring with a blue stone, the same colour as his siphons, which shone in the midday sun. And when she raised her eyes, hazel mixed with silver, she just nodded.

"I think so too."

And his whole world became even brighter than before.

He hugged her and kissed her whole smiling face, forehead, cheeks, nose, eyelids and lastly her lips a couple of times.

Their last kiss was longer than the previous ones, minds open to each other, secrets still hidden in the darkest depths of them, but happiness was buzzing between them.

Their foreheads were together when Cyra opened her eyes to look at him. He could feel her eyes on his face, his olive skin, the scars on his brows and cheeks, the circles under his eyes, but also the wrinkles created by the smile still present.

He started kissing her skin again, but this time his lips took a different path. Her throat was covered by his warm, chapped lips and in their trail, the skin was left wet and sometimes red, from sucking. She brought her arms closer to his neck, fingers running through his dark locks.

Small sounds were leaving her full lips when Azriel’s hands gripped her thighs and she was lifted off the floor and carried to the bedroom.

The sound of a closed door was followed by the rustling of clothes. Laughter filled the air again when the Illyrian stuck his shirt in a talon of his wings, but she helped and they kissed again.

The world seemed to be suddenly set on the right path when they finally joined. His kisses covered the inked skin of her chest, their marriage tattoo set right over each of their hearts. And with each step they took in their dance, they got closer and closer to the end.

Her legs hugged his waist, her arms, his neck, hands massaging his scalp, his elbows on the mattress, one hand at her nape, the other keeping him from crushing her, lips glued and their hearts were over the other, skin on skin, tattoo over tattoo. His hand searched blindly for hers when he felt that they were close to the climax, his movements speeding up. When their fingers laced through each other on the bed, the moment came.

Ragged breaths replaced the sounds of pleasure and their foreheads were once more against the other, bodies still joined and coming down from the high.

“I love you.” Her hoarse breath broke the silence. Her hand covered his cheek, trying to wipe some sweat off of his face. In a movement so similar to a cat’s, Azriel nuzzled his nose, face and hair against her damp face and placed his head in the crook of her neck, kissed the pulse point and hugged her body even more. She replied to his action by moving her hips higher and squeezed his middle. He muffled a swore in her now wild hair.

I love you too. Filled her head and a smile crept on her lips.

#azriel #azriel shadowsinger #a court of thorns and roses #a court of frost and starlight #azriel x oc #azriel x original character #acotar #acofas #weirdfanaus

[courtofsapphiresandshadows]

Chapter Eighteen- Aegan

The snow glittered in the sunlight as Aegan seated herself on top of the cabin roof. It was a beautiful winter day- a blizzard had hit the cabin overnight, leaving the roof and trees covered in a thick white blanket. If not for the current mission at hand, she would’ve taken a walk through the woods to admire the scenery.

The front door creaked open, jolting her slightly. Dressed in his typical attire, Azriel waded out in the knee-deep snow, knowing where to find her. “How do the skies look?”

“Clear for a day of flying,” she responded, sliding off the roof and landing in a snowbank. Her teeth chattering, she pulled herself out, clumps of snow sliding under her sweater. “Hopefully there isn't another blizzard.”

Azriel chuckled lightly, before glancing back into the woods. “Sasha left this morning- she told me, in her words exactly, ‘to wish your dumb ass a happy birthday.” 

“And?”

He rolled his eyes. “Happy Birthday, dumbass.” 

Typical Sasha. She wondered why the redhead had stayed longer- were her and Azriel actually becoming friends? It would be surprising, but not unwanted. “Aren’t you so kind. You better get me a birthday present while you’re in Velaris” she joked, punching him in the arm playfully. Not that she needed a present- the Spitfire Sasha gave her yesterday was perhaps the nicest- and possibly the most illegal- gift she had ever received. Then again, she wouldn’t necessarily turn on down. 

“I’ll get you some underwear.”

She might have to turn that down. “You bastard.”

Was that smugness in his eyes? “What would you rather prefer?” 

“Something to improve our pantry, at least. Spices would be a great upgrade.” 

He let out a low chuckle, his wings spreading to shoot him into the sky. “Whatever. You stay safe, okay? Don’t do anything too stupid.” 

‘I can’t guarantee that’, she thought to herself, but smiled nevertheless. “For you, Az? Anything”, she promised him, before launching herself into the sky. 

~Azriel’s POV~

He watched her ascend into the sky until she had disappeared within the clouds. Even then, he thought he could see the smirk on her face from their banter.

Chuckling to himself, he adjusted his bag, flapping his wings a few times to warm them up. It truly was a beautiful day for flying- there was a nice strong wind that would carry him out of the mountains and towards Velaris. Hopefully, his report wouldn’t take too long- he was beginning to enjoy spending time with Aegan.

Azriel launched himself into the sky, the all too familiar rush of adrenaline flooding through his veins as he soared above the clouds. Cassian wasn’t lying that flying was an Illyrian’s first love- nothing came close. 

A shadow curled around his ear, murmuring something about troop movement nearby. Almost instantly, he tensed up, flying higher into the sky to avoid being seen. Didn’t that Hybern group make it to Ironcrest? Did Sasha accidentally alert the fae that they were being watched? Did he slip up somehow?

Nevertheless, he soared higher until he was confident that no one could see them. Of course, not unless they were above him…

His shadows were late to warn him about the Illyrian diving on top of him. The warrior’s feet slammed into his wings, temporarily disabling Azriel as they fell through the sky.

He couldn’t see his attackers face, but his shadows whispered his name. He wasn’t someone that Azriel knew, but he recognized the last name- Adara. The Adaras were one of the largest families in these mountains, their line tracing back to Ironcrest’s establishment. An old family- and a notorious one. Female daughters were often slaughtered just after birth, if the father was still without a son. 

Fingers wrapping around Truthteller’s hilt, he twisted suddenly to slam the knife in Adara’s gut. It ran true- blood instantly sputtered out onto his hands, the soldier letting out a strangled yelp. 

Still, Adara only gripped onto Azriel’s neck tightly, the shadowsinger unable to move. If he stayed like this, he would slam face first into the snow, dying from the impact. He was not about to let that happen.

He ripped the knife from Adara’s side, before slamming his elbow straight at the wound. Adara letting out a blood curdling scream. His grip loosened on Azriel’s neck- this was his chance. Thrashing violently, he managed to free himself and climb on top, Truthteller glinting in his hand. 

“Get off of me, you bastard” Adara growled from underneath him, turning sharply in an attempt to throw him off. 

He merely slashed the innermost part of his wings- kept cutting, until the two of them were spiraling down towards the ground. Normally, he would feel terrible, ruining an Illyrian wings like that- but this was different. Adara could’ve flown back to Ironcrest and told Lord Dircon that he was attacked by one of Rhys’s men. And he would have the evidence to prove it. 

The ground approached them quickly. He was beginning to see the individual details of the trees- the evergreen needles, the bumps and ridges on the bark. It was only a matter of time before they hit the snow beneath them. 

Right before they reached the treetops, Azriel spread his wings and leapt off of Adara’s back. Although his wings were still stunned, he did manage to glide to safety, while the other Illyrian thudded against the snow. 

“Help,” Azriel heard him call out, although it was useless to call for aid. They were in the middle of the woods, far enough from Ironcrest that even if someone miraculously heard his pleas, Azriel would’ve already disposed of the body and be on his merry way. 

Still, he walked over to the groaning Illyrian. Grabbing his hair to pull him up. Adara’s groans and screams were silenced by Truthteller, the blade making quick work of the male’s throat. 

“This will be hard to clean up,” he grumbled as blood stained the snow red. He would burn the body, but the smoke would draw unwanted attention. Burying him in a snow bank would be his better- and only- option. Besides, his resources were fairly limited.

A branch snapped behind him. In an instant, a sword replaced Truthteller, Azriel’s eyes darting around to spot the source of the sound. 

“Didn’t think Illyrians would attack their own kin. Especially after they fought a war together. Or is that just you, Shadowsinger?” 

A blade whirled over his head, as Fae emerged from the trees. They were not of the Night Court- or Prythian, for that matter. His shadows swirled around them, before whispering one word into his ear; “Hybern.”

More and more kept coming into view, wield magic, blade, or both. This wasn’t how he planned on spending his day, but if they wanted a fight, they would get one. 

Someone fired a blast of fire straight at his head. Ducking, he was met with a shoe to the face- clearly, he was outnumbered. It would be a miracle if he somehow made it out alive. 

He drove it sword into his attackers, satisfied at the blood spraying on the ground. It didn’t stop them from practically leaping on him- but that didn’t stop him from fighting back either. Even when they managed to pin him on the ground. Even when they whispered something into his ear, his entire body growing limp. Even when everything went dark.

Aegan was flying back to the cabin when the scent of blood hit her. She had shrugged it off at first- this was a war camp, after all. People got cut up all the time. However, it only grew stronger and stronger, despite being a good distance from the Ironcrest main camp. 

Uneasy, she flew a little faster, almost desperate to get out of view. She didn’t know why it irked her so- she craved blood. But this… this didn’t feel the same. 

That was when a shadow came up to Aegan. 

She paused, letting it curl around her ear. No sound came out of it- it wasn’t hers. There was only one other shadowsinger in these mountains, and he was supposed to be in Velaris. 

She watched the shadow dart away from her, to the forest below- nowhere close to the cabin. Why was Az still here? Was he hurt?

Dread sat heavy in her gut as she dove silently towards that spot. That scent only intensified as she got closer- definitely blood, and lots of it. A massacre- hopefully one Azriel wasn’t apart of. Of course, that wouldn’t explain why Azriel’s shadow had found her- he wouldn’t have turned around just for this, knowing that she would make a report of this. 

Aegan landed in the snow nearby, thanking whoever watched over her from above that her footsteps were silent. From here, she could see two bodies lying face-first in the snow- none of them Illyrian. She let out a sigh of relief, before something flashed in the corner of her eye. Already, her two swords were drawn, but it wasn’t a threat. It was Sasha- she must’ve picked up that scent as well. 

The redhead hadn’t noticed her yet- not until Aegan whistled a bird call that her mother had taught the two of them when they were young. She couldn’t remember what bird it was from- some Illyrian songbird her mother liked to draw- but the tune had implanted itself in her memory. 

Almost immediately, Sasha whipped her head in her direction. A look of surprise washed over her face, before disappearing instantly as she pointed up towards the tops of the trees. 

She wanted her to climb. 

Aegan peeled off her gloves, before letting her talons spring free. Like a set of deadly grappling hooks, they dug into the tree’s bark, allowing her to hoist herself up the trunk, over the lower limbs until she settled on one thick branch that was high enough to conceal her. 

Sasha winnowed next to her, perfectly balanced on a nearby branch. “What’s our plan?” She whispered, her throwing knives already in her hands. 

“I’m going in, and kill anyone who comes close. You take the border, and cut down anyone who tries to run,” Aegan said, her talons digging into the bark. “But keep one- I’ll need them later.” 

Sasha didn’t ask why- she knew the answer. One of these Fae must have some sort of useful information. All Aegan needed to do was force it out of them. 

The two nodded at each other, before making their way forward, the branches from other trees close enough that they could easily climb from tree to tree. The closer they got, the more bodies Aegan found- a fae was in the snow, but not her partner. 

She knew the blade embedded in the males neck- Truthteller. Azriel was definitely here. 

Finally, they came to a clearing, where Fae dressed in light armor had formed a semi circle around one male. 

And Azriel, forced onto his knees, was beside him. 

Her shadows screamed his name in her ear, before diving closer to the group. It took every inch of her will to hold them back, especially when she wanted to follow them down. 

“How much do you know?” She heard one of the Fae say, his voice sinister. “What have you told the High Lord?”

The shadowsinger didn’t speak. 

That male hissed. “Are you deaf? We know you work for that bastard- answer me!” 

The shadow singer didn’t speak. Aegan had to admire him for his iron will- and his ability to not just thrash out and kill everyone. That’s what she would’ve done. 

Sasha growled softly, before squeezing her shoulder. “Good luck,” she whispered, disappearing into thin air. Aegan could see her from the tree- the warrior had crouched behind a bush, like a mountain cat waiting for a deer to cross its path.

That male drew back- she was able to see his face now. It was pretty in the way that all fae were pretty- perfect nose, smooth skin. It didn’t stop her from wanting to skin him alive- in fact, she wanted to break that nose, and rip her talons down his face until no one could recognize him.

‘Not yet’, she told herself silently as she slowly descended down the tree. ‘See what the fae does.’ 

A murmur went through the crowd- she wasn’t close enough to hear. Suddenly, they fell silent. Everything in the forest- Aegan included- seemed to hold its breath in anticipation. Closer- she needs to get closer-

Azriel let out a strangled gasp, the sound of steel meeting flesh freezing the blood in Aegan’s veins. 

“Where.” Thud. “Is.” Thud. “He?” 

An odd source of calm washed over her. They wanted to be cruel? So could she.

 ‘Oh, but so much worse, she thought to herself as she marched through the snow- there was no need to conceal herself now. 

“Good morning, bastards” she announced, many of the Fae jumping in alarm. “It seems you have taken something that belongs to me.” 

They didn’t have time to draw their weapons as her shadows engulfed them in darkness. 

~Azriel’s POV~

He couldn’t see anything- not even the now red snow beneath his feet. Was he dead? If so, then how come he still felt the hot, piercing pain where that knife had been buried in him?

Someone screamed- it sounded like one of the Fae who captured him. No, he was definitely alive, and still in the forest. And the darkness surrounding him… 

Shadows- ones that belonged to Aegan. She had gotten his plea for aid.

Any sort of relief quickly vanished as something slammed into him, pitching him into the cold snow. He cried out in pain, a hand instantly flying to his side, then his chest- he had been stabbed twice.

The shadows lifted, revealing the massacre in front of him. Many of the soldiers had their throats ripped open by Aegan’s swords, or had a knife in them. A flash of red hair let him know that Sasha had come as well. 

He forced his eyes open as he watched Aegan and Sasha. In this moment, they couldn’t have been more different- Sasha looked like a dancer, the way she gracefully twirled and took out each fae one by one. She made killing look beautiful. Aegan on the other hand… she was a hurricane. Anything that came close was killed brutally. The Illyrian had no care for elegance or finesse- the only thing that was important was the massacre before her.

It was over in a matter of seconds. Only a few stranglers remained, and they were quickly ended by Aegan’s shadows. Save for one, who Aegan slammed the pommel of her sword into his temple. Sasha also had one, one of her knives pressed against his throat. 

“This one is one of the experienced warriors whose been with the squadron the longest, but I doubt he has the information you want.”

The male looked over at Azriel with a smug look. Wrong move. 

Aegan looked down at the unconscious male at her feet, then at the one in Sasha’s grip. She cocked her head. “I have no need of him,” Aegan told her finally, no emotion in her voice.

The male’s eyes went wide. “Wait-”

Sasha slit his throat before he could continue, dropping him into the snow. Her dark eyes fell on Azriel, her pale complexion going even paler. “Aegan,” she whispered, her face horrified. 

Aegan turned around, her fearful eyes the last thing he saw before everything went dark.

#acotar #original character #acowar #acotar fanfiction #acomaf #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #court of dreams #velaris #mor #Azriel #shadowsinger #Aegan #fanfic #acofas #sarah j maas

[pullcarol0-blog]

2:00PM Water Cooler 12/21/2018

By Lambert Strether of Corrente.

*** Ruth Bader Ginsburg Health Update: Supreme Court Justice Has Cancerous Lung Growths Removed ***

Trade

They issue press releases:

#China's Central Economic Work Conference news release promising on external reforms: pic.twitter.com/crz2zeKEFg

— Bert Hofman (@berthofmanecon) December 21, 2018

“How to fix America’s dysfunctional trade system” [Ryan Cooper, The Week]. “Timothy Meyer and Ganesh Sitaraman at the Great Democracy Initiative have a new paper that presents a solid starting point for developing a fundamental reform of American trade structure…. Then there is the problem of pro-rich bias. Put simply, the last few decades of trade deals have been outrageously biased towards corporations and the rich. They have powerfully enabled the growth of parasitic tax havens, which allow companies to book profits in low-tax jurisdictions, starving countries of rightful revenue (and often leading to companies piling up gargantuan dragon hoards of cash they don’t know what to do with). Corporations, meanwhile, have gotten their own fake legal system in the form of Investor-State Dispute Settlement trade deal stipulations…. Meyer and Sitaraman suggest renegotiating the tax portions of trade deals to enforce a “formulary” tax system — in which profits are taxed where they are made, not where they are booked.” • This is well worth a read for all the policy suggestions. And then there’s this:

[F]or all its other disastrous side effects, Trump’s haphazard tax on aluminum has dramatically revived the American aluminum industry. Ensuring a reasonable domestic supply of key metals like that is so obviously a security concern — for military and consumer uses alike — that it wouldn’t have even occurred to New Deal policymakers to think otherwise. It takes a lot of ideological indoctrination to think there’s no problem when a small price disadvantage causes a country to lose its entire supply chain of key industrial commodities.

Yep.

Politics

“But what is government itself, but the greatest of all reflections on human nature?” –James Madison, Federalist 51

2020

“The Democratic Party Is Getting Ready for a Very Messy 2020 Primary Race” [New York Magazine]. “The basic debate schedule itself acknowledges the likely massive field, and the potential for a drawn-out scrap for delegates that will ultimately determine the nomination. Perez said the first debate will be held in June 2019 — earlier than Republicans’ late-summer kickoff in 2015 — and the last one is scheduled for April 2020 — deep into the primary calendar, once the early-voting states and Super Tuesday have passed, and by which point the field is (usually) much winnowed. Perhaps not this time.”

“Critics Say Bernie Sanders Is Too Old, Too White, and Too Socialist to Run for President in 2020. They’re Wrong.” [The Intercept]. “Despite refusing to join the Democrats in the wake of the 2016 election, the party’s base still adores him. As of October 2018, he had a whopping 78 percent approval rating with Democratic voters.” • Yeah, but who cares about them?

2018 Post Mortem

“Americans Actually Voted in the 2018 Midterms” [Bloomberg]. • These are very interesting charts, but marred by being two-dimensional. It’s really absurd to put AOC and CIA asset Spanberger in the same blue box, or consider them both “left.”

Mattis Flap

Let The Hagiography Begin (1):

All Americans should take time to read General Mattis’s letter of resignation. It is a truly beautiful letter that speaks to our very best values as a nation. https://t.co/XY0mvqfv9q

— Nancy Pelosi (@NancyPelosi) December 21, 2018

Let The Hagiography Begin (2):

Sen. Schumer: "Sec. Mattis was 1 of the few symbols, the few items of strength & stability in this administration. Everything that indicates stability, everything that indicates strength, everything that indicates knowledge is leaving this administration." https://t.co/Bd79j1n4xF pic.twitter.com/22Byt1iZkh

— The Hill (@thehill) December 21, 2018

Breath of Sanity (1): “Random Observation” [Eschaton]. “Whatever the brain worms are telling him, I’m pretty sure that I’d generally prefer Donald Trump be running Not War instead of War, almost no matter what.”

Breath of Sanity (2):

Holy crap. I agree with Stephen Miller on Wolf Blitzer’s show on #CNN. He’s calling for US to get out of other nation’s wars!!! The world is upside down.

— Medea Benjamin (@medeabenjamin) December 20, 2018

Breath of Sanity (3):

1. I support withdrawing US troops from all these wars, overt and covert. 2. Trump is an unstable authoritarian who cannot be trusted. 3. “Mattis was an adult” is bullshit. He’s a hawkish war criminal. 4. It’s very telling that the war party in DC is furious.

— jeremy scahill (@jeremyscahill) December 21, 2018

“How the Trump-Mattis alliance crumbled” [CNN]. “Eight months before his resignation, Mattis managed to forestall the Syria troop withdrawal after the President announced during a rally in Ohio that US troops would soon be coming home. Meeting later in the Situation Room, Trump told his military and national security advisers they had six months to wrap up the mission in Syria.” • Interesting…

“Fear Mounts as Mattis Quits Pentagon” [Daily Beast] • And fear means clicks!

New Cold War

“Prosecutors win court fight over secret subpoena of a foreign company” [WaPo]. “A federal appeals court ruled Tuesday against a foreign company embroiled in a secret subpoena fight… Officials have not confirmed who the prosecutors on the case are, but on the day the court order under appeal was issued, two lawyers were observed exiting a sealed hearing before Chief Judge Beryl A. Howell of the U.S. District Court for the District of Columbia — who oversees grand-jury proceedings — along with five prosecutors with the special counsel’s office, including appellate specialist Michael Dreeben… The framing of the debate suggests that whatever the company is, it is not one that has a significant business presence in the United States, because foreign firms operating in America typically comply with demands from U.S. authorities for evidence.” • Hmm.

Realignment and Legitimacy

“Democrats Just Blocked Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez’s Push For A Green New Deal Committee” [HuffPo]. “Democratic leaders [***cough*** Pelosi ***cough***] on Thursday tapped Rep. Kathy Castor (D-Fla.) to head a revived U.S. House panel on climate change, all but ending a dramatic monthlong effort to establish a select committee on a Green New Deal. Castor’s appointment came as a surprise to proponents of a Green New Deal. … Despite weeks of protests demanding House Democrats focus efforts next year on drafting a Green New Deal, the sort of sweeping economic policy that scientists say matches the scale of the climate crisis, Castor told E&E News the plan was “not going to be our sole focus.” She then suggested that barring members who have accepted donations from the oil, gas and coal industries from serving on the committee could be unconstitutional. “I don’t think you can do that under the First Amendment, really,” she said.” • Cool. Liberals totally on board with Citizens United. I don’t think this appointment is the end of the issue.

“Liberals No Longer Feel Your Pain” [Ted Rall, Counterpunch]. “I noticed the de-empathification of the Democratic Party during the implementation of Obamacare. I lived in one of many counties with zero or one plan on offer…. On Facebook I complained about the paucity of affordable plans in my online health insurance marketplace. “I don’t know what you’re going on about,” one of my friends snarked. ‘I found an excellent, affordable plan.’ My friend lives in Manhattan… In the 1970s right-wing Republicans like Richard Nixon promoted the cliché of the “limousine liberal”: self-righteous, hypocritical, privileged and disconnected from Joe and Jane Sixpack. I don’t know if it was true then. It certainly is now.” • Falling life expectancy in flyover isn’t even on liberal Democrat radar as a policy issue.

“Do America’s Socialists Have a Race Problem?” [The New Republic]. The deck: “Inside a raging debate that has split the country’s most exciting new political movement.” The paragraph that caught my eye: “In one notable dispute, a brake light repair initiative in the [Momentum (democratic centralist?)] East Bay DSA was flatly rejected by the chapter’s co-chairs, who refused to put it up for a vote. The repair clinics first sprouted in New Orleans as a strategy to combat police brutality, as people of color are often pulled over for problems as innocuous as broken taillights. These traffic stops can even lead to—as in the case of Philando Castile—killings by the police. While DSA chapters across the country soon began replicating the program, and embraced it as an effective way to build a stronger working-class base, East Bay leadership remained strongly resistant to the campaign. In a private conversation, one East Bay co-chair insinuated to a member of color organizing the clinic that it would look like ‘white saviorism.’ A former member of the chapter’s leadership referred to it as ‘charity’ in a blog post.” • Well, that’s just dumb. Super dumb. FWIW, I thought the headline was a bit clickbaity, and the author, though writing in good faith, probably missed plenty of local nuance. That said: (1) America’s socialists have a problem with race, because America does; and (2) America’s socialists also have a problem with class, for the same reason, and (3) the Democrat Party has a substantial presence among aspirational policy entrepreneurs of color, shall we say, who have their own strongly felt institutional objectives. Worth noting that back in the 30s, the CPUSA was one of very few institutions to defend the Scottsboro Boys (the NAACP being the other). So it’s not like there’s no heritage here to build on.

Stats Watch

GDP, Q3 2018: “The third quarter was a strong one for the economy, getting a boost from an overdue inventory build but driven once again by the most important factor and that is consumer spending” [Econintersect]. “Whether continued strength for the consumer can be expected in the fourth quarter will get an indication later this morning with the personal income and outlays report for November.”

Personal Income and Outlays, November 2018: “November was a mixed month for the consumer as personal income managed only a lower-than-expected … gain which is offset, however, by a solid and higher-than-expected … rise for consumer spending” [Econintersect]. “November was a mixed month for the consumer as personal income managed only a lower-than-expected 0.2 percent gain which is offset, however, by a solid and higher-than-expected 0.4 percent rise for consumer spending.”

Durable Goods Orders, November 2018: “A swing higher for the always volatile aircraft group gave an outsized lift to durable goods orders” [Econoday]. “The biggest disappointment, and the heart of the capital goods group, is machinery where November orders sank a very steep 1.7 percent.” • Not good, in a capitalist economy.

Kansas City Fed Manufacturing Index, December 2018: “This morning’s durable goods report proved no better than mixed as have many of the recent regional manufacturing reports including Kansas City’s composite index for December which slowed” [Econintersect]. “And flattening is a reasonable description for the nation’s factory sector in general, ending what was a strong 2018 with a bit of fizzle.”

Consumer Sentiment, December 2018 (Final): “Consumer sentiment ends this month at a stronger-than-expected index level” [Econintersect]. “The feeling of this report is very much like personal income and outlays, hinting at consumer spending strength at a time of limited income growth and very flat inflation.”

Corporate Profits, Q3 2018: “After-tax corporate profits rose a year-on-year 6.1 percent” [Econintersect].

The Bezzle: “Wall Street’s Billionaire Machine, Where Almost Everyone Gets Rich” [Bloomberg]. “Eric Smidt is a new kind of super-rich. He made his fortune by transforming an old-fashioned business into a giant ATM, an overhaul aided by one of the hottest plays on Wall Street: collateralized loan obligations. Meet the new aristocrats of debt—the people and companies cashing in on a record boom in these once-marginal investments whose relatively high returns have attracted yield-hungry investors. They’ve fueled a rapid buildup in corporate debt that some think could become the epicenter of the next credit crisis but has been minting money for many.” • Oh.

The Bezzle: “Personally I’ve Never Experienced Anything Like That” [Current Affairs]. “Amazon pays employees specifically to tweet that they are well-treated and not exploited. And they’re very vigilant—I recently wrote an article pondering the ethical quandary of shopping at Amazon while being critical of its labor practices, and the very same “Fulfillment Center Ambassador” from one of the news articles about the practice (“Phil”) popped up to tell me that he himself feels he is treated fairly…. [A]ssuming they are people and not robots (however much Amazon is intent on blurring the distinction between those two categories), and they are treated well and sincere in relating their positive experiences, I think it’s worth pointing out the very simple problem with what they’re saying. ‘I have not experienced this problem personally’ does not make a very good case that ‘This problem is not experienced by others.'”

The Bezzle: “Uber’s entire business model is in jeopardy after losing its latest legal battle over the rights of UK drivers” [Business Insider]. “Uber has lost its latest court bid to stop its British drivers being classified as workers, entitling them to rights such as the minimum wage, in a decision which jeopardizes the taxi app’s business model…. Uber said it would appeal the verdict, meaning the legal process will continue.”

The 420

“The world’s biggest beer company is looking at making cannabis drinks” [CNN]. “Could Budweiser drinkers soon be swapping beer for pot? AB InBev (BUD), the world’s biggest brewer, said Wednesday that it’s teaming up with Canada’s Tilray (TLRY) to research cannabis-infused drinks. It’s the latest major company to start exploring the pot market following decisions to legalize recreational marijuana in Canada and a number of American states. AB InBev and Tilray will invest a combined $100 million into researching non-alcoholic drinks containing cannabis elements.” • My vision of marijuana legalization was always small, local growers and no corporate advertising. Oh well.

“Pot Unites Democrats, Republicans as Ex-Party Chiefs Join Tilray” [Bloomberg]. “Tilray Inc., the first cannabis company to list directly on a U.S. exchange, announced Thursday the formation of a 10-person advisory board including Howard Dean, a former presidential candidate and chairman of the Democratic National Committee between 2005 and 2009, and Michael Steele, head of the Republican National Committee from 2009 to 2011.”

Gaia

“What a Newfound Kingdom Means for the Tree of Life” [Quanta]. “The tree of life just got another major branch. Researchers recently found a certain rare and mysterious microbe called a hemimastigote in a clump of Nova Scotian soil. Their subsequent analysis of its DNA revealed that it was neither animal, plant, fungus nor any recognized type of protozoan — that it in fact fell far outside any of the known large categories for classifying complex forms of life (eukaryotes). Instead, this flagella-waving oddball stands as the first member of its own ‘supra-kingdom’ group, which probably peeled away from the other big branches of life at least a billion years ago…. Impressive as this finding about hemimastigotes is on its own, what matters more is that it’s just the latest (and most profound) of a quietly and steadily growing number of major taxonomic additions. Researchers keep uncovering not just new species or classes but entirely new kingdoms of life — raising questions about how they have stayed hidden for so long and how close we are to finding them all.” • Like Hollywood, nobody knows anything. Or at least not much. Although I have known some flagella-waving oddballs, generally in corporate environments…

“Widespread, occasional use of antibiotics in U.S. linked with resistance” [Harvard School of Public Health] (original). “The increasing prevalence of antibiotic resistance in the U.S. appears more closely linked with their occasional use by many people than by their repeated use among smaller numbers of people, according to a large new study from Harvard T.H. Chan School of Public Health…. ‘Our findings suggest that combatting inappropriate antibiotic use among people who don’t take many antibiotics may be just as important, or more important, to fighting resistance than focusing on high-intensity users,’ said lead author Scott Olesen, postdoctoral fellow in the Department of Immunology and Infectious Diseases. ‘More antibiotic use generally means more antibiotic resistance, but it seems like the number of people taking antibiotics might matter more than the amount they’re taking.'”

Police State Watch

“Alabama police department blames Satan for spike in homicides” [Atlanta Journal-Constitution]. This was the now-deleted Facebook post from the Opp Police Department:

THIS PAST SUNDAY, A YOUNG MAN WAS SHOT AND KILLED IN KINSTON. MONDAY NIGHT, A MOTHER WAS SHOT AND KILLED IN NORTHERN COVINGTON COUNTY. THERE HAVE BEEN FIVE MURDERS IN COVINGTON COUNTY IN 2018. THESE MURDERS HAVE BEEN DONE BY OUR YOUNG PEOPLE. THIS IS HAPPENING BECAUSE WE HAVE TURNED AWAY FROM GOD AND EMBRACED SATAN. WE MAY HAVE NOT MEANT TO DO SO BUT, WE HAVE. IT IS TIME TO ASK FOR GOD’S HELP TO STOP THIS. IT IS TIME TO BE PARENTS AND RAISE OUR CHILDREN, NOT HAVE THEM RAISE US. IT IS TIME TO FULLY SUPPORT LAW ENFORCEMENT AND STAND BY THE OFFICERS AND DEPUTIES THAT ARE FAR TOO OFTEN HAVING TO WALK INTO THESE DANGEROUS SITUATIONS AND CLEAN UP THE MESS. FRIENDS, IT IS TIME TO STAND UP AND BE RESPONSIBLE, GROWN UP LEADERS IN OUR COMMUNITY. BOTTOM LINE, THERE ARE SHEEP; THERE ARE WOLVES AND THERE ARE SHEEP DOGS. WHICH GROUP DO YOU BELONG TO?

I am successfully resisting my urge to mock (well, except for the ALL CAPS) because of the multiple levels of tragedy: So many deaths in a small town, and the evident inablility of the local elites to cope. And it’s not any more crazypants than what you hear from a typical neoliberal economist. Just no pseudo-mathematics.

Class Warfare

“Is It Merely A Labor Supply Shock? Impacts of Syrian Migrants on Local Economies in Turkey” (PDF) [Doruk Cengiz, Hasan Tekguc, Political Economy Research Institute]. “We use a large and geographically varying inflow of over 2.5 million Syrian migrants in Turkey between 2012 and 2015 to study the effect of migration on local economies. We do not find adverse employment or wage effects for native-born Turkish workers overall, or those without a high school degree. These results are robust to a range of strategies to construct reliable control groups. Our analysis suggests that migration-induced increases in regional demand, capital supply, and productivity enable local labor markets to absorb inflow of migrant labor.” • Contra post-Mariel studies of Florida.

Xmas Cheer

“Hackers Celebrate Holidays With Fake Amazon, Apple Receipt Attacks” [NewYork Magazine]. “You get an email about an order from Amazon or Apple you’re not quite sure you placed — but who knows in the last-minute rush to make the Christmas deadline? You click through to see what exactly you ordered, and congrats, you’ve just got spear-phished. Happy holidays! Two recent phishing attacks outlined over at Bleeping Computer, work slightly differently but use the same basic principle to lure users in: send them a receipt for a purchase, get them to click through to a link to see what the purchase was for, and then hope the user makes some unwise choices.” • Stay safe out there!

News of the Wired

“The intertwined quest for understanding biological intelligence and creating artificial intelligence” [Stanford HAI]. “Thus both neuroscience and AI have deeply shared scientific goals of understanding how network performance and decision making arises as an emergent property of network connectivity and dynamics. Therefore the development of ideas and theories from theoretical neuroscience, and applied physics and mathematics could help in analyzing AI systems. Moreover, the behavior of AI systems could change the nature of experimental design in neuroscience, focusing the experimental effort on those aspects of network function that are poorly understood in AI. Overall, there is much to be gained from tighter connections between neuroscience, AI, and many other theoretical disciplines, which could bring about unified laws for the emergence of intelligence in biological and artificial systems alike, as we suggest next.” • If we really understood biological intelligence — the epigraph for the article is from Richard Feynman: “What I cannot create, I do not understand” — would handing that understanding over to, say, Jeff Bezos be a good thing? Why?

* * *

Readers, feel free to contact me at lambert [UNDERSCORE] strether [DOT] corrente [AT] yahoo [DOT] com, with (a) links, and even better (b) sources I should curate regularly, (c) how to send me a check if you are allergic to PayPal, and (d) to find out how to send me images of plants. Vegetables are fine! Fungi are deemed to be honorary plants! If you want your handle to appear as a credit, please place it at the start of your mail in parentheses: (thus). Otherwise, I will anonymize by using your initials. See the previous Water Cooler (with plant) here. Today’s plant (4Corners):

Everything is still sunny inTucson, AZ! I love floral tapestries like this, made up of different colors and textures.

* * *

Readers: Water Cooler is a standalone entity not covered by the annual NC fundraiser, now completed. So do feel free to make a contribution today or any day. Here is why: Regular positive feedback both makes me feel good and lets me know I’m on the right track with coverage. When I get no donations for five or ten days I get worried. More tangibly, a constant trickle of small donations helps me with expenses, and I factor that trickle in when setting fundraising goals. So if you see something you especially appreciate, do feel free to click below! (The hat is temporarily defunct, so I slapped in some old code.)

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This entry was posted in Guest Post, Water Cooler on December 21, 2018 by Lambert Strether.

About Lambert Strether

Readers, I have had a correspondent characterize my views as realistic cynical. Let me briefly explain them. I believe in universal programs that provide concrete material benefits, especially to the working class. Medicare for All is the prime example, but tuition-free college and a Post Office Bank also fall under this heading. So do a Jobs Guarantee and a Debt Jubilee. Clearly, neither liberal Democrats nor conservative Republicans can deliver on such programs, because the two are different flavors of neoliberalism (“Because markets”). I don’t much care about the “ism” that delivers the benefits, although whichever one does have to put common humanity first, as opposed to markets. Could be a second FDR saving capitalism, democratic socialism leashing and collaring it, or communism razing it. I don’t much care, as long as the benefits are delivered. To me, the key issue — and this is why Medicare for All is always first with me — is the tens of thousands of excess “deaths from despair,” as described by the Case-Deaton study, and other recent studies. That enormous body count makes Medicare for All, at the very least, a moral and strategic imperative. And that level of suffering and organic damage makes the concerns of identity politics — even the worthy fight to help the refugees Bush, Obama, and Clinton’s wars created — bright shiny objects by comparison. Hence my frustration with the news flow — currently in my view the swirling intersection of two, separate Shock Doctrine campaigns, one by the Administration, and the other by out-of-power liberals and their allies in the State and in the press — a news flow that constantly forces me to focus on matters that I regard as of secondary importance to the excess deaths. What kind of political economy is it that halts or even reverses the increases in life expectancy that civilized societies have achieved? I am also very hopeful that the continuing destruction of both party establishments will open the space for voices supporting programs similar to those I have listed; let’s call such voices “the left.” Volatility creates opportunity, especially if the Democrat establishment, which puts markets first and opposes all such programs, isn’t allowed to get back into the saddle. Eyes on the prize! I love the tactical level, and secretly love even the horse race, since I’ve been blogging about it daily for fourteen years, but everything I write has this perspective at the back of it.

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Source: https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2018/12/200pm-water-cooler-12-21-2018.html

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[courtofsapphiresandshadows]

Chapter Seven- Rhysand

Rhysand stared at the Illyrian in front of him. Aegan, slouching enough that it must have been uncomfortable, stared back.

They had been like this for minutes now, neither of them daring to spur up a conversation. Rhysand contemplated simply searching her mind for the information that he needed, but if she really was as powerful as Cassian suggested... He'd prefer that his office remain somewhat tidy.

"So?" Aegan said finally, arching a blonde eyebrow. "Are we going to talk, or..."

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, loosening a sigh. This was going to be a long conversation.

"Tell me about yourself."

She snorted, but seeing that he was being serious, she cleared her throat. "Where do I start?"

"Start with basic information- we know absolutely nothing about you, even our shadowsinger."

"Well, I do have a remarkable ability to lay low", she joked, cracking a smile. "But, my name's Aegan, as you already know. Aegan Malum. I lived in Ironcrest, and... I left."

"You left?"

Aegan frowned. "It wasn't my choice- as much as I hated living there, Ironcrest was my home at the time."

He nodded. "Where did you go?"

She shrugged. "I don't know."

"You don't know where you went." Either Aegan was going insane, or she was lying.

"Exactly- well, I'm pretty sure that I didn't leave the Night Court, but I'm not sure where exactly in the Night court I was."

Rhysand pinched the bridge of his nose. "So you're telling me, that you were in Ironcrest one day, and the next you were somewhere else?"

Aegan dipped her head. "It's strange, yes, but it did happen. You'll have to trust me on that one", she told him.

"Trust goes both ways, you know", he reprimanded. Rhysand didn't miss the wary gaze she threw at the others, how her shadows seemed to form a protective wall around her every time one of them got near. It surprised him that she wasn't doing it now- possibly, since he told her she could leave whenever.

Aegan threw him a cold smile. "Forgive my wariness from previous experiences of men with power."

A pause of silence passed. "Care to elaborate?"

That smile dropped, her face going dark. "Not really."

Rhysand prodded her mind, surprised to find a thick adamant wall surrounding it. She obviously had practice- from who, he didn't know. Daemati were rare as is, and he doubted that there were Illyrian daemati roaming about.

He nudged gently against her shields, locking eyes with the young Illyrian. "May I?"

Her eyes flashed, but she relaxed in her chair once again, dropping her shields, allowing him to slip through. She murmured to be careful, before everything went dark.

Aegan's mind was nothing but inky darkness. It was cold, so cold that it could make Azriel's usual icy demeanor seem warm.

Something brushed against Rhysand. He grasped it, surprised to feel a small warmth emitting from it. Peering into it, he saw a woman's face- Aegan's face, but older.  Her mother, most likely.

"What is my little song bird doing today?" She murmured softly, brushing his face- Aegan's face- with a soft hand.

Suddenly, the memory began to fade, and Rhysand was in the dark again. He continued his search, reaching out with his power to find anything that might show Rhysand who Aegan was.

The next memory was not as warm.

He heard the Illyrian war drums first. Then he smelled the blood.

Looking around, Rhysand saw the bound wings, and the naked chested young males surrounding him. It was the rite- and Aegan was in it.

The Illyrian war drums sounded again, and Rhysand felt Aegan tense up, ready to bolt to the top of that mountain. And judging by the hard glares the males were sending her way, they were determined to prevent that from happening.

A horn blared, and they were off.

It didn't take long for the first male to jump at her. It also didn't take long for her to take him down.

She was already coated in blood by the time she reached the foot of the mountain. But no matter how many Aegan had left dead, more just kept coming. Obviously, the males had yet to learn that there was nothing more deadly than a female on a mission- Aegan would make it to the top of the mountain. Rhysand was just glad that he didn't have to face her when he completed the rite with Cassian and Az.

Rhysand could feel her shiver against the harsh wind, but she kept running. Exhaustion was creeping in, Aegan stumbling through the knee deep snow. Still, the Illyrian, the only female Rhys had ever heard of  compete in the Rite, pushed her way to the top.

Where someone had been waiting for her.

At first, he didn't recognize the male, but his nasty smile instantly showed him that it was Dircon, the current war lord of Ironcrest. He was just as ugly as he was now.

"Step aside, Dircon. You are not apart of this rite" Aegan growled, Rhysand feeling her fists clench. "What are you doing here anyways?"

Dircon smiled, both Rhysand and Aegan snarling back. "To preserve tradition, my dear. You are a threat to our way of life."

"Our way of life is a threat to everyone!" She shouted over the wind. "We pit children to fight against themselves for crying out loud! Me completing the Rite won't change anything- only the fact that females might be able to do something other than clean."

Dircon growled at her. "Move, Malum. Before I cut you down."

"Weren't you going to do that anyways?" Aegan pointed out, but dropped into a crouch, her fingers curling slightly before diving to the left as Dircon swung a mace at her. He was powerful, yet slow enough that  Aegan had just enough time to push herself to her feet. She practically hobbled for that stone, it was just an arm's reach away-

Something slammed into her side, knocking the wind out of her as Aegan went flying across the stone platform. Dircon's mace had embedded itself in her ribs- at least one of them had to be broken, judging by the crunching sound she heard as she hit the ground. Rhysand screamed at her to get up, as Dircon paced closer, but she couldn't hear him. Of course she couldn't- this was just a memory.

"Getting slow Aegan?" He taunted, crouching next to the girl, before roughly grabbing her hair. "Pity. It seems like you inherited that from your mother- she couldn't fly fast enough to avoid losing her wings."

Aegan snapped. Whatever had been holding back her powers was not enough- Rhysand feel something cold, yet fiery, wash over Aegan's body. Dircon must've felt it too, because he suddenly backed up, feet shuffling through the snow.

Cold fingers brushed over the even colder metal mace in her side. Aegan growled, and ripped it out, whatever pain she should've experienced washed down with pure anger. She rose, stared down the retreating male, and unleashed herself upon him.

Dircon screamed- actually screamed- as she tackled him to the ground. Something erupted from her fingertips, and claws- much like Rhysand's- found themselves embedded in his chest. She then slashed them across his body. He whimpered and begged for mercy, but she didn't stop- Rhysand wouldn't either.

She was about to gorge his eyes out when he winnowed away. Aegan stared at the patch of snow where he once laid before her, and roared. It shook the mountain, shouts of alarm echoing throughout the mountain range as shadows burst from her skin, the sound of leather wings ringing through Rhysand's ears-

Then there was nothing.

Rhysand looked around- he had returned to the dark abyss. At least, he thought he did, before he heard the shrieking.

Whipping his head around, he took in a forest, tall trees obscuring the sunlight that desperately tried to pierce through. The grass under his feet was dead, and no animals could be heard. Those tall trees, after a second evaluation, were actually shards of rock, blood coating the tips. Where was he?

He finally found the source of the shrieking. A woman laid next to one of the shards, her nails digging in her scalp as she rocked back and forth. Rhysand crept closer, his feet making no sound as he watched Aegan cry.

"Get out of my head", the girl sobbed, pounding her head against the stone behind her. Rhysand crouched next to her, reaching out a hand to place on her shoulder to assure that everything was okay, when he suddenly heard laughter.

He recognized that sound anywhere- Hybern. His fingers instantly reached for a sword, but found none. Panic raced through him as he heard it again, Aegan loosening another sob. It was hell- how she managed to not go insane was beyond him. Maybe she was insane, but was able to keep it hidden from view.

"Aegan", he whispered to her, briefly glancing over his shoulder to look at her.

"Get out of my head", she repeated, her hands shaking.

"Aegan, look at me-"

"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" She screamed, her face twisted with anger. As Rhysand looked at her fully, he noticed the cuts her nails created on her arms, and how her eyes couldn't seem to fix onto anything. He had blinded her.

Something sharp yanked at his spine, and he found himself flying away from the memory, and away from her mind. He saw a small light, and desperately reached for it, horror racing through him when he thought he could hear the echo of Hybern's laugh in his mind-

Rhysand gasped suddenly, gripping the arm rests of his chair tightly. For some reason, he didn't expect her mind to be so dark and cold.

Aegan looked at the floor, her face white, as tears leaked from her eyes. "Please", she whispered softly, "don't make me go through that again."

He reached across the table, and gently squeezed one of her hands. "No", he agreed, "never again."

When he stood up to leave her, Aegan whirled in her chair. "Don't tell them."

He cocked a brow. "Who?"

"Your friends. Nesta. The Illyrians. I don't want their pity", she told him, before shakily standing up.

"It's incredibly brave to go through that experience, Aegan", he assured her. "There's nothing to be ashamed of."

She shook her head. "No, it's not that. I don't want Ironcrest finding out that they managed to break me."

He had no words for her. He meerly nodded his head, before walking out, not before seeing Aegan walk to the balcony, spread her wings, and take off into the darkening sky.

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