Continuing Tales

Velaris

A A Court of Thorns and Roses Story
by Rhysand_vs_Fenrys

Part 1 of 4

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Velaris

Protect Velaris. Protect each other. I love you all. I’m sorry. I’m so sor-

And just like that, Rhysand was gone.

Cassian and Azriel were on the roof when Rhys’ voice filled their minds. They felt his shield rising over Velaris, and a sudden invisible binding of their very beings to it.

“No!” Cassian roared as the shield slipped into place. He launched himself into the air, desperate to outpace its rise. Azriel shouted something at him, but red filled his vision, rage screamed in his ears, and his very blood boiled in his veins. He felt Rhys’ spell around his throat and he flew harder and faster, tightening the noose.

The shield sealed above and still Cassian flew hard and fast up, up, up. He was roaring with a primal, feral rage that ripped the air from his lungs. That scream made his enemies on the battlefield piss themselves and run, it taught even the most puffed-up Illyrian general fear. 

His rage was something not wholly of this world.

And yet it still wasn’t enough to stop what was happening.

Magic- the will of the High Lord- was making it harder and harder to draw breath as Cassian’s wings flapped. He wasn’t gaining altitude like he should- as if some invisible string were wrapped around his wings too. Someone below was shouting at him. White spots danced in his eyes as he struggled against the tether and that noose tightened further around his throat. He blasted out with all the power contained in his syphons- but something caught it and dissipated the power into the air around him.

Tighter and tighter that noose wound, harder and harder Cassian struggled against it. He could feel those monsters flooding the court- his court. He heard the battle-call of the Illyrian legions as they rose up against whatever horror Amarantha had sent-

-until he felt Rhysand vanish.

It was as if something had been ripped out of Cassian. The chamber in his mind kept open for his High Lord and brother went icy cold and still. The shield clicked into place once and for all and- and even though everything Illyrian in his blood still roared, the link to his Camp Lord- to Rhysand- was simply gone

Silent.

Still.

Lost.

Cassian didn’t fight the noose around his neck. He stopped flapping his wings and a wall of air slammed into him as the shield extended down, forcing him back to Velaris. Gravity sent him hurtling from the sky until something black flashed around him, he was winnowed, and Cassian slammed into the cold stone of the townhouse hard.

Azriel pulled him to his feet as he gasped and choked.

Tears- actual tears- were on Azriel’s cheeks as he looked up at the shield that buried them all alive. He threw his shadows out and found it had pushed down to only twenty feet above the townhouse. Room enough to fly, but not much more than that. Not nearly the room required to build up enough momentum to try and punch through to the outside world.

Mor’s screams ripped through the entirely of the townhouse and threw both males into action. 

Cassian scrambled for the rooftop doors even as he continued to choke and cough. Azriel simply jumped off the roof and let his wings somewhat soften the force of his landing. He ripped the garden door entirely off its hinges in his haste to get inside.

Amren was on the ground, kneeling and holding Mor tight as she thrashed and screamed. Black smoke was exploding from the blonde fae, but either from Rhys’ shield or Amren’s own magic, she could not winnow to her cousin’s side. Azriel’s shadows fed on that darkness, reading and assessing and coming back silent. His world- a world that should encompass the entirety of the Night Court, had vanished in a blink. 

He could winnow within the shields- he’d done as much to get Cassian back in his free fall- but that was as far as his reach could stretch.

Cassian crashed down the stairs and stopped by his side. He stared at Mor, lost in the same hysteria that had gripped him, at Amren looking fit to slaughter the continent- but still cool and in control, at Azriel, tears still on his face as he realized they were well and truly trapped.

Before it was over- before that damnable shield shattered- Cassian would know what must have shown in his own eyes in that moment.

Wrath.


 

Four Years Later

Cassian’s world twisted and bent. Alleys turned into tunnels, tunnels turned into sprawling valleys, and those valleys in turn became rivers of light and noise.

He avoided the rivers. Something about them whispered to Cassian of rage, pain, and shame. Something in him hated them, and hated how much needed them. 

He stumbled away from the cacophony of life and light, and vanished into the darkness.


Mor barely listened to the reports given by Velaris’ palace governors. That counsel of males and females was far more used to running itself than having even Rhys sit in, but they humored his third in command. 

Especially now.

Every minute of every day was agony for Mor- for all of the Inner Circle. Her entire being was screaming that her cousin and friend was in danger. That was a whisper compared to the deafening roar of a subject raging to protect her High Lord. Her skin burned, her hands ached for the hilt of an Illyrian sword, and she had to clench her teeth together to keep from screaming with it all.

“Lady Morrigan?” One of the governors touched her hand lightly.

Mor jumped but swallowed her snarl. She took in the faces of the males and females around her- concern practically rippled off of them.

“My apologies,” she said quickly. She provided no excuses and they expected none from her.

“The High Lord sealed Velaris along with a small portion of the neighboring farmland. Most of our fishing grounds are likewise situated outside of the shield.” Einion, the male who governed the Palace of Hoof and Leaf, repeated himself for her benefit. “We estimate that what we have access to- along with careful breeding of our existing livestock population, will suffice to feed Velaris’ current population with only limited rationing. However… in the short term we can account for natural expansions to the population, but in the long term-“

“You want to put population control measures in place?” Abra said. The governess of the Palace of Thread and Jewels was a quiet, small woman who chose to keep her hair concealed beneath an intricately beaded headscarf. Her designs were always among Mor’s favorites and outside of the Inner Circle, Abra was perhaps her closest friend in Velaris.

Einion sighed, “I don’t want to, but I thought it would be better to start this discussion now. We’ve lost a sizable chunk of our farmlands, we can support a population increase of perhaps four hundred Fae before rationing will have to be implemented. Our breeding programs with the livestock are showing promise, but we have the issue of what to feed those additional livestock.”

“Four hundred Fae?” Mor frowned, “I know Velaris has a large population, but how long before we reach that threshold?”

“At the current rate of births, about twenty years. Now- Lady Morrigan, we all hope the High Lord defeats Amarantha well before then, but-“

“-no.” Mor’s heart was pounding in her chest. She sat back and took a long drink from the water in front of her, “No, you’re right. We can’t assume the shield will lift… I would have bet my life it wasn’t going to last a week, let alone…” her head felt too light, the air too thick. Mor pushed away from the table and stood, “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well.” Abra reached out for her friend’s hand, but Mor brushed her off and swept quickly from the meeting chamber.

She couldn’t get enough air- even outside on the streets. The people of Velaris looked to her, but whatever they saw in her eyes made them think twice about speaking. She rushed away from the Palace of Bone and Salt, away from the governors meeting inside, and away from the horrors they were discussing.

Not the population control- the most that would amount to would be asking Fae to limit reproduction. Wholly voluntary, nothing more. The people of Velaris would agree with minimal grumbling to limit reproduction rather than face starvation. 

No- it was the reality that the shield could last far, far longer. 

That this could be just the beginning.

The shield- it was impenetrable. Could air even get through? Mor felt dizzy. The ground tilted beneath her feet as her heart continued to race. She had to get away, off the street. Concern was beginning to light the eyes of those around her. She was their leader in Rhys’ stead, she couldn’t fall apart, couldn’t break, not here, not where they could see.

Strong hands clamped around her shoulders and Mor stifled a shout. Panic was making it hard for her eyes to focus, but whoever held her dragged her into an alley between two shops- somewhere cold, dark, and deserted. 

Rough, calloused hand clamped down on either side of her face and two large, black eyes met her own. 

Stared her down.

Mor gripped Azriel’s forearms, holding herself up as her gasps turned to sobs. He just stared at her, giving her a face- a friendly face- to center herself around. His shadows wrapped around them tight, and for good measure he stretched his wings to fill the alley and block her from sight at either end.

“Breathe.” His voice was soft, gentle. Few even in the Inner Circle had ever heard him speak with such soothing grace, “Take a deep breath- deeper. Hold it. Now blow it out slowly. Again… Again.”

After the shields went up, after Rhys- things changed in the Inner Circle. 

They’d all felt that noose around their necks, the tether that held them to the shields. Only if all of them broke it together would the shield fall and that spell be undone. Rhys was trusting them to keep one another sane… 

But all it would have taken was a word. All it would have taken was a whisper of a plan and every last one of them would have broken free. Even Amren, in her way, showed disapproval at being caged.

But they had their charge- Rhys’ last words. They checked in on one another almost every day, but over four years things had grown strained. The Inner Circle loved one another desperately, four years could not undo more than five hundred... It was simply that they also knew how dangerous they were together.

How quickly, how easily they could be convinced to rip apart that shield and probably die in the hell Amarantha unleashed. 

Would she make Rhys watch as she ripped the wings off of the Illyrians? As she carved Mor’s scalp away? Amren alone would survive, but did it truly count as survival if all of those she called friends died?

So they allowed distance to grow between them, to save Velaris from their desperation and rage. Fae were immortal, but that didn’t change the passage of time. A year was not shorter just because you could see a thousand of them. A day could still be an eternity, especially when your family was too scared of what they might do given half a chance.

Azriel had kept a watchful eye on the others as he tried to wrestle that beast inside him that still wanted nothing more than to rip the shield apart. Cassian made a point to visit even Amren but he never, never said Rhys’ name. Mor met the others for food or drinks, but never more than two members of the Inner Circle at once.

Amren- even she had a way of showing up at everyone’s doors, giving them a once over with those unnerving silver eyes, and leaving without saying anything but “You need to eat more”. 

Even as the months rolled by and more time passed between visits, Amren still had a way of knowing when someone was needed.

That morning she’d paid Azriel a visit, deemed his appearance good enough, and simply said, “Mor needs you.”

She didn’t have to tell him twice.

He’d only just reached the meeting hall when he saw Mor run from it, too pale with her heart racing too fast. Amren wasn’t wrong, Azriel just wished he’d noticed how bad her rage and grief had become in the weeks since he’d last met with her. 

He was so consumed with his own anger he did not let himself truly see the others. 

He held Mor as the panic attack began to subside. Her sobs turned to whimpers. The whimpers turned to shuddering breaths. His heart ached for the tears she shed, but he didn’t let emotion cloud his eyes. He wrapped a cord around the throat of his guilt and yanked it down.

Azriel forced the storm inside him back, locked it away behind a wall of steel and shadow where he kept his rage, pain, and love. It was getting hard to close the vault door, but he couldn’t feel any of it. Not while the others needed him. Not while Rhysand needed him to keep them safe. 

It didn’t matter how hot the fire inside him burned, he had his orders. Orders he’d failed up to now:

Protect Velaris. Protect each other.

Mor sunk to her knees and Azriel went with her. He knelt on the cobblestones and released her face. She clutched his forearms tighter, unwilling to let go. His blood immediately warmed, but he simply took whatever feelings were blooming and shoved them into that dark vault with the rest.

He let her hold him while the panic pulled its claws from her heart. When Mor’s tears at last stopped falling, she was pale and exhausted.

“Come on, let’s get off the street.” Azriel pulled her to her feet. He let the shadows bleed away from them and folded his wings closed. Cool air and sunlight filled the space between them.

“No-“ Mor didn’t move when Azriel pulled her out of the alley in the direction of the townhouse, “please, not there.” Not where she would be surrounded by the scent and memory of her cousin. A cousin she may never see alive again. Mor had been the first to leave the townhouse for an apartment in the city. She couldn’t stomach the place as long as her grief was so near.

Azriel just nodded and took Mor in a different direction. He released her hand before they entered the crowds again, and part of her bled at the loss of contact. Cassian would have held her hand through the entire city, gossips be damned. He would have walked with an arm around her shoulder if that was what she needed. 

With Azriel though…

With Cassian it was simple. They’d been to bed together, true, but that awkwardness was long gone. She loved him like a brother. He was easy, Azriel was the opposite. Mor didn’t want to hurt him, but… nothing could be innocent where Azriel was concerned. He tried not to burden her with his love as best he could, but she knew it was still just beneath the surface. If she took his hand or asked him to put an arm around her shoulder as they walked, it would just fan the flames.

If I told him now, right now, it might be better. She thought as she followed him through the winding streets of Velaris towards the ocean front. If he ran from me and vanished I could track him down a hell of a lot easier. He doesn’t have the entirety of Prythian- of the world- to hide from me. I could tell him, apologize a million times for keeping the secret, and maybe by the time Rhysand comes back they’ll all have forgiven me…

Or I could make everything worse… He lost Rhys, just like me. He’s trapped here while the outside world burns, just like me. She studied Azriel- his pale skin, the way it hung on his frame, the wrinkle of his black shirt, and the scuffing on his dark boots. On Cassian it would be normal. On Azriel… He’s fairing as badly as I am. If I told him…

Mor was looking for excuses to keep her secret a secret. She knew it, but she wasn’t ready for the fighting, the anger, the look of betrayal that would burn in those dark eyes she knew so well.

After Rhys gets back, she made an oath to herself- one she knew she would probably break. Once Rhys is home safely, then I will tell Azriel the truth. Right now it’d be like kicking a wounded animal. When Rhys returns, it will be the perfect time. Everyone will be too happy to be angry.

Sunlight flashed into Mor’s eyes and she stopped, blinking. While she ran from her own truth, Azriel had taken them to the darkest corner of Velaris.

“What is this place?”

Mor was staring up at a crooked old building that seemed to be reclining against one of the harbor walls. The wood was sun-bleached and heavily weathered, in a perpetual state of damp rot, and even the glass in the windows was too caked in grime and mold to see through.

There were poor in Velaris, same as any city, but as Mor looked around she realized even those few ragged Fae in the immediate vicinity were keeping far from the building. When Azriel walked up to the door, one made a sign against evil and skittered down an alley to disappear.

“My home.” Azriel said simply. He grabbed the rusty iron handle, lifted it, turned, and jammed his shoulder against the heavily warped wood. It opened inward with the scream of unoiled hinges. 

He turned to Mor, expectant.

She followed slowly, suspiciously, “You don’t live here.”

“Yes, I do.” He jerked his head to the open door and she moved just a little quicker, “Cass and I lived in the House of Wind.” He pointed to the palace on the far side of Velaris, nestled like a crown on the mountains.

Well above the shield Rhys had created.

Pity wrenched Mor’s heart, “Azriel, I thought you and Cass were living in the townhouse. If I’d known-“

Something darkened in even his coal eyes, “I- I can’t do that… Cassian is living there. I join him for breakfast when I can. He wants to keep it aired out for when… when he gets back.” Rage and pain lit his face in equal measure. Expertly, Azriel shoved it deep, deep down into his vault.

He didn’t tell Mor how much time had passed since he last saw Cassian.

“I couldn’t-“ Mor took a deep, steadying breath, “I couldn’t go back there. It’s- I tried. I tried, but-“ she couldn’t finish. Tears dropped down her cheeks.

“His scent.” Azriel said, “It’s everywhere.” His scarred hand took hers and he led her inside.

“I slept in there that first night, when I woke up I was so sure it was a dream. I was so sure he was home. I searched every room three times, even told the prick to stop hiding… I’m renting an apartment in the Rainbow now.” Mor said.

“I know.”

Protect each other. Rhys’ orders. His spymaster had nothing to spy on anymore, not really. So, he spied on the Court. Watched them and watched Velaris... at least until the roaring in his blood had deafened him. Three weeks. It was three weeks since he’d last seen Amren before that morning. Since he’d last seen Mor or Cassian.

Time had a way of flying by and crawling simultaneously.

“When did you come here?” Mor asked.

“A few weeks after you left.”

The entryway was just as horrible as the outside. Torn, faded furniture leaned on broken legs, something was spread out across the middle of the floor that Mor honestly could not identify as either a rug or perhaps the salvaged sail from some old boat- one that had capsized in an ocean of shit by the smell of it. Grime caked absolutely everything, and from the dim luster of the wood Mor knew that if she touched something it would either be waxy or sticky. A chamberpot in the corner was very slowly leaking from a crack upon the side, and in the small fireplace on the corner something skittered through deep ash.

“You can’t live here.” Mor felt dirty even looking at it.

Azriel just closed the front door with a chuckle. He must have been more broken than she was- the spymaster without anything to watch, without his High Lord to protect. Azriel was always clean and proper. He’d lived in a dungeon far, far too long to ever keep a home like this. It was worse even than the cell he’d been raised in.

“I like it here.” The back of the shack housed a small kitchen- just as disgusting as the rest of the place. Wrinkly, black things that might have once been apples were being devoured by mold upon the table. Maggots clung to the walls above a small trash bin and long, rusty knives filled a crumbling clay pot. The bucket of water that sat beside them- theoretically his drinking water- had a fine sheen of oil and scum upon the top.

Mor followed Azriel to the back stairs, “Azriel- you can come stay with me if you need to. I know we all kind of fell apart after Rhys left- I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but we can make it right. If you need money, I’ll happily give you whatever you need.”

At even the mention of staying with Mor- alone with Mor- his blood heated and the door of that vault shivered. He threw all of his shadows into it, reinforcing the metal, “Rhys overpays me, just like the rest of you. My stipend hasn’t stopped.”

“Then why?” her voice broke, “Why do you have to-“

Azriel opened an ancient door at the top of the stairs and Mor completely forgot what she was going to say.

The second level couldn’t have been more different from the first. Here the walls were uniform and made of clean stone, the floors were polished oak dotted with thick, intricate rugs. The outside looked as though the house was bending back to the harbor wall, but where the two met was an obsidian door into the wall itself. Another staircase- this one engraved with vines of nightshade and embossed in thin strips of abalone- led up to the third floor, presumably living quarters.

Three of the walls were simply windows, reinforced to support the upper level. The spells that kept even her from even seeing the windows from the outside must have been driven into the very fabric of the building- an illusion so complete and so real it had to be the work of a High Lord.

Waist-high bookshelves filled with uniform black leather tomes lined the outside of the space. There were low couches throughout the room, but the vast majority of the second floor was taken up by a massive, incredibly detailed model of Velaris and the immediate countryside. Namely-

“Rhys based his shield around this, I think.” Azriel led Mor to the edge of the model. She saw a silver seam running through the middle of the city. As they drew closer, she noted tracks in the floor leading out from the model. Azriel gave a soft tug at the corner of the table and it split easily along the seams, letting her walk into the center.

Every building, every stall, every oceanfront hovel- it was all there, carved into wood and stone alike, depending on what the building was made from. Azriel walked around the outside, to where the townhouse sat. Like a giant toying with the city, he lifted the roof off of the building and Mor leaned over to see inside- a perfect replication of the layout.

“This place was built four High Lords ago. Technically it’s the official residence of the High Lord’s Spymaster when in Velaris. I never had a use for it before, but…” he shrugged, “The books contain reports from my time as spymaster. Everything I know about every Court, every noteworthy family, every lover, every friend, every plot, every scheme-“ he blushed a little at the incredulous look on Mor’s face and shrugged, “I’m thorough. There’s nothing on you or Cassian in this room, don’t worry. Just… others. Amren has three book cases to herself- most of it mine, some from past spymasters.”

Mor’s wonder slowly turned bitter, “Why didn’t I know about this place?”

Azriel sighed, “Because Rhys’ father kept me here. When Rhys became High Lord he let me move to the House of Wind and I didn’t look back until I had to,“ he nodded to the windows.

Mor looked at them- really looked at them. Thin metal sat between the panes of glass and something in her chest cracked. To her they were windows. To Azriel- especially so soon after being his father’s prisoner- they would have looked like the bars of a cage.

“I don’t mind anymore,” Azriel spoke before Mor could. “Maybe it’s because Rhys gave us a different kind of prison.”

It was impossible to miss the bite to his words. Azriel forced a quiet smile before Mor could comment.

“Protect Velaris. Protect each other.” Azriel walked away from the map and sat on the arm of one of the couches. Mor followed, “We haven’t done a very good job, have we?”

“No,” she agreed, “no we haven’t. It’s like Rhys is just around the corner, barely out of sight, and he’s screaming for us… And nothing I do can make that feeling go away… I’m sorry, but being around you and Cassian and Amren-“

“It makes it harder. If he were just somewhere else, just stuck in another city that would be different. But he’s not. He’s in danger, and we can’t do anything to help him. All we can do is hope he’s alright,” Azriel said. “Nuala and Cerridwen are with Rhysand, they’ll make sure he remembers he isn’t the Lord of Nightmares, not really. If Helion hasn’t goaded Amarantha into killing him yet, he’ll help remind Rhys he’s a good male. We can’t save any of them- Under the Mountain or even out there in Night, and we have no way of knowing if this will ever end… But we can help the people of Velaris. We can help each other.”

It was the most Mor had heard Azriel speak in a long time, and what burned in his eyes- he was as lost as the rest of them. He was drowning, she was drowning, and alone there was no hope.

“What do we do?” Mor sat up straighter and locked eyes with Azriel.

He considered it for a long time. He’d been considering it for a long time.

“Get Amren, I’ll find Cassian. Meet us at the café in the Rainbow by your apartment in three hours. I will arrange for a private dining room. We’ll figure it out together.” Azriel dared to give Mor a soft smile.

When she smiled back, something locked up in that vault deep inside him rumbled.


 

In all of Velaris, there were only two full-blooded Illyrians.

Still, after two hours, the second one remained worryingly hard to find.

Azriel started at Rhysand’s townhouse and worked his way through every room, trying to ignore the primal voice that roared for him to rip apart the world until he found his High Lord. It was mollified, somewhat, but the strictly Azriel side of him who saw Rhysand’s home for what it was-

Pristine.

Untouched.

As if Cassian had never been there at all.

Yes, Cassian’s cinnamon scent lingered throughout the house, but it was weak. Every room was cleaner than Rhys ever allowed, every inch of wood- be it furniture or floors- polished to within an inch of its life, and in the back garden, every leaf or speck of dirt was accounted for. Only the sitting room showed any sign of Cassian- in a folded blanket and the faint imprints of an old footstool shoved beneath the armchair.

Nearly six bedrooms- including Rhysand’s- and Cassian had been sleeping in a chair, leaving the rest of the house ready for its owner’s return. Even the trash bins were empty, the kitchen cupboards hardly stocked with food, and each bathroom had freshly washed towels inside.

The house was waiting for Rhysand, with as little sign of Cassian as possible.

Azriel hurried from the house and looked up and down the bustling street. At the far end, he saw his target- a 12 year-old faerie girl named Shasta. Her parents were both well respected architects in Velaris, ones Rhysand consulted whenever he had an idea for some new construction project.

Azriel knew only of the child’s existence before the shields around Velaris rose, but after he moved into the Spymaster’s home he’d offered the then-eight-year-old a copper per week to subtly keep an eye on Cassian when Azriel moved out.

Shasta was a solitary child who rarely spoke, made no eye contact, and seemed to an untrained eye oblivious to the outside world. Her parents had taken her to some of Velaris’ most renowned experts, but her condition was not from some kind of abuse or error in development. She was simply… different. It was Azriel who’d first suspected she saw far more of the world than others realized, and when he asked her parents if he could employ her as a spy of sorts, they’d agreed. He was one of the very few she ever allowed to approach.

So he went to her, his not-so-secret little spy, and stopped a respectful distance away, “When did he leave?”

Shasta hummed softly to herself and kept staring at the way the plants danced in the breeze. Her flute- a constant companion- sat in her lap, and her fingers tapped along it in silent harmony with her voice.

“Did he come home last night?”

Her fingers slowed, the silent tune distinctly at odds with the one she was humming. In the unique language of Shasta’s mind, it was a clear enough ‘No’.

“Is this- has it been typical of him?” Shasta had given Azriel no cause to worry about Cassian when he’d last visited the townhouse itself. Granted, that had been months ago. Cassian usually met him somewhere.

He was also at the mercy of what a child would deem ‘unusual’ behavior.

Shasta’s fingers returned to tapping along in harmony with her humming. A ‘Yes’.

Azriel sighed and pulled three silver coins from his pocket. He set them down a distance from the girl, not breaking that invisible line she kept around herself, “Thank you. It smells like your father is trying to cook kolache again, you should run to the bakery before he burns them. Bring something good back for dinner.” The baker was a friend of the girl’s, and knew her special language better even than Azriel.

He walked away quietly, and only when he was halfway down the block did Shasta hurriedly scoop up the coins and rush into the street, off on her way. Azriel smiled at her back as she ducked around anyone who got too close. The smile did not reach his eyes.

Cassian, what aren’t you telling us?

Over the next two hours, Azriel discretely visited Cassian’s usual haunts. He hadn’t been seen at most of them in months. Those places Cassian had been seen reported increased agitation over the last couple of weeks, and then he simply seemed to vanish.

I sent him off three days ago when he came into my restaurant piss drunk at ten in the morning and ordered a keg of beer.

That was a common theme for any sighting in the last few days. It wasn’t the anniversary of Rhysand’s loss- but something had gradually pushed Cassian down a very dark road, and Azriel couldn’t help but feel responsible. That house that was lived in and yet not, losing interest in places that he’d once frequented- 

Cassian was as much a warrior as Azriel, and just as good at asking for help when he needed it.

He knew where to find him, Azriel just hoped he was wrong hard enough to try everywhere else before he went to the back edge of Velaris and began to climb the steps that led up to the House of Wind.

As soon as Azriel was eye-level with the rooftops of the city, he felt a slight pull from the invisible tether Rhys had tied. Another ten steps, and the air seemed to grow denser, encouraging him to give up. By the time Azriel had gone fifty steps, it was becoming hard to fight against the bonds holding him to the city below.

At one hundred steps, he could just barely make something out far above, and the invisible noose began to tighten.

At one hundred fifty steps, Azriel was nearly crawling to reach the black boot that hung over a stair’s edge.

At two hundred steps, when Azriel couldn’t imagine pulling himself up any further, he found Cassian at last.

His friend was face-down on the stair, his face flush and what was likely vomit drying upon a messy tangle of stubble dangerously close to being a beard. Cassian’s eyes were glassy and he reeked of alcohol, sweat, and bile. Azriel hauled him up to sit against the side of the stairs. The idiot at least had the presence of mind to flair out his wings so they wouldn’t scrape against the stone.

“How long have you been up here?” Azriel demanded. Cassian’s face was heavily tanned- on one side.

“I’m going to my bed.” The other male’s words were deeply slurred. His eyes fluttered around before they finally landed on Azriel, “Hey! You can help me!”

“Cassian, you don’t live up there anymore, remember?”

You don’t, I do.” Cassian pushed at Azriel’s hands- missing several times. He struggled to rise, but between the alcohol and the force from Velaris’ shields, it was hopeless.

Azriel growled, “Listen to me- you live in Velaris. You’ve lived there for-“

“I KNOW HOW LONG IT’S BEEN!” Cassian roared and shoved hard. Azriel’s wings shot out and he pushed back against Cassian’s strength, lest he be tossed off the cliff face. It wouldn’t be possible to fly back to these heights and he really didn’t feel like climbing the stairs again. Cassian just kept shouting, his words barely intelligible “I GOT A NEW BED BEFORE THAT PRICK LOCKED ME OUT! I ONLY GOT TO SLEEP IN IT ONCE. I want to sleep in my bed!” Cassian threw himself up another step before the shields clamped down on him. He was left sprawled much as when Azriel found him, but now he was spewing vulgar curses.

“Cassian, you can have another bed, a new one.” Azriel didn’t want to winnow Cassian down the mountain, but he began making a list of places that would be safe. He knew a sober Cassian wouldn’t want Velaris to see him like this- and also that winnowing would likely result in a great deal of fresh vomit.

“I DON’T WANT A NEW ONE!” Cassian shouted, still face down on the stairs as he struggled to rise, “I PAID FOR MY BED, I WANT TO SLEEP IN MY BED!”

His hand slipped off the edge of the stairs. Azriel didn’t want to find out what would happen if Cassian tried flying drunk, so he lunged for his friend. As soon as he touched Cassian’s boot, he winnowed across Velaris and into the first floor of his home.

Cassian got his revenge, as anticipated, in vomit.

Azriel waited while his friend heaved up the contents of his stomach- and then some. Cassian retched onto the floor, and before he even seemed to be finished, he turned on Azriel and charged at him, “I DIDN’T FUCKING ASK YOU TO-“

Azriel simply stepped aside and let Cassian crash to the floor, heaving once again.

“We’re meeting Mor and Amren in half an hour. Get your ass upstairs and clean up.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Listen, Cassian- there’s something wrong in Velaris. I think someone dangerous is prowling the streets, but I can’t find them alone. We have to meet the others somewhere private, and if they see you stumbling around piss drunk then-“

“Someone in Velaris?” Cassian’s eyes cleared somewhat. Even though his words were slurred and he reeked to high-heaven of booze and vomit, he stood on swaying legs.

Azriel only felt moderately guilty for lying to Cassian. Though, it wasn’t exactly a lie. Azriel already had that particular situation in Velaris more than under control. It was just that the fastest way to bypass any tantrum was to give Cassian a mission to focus on. Once he sobered up, he would probably be forgiving. Maybe...

Besides, Velaris was like every other city- there was a healthy underworld and criminals aplenty, more the longer Rhysand was gone. If Cassian needed a mission, Azriel would simply sic him on one of the street thugs.

“First clean up, change, and shave. We’ll talk about it with Amren and Mor once you’ve sobered up.”

“I’m not drunk.” Cassian glared. Azriel just pointed to the staircase. He took a single step and swayed far enough that he had to catch himself on the wall, “I’m a little drunk.”

“Good, then you’ll only have to sober up a little. Third floor, get going.”

Cassian flipped Azriel a rude gesture and staggered up the stairs. Azriel looked at the fresh layer of vomit on the floor of the ruined interior.

At least it adds to the atmosphere.

He sighed as he heard Cassian crash into something upstairs and went help his friend. Mor was patient, she’d forgive them being tardy.

And as for Amren- I’ll just say it’s his fault.


 

While Cassian cleaned up, Azriel quickly wrote three notes and weighed out a small pouch of golden coins. He wandered back outside and handed everything to a grime-covered male with one leg and a crooked arm that suggested it had been broken many times.

“Keep what’s left when you’re done.”

The male sped off as best he could, but Azriel knew he’d travel all of three blocks before the grime and injuries vanished, his missing leg found its way home, his arm straightened, and an impeccably dressed male would be hurrying along without the cane. He’d been in Azriel’s employ for centuries, unknown to most but the Inner Circle.

Azriel waited for Cassian on the second floor of the spymaster’s home, staring down at the model of Velaris and letting his mind race in every direction. His shadows whispered of plots and secrets, but for tonight they were none of his concern. He needed to find something before-

“Well? Are we meeting the females or not?” Cassian huffed as he came down the stairs. Azriel’s spare black pants and navy shirt barely fit. He was walking just a little steadier, but it’d take a few gallons of the strongest tea in Velaris to sober him up.

“If you puke on my clothes, I’ll kill you slowly.” Azriel pushed Cassian towards the door.

He only had half a plan, but it was more than he’d started with.


 

“Ugh, finally.” Mor rolled her eyes as the café owner opened the door to their private room and ushered Cassian and Azriel inside, “Cassian, you look like shit.”

Amren sized him up, “He doesn’t look any different to me.” She took a long drink of something thick, red, and steaming. Whatever spiced or spiked blood she was sipping on seemed to have put her in a good mood.

The owner simply bowed to the group and shot a glance at the tea kettles keeping warm in the center of the table, then looked to the food. When he deemed nothing in need of refilling, he quickly turned and left.

Cassian ignored the females and sunk into a chair. He grabbed the nearest pastry and downed it in two bites, sending crumbs cascading down his borrowed shirt. When a fat drop of bean paste hit the collar, he only grinned at the murder simmering in Azriel’s eyes.

“As welcome as this break is, why am I here Azriel? Mor looks fine and once Cassian sobers up he might pass as a grown male.” Amren ignored Cassian’s rude gesture, which was lucky for his health.

“He says there’s some kind of threat against Velaris.” Cassian growled.

“Good. Let something happen, I’m bored.” What lit Amren’s silver eyes was nothing short of terrifying. She hadn’t taken to being trapped in the city well. She would have happily remained of her own free will- but as soon as Rhys took the choice away he made their home a prison.

Mor looked at Azriel across the table and nodded.

“Protect Velaris. Protect each other. I love you all.” Azriel looked at each as he spoke, deliberately ending on Amren and not Mor, “That was an order from our High Lord, and his goodbye. It might be the last thing we ever hear from Rhysand, and we already failed him.”

“There’s no threat against Velaris, is there?” Cassian shoved back from the table, “I’m done here.”

Azriel caught his arm with a savage growl. Cassian roared at him- a wordless, primal challenge between males.

“Cassian, sit down and just listen, or I swear to the Cauldron you will be crawling out that door.” Mor’s control on her temper snapped at the display.

It took several tense moments for Cassian to decide how to respond. Amren was mildly interested at best, Mor furious, and Azriel just kept staring up at him from his chair with dangerous focus. He would fight to keep Cassian there.

He simply growled, wrenched his arm out of Azriel’s grip, and threw himself back into his chair. Mor lifted a kettle of the stronger tea to fill his cup, but he grabbed it from her hands and poured it directly into his mouth. 

“I hope you burn your tongue.” Amren’s tone was mild.

Azriel turned to address the table, “I know it’s hard, and I agree that Rhysand was a bastard for doing this to us, but it doesn’t change the fact that we are here, and we have jobs to do. Amren- while Rhys is gone, you hold the authority of the High Lord. It’s time to start acting like it. Mor- as her second, you need to do whatever you can to help the Governors figure out how to keep everyone with enough food and supplies. Work with what we’ve got- every inch of Velaris. I’m still spymaster, and there are always people for me to watch. Cassian-“

“I’m Rhys’ commander, so who exactly would you like me to fight? Oh wait- the war is out there. As are my soldiers. Do you know how I know they’re out there? Because they’ve been trying to summon me for four years and I can’t do a damn thing about it. Should I join the Velaris town guard? I’m sure it’ll be exciting standing around on street corners doing nothing.” Cassian practically spat the words.

There it was, the rage that was eating him alive. He couldn’t help his people. He couldn’t help Rhysand. ‘Protect Velaris’? There was nothing to protect it from, so long as the shields held. ‘Protect each other’? There were no threats for Cassian to face. Mor’s blood roared at her to defend Night, but Cassian was Illyrian, he could sense that his people needed him. And here he was. In a peaceful little café with nothing to do but wait.

Azriel just nodded, “You can’t fight, Cassian… but you can do what you’ve been doing: get ready for what will come when Rhys returns, or what will happen if he doesn’t. I sent a letter to the Palace Governors, they will begin posting notices in the streets that you are going to start training the people of Velaris to defend themselves. If those shields come down and we’re attacked, we’ll want absolute minimum loss of life. Get this city ready for war- without compromising the innocence of those inside.”

That made Mor pause, “Az, Velaris has never fought before. It’s a peaceful place-“

“Which only makes it vulnerable.” Cassian said quietly. Azriel could see he’d picked the perfect mission for Cassian- something that fed his rage and wrath, “You don’t think asking people to train for war will upset the peace? Start riots?”

“I don’t, but if it does that just means more fun for me.” Azriel said.

Amren had let Azriel’s little comment from earlier go unchallenged, but he deliberately avoided her gaze in the room now. She traced the rim of her cup, watching him, “Morrigan, come with me to the library later. There are some books that will help. Cassian- I’ll bring you down tomorrow to start planning defenses. Rhysand wouldn’t want Velaris militarized, so we’ll have to find ways to make those defenses less obvious. Azriel-“ she waited until he met her gaze, “-thank you for calling this meeting. And if you ever speak to me like that again, I will rip your spine out through your ass.”

He bowed his head.

The room was still tense as they began to eat and drink in earnest (Cassian allowed his kettle to be refilled by the owner but refused to relinquish it in favor of a cup). Still, as the hours rolled past and a true sense of planning and direction settled over them, that tension eased slightly. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

And Azriel wasn’t done yet.

Three letters he’d sent out. One to the Palace Governors, one to Mor and Amren, and the last to a trusted merchant in the city- along with several coins.

“Cassian, meet me tomorrow in the library. We will begin planning defenses.” Amren stood to take Mor to that very same place.

“Amren, if you ever need to reference it, I have a fully detailed model of the city.” Azriel didn’t doubt for a second that Amren knew about the model just as she knew where his ‘secret’ home was, but she nodded all the same.

“Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Mor promised Azriel as she stood.

That was what would ease the tension more than their different missions. Painful as it was to be reminded of Rhys’ absence, the Inner Circle would not let themselves drift apart again. Their pain was to be shared, not bottled up.

“I guess I’ll bring your clothes back some other time,” Cassian made to follow the females. “I’ll wash them first.” His temper had eased along with the effects of the liquor. His eyes were bleary, his face pale, and Azriel could see the hangover building.

“I had your things moved to my place already.” Azriel stood with him.

“I’m staying at the townhouse, you know that.”

“You’re staying with me. Even in the House of Wind, our chambers are across from one another. I went to the townhouse looking for you. I know how you’ve been living. You’re my brother, you ass. I won’t let you do that to yourself.”

Azriel left no room for argument- but he knew he’d get none from Cassian. The loss of interest in his old favorite places, how withdrawn he’d been, and the latest bender- Cassian needed his friends. He just didn’t know how to say it.

Cassian at least put on a show in grumbling, “I can live on my own.”

“I don’t feel like living on my own. So do me a favor and move in.” There was more truth in that than he’d admit.

Fine.”

Azriel just rolled his eyes, paid the café owner on their way out, and led Cassian back across the city towards the slums and what was now their home. 

He let Cassian push the door open to the first floor. What few possessions Cassian had squirreled away in the townhouse were sitting on a tarp, protected from the disgusting mess of vomit he’d left in the room.

Sitting on top of it, with the sarcastically oversized bow Azriel had requested, was a new mattress.

Velaris

A A Court of Thorns and Roses Story
by Rhysand_vs_Fenrys

Part 1 of 4

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