YOUNG GOD | RHYSAND [ON HOLD]

2.06 | LAST DAY OF THE WEEK

♚✭♛

Aadya wasn't drunk.

Not really. Atleast that's what she told herself as she set out on a mission to find Rhys, Mor, Feyre or anyone at this point. Throughout the entire week all she did was teach Feyre to read and write, then back to her room bored and drink.

She walked along a corridor, rounding in a corner when she heard the conversation between the cousins.  It was a public space, so she knew they weren't trying to hide their presence, but Aadya had they great idea to mask her footsteps as she neared where they spoke in one of the sitting areas, Rhys pacing before the open plunge off the mountain, Mor lounging in a cream-coloured armchair.

"Azriel would want to know that," Mor was saying.

Azriel? Who is he?

"Azriel can go to hell," Rhys sniped back. "He likely already knows, anyway."

"We played games the last time," Mor said with a seriousness that made Aadya pause a healthy distance away, "and we list. Badly. We're not going to do that again."

"You should be working," was Rhysand's only response. "I have you control for a reason, you know."

Mor's jaw tightened and both the cousins turned to face Aadya when she scoffed loudly. She slightly tumbled but caught her step as she pointed a finger at Rhys. "You." She poked at his chest. "Don't order my friend around." Mor gave her an amused smile.

Rhys turned, slightly frowning at Aadya's state. "Say what it is you came here to say, Mor," he said tightly, resuming his pacing.

Mor rolled her eyes, but her face turned solemn as she said, "There was another attack-- at a temple in Cesere. Almost every priestess slain, the trove looted."

Rhys halted and Aadya sobered up at the news. "Who." Rhys and Aadya both conveyed their rage in one word, at the same time.

"We don't know," Mor said. "Same tracks as last time: small group, bodies that showed signs of wounds from large blades, no trace of where they came from and how they disappeared. No survivors. The bodies weren't even found until a day later, when a group of pilgrims came by."

Aadya's head was beginning to hurt. She hazily stood up and poured herself a big glass of water to clear her head, from the alcohol influence. But she gasped as soon as she turned back.

Great, beautiful, brutal wings, membranous and clawed like a bat's, dark as night and story as hell. Even the way he stood seemed altered-- steadier, grounded. Like some final piece of him had clutched into place. But his voice was still midnight-soft as he said, "What did Azriel have to say about it?"

Thats the second time his name came up in the conversation. Who was he? Or better where was he, if he was so important to the issue.

"He's pissed. Cassian even more so-- he's convinced it must be one of the rogue Illyrian war-bands, intent on winning new territory."

Cassian? Illyrian war-bands? How much had Prythain changed since the last millennia?

"It's something to consider," Rhys mused. "Some of the Illyrian clans hopefully bowed to Amarantha during those years. Trying to expand their borders could be their way of seeing how far they can push me and get away with it." Aadya hated that she tensed at her name, eventhough both the cousins in front of her were politely pretended that they didn't notice.

"Cassian and Az are waiting for your orders," Mor said as she stood up.

Rhys studied the open air again, the howling wind that shoved dark, roiling clouds over the distant peaks. Good weather for flying, Aadya remembered. She looked at the window longingly.