A Court of Madness and Depth

Chapter 1

The children of the Night Court never fear the dark. The dark is the warm comforting embrace of an old friend. The dark is a protective shroud when the light is harsh and exposing. Many who leave our court spend the rest of their days longing for the familiarity of the shadow found here, past sunset. In the Night Court, once the light fades, we come alive, taking to the streets with mirth and wonder.

This night was one such a night. Velaris was always awake in the evening. Far below I could hear a steady thrum of vibrant music and voices, even from this height. The combination of noises rose to meet me like an orchestra. Down below me the city was only barely visible, the fae lights glimmered aimlessly as their glow cascaded across the crowded streets. The shadows of our people drifting throughout the winding streets made the world below look as though the earth itself was shifting.

A warm summer wind floated beneath me as I climbed up towards the moonlit sky. The friendly stars and affectionate breeze greeted me with a gentle caress, welcoming me back to the skies. It was unusual to have this much heat so early into summer, but I cherished every last bit of warmth.

As I pushed onward the air from my momentum whipped through my black hair, strands cascading around me in a tangle of curls. I leaned backwards and allowed myself to float through the air, as if swimming on my back in the river. I glided along the star filled sky, staring into its depths as it extended onwards.

It was moments like these where I was grateful my mother had fought so hard to keep her wings from being clipped. She was the one who had taught me to fly. She had taught me many things. But the only skill that even neared my love of flying was weaving. We had spent many years together in the House of Wind, weaving during the day and flying at night. Looking up in the sky I could envision the next tapestry I would create; bold blues, blacks, and violets mixing to form the perfect shade of night, with two Illyrian females gliding across the stars.

It was not every night that I was able to so freely take to the skies. But my father and mother had been preoccupied with preparations for my brother's long-awaited return. It had been ages since my brother had been to the House of Wind. He was usually gone for long periods, but this had been different.

Ever since we were children my brother and I had shared one mind, we had spoken to each other through our mental bond almost constantly. No matter how far we traversed from each other, I could always hear his voice and he could hear mine. My tightly woven mental shields knew my brother's cool countenance, the thick threads I had crafted to protect my innermost thoughts parted for him in a way they would not for any other person.

That mental bond had been severed by the Blood Rite.

For a week my brother had been off battling with brothers and nemesis alike. The Blood Rite was a barbaric and dated practice used by our Illyrian kind. Like most of the Illyrian traditions, the Rite was coated in violence and bittered with the exclusion of females.

There were many exclusions for females in our territories, but partaking in the Blood Rite was one of the few things I had never complained about. Not until, my brother was locked inside a mountainous terrain with no weapons, no magic, and no power. He was utterly at the mercy of fate and skill.

For the past week my nerves had been on edge, every moment of every day I had waited for news of my brother. My sleep was plagued with nightmares of the new horrific circumstances he might be enduring. The anxiousness I felt over this separation was unbearable. Being part-fae and part-Illyrian meant you were always half empty, half longing for more. My brother was the only person in the world who could truly understand what the expectations placed on me were like.

However, he was arriving here soon.

He had survived.

He had found a way to reach the crest of the mountain, just as he always claimed he would. Now, he returned a fully fledged warrior, worthy of the respect of the Illyrian Lords... And our father. He had proven himself, not only to our kind, but to both of our parents.