Beneath Shadows and Secrets

♔ 𝕿𝔥𝔦𝔯𝔱𝔶 - 𝕾𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫 ♔

♔ 𝔑𝔦𝔯𝔞 ♔

Vasami has made herself comfortable in the garden.

Days since our return, I have busied myself in the ways I know how. Practicing with my weapons of power, and reforming my skill with weapons of iron. Both have proved more difficult as I adjust to the weight of my wings, but I have found a new balance, and feel steadier than before. They still drag – the act of using my muscles to lift them is an art I have not familiarised myself with yet – but the pain has gone, and my wounds are not far from healed.

With what spare time I acquire, it is time I spend with her. She is still nesting, and though I can see no changes in the eggs, when I am close enough, I can hear what lies within them. Two strong heartbeats of her children who Ryke believes are only weeks from hatching.

"What has this Court become?" Tynan has said in response to that, glaring at the wyvern and her eggs. "There was a time when I was the most impressive winged thing in this place."

I am sprawled on the floor, wings unfurled against the mound of dirt that Vasami has procured. They are strong enough now that I should retract them, but I have not tried. A sliver of fear has embedded itself within me, that the pain of attempting will be more than I wish to contend with. I know that I shall have to try soon, but I am in no rush to do so. Until then, I will use my hands to pull them to either side of me so I can lean against the wyvern's nest.

She is curled up on the floor, her head laid beside my legs. Resting, but her eyes are open and watching me, and her wings are lengthened to soak up the heat of the Summer sun.

Summer has grounded itself firmly across the Realm. Very few days is the sky tainted with a cloud, and it is almost too hot to face wearing more than the thinnest material, or fasten my feet into the tight leather of my boots. Nights are short and warm, and I have gladly accepted the change.

Cracuria will be better in this weather. Less chance of illness from stretches of damp than crawl across the walls, and a thriving woodlands for many to hunt from. I hope Metri is one of them. I hope that he has braved to venture between the trees, and spends his days at the stream as I asked him to.

I wonder, too, if he resents me for never keeping my promise. That I would see him there in Spring. I wonder, with a heavy heart, if he waited there each day for me to come.

So much has happened since that promise was made. So much change, and still more to come. How much more time will I waste lounging in the Night Court garden before I seek than revenge I speak of? Something is keeping me here, but I am yet to conclude what it is. Perhaps when I do, I can denounce my reasoning and finally make a move.

I cannot afford to let time run away with me. My father plans to invade Vrodora, and I know that male well enough that he will not prolong his decision. He wants this Realm for himself, but there are things I wish to do before then. Ultimately, I hope there is no Realm left for him to take.

He is a problem. As much as Zaire. The Lord of Abutilon needs to fall at my hands, but what stalls me? I know now, with my powers harnessed as they are, he is no match for me. I could kill him. Easily. Slowly. Intimately. He would not seek aid, for his pride would not let him. Neither would his secrecy. The other Lords and Lady do not know I am alive, and I know they would offer him no help once they were to discover I live because of his schemes.

That is an advantage, in some ways. Neither Riyan or Rorik will think to expect me when I come for them. They will not watch over their shoulders in fear of the Fae huntress who has become a Fae herself. Alone, though, can I best them? They have allies and the loyalty of others. Against one, I will always win. Against many – I doubt the range of my artillery against the centuries of practice they have had honing theirs.