#rukhin riders

[elliepassmore]

Tower of Dawn Review

5/5 stars Recommended for people who like: fantasy, magic, desert fantasy, multiple POVs, healers, Chaol Westfall, court intrigue, thriller I really like this one, but I will also readily admit that this is the creepiest book in the series. ToG had the creep/thriller aspect with the Ridderak and Cain, and CoM sort of touched on the side of thriller without actually diving in, but Tower goes further in than even ToG did. I like it, even the thriller aspect, but it’s definitely creepy. I can’t tell how I feel about Chaol for the first half of the book. He’s definitely still going strong on his end-of-QoS vibe, and he seems to have forgiven a lot of what he was angry about in that book, but he also still hasn’t let go of things—such as his loyalty and obedience—as much as he had in HoF. For starters, though, it’s nice to see Chaol return to being the kind of playful snappy he was in CoM, I’d forgotten how funny he could be. So, I really liked how jokey Chaol was in this one, and I liked his handling of the royal family, going so far as to scheme his way into a meeting with the khagan. I still felt that Chaol was a bit…condescending throughout the book, though he once again got better about it at the end of the book. I did really like being in Chaol’s head in this one, though. After reading this, I feel like he wasn’t really present in QoS as much as he was in the other books. Like, he was there and narrating, but he didn’t feel there. Seeing in his head in this one makes a lot of things suddenly make a lot more sense, and we even get an explanation for his previous blind obedience. Yes, admittedly, some of it was him being willfully ignorant, but more of it was him giving up certain privileges to knowledge in order to protect Dorian. Chaol’s journey with his injury was interesting. I’m not really a fan of how ableist he was being, but I can also acknowledge that shedding that ableism off was a crucial part of his journey and that we probably aren’t supposed to like it. Chaol needed to realize for himself that just because he couldn’t move his legs didn’t mean he was less than or couldn’t still contribute to the coming fight. His realization comes from the healing process, which has three different parts. One part is the physical healing that Yrene does to repair the damage to his spinal cord. Another part is the metaphysical/psychological healing that both he and Yrene have to participate in, and this is the part that really makes me understand him and how he sees things better. And then there’s the part that involves seeing things from the outside and realizing no one really looks down on him, and that his injury does not remove him from the prospect of fighting against Erawen. Chaol’s journey is a different version of Celaena’s story in HoF. They are both struggling with similar emotions, both wanting to be rid of them and ignore them, and both come to realize that ignoring them and being rid of their negative emotions and memories won’t solve anything. Same general arc, different people, different situation, different story, but a way to show many sides of the same issue. I love Nesryn’s side of things in this one. She’s a fun narrator, partly because she’s so excited to be in her home city, but also because she’s got a very relaxed vibe that none of the other characters really have. She’s worried and tense about certain things, but she definitely handles it better than a lot of the other characters in this series. Nesryn ends up with the rukhin riders and Sartaq for most of the book, and I would probably kill for a whole separate book just about the rukhin riders, Sartaq and Kadara, and Nesryn and Salkhi. Nesryn’s journey is one away from Adarlan. She loves the country, is willing to fight for it and the innocent people there, but spending time in the Southern Continent, exploring its reaches, has her slowly switching over. Nesryn’s main development in this one, I think, is deciding where she calls home. Regardless of where it is, she’s going to fight against Erawen, but I think a part of her needs that identity settled when we first come into this book, and her development centers around that. The world and culture there is so different from those seen in the rest of the book, and the prospect of people who live in mountain homes and ride the wind on the backs of giant birds is pretty awesome. Nesryn’s main goal is to find information to help defeat Erawen and to convince Sartaq to lend his aerial legions to the cause. Of course, things never really go to plan and Nesryn ends up venturing beyond the rukhin riders’ homes and seeing Stygian Spiders, which are called the khalankui in the Southern Continent, as well as visiting some thousand-year-old ruins, so a pretty wide range of places all in one go. It’s interesting to see a new land from the POV of someone who hails from that land. We didn’t really get to see that with Rowan and Wendlyn, since Rowan barely narrated that book, but Nesryn is one of the main narrators in this one, and she’s spent most of her life in Adarlan, so we get to see a mix of someone who loves that land, who sees it as her own, but is also an outsider and is still, to an extent, getting introduced to the land. I think it’s an interesting way to introduce a new land, and Maas sort of did it with Terrasen in EoS, except the group in that book didn’t stay long enough to really get as good a feel of the land as we do in this one. I also think it’s a nice break from either a character has lived in land forever and has exactly zero reason to give us exposition, or a character is 100% new to the land/situation. Yrene is a new character if you haven’t read Blade. A healer from the Torre Cesme, she takes no one’s shit, not even Chaol’s. Actually, since her mother was burned alive by Adarlanian soldiers when she was 11, that makes her particularly unwilling to put up with Chaol’s shit. She hates Adarlanians the same way Aedion does, the same way all those other children of fallen kingdoms do. But she’s a healer and so she helps Chaol with his injury and unwittingly gets dragged into things. Based on who the Big Bad is in this one, though, I wonder if she wouldn’t’ve been dragged into things anyway. Yrene’s journey is for herself and for the rest of the world. She’s ready to go to the northern continent and heal people injured in the fight against Erawen, but she still has that simmering rage in her that started when her mother died. Her internal journey and arc is about repairing the hole her mother’s death made and cooling that rage until she realizes no one group is ever homogenous in its beliefs and actions. She’s healing and realizing this as she heals Chaol, which requires research. Unfortunately, her research sparks the interest of the Big Bad in this story, and that’s when the external struggle begins. Yrene has to contend with healing Chaol, healing herself, hunting for answers, and being hunted herself. Yrene has a connection to nearly everyone in the story. She’s a healer from the Torre, she’s actively healing Chaol, but she’s also a friend of the royals who rule over the Southern Continent. Yrene wants to help as many people as possible, and yet she also befriends royals and ends up in court schemes. One of the princes, Kashin, has a romantic interest in her, though she turned him down, and is protective over her. One of the princesses, Hasar, is Yrene’s friend and asks her to occasionally spy for her. It’s a complicated situation, and it goes to show the delicate precipice Yrene balances on. Hasar is the eldest princess, second oldest of the royal kids, and a nasty piece of work. She’s fiercely protective of the ones that are hers and over her country, but that just means she’s ruthless and cunning in other areas. She has no issue manipulating Chaol, Yrene, Nesryn, and others to get what she wants. This manipulation even includes backing Chaol into a corner where he has to swear Aelin would never do anything like burn Ellwye’s coast…which Chaol being Chaol can’t answer with a definitive ‘she’d never.’ Other stuff includes her using Yrene as a spy or threatening to block the Narrow Sea between the continents to prevent passage. I can’t tell if I like her or not, but I appreciate her character. Maas does a good job of depicting her as someone who cares deeply and will do anything to protect those she cares about. As a plus, Hasar is an openly gay, main side character, which is definite improvement for these books re: representation (I know we had Emrys and Malakai, but neither were ‘main side characters,’ nor were they together as much as Hasar and her lover, Renia, are). Sartaq, a rukhin rider and one of the princes, is another main side character. He spends most of the book with Nesryn in the mountains. I liked his character, he had a healthy dose of protective, relaxed, and funny rolled into one. I also liked the concept of his family in the palace being different than his hearth-family, or the family he has with the riders, and that the latter is far more relaxed and less vicious than the other. Sartaq wants to fly north, wants to do the right thing, but he also doesn’t want to go into it blind, which is part of the reason they end up seeking the Stygian Spiders to begin with. He’s definitely one of my favorite side characters in this book. That being said, it’s also pretty obvious that he’s mostly around to serve as a new love interest for Nesryn and to introduce the world of the rukhin riders…which is fine, but it would’ve been nice if he’d had a little more of his own development in the book. Hafiza is the Healer on High for the Torre, and she’s essentially Yrene’s adoptive mother. She teaches Yrene and helps guide her, but she also loves Yrene and genuinely wants her to succeed and stay safe. Like a mother, she even expresses disappointment when she feels Yrene is going against something she feels would strengthen Yrene. She was another funny character with a pretty dry sense of humor that I can definitely appreciate. I can’t entirely remember, but I hope we get to see more of her in KoA. Other side characters include Shen, a guard who lost part of his arm and had to have it replaced and is one of Chaol’s catalysts that makes him realize that if his wheelchair is a prison, then it’s a self-imposed one. The Khagan is someone we don’t see a lot of but holds a shit ton of sway over everything. Arghun is one of the princes and definitely the worst of the siblings, and he has no qualms undermining Chaol, Nesryn, and even Yrene at every turn. Kashin, who has already been mentioned, is really the one who gets Yrene researching, as he thinks there are already Valg in the Southern Continent. Below Sartaq, he’s my favorite prince simply because he’s open to what Chaol and Nesryn are saying, and he remains respectful to Yrene despite her rejection of him. Duva, is the now-youngest princess and doesn’t get a lot of page-time, but seems sweet enough. And then there’s Falkan, a shapeshifter from the northern continent who lost 20 years of his life to the Stygian Spiders. If he sounds familiar, he should, Celaena met him in Blade as well. In terms of the romance in the book….umm. When a character like Yrene, who hates Adarlan and Adarlanians, is going to end up with a character like Chaol, who is not only Adarlanian but an Adarlanian lord and ex-Captain of the Guard, there needs to be more build-up. They’re cute and sweet together, but the two (??) months that they got to know each other were not enough to overcome all of that enough to start a romance, in my opinion. It probably would’ve been better for them to get together in KoA, following a similar timeline to Celaena and Chaol, or even Aelin and Rowan. I like them together, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t think it should’ve happened in this book. Nesryn and Sartaq make more sense to me, especially since they had a more obvious chemistry between the two of them. They complement each other really well in terms of attitude and respect for one another’s abilities—it will never not be funny to me when Nesryn blocks Sartaq from doing something and he gives her ‘an incredulous face’ or whatever. Despite their chemistry and the fact they liked each other, even if not romantically, from the get-go, Nesryn suggested they survive the war first and then see what happens. Obviously they’re going to get together, but at least the pretense of waiting a little longer is there….even if this is the couple I wanted to see formalize it in this book. Overall, good plot, characters, and world-building. The romance leaves something to be desired, but I think the rest of what happens and is revealed in the book more than make up for it…especially what’s revealed. The heartbreaking end chapter I could’ve done without, mostly because I had to then wait a year for KoA, but whatever.

[acourtofcouture]

An Insider’s Guide to Throne of Glass: the Rukhin, the Ruk Riders of the the Khaganate, 2/?

[nalgenewhore]

The pain in his back, lashing down his spine, it threatened to sweep him into that dark oblivion and he heard it, he could hear the voices of the souls he had committed to an eternity in the dark god’s realm whispering to him, begging him to join them but he gritted his teeth as he somehow caught the outstretched arm of a rukhin, swinging his ancient and aching body onto the back of a ruk. 

Lorcan had to hold on, he had to stay awake to see her, had to make sure she was alive and safe. 

He repeated it like a mantra, a prayer to their gods, pleading them to let him see her one last time before they took him. 

He didn’t feel his god at his shoulder, didn’t feel the presence of the lady of death, one he had begun to feel since that night in the marshes, Elide beneath him, her hands travelling over him. 

There were people screaming on the plane and he looked down, seeing the black cloud rolling towards them, their deaths near. He tasted their fear, tasted their deaths already and cringed, knowing the heavy feeling on his tongue that would accompany the destruction of the mortal soldiers, knowing it would last for days, the well of his power drinking it all in, filling him with its magic. 

The beast beneath him banked sharply to the side, prompting a groan from him, his vision swimming as the ruk landed in the courtyard and he slipped off the mount as quickly as he could, weaving as he stalked to the healers, spotting a head of golden curls. Someone bumped into him, their elbow colliding into his gut and he groaned loudly, fresh blood spilling from his stomach. 

The sound caught the attention of the golden healer and she turned just as he began to tumble, racing to him, his vision tunneling as he crashed onto the ground, seeing her lips moving but there was only a roaring in his ears, his head stuffed with cotton as he couldn’t hold on anymore and he fell into the black abyss. 

Minutes, hours, days later, he didn’t know when he woke but it was still light outside, the sun still burning in the sky. Sounds of battle were still present and he looked down, seeing a new scar on his stomach, only able to feel a dull pain that throbbed with his every movement. 

He deemed it was good enough and soon his mind was filled with thoughts of finding her again, seeing her alive and whole. He sat up, nearly crying from the pain that he felt but he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stand. He was bare from the hips up, his shirt and jacket destroyed in the process of saving him. He paid it no heed, walking out of the room, healers and attendants moving swiftly out of his way, the expression on his harsh face, hewn from granite, enough to make the most fearsome opponent quake. 

He was panting as he stalked up the stairs, allowing himself to lean against the stone wall for a moment before he dug his nails into his palms, the sharp pain making him continue on, continue until he was near collapse, until he could see his brothers standing on the battlements, their eyes stuck on the plain below them. 

He stumbled over the last step and cried out, Rowan, Fenrys and Gavriel whirling to him, their eyes wide, not in relief, but in fear. The fear confused him until he looked around, looking for his only tether to this life. 

She wasn’t there. 

Elide was not there and from the way they stared at him in complete, all consuming panic, it had his heart racing, a voice roaring in his head. 

He tried to step forward and faltered, he would have collapsed onto the stone ground of the battlements if Rowan hadn’t moved and caught him, supporting his body as he limped to the wall, eyes searching the field until they caught on her.

She was astride that deadly horse, racing across the plains. 

“No,” he breathed, his eyes wider than ever before, “No.”

He backed away, pushing off the wall, he couldn’t just stand there and watch it happen, he had to get to her, needed to get to her before the dam collapsed, before that deadly wave wiped everything away. His legs buckled beneath him, Gavriel stepping to catch him, grunting under his weight, Rowan still supporting him. 

Something in his blood stirred and he turned his head, not entirely willingly to see the queen - his queen - appear, her face crumbling as she looked to the field, seeing her friend riding there. Her head shook as she turned, racing back down the steps, Fenrys yelling after her, Rowan straining but something kept him in place. Lorcan felt it too but it was weak, too weak so he fought, fought against the hold of his brothers, males he had trained for eons until they let him go and he stumbled forward, holding himself up on the wall, the dam seconds from breaking. 

Lorcan’s eyes snapped back to the lone rider, as she turned the horse round and round, seeing her stop as her eyes locked on his, relief quickly flooded by heartbreak, that breaking felt where his soul should have been. 

He couldn’t tear his eyes from hers, only saw her when he heard the sound of the dam finally breaking, angry water flooding over the field. The keep gates slammed shut and in the corner of his eye he saw a golden haired woman slamming against, slamming her fists over and over on the wood and iron gate, a wordless scream pouring from her lips. 

Lorcan looked at Elide and realized he was roaring, screaming, crying out to her, fighting and thrashing against the hands that held him, warm ones, calloused ones, ones of a golden light and northern wind, pinning him in place, a dark skinned arm locked around his throat as he fell to his knees, the pain he felt in his body having nothing to do with the fresh wound ripping into his stomach. "You can't save her Lorcan, you can't-"

He bared his teeth, sobbing from behind them, his throat burning. His eyes were on her, tears slipping free as he saw a single tear fall down her cheek, seeing her lips move but he couldn’t read it, he couldn’t see what she was saying and he strained against the restraints, pure and unadulterated wrath flowing through his veins as he managed to raise until he was braced against the wall, watching her, sitting atop that horse one second and the next, gone, nothing but muddy water flowing where she had been. 

Lorcan gasped, his eyes fluttering as his legs gave out and he collapsed, his knees slamming into the cold stone beneath him.  

He stopped, stopped everything, stopped fighting his brothers, stopped seeing, staring with empty eyes across the water, his face blank as his eyes stuck on the last place she had been, crying as she looked up at him. 

The presence of someone appearing on the battlements had something in his blood sparking, that taste of jasmine and lemon verbena and embers, fire flitting on his tongue. 

He hated it, hated that the sound of a sob breaking from his queen had an echo of it in his chest, where nothing was, there was nothing in him anymore. 

“Why didn’t you save her,” his voice was hoarse and shattered but the sobbing behind him stopped, everyone around them stopping, a horrific silence. “She believed in you, she was there for you and you couldn’t do a gods-damned thing.”

There was a wolf’s snarl in his ear, sharp canine’s inches from his neck. “Careful of your next words. That’s my queen.”

He shifted his eyes to the side, looking at Fenrys’ dark ones, anger cracking when he saw the hollowness of Lorcan’s. “My mate is dead. And our queen did nothing.”

His court gasped collectively, Rowan shaking at the admission. Fenrys’ eyes went wide and Lorcan shifted his eyes back to the field, rage flickering in his bones. 

He couldn’t stand it anymore, couldn’t stand being awake and feeling the stares of everyone on him like a brand so he gave in, gave in to the power roaring in his ears. 

A storm of black surrounded him, his dark power racing over the battlements, racing to any being that had that scent clinging to their blood, slaughtering them where they stood, ripping into them until there was nothing left, nothing left to fade into the Afterworld. 

He didn’t know how long it was until he felt nothing, his power searching for something that was not there anymore but he still did not let rest, did not stop the swirling storm around him, craving to reach the bottom of the well within him. 

Lorcan could feel it, he could almost hold it, the burnout when a leash inside him yanked and the storm surrounding him froze, the darkness still cocooning him but it did not move. 

Stop. That is an order. From your queen. 

A tattooed arm locked around his neck, barred against his throat.

The last restraint he had on himself broke, his head tipped back as he roared to the skies, raging at the gods above. 

“I took that oath for her, for El-”, he choked, unable to say her name and he sobbed, bracing a hand on the wall as he shook, the arm loosening and falling away, his other hand pressed to his chest and he begged, “Make it go away, I can’t, it hurts, make it go away!”

His voice broke, his cries shattered, ringing around him and his power buzzed in its frozen state, raging against the bonds that held it in place. 

Someone fell to their knees before him and he didn’t have to open his eyes to know who it was, didn’t doubt as he pulled her into him, sobbing and shaking as her own sobs ripped from her. 

The pressure around them lessened and when his magic ripped free again, she didn’t stop it, didn’t say a thing, their sobs still being torn from their throats as the dark power shredded through him until he could feel the bottom finally and through his teeth, “Let me go, I can’t be here!”

Aelin shook her head, her arms around him growing tighter but then her mate was dragging her, kicking and screaming and reaching for him as he let the power that threatened to rip this world from him do so, as his head dropped back, as a savage roar cleaved the world around him in two and Lorcan Salvaterre simply stopped, dreading when he would wake up again. 

If he ever did. 

@myfeyrelady @kandasboi @westofmoon @empire-of-wildfire @lorcansalvaterree @highqueenofelfhame @the-regal-warrior  @rhysands-highlady im defo forgetting people sorry for that buds! 

[rufousnmacska]

Goodbye and Hello - 5

Manon and Dorian said goodbye in Orynth. But for them, saying hello again is only a matter of time.

fanfic master list (includes the link to my fics on AO3)

Previous chapters:

Part One: I Wish…

Part Two: Another Day

Part Three: Those Two Words

Part Four: Breakfast in Bed

Part Five: Waiting

Squeezed up against the wall, Dorian tried to get out of the way as the rukhin poured from the dining hall. Breakfast was the one meal he and Manon did not join them for, and it was the one meal for which they filled the hall, eating as a single, enormous group.

Some of the larger wyverns were going to attempt the crossing today and the air was thick with excitement. The chosen riders came out last, beaming with pride as they strode by him. Each one gave him a solemn nod in greeting.

After the hall emptied, Dorian leaned against the wall, arms crossed, trying not to think about how little time they had left here. He would be leaving the day after tomorrow. Manon as well, depending on how things went today.

After her first inspection of the young wyverns and meetings with the squad leaders selected by Orghana, Manon planned the week out in detail: training runs through the mountains, flight formations, lessons in hand-to-hand aerial combat. Until today, those flights had been easy, incremental steps to strengthen not just the mounts, but their new riders. No one expected that a handful of wyverns would be advanced enough to go up against the deadly currents of the Ferian Gap.

Privately, Manon had confessed her doubts to him. She’d known the rukhin were disciplined and excellent flyers. What she didn’t know was just how quickly wyverns could develop. Abraxos came to her as a full grown adult. In some regards, she was as inexperienced with this as the rukhin.

Though she shared the aerie’s excitement, he felt the tang of nerves emanating from her while they ate this morning. The crossing was dangerous, even with the precautions they were putting in place. Sentinels on ruks and the smaller wyverns would be positioned at intervals along the descent and near the valley floor, ready to assist if anyone needed help. Prudent planning, but no guarantee it would prevent tragedy.

He was just about to go back and check on Manon when she came around the corner.

“You take forever getting ready,” he teased as she stopped to fasten a few straps on her flight leathers.

She smirked. “If I’d taken a bath with you in the room, we’d both still be there.”

He took her fur-lined cloak, draping it over his arm while she adjusted her sword. “That’s probably true,” he admitted with a grin. “You know me so well.”

“I assume you will be joining us then?”

During the days, while she worked with Orghana and the riders, Dorian spent his time meeting with various small groups. Not everyone who moved here from the Tavan Mountains wanted to be part of the aerial legion. Along with the riders came their spouses and families, including, to everyone’s enjoyment, a clan storyteller who’d accompanied her daughter.

There were caretakers to look after the ruks and wyverns, as well as the people. Yisu, an engineer who'd relocated with her young family, was working to improve the water system inside the Omega while her wife Naran tended some of the livestock. Several teachers had made the trip, ensuring the children would continue their studies.

Then there was Qara, the head cook. After proclaiming “The witch needs more meat on her bones,” the tiny, old woman helped Dorian prepare breakfast each morning. The hot, spiced chocolate drink she made for them was currently Manon’s most favorite thing in the world. When she had told Qara that - not necessarily in those words - the woman grinned from ear to ear, shoved a few pastries into their hands, and turned back to her giant stove.

Dorian met one family of weavers who ventured north in search of new sources of wool for their rugs, as well as new buyers. “No middleman this way,” they’d reasoned. With other craftspeople making their homes here - a blacksmith, tanner, potter - the place was practically self-sufficient.

But he never got the impression that they wanted to be closed off in any way. When he’d brought up the possibility of opening the ranks up to Adarlanians, the rukhin were welcoming.

Despite his daily activities, he was surprised by Manon’s question. Everyone would be out for at least part of the event. It was odd that she didn’t expect it of him.

“I am. In fact, I thought I’d help out. You can use another full grown wyvern in the air, in case anything goes wrong.”

Manon looked up at him. Fear lined her eyes and she opened her mouth to say something, but a deep voice echoed down the hallway.

“Wing leader. May I have a moment?”

Dorian turned to see one of the older riders jogging towards them. Erden wasn’t old exactly. No gray salted his hair, but he had a ruggedly handsome face that only came with age. When he reached them, he stared with open admiration at Manon, completely oblivious to Dorian’s presence.

“Is there something you need?” Dorian asked, not masking his annoyance at the interruption.

Erden looked over, his dark eyebrows raised in what could only be surprise. The man truly hadn’t seen him. Dorian almost laughed.

Addressing Manon, Erden said, “Yes, well, I have some questions about the crossing.”

With a clear expression of dismissal, Manon said, “I’ll be right there.”

Erden didn’t need to be told twice. He gave her a sharp bow, ignored Dorian, and returned the way he had come.

Dorian watched him go, not noticing when Manon took her cloak back and swung it over her shoulders.

“Jealous, princeling?”

Turning back, he found her smirking again, all the tension of a moment ago gone. “How can I not be? Half of them are in love with you. And the other half are in love with you.”

The riders all seemed to worship her, looking at Manon as if she was a warrior goddess sent from above. Which, she was, he happily admitted. Beautiful, clever, lethal, immortal. He really couldn’t blame them.

Manon shook her head and started down the hall. When he caught up to her, she said, “You should stay above, on the platform. Orghana will be below with me, so we’ll have plenty of help along the descent.”

Dorian wanted to protest, but he didn’t, telling himself this was her area of expertise. Even though it was a bullshit excuse. And she wouldn’t look at him. Neither said anything more as they made their way outside.

On the platform, Manon stopped to speak to the riders who’d be undertaking the crossing, giving last minute warnings and answering questions. While everyone else would fly across the valley, they would go on foot, taking the narrow bridge that linked the Omega and the Northern Fang. Someone had suggested it to make things more ceremonial, as if the crossing needed more drama.

When everyone dispersed, Manon hopped onto Abraxos and twisted around, an expectant look on her face. For some reason he couldn’t explain, part of him thought she’d just leave him here. But instead, she waited to fly him over to the Northern Fang.

Settling in behind her, Dorian pulled her to his chest. Where his hands rested against her waist, she laced her fingers into them with a vise-like grip. The fear was back. But, he couldn’t see it this time. He felt it. As if his magic was constantly reaching towards her, reading her emotions.

Her reticence to let him take part had nothing to do with his lack of knowledge or flying experience. It had everything to do with the fact that people could die today. It wouldn’t matter that the riders were pulled from a group of volunteers. If things went badly today, she would hold herself responsible. Just as she did with her coven.

“I’ll stay above. Safe and out of the way,” he said.

Her body relaxed at his words. “Thank you.”

And with that, Abraxos leapt into the air.

***

Cheers echoed between the peaks of the gap as the final wyvern swooped up sharply and flew high into the sky. Every crossing had been a success. As the sentinels took off to join their fellow riders for the celebration awaiting them, Manon stayed behind, guiding Abraxos to land on a rocky slope nearby. Her celebration was letting herself breathe normally for the first time all day.

With her eyes closed, she sat and listened to the wind coursing through the pass, concentrating on the rise and fall of Abraxos’s chest.  

As nervous as she had been today, he’d been distant, lifeless. Her wyvern had his own memories of this place to overcome, something she’d considered before leaving the Wastes. Their arrival had been so happy and he’d been so well taken care of, she thought he was fine.

But today was different. Abraxos had conquered the crossing to the sound of her Thirteen and others cheering him on, to the beating wings of his fellow chained wyverns. None of them were here anymore. Narene wasn’t here.

Before her mind could replay memories she didn’t want to see, and before anyone came looking for her, she tugged on the reins. Two flaps of his spider silk wings had them rising into the chilly air.

As he flew up to the Omega, Manon leaned forward and ran her hand over his neck. The wounds he’d received in Orynth had healed to silvery stripes, brighter than the old scars that criss-crossed his body. Now, they shined red in the sunset, rippling with the movement of his muscles, a sickening reminder of how close she’d come to losing him.

Abraxos landed on the edge of the platform, jolting her back to the present. The raucous laughter and smiling faces pierced through her dark mood like a beacon. As she dismounted, she was pulled into the mass of people, and to her surprise, she didn’t flinch away from the contact.

Manon thought back to when she and Abraxos had survived that first flight across the gap. Despite the cheers that sent them over the ledge, despite her undiluted joy at his victory, their post-crossing celebration had been... nothing. Brief applause, most of it mocking, then another dinner of bland mush in the dining hall. Another emotionless performance in the hopes of not attracting her grandmother’s attention.

This, though. The excitement and camaraderie of these humans was infectious. It became clear to her in that moment just how lacking the lives of the Ironteeth were. How lacking her life had been.

Witches were not and never would be human. But as she watched the rukhin laugh and tease each other, embrace and kiss, she thought it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if witches adopted a few human traits.

A sudden wish to have her Thirteen by her side and watch their reactions to this happy chaos hit her like a crushing weight. She staggered backwards, away from the crowd as they began to move into the entrance hall.

A warm presence steadied her with a hand on her back. “Are you okay?” Dorian dipped his head to look into her eyes.

Manon didn’t know what he saw there, but she could see the worry in his. With a quick shake of her head, she said, “It’s been a stressful day.” Not a lie but not the whole truth. He knew it, she could tell, but he didn’t prod for more.

Dorian waited for her to say something and she looked backwards to Abraxos. Her wyvern was waiting too, staring off into the distance.

Another memory came to her, unbidden, but more welcome than most.

Abraxos’s first day outside. Unchained, free to walk wherever he chose, free to roll around in a field of wildflowers. He’d never seen the sky before that day. Never felt the wind against his wings. And while she’d railed against his decidedly unbeastly behavior, cursing and looking around to make sure no one witnessed it, inside, her heart had been breaking for the pain he’d endured. For the pleasure he found in peacefully smelling flowers that he’d never known existed.

Facing Dorian again, she said, “I need to see to Abraxos.”

As she turned away, he grabbed her hand and pulled her back. “You didn’t answer me. Are you okay?” He spoke low so no one else overheard, but there was a hard edge to his voice, a quickening of his pulse. “I care about you, Manon. I...” He trailed off and shook his head. “I’m worried about you.”

“Today has been difficult for him,” she said, still not answering his question. “I want to be the one to stable him tonight. I’ll be back soon.”

Dorian examined the wyvern, his eyes softening in recognition of whatever emotion he saw in Abraxos’s face. She waited for another round of questions, but none came. He kissed her forehead, lingering for a long moment before he released her hand and walked away.

Once he disappeared into the crowd, she returned to Abraxos and led him into a smaller cave entrance set apart from the main hall. The other wyverns were kept in the Northern Fang, their cages large, clean, and warm. The ruks, used to being exposed to all sorts of weather, preferred their nests perched high on the cliffs above the Omega’s platform.

This little cavern, while not made exclusively for Abraxos, was refitted to accommodate him. It seemed his reputation as an alpha warrior had preceded him here, so he was treated accordingly.

Torches lit the entry and lined the curving passage that led back to his quarters. Abraxos lumbered past a freshly butchered goat and curled up on the hay bedding piled high against the back wall of the cave.

Manon knew exactly how he felt, but she refused to leave without trying to get him to eat. Not bothering with her knife, she sliced through the goat with her nails, separating a leg.

“You can sleep as soon as you eat something,” she said, putting the meat right in front of his face. Big, black eyes shone in the torch light, staring back at her without emotion. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep,” she coaxed. Still no reply, no desire to eat. Sighing, she sat down and leaned against him.

Although she had her own rooms in the keep back home, she often spent part of her nights with him. His aerie was in a nearby tower that was half falling over. It was stable, but just barely. He’d refused to be put with the other wyverns, and the tower overlooked her windows. So even on the nights she didn’t visit him, they could still see each other.

Muffled footsteps sounded from the passage and Manon was surprised to see Orghana walk into the chamber.

“Everyone is asking for you at the aerie.”

The aerie. When she’d lived here, they just referred to it as the entrance hall. It still was the entrance hall in her mind, even after a week. She made a mental note to change that.

“Did the king send you?”

Orghana stroked Abraxos’s snout, eliciting a deep sigh, then sat down next to her. “No. But he did tell me where to find you.”

They sat for a while in comfortable silence, the only sounds the soft popping of the flames and Abraxos’s steady breathing. His eyes were closed, but Manon knew by the pattern of his breaths that he was only dozing.

“Why did you come here?” Manon asked. It was something she’d been wondering but never had the nerve to ask. With her impending departure, she let her curiosity got the better of her.

“The riders wanted me to bring you back.” With a hint of exasperation, she added, “I think Erden has it in his head to ask you to dance.”

Manon choked back a laugh.

Orghana sighed. “He is a very good flyer, but sometimes his eyesight is... lacking."

“I think it’s worse than lacking. He might be blind,” Manon said. They both burst out laughing.

Abraxos jerked awake and twisted his head around to glare at them.

“Sorry,” Orghana said. Seeing the uneaten meat, the captain pulled out her knife and sliced a piece from the bone. When she offered it to Abraxos, he took it without hesitation.

It was Manon’s turn to glare at him. “Spoiled worm,” she muttered, unable to stop a smile from creeping onto her face. Orghana fed him the meat, chunk by chunk, until it was gone. When he settled back down, Manon said, “Actually, I meant why did you come to Adarlan?”

The woman stiffened and Manon thought she might not answer. But Orghana said, “I came because Prince Sartaq asked me to.” After a long pause, she added, “And because my husband died two years ago and I wanted to start over somewhere new.

“He was a healer. Not like those at the Torre. He had no magic, just the usual gifts. Compassion. Intelligence. Because of his skill, he was often called to other aeries when they were in need. So when sickness spread through the Berlad aerie, he went immediately that morning.” Orghana smiled faintly. “He told me he’d be home by dinner, but we both knew it wouldn’t be that simple. It was a rare illness and the sick were already being isolated.”

Damn her nosiness. Manon wished she could go back in time and not ask the question. Glancing sideways at Orghana, she thought about offering her condolences and then changing the subject. It would be rude as hell, and she’d hate herself for it, but she didn’t think she had it in her to listen to more. Clenching her fists to keep her hands from shaking, Manon willed Orghana not to continue.

But continue she did. “I received messages from him each day, full of reassurances. He was always so positive. It made him a good healer. The problem was that to a cynic like me, it could sometimes be annoying.” A small laugh escaped the woman’s lips. “He always said... “ She cleared her throat. With a deeper voice to imitate her husband, she went on speaking in Halha. For Manon, she translated: “You are the cloud to my sun. We are lucky the world needs both in order to have balance.”

As quickly as it had come, the levity in Orghana’s face faded. “When two days went by without a message, I knew.”  

Silence returned and Manon didn’t know what to say.

“There were stories that came back to our mountains from the war. I heard of the sacrifice made by your hearth-sisters,” Orghana said quietly, then shook her head in frustration. “No, that’s not the right word. Your coven?”

The world dropped out from under her and Manon felt like she was floating and falling at the same time. Squeezing her eyes shut tight in the hopes of steadying herself, all she saw was white. That white light of their yielding.

Whenever the scene played in her mind, there was always a kernel of awe in her heart. There had never been a witch who yielded anything other than darkness. For that was the source of the power, the Darkness. 

Somehow though, the Darkness, or perhaps their Three-Faced Goddess, had gifted her coven with light. Not only a power used to kill, but to save. The light from their twelve souls had saved the city, their armies, the world.

What had Orghana called them? Hearth-sisters?

In some ways, that was a better word than coven. Witches often referred to each other as sister or cousin, regardless of any actual familial connection. But the words were meant to declare their clan allegiance, their common origins and otherness from humans and fae.

The bond she shared with the Thirteen was that of true sisters. A bond woven into their very souls. From now until the Darkness claims us.

Orghana reached over and grasped Manon’s hand. “My heart cries for your loss.”

With those words and that touch, Manon felt a release in her chest and heard herself begin to speak. “I’m always looking for them, waiting for them. As if they will return at any moment, coming back from scouting or training. Every day I wait. And they never come.” A tear slid down her cheek but she didn’t bother to wipe it away. “All of my life, I had them with me. Even when we were sent off on different missions, it was never long before we’d be together.” Looking at Orghana, Manon said, “I have no one left who shared my life. No one who shares my memories.”

The woman squeezed her hand but said nothing. Manon blinked, then brushed her face on her cloak. “I must sound mad,” she offered in apology.

With a sad smile, Orghana said, “You are not mad. It took months for me to stop looking for Oktai to walk through our door. You lost an entire family, Manon. I cannot imagine your pain.”

“Does it ever change?”

Everyone kept telling her it would get better, that time would heal her broken heart. She’d seen it happen to some of the witches who lost loved ones in the war. They mourned, but eventually, moved on.

Objectively, she understood it was possible. Even she’d had moments when the grief no longer felt all consuming. More often than not, she felt stuck, mired in this heavy sorrow that she could only break free of for short bursts of time.

This week, with Dorian and Orghana and all the rukhin, with the wyverns and the routine… It had felt like she could see more clearly, breathe more deeply, move more freely. But today had flooded her with reminders of the things she’d been able to temporarily forget, and she was being dragged back under.

“It has changed for me,” Orghana said. “Things that started as distractions became more real, more meaningful. They became things that I looked forward to. New people entered my life. Not to replace, but to… expand.” She waved a hand. “I’m not sure of the words. I should teach you Halha. We have better words.”

Manon sniffed, the edge of her mouth turning up into a hint of a smile. “Your words are fine. But you’re right. I should learn your language.”

In full captain mode, Orghana nodded in approval, looking like she was already planning the lessons in her head. After a pause, she asked, “Do witches have an afterlife?”

"Yes.”

“And do you believe you will see them there one day?”

“Yes.”

“Even after two years, I still have hard days. They are fewer now. But on those hard days, I remind myself that Oktai is waiting for me.” Orghana smiled and let go of Manon’s hand with a soft, reassuring pat. “He loved listening to peoples’ stories. So I made a vow to bring as many with me as I could. I suppose that is the real reason I came here. Not to run from the past. But to make a future that I can one day share with him.”

Manon heard Asterin’s last words to her. Live, Manon.

She hadn’t done it, not really. She’d survived. So many days were devoted to just that one thing - survival. And most of the time she’d only barely managed it. Shame welled up inside as she admitted to herself just how badly she’d failed at that final request. Failed not just Asterin and the rest of the Thirteen, but her people. And herself.

“One of my sisters” - Manon tried the word with its new meaning - “liked collecting stories. Her room was always filled with books.” She smiled, thinking of how testy Ghislaine got when anyone interrupted her reading.

Orghana spoke a word in Halha, then said, “Your first lesson. That means story keeper. They preserve our histories and tales and are respected across all the clans.” With a nod in the direction of the aerie, she added, “I’m sure Jullian will be performing tonight. Do witches have such a thing?”

Manon was embarrassed to say no. Ghislaine was truly unique among the Ironteeth. Crochans, however, did have elders who were renowned for their storytelling, though they weren’t given official titles.

As with Orghana’s empathetic touch, her question triggered something in Manon. She began telling this women she’d only known for a few days some of her stories. Terrible stories of battle, mundane stories of everyday life as a witch, even a couple that were humorous. Her early, messy attempts to hunt goats for Abraxos received quite the laugh.

Most weren’t her stories so much as they were the Thirteen’s.

Vesta’s ability to make anyone feel at ease. Sorrel’s quiet, steady wisdom that was always offered at just the right time. The demon twins’ trouble-making that first earned them their nickname. Lin and Imogen’s protectiveness of everyone in the coven. Ghislaine’s lectures on everything from history to wyvern care.

She spoke about how she’d never learned the secret of the shadows’ ability to sneak up on her undetected. And how she’d always watched Thea and Kaya, curious to know what made them look at each other the way they did.

In speaking it, she thought of Dorian, and realized that was no longer something she wondered about.

Manon saved Asterin for last. She didn’t tell Orghana all of her second’s story, just enough to convey what Asterin meant to her. How much she loved and missed her. And how Asterin had changed her life. For the better.

When Manon was done talking, Orghana said, “Thank you for telling me about them. For the rukhin, sharing stories like that is a way to honor your loved ones. It keeps them alive and with you.”

“I’m sorry about your husband,” Manon said. “I’d like to hear more about him sometime.”

Stretching her arms high over her head, Orghana groaned as her back cracked. “I would like that too. But I am hungry. And the others will be looking for us.” She stood and offered a hand. Manon took it and was pulled up.

Abraxos slept soundly, but Manon still went over to say goodnight to him, rubbing the spot between his eyes. There would be plenty of difficult days waiting for them. Borrowing Orghana’s outlook, if she stayed on her current path, she would end up face to face with a pissed off Asterin in the afterlife. Manon truly didn’t want to let that happen.

Leaning down to Abraxos, she whispered a promise to him, to her sisters, and to herself. “From now until the Darkness claims us, we are going to live.”

They started out of the cave. With perfect innocence, Orghana said, “Perhaps it would be nice to also tell your stories to the king. Then you will have more people who share your memories.”

Manon stopped and shook her head. “You’re not as subtle as you think, Captain.”

The woman shrugged. “I’m not familiar with that word. Sut-tell?” Continuing on her way, she called back, “Let’s go, Your Majesty. I’ll distract Erden so you can find your king.”

***

Altai slapped Dorian on the back as the small group surrounding him laughed. Although he’d had lessons in Halha and spoke it rather well, he wasn’t fluent. And he certainly wasn’t fluent in the more colloquial aspects of the language.

He’d learned that the hard way, when Altai had taught him an expression he unwittingly repeated to Qara. To his relief, she immediately turned to Altai, her grandson, and cuffed him on the side of the head instead of Dorian. The young man was now regaling his friends with the tale.

He was smiling and laughing with the rest, but Dorian wasn’t really paying attention. Manon still hadn’t returned.

Where this anxiety was coming from, he didn’t know. He just wanted to see her, to know she was alright. When Orghana had asked after her and then left, something in the woman’s eyes had calmed him enough to keep him from following.

As it became clear that Altai wasn’t going to give them the real ending, Dorian took the opportunity to go into great detail about the phrases Qara unleashed upon her grandson for fooling the king. With the group now focused on teasing Altai, Dorian stepped back and found a quiet spot away from the crowd.

From his seat along the cavern wall, he watched the flames of the bonfire rise high above the edge of the pit.

Until this morning, he thought he’d been making progress in helping Manon. It took some time, but he’d gotten her to talk about her life in the Wastes - Glennis and the other witches, their struggles this past winter, their plans for the coming year.

One topic never came up.

More like twelve, he thought with a sharp punch of his own grief. The twelve witches he’d considered friends were part of his daily thoughts, and not always in relation to Manon.

They hadn’t been mentioned this week and he never asked, choosing to wait and let her decide when she was ready to talk.

Her expression from that first morning sprang into his mind. After finding her afraid and shaken, Dorian had made sure to wake her each morning before he left to get their breakfast. It hadn’t happened again, and he’d convinced himself it was nothing more than a nightmare. Waking from a bad dream in a new place would cause anyone to react that way. Deep down, he knew there was more to it. But beyond mourning the Thirteen, he had no idea what it even was.

Music began to play and several women stepped down into the pit, drawing everyone’s attention as they started to sing. People gathered closer to the fire, some sitting on the floor and benches, others beginning to dance. Dorian stayed where he was, staring at the dark, cloudless sky outside the aerie. Waiting.

Looking back on this week, back to their goodbye in Orynth, and even further back to that last night together in their tent, he began to see something taking shape. Each puzzle piece was a mistake made. Some were obvious, things he should have noticed at the time. Others were harder to make out, only visible with hindsight, after the puzzle was half done.

Dropping his head into his hands, Dorian scrubbed his fingers through his hair. When he sat back up, Manon was standing in front of him.

“Hello princeling.”

He jumped up, standing so close he had to bend a little to see into her eyes. “Hello witchling.”

The red lining her eyes told him she’d been crying. Seconds ago, he convinced himself that they could no longer ignore whatever walls were standing between them. Her tear-streaked cheeks were the push he needed to say something.

But she was smiling at him. And it was so easy to ignore the walls and the puzzles. What with the music sounding through the aerie, and the light of the fire dancing across her hair, and her smile…

Manon reached up and ran her fingers lightly through his hair, rearranging what he’d just messed up. “I believe our official duties here are done. So, I propose that we spend tomorrow together. Just us. And Abraxos. There’s a meadow on the other side of the gap that I think he’d enjoy seeing again.”  

Before he could reply, and, as if she’d just been reading his mind, Manon added, “I think I’m ready to talk. About them. If you’re willing to listen,”

“Of course,” he said, trying to hide his relief. “Anything you want.”

“In that case…” She bit her lip and glanced behind them. In a shy voice he’d never heard from her, she asked, “Would you dance with me?”

It was the absolute last thing he expected her to say, and he had no way to stop the grin that spread across his face. A grin she mirrored, if to a lesser degree.

“I was just about to ask you that,” he said.

Turning back to the gathering once more, Manon confessed, “I don’t know how. I’ve never danced before.”

The tempo of the music had quickened and the women who’d been singing were now part of small circles of dancers. Everyone joined in, belting out lyrics here and there.

“I’m not familiar with this style of dancing actually,” Dorian said, leaning down to speak into her ear over the loud chorus and clapping. She arched an eyebrow in teasing disbelief. Once, he’d mentioned the dance lessons he suffered through as a boy, overly harsh punishments for very minor rule-breaking. “Sadly, my instructor never strayed from traditional Erilean dances.”

They were already apart from the crowd, but Dorian took her hand and gently led her back into the shadows. Positioning her arm around his waist, he pulled her in close against his chest and cradled her hand between them. They began to move, swaying back and forth.

“How about this, witchling? We’ll start off slow and work our way up to the more advanced steps over time.”

Her reply was the soft, faint smile he loved most. The one she never realized she was making.

As Manon melted against him, Dorian rested his chin on her shoulder and began to turn them in a slow circle. They were hopelessly out of sync with the music, but they ignored it, keeping time with their heartbeats instead.

  To be continued...

Tagging  @itach-i  @nestasbucket  @manontrashbeak  @blackhavilliard  @bookishwitchling @jimetg98

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[their-misplaced-wings]

“Neith’s Arrow” Part IV

A Nesryn Faliq Fan Fiction    

[Part I], [Part II], [Part III]

    Nesryn Faliq admired the way Salkhi’s feathers shimmered in the sun’s reflection off the snow as she secured the last buckle of his saddle. Such beautiful hues of brown, gold, and even a hint of red danced in the light. Nesryn turned and took one of the bundles from the pile Sartaq and Houlun were still adding to for the other aeries, stuffing it into one of the four saddlebags slung across the ruk’s back.

    Sartaq explained the night before that in order to keep them balanced throughout the flight, the supplies they were bringing would we spread even between each ruk. Swiftly but efficiently they packed knitted wears, candles, spices, non-perishables, weapons, and other items for gifting, trading, and surviving should one fall to peril on the flights between aeries.

    The rukhin, Nesryn reminded herself, were survivors. It was not superstition that had them preparing for the worst, but generations of life in these mountains. Although the skies were clear that morning it would not be unusual for a storm to roll over Rokhal mid flight and render even the strongest ruk’s wings useless. So Kadara, Salkhi, and Houloun’s own ruk were all prepared for the worst, while their riders prayed for a swift flight.

    Their visits were to be brief, staying only an hour or two at each aerie and returning home before the sun set. We planned to meet with Yeran, Borte’s fiancé, first. His clan had offered as many riders to the war as the Eridun. His people were strong and resilient through generations of keeping out of other people's’ business. For their people, they decided to break that tradition and fight. As a consequence, their hearth suffered great casualties.

    No loss of family was easy, but the emptiness and sorrow that hit Nesryn as their ruk’s landed in that aerie made her entire soul quake. The flow and hum of life grew, recovered, so slowly with each visit she had made since their return from war. Nesryn told herself that the rukhin would need time to heal. She told herself that they would heal, were healing. She ignored the voice that purred in a voice so like her own, this is your fault, your fault, you brought this to them, your fault. 

    “Tell me, Houlun, did my fiancé make you weather this cold to avoid me still?” Yeran asked by way of greeting.

    Houlun dismounted, embracing Yeran instead of answering. The hearth-Ej always made these visits between clans and with her away, the successor remained home. Nesryn tried not to think about why the women <i>always</i> followed that particular practice. She also tried not to look too long at Yeren’s single arm embracing Houlun.

    During the war, Yeran took a wyvern tail to the side, defending his ruk from the impact. One of the poisoned barbs at the end pierced his left forearm. By the time his ruk landed and a healer got to him, the whole arm had to be forfeited to save his life. A light hand on Nesryn’s lower back brought her back, made her look away after what felt like hours. Sartaq kissed her brow and began unpacking Kadara.

    Alive, she told herself. He had survived, and had learned to fly single-handed despite the injury. Borte nearly gutted him when she found him in the skies above the battlefield again not a week later. Nesryn grinned at the stubbornness of rukhin and glaced at Sartaq. He met her eyes and flashed a roguish grin in return, arms already filled with bundles of supplies.

    “Borte sends her warm wishes,” Nesryn said before digging out supplies from Salkhi’s saddle.

    Sartaq snorted and added, “though she might have worded it differently.”

    “Though my hearth-children would know better than to repeat such things around their Ej ” Houlun warned, meeting the eyes of both Sartaq and Nesryn for emphasis.

    Yeran’s chuckle warmed Nesryn’s bones, quieted her guilt for the moment, and she smiled. He said, “Honestly, I would fear the day she offered such pleasantries without a bite.” They all agreed.

    After their ruks were settled, still saddled and ready in case there was need for a speedy take-off, the rukhin carried the supplies to the aerie’s meeting hall. Nesryn watched and followed Sartaq and Houlun, this being her first time experiencing the event she was unfamiliar with what exactly was protocol. They placed their wares on the long table that had been placed in the front of the hall.

    Despite the familiarity between Yeran and the Eridun, relations between the two clans were still strained. Some of the oldest and most respected members of each were hesitant to forgive past grievances, and Nesryn had no intention of starting anything new. Sartaq had assured her these trips to the aeries were informal meetings, meant to be a show of hospitality and good fortune through the long winter yet to pass. 

    They started generations ago when the hearth-mothers of the time finally tired of seeing their families and ruks freeze and starve due to stubborness of their Captains. A few aeries refused the first year. A few still the year after that one. It took five years before each clan agreed to meet each winter, to help each other survive as a people instead of trying to stand on their own.

    When Nesryn asked what had finally convinced them all, after so many stubborn winters of stubbornness, Sartaq’s eyes filled with that wondrous light he got when reflecting on a cherished memory. At age seventeen, Houlun’s great-grandmother flew her ruk, alone, bags stuffed with as many things she could manage, just one day after the first storm one winter. The clan had lost three hatchlings and two of the children living within the aerie had fallen ill. She landed her ruk, carried the goods to the Captain, and placed them at his feet. She said, “you might be fine with letting your people suffer for pride, but I am not,” and left before he could reply. The next year each clan agreed to the trades. 

    “Was she punished when she returned?” Nesryn asked.

    “No,” Sartaq answered. When he saw the shock Nesryn failed to hide he added, “She was required to pay for the goods she had taken, but she was not reprimanded for helping her people, no.” Nesryn had lived with the rukhin for nearly a year, yet she kept catching herself assuming they behaved like parents in Ardalan. Here they would never lock their children indoors, punish them for looking out for others, hide them from the dangers in their world. Here they helped guide their children through what was right and wrong, let their make mistakes, taught them how to survive. Their people thrived from it, she had to admit.

    Nesryn now looked around the hall, five others had gathered in the hall, and she wondered how many of them knew that story. She knew each of them from the war and was glad to see them again. She asked how their families were, if they had had any good hunts before the storm hit the mountains, if they would be participating in The Gathering this Spring. Nesryn told them of her nieces and nephews, growing ever bigger between each visit. Assured that Borte refused to cut Yeran any slack, even when he wasn’t around to hear.

    Nesryn watched as Houlun embraced Yeran’s hearth-mother, the two women spoke quietly amongst themselves. Once they turned the others gather around the table the idle chatter silenced. Houlun moved to stand on Sartaq’s left, Nesryn on his right. Yeran and the others stood across the table from Nesryn and her companions.

    “Welcome, dear family,” the woman said, spreading her hands wide as Houlun as prone to when telling one of her stories. “May this trade bring strength and good fortune to our people during these trying month to come,” she nodded.

    Before Nesryn could blink bundles were being undone and emptied onto the table. A brief speech for a tradition upheld by a people with short tempers, Nesryn realized. There were likely many times when these meetings were better off finishing before too many things could be said between participants. Not twenty minutes had passed before each previously emptied sack was stuffed anew with different goods. Ten more minutes and the Eridun had their bags packed and ruks ready to fly to the next aerie.

    “When will you visit us next?” Houlun asked after the trades were settles, embracing Yeran one last time before mounting her ruk.

    “Before the month is through, weather and my lovely fiancé permitting,” he grinned. “Safe travels, my friends,” he waved to Sartaq and Nesryn, and with that they took off into the air. Nesryn couldn’t help thinking back to her first encounter with Yeran and marvel at how much spirit the man still had despite everything. In the silence of the flight, that familiar hum filled Nesryn’s mind once more, blending with the beating of the ruk’s wings. Your fault, your fault, you fault.

[Part I], [Part II], [Part III]

[acourtofcouture]

An Insider’s Guide to Throne of Glass: the Rukhin, the Ruk Riders of the the Khaganate’s Aerial Troops, 1/?

[acourtofcouture]

Throne of Glass Masterlist

An Insider’s Guide to Throne of Glass

A Hatchling Wyvern- 1

Abraxos and His Rider, Manon Blackbeak- 1

Adarlan’s Assassin- 1

Adarlan’s Assassin and the King of the Assassins- 1

Aelin of the Wildfire- 1

Antica- 1, 2

Anielle, the City of the Silver Lake- 1

Athril’s Golden Ring- 1

Banjali, the Capital of Eyllwe- 1

Bellhaven, the Capital of Fenharrow- 1

Blackbeak Keep- 1, 2

Bogdano Jungle- 1

Briarcliff- 1

Celaena Sardothien at the Yulemas Masquerade Ball- 1

Chaol’s Yulemas Gift to Celaena- 1

Doranelle, the City of Rivers- 1

Map of Erilea

Map of the Kingdoms of Wendlyn and Doranelle

Map of the Southern Continent

Maeve’s Palace in Doranelle- 1

Manon Blackbeak Seeks Out the Stygian Spiders- 1

Manon Blackbeak, the Last Crochan Queen, and Her Wyvern, Abraxos- 1

Melisande- 1

Mistward- 1

Morath- 1, 2

Noll, the Last Adarlanian Outpost- 1

Perranth- 1

Rifthold, the Capital of Adarlan- 1

Silba’s Temple in Antica- 1

Skull’s Bay- 1

Standard Issue Flying Leathers for the Ironteeth Aerial Legion- 1, 2

The Black Sands of Roth- 1

The Cadre Returning to the City of Rivers, Doranelle- 1

The Cambrian Mountains- 1

The Cleaver of the Deserted Land- 1

The Crown of the Crochan Queen- 1

The Crown of the Queen of of Terrasen- 1

The Dead Islands- 1

The Ferian Gap- 1

The Gateway to Doranelle- 1

The Gulf of Oro- 1

The Khaganate Palace in Antica- 1, 2, 3

The Kingdom of Terrasen- 1

The Lavender Fields of Eyllwe- 1

The Lost Mycenian Sea Dragons of Illium- 1

The Oasis of Barg- 1

The Port City of Innish- 1

The Red Desert- 1

The Region of Oakwald Forest Favored by the Little Folk- 1, 2

The Royal Palace of Eyllwe in Banjali- 1

The Ruins of the City in the Stone Marshes- 1

The Rukhin- 1

The Runni Quarter of Antica- 1

The Salt Mines of Endovier- 1

The Shores of the Great Ocean in Adarlan- 1

The Shores of Wendlyn- 1

The Silent Assassin’s Keep- 1

The Silver Lake of Anielle- 1

The Spirit of Elena Galathynius Havilliard- 1, 2, 3

The Stone Marshes- 1

The Temple of the Stone in the Ancient Terrasen Port City of Ilium- 1

The Three-Faced Goddess- the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone- 1

The Torre Cesme in Antica- 1

The Western Wastes, the Witch Kingdom- 1, 2

The White Fang Mountains- 1

The Wyrdstone Tower in Amaroth- 1

Wyrdstone Rings- 1

Xandria, the Capital of the Deserted Land- 1

An Insider’s Guide to Rifthold

Celaena’s Apartment- 1, 2, 3

Celaena’s Beloved Music Hall, Closed by the Order of the King of Adarlan- 1

Celaena’s Bedroom, Bathing Chamber and Wardrobe at the Glass Palace- 1

Celaena’s Rooms at the Assassin’s Keep-1

Dine Along the Avery River- 1

Kaltain Rompier’s Peacock Mask for the Yulemas Masquerade at the Glass Palace- 1

The Assassin’s Keep- 1

The Glass Palace- 1

The Private Study of Arobynn Hamel, King of the Assassins- 1

The Royal Library at the Glass Palace- 1

The Sprawling Gardens of the Glass Palace-1

The Willows Tea Court- 1, 2

An Insider’s Guide to Terrasen

Oakwald Forest- 1

Princess Evalin and Her Daughter, Princess Aelin- 1

Springtime in Orynth- 1

The Abandoned Lighthouse of Suria on the North Sea Coastline- 1

The City of Orynth, Capital of the Kingdom of Terrasen- 1

The Country Estate of Rhoe and Evalin Galathynius Along the Florine River- 1

The Crown of Brannon Galathynius, the First King of Terrasen- 1

The Gardens at the Palace of Orynth- 1

The Gate to the Country Estate of Rhoe and Evalin Galathynius Along the Florine River- 1

The Halls of the Palace of Orynth- 1

The Kingsflame Blooms in Oakwalk- 1

The Library of Orynth- 1

The North Sea- 1

The Orynth Book Market on the Western Bank of the Florine River- 1

The Stag of Terrasen- 1

The Stag of Terrasen Returns to Orynth- 1

Throne of Glass Series x Iconic Runway Collections

Pamella Roland Fall 2019 Ready-to-Wear

Teuta Matoshi Duriqi- 1

Ziad Nakad S/S 2016

Ziad Nakad S/S 2020

Throne of Glass Couples & Weddings

Aelin Galathynius + Rowan Whitethorn

Aelin’s Infamous Gold Nightgown- 1, 2

Aelin’s Wedding Dress- 1

Aelin’s Wedding Ring- 1

Rowan’s Wedding Ring- 1

Celaena Sardothien + Dorian Havilliard- 1

Celaena Sardothien + Sam Cortland- 1, 2

Elide Lochan + Lorcan Salvaterre

Elide’s Wedding Dress- 1

Lysandra + Aedion Ashryver- 1

Lysandra’s Engagement Ring- 1

Lysandra’s Wedding Dress- 1

Manon Blackbeak + Dorian Havilliard

Manon and Dorian’s Wedding Reception- 1

Manon and Dorian’s Wedding Bands- 1

Modern AU x Throne of Glass

Aelin Ashryver Galathynius- 1, 2

Celaena Sardothien- 1, 2

Elide Lochan- 1

Lysandra- 1

Manon Blackbeak- 1

Nehemia Ytger- 1, 2

Rowan Whitethorn- 1

[rufousnmacska]

Goodbye and Hello - 3

Manon and Dorian said goodbye in Orynth. But for them, saying hello again is only a matter of time.

Kingdom of Ash spoilers

Tagging @itach-i @nestasbucket @manontrashbeak @blackhavilliard @bookishwitchling @jimetg98

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged 😊

fanfic master list (including the link to my fics on AO3, under the same username)

Part One: I Wish…

Part Two: Another Day

Part Three: Those Two Words

Dawn was breaking in streaks of red and pink behind him as Dorian neared the Ferian Gap. The urge to keep going and fly between the imposing peaks of the pass tugged at him. Only the reminder that locating Manon in the vast western skies would be impossible kept him veering towards the platform atop the Omega.

A group of rukhin peered out from a gaping entrance and watched him land. By the time he shifted out of his wyvern form, Orghana was coming out to meet him.

She had not been among the original forces sent by the Khagan to fight Erawan. In fact, a majority of the people now living here had never before left the Tavan Mountains. Stories spread by the warriors who’d fought the Ironteeth made their way quickly through the six clans, and other riders soon asked to come north. Orghana, one of the more experienced rukhin and second to an aerie captain, was selected to lead the contingent and in early spring, Sartaq sent her with ships full of supplies, riders, and ruks.

“We were not expecting you until this evening, Your Majesty,” she said by way of greeting. Her skill lay not only in training warriors. She was fluent in several languages and practiced diplomacy with the manner of a true leader.

Dorian bowed his head. “I’m sorry to impose, Captain.”

She smiled up at him. “No apologies necessary. We were excited to hear that both you and the Queen would be visiting. The wyverns have grown quickly. We eagerly await her instruction.”

As if on cue, high pitched screams echoed from across the gap. The sound was familiar, and yet not. The mature wyverns he was used to made deeper, more guttural noises. More menacing. These were the shrill cries of the young.

“Is the Queen here already?” he asked, looking behind her to the opening into the mountain. It was a struggle to maintain a bored expression and calm tone.

“Not yet. I believe she is due to arrive tomorrow evening.” An upward twitch of her mouth was the only sign she gave that his act had not worked.

For a brief moment, Dorian wondered how much Orghana knew of the situation, and wished he’d thought to ask Chaol.

Within an hour of learning he was to meet with Manon, Dorian packed, left instructions for Chaol and his advisors, thanked Yrene, and said goodbye to Josie, who had already fallen asleep in her father’s arms. Finding out the true extent of their plotting had never occurred to him. Until now.

“I can show you to your room,” she said. “We have yet to look in on our ruks this morning. While we do that, you can get settled. Then breakfast?”

“Sounds perfect,” he said, securing his bags over his shoulder. “After you.”

Dorian followed her into the mountain, taking in all of the improvements as Orghana pointed them out. The entrance hall was huge, cavernous and airy with a high, domed ceiling. Heavy curtains covered all the openings to passages that led deeper into the mountain, providing an extra layer of protection against the weather. Lit braziers were scattered around the space and there was a roaring fire throwing off light and heat. The pit holding the fire had been carved into the rock at the center of the room and was surrounded by heavy wooden benches.

Dorian closed his eyes as the heat reached him. Flying as a wyvern prevented him from feeling the steadily dropping temperatures. But once he’d shifted, the cold air chilled him to the bone.

“I’ve never been in this part before,” he muttered, as she led him down hallways and up stairs. Riders passed by as they headed outside, either too sleepy or too unimpressed to pay him much attention. After so many years of fake court pleasantries and smiling at false words and faces, Dorian enjoyed the lack of formalities.

“These mountains are very much like the Tavans,” she said. “I can see why they wanted to stay. There was a lot to clean up and fix, but we’ve made it into a home.”

Shame nipped at him. He’d not thought to have the place readied for them. With Orghana’s unexpected arrival bringing more people and supplies, he’d let himself become distracted by other matters, and neglected his duty as host to honored guests.

Pulling him from his thoughts, she stopped in front of a newly placed door. “We were instructed to prepare a single room.” Again, that look, as if she knew this whole thing was a sham, even if they would receive help with the wyverns. “But since we were not told how many would be arriving from the Wastes, we have several ready. Will this do?”

A diplomat indeed, he thought as Orghana pushed the door open and stepped aside. Dorian peered into the room.

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting. Perhaps a cot with a table and chair, something like what he’d used for months upon returning to Rifthold. He had certainly not expected this.

It was the Southern Continent in Adarlan. Brightly hued wool tapestries hung from the walls, each depicting mountains and peaks that looked as if they could have been modeled on the Fangs and Ruhnns. The floor was covered with thick rugs, woven into intricate geometric and floral designs. A large bed dominated the space, its ceiling high posts carved with ruks and horses and other animals he couldn’t distinguish. The rest of the furniture was just as ornate, and through a small door he saw the edge of a brightly polished copper basin.

“There are communal baths, but we’ve been outfitting some individual rooms for privacy. It’s piped in from a cistern. No buckets needed,” Orghana said, pride in her voice. “But, it will be cold.”

Of course he’d used a bathing tub with indoor piping before. Still, Dorian was awestruck and knew he must look like a fool. He managed to say, “I can heat it.”

When he said nothing else, she bowed. “I will send someone in an hour. Yes?”

“Yes,” he said, still staring. “Thank you.”

The door clicked shut and Dorian dropped his bags then turned in a circle. Like a child from the country visiting a city for the first time, he walked around wide-eyed, examining the textiles and lacquered wood, touching the satiny layers atop the bed. His dreams to visit Antica had never been realized, and this taste made him want to go even more.

A twinge of jealousy bit into him as he remembered the luxuries he’d once had in Rifthold. He’d always taken it for granted, always assumed that he’d have it forever. But now, after the war and the destruction rained down upon Erilea by Erawan... He was lucky to have what he did. Lucky to even be alive.

The envy quickly faded as he realized how lucky he was to count these people as friends and allies. To know he could call on Sartaq and his siblings at any time for aid. Or just as importantly, advice. To know these rukhin had left their homes and families to settle somewhere new, try something new.

A thought struck him and he inhaled deeply through his nose. The overpowering stench from the last time he’d been here, the smell of hate and cruelty and pain... It was gone. Along with Erawan’s witches and men who were responsible for it. In its place he smelled smoky fires, spiced foods, and floral perfumes.

Stepping out onto the balcony, he watched the sun fall across the snowy crowns of the Ruhnns. He’d lost track of their direction in the passages and hallways. His room faced west, towards the Wastes, even if they weren’t quite visible beyond the mountains.

He’d been wrong to think of the rukhin as guests. They’d chosen to come to Adarlan and were now part of it. These mountains were being transformed into a home, just as Orghana said.

Adarlan had never been a particularly welcoming place, thanks in part to his father. But only in part. He’d played up existing prejudices for his own ends.

Creating a better world was already a guiding principle of Dorian’s reign. But doing it, actually making things better... It was easier said than done. Security and trust were much harder to restore than homes or crops.

Orghana was partly right that this trip was an excuse to see Manon. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t get anything else out of it. He wanted to learn all he could from the rukhin, not just out of his own curiosity, but to hopefully become a better leader. That wouldn’t happen if he didn’t know his people.

Dorian wandered back inside and headed to the bathing room. The oblong tub stood almost to his waist, easily large enough to hold more than one person. Smiling to himself, he couldn’t stop the thoughts that flooded his mind. With the turn of a lever, water began to pour into the tub. The force of it sprayed him and he jumped back from the biting cold.

Manon would be here tomorrow. If he was to stay sane, he’d need to keep busy.

Not wanting to reach down into the numbing water, he rested a hand on the outside and heated the basin until it was almost glowing. A bath, breakfast, and then perhaps, a tour.

***

Stars were just becoming visible in the dark purple skies as Manon spotted the landing platform at the Omega. She’d considered bypassing the Ferian Gap completely and going straight to Rifthold. But the risk of missing Dorian on his way here was too great. Besides, that reeked of desperation, and she had enough pride left to keep from donning that scent.

Windows cut into the mountain glowed in the evening light, and she saw figures running out to greet her. The faces staring up at her as she approached were so young, practically children.

Those hellish final hours of battle from almost a year ago were always fresh in her mind. When those same children fought and fell beside her own witches. Had it not been for the relentless arrival of Erawan’s reinforcements, or the fatigue that was as much an enemy as those legions, she would have stopped Abraxos that day to marvel at the rukhin on their mounts.

Even if a part of her was saddened by the fighting they’d had to endure at such young ages, she felt a strange welling of pride and excitement knowing she would have a hand in their training on wyverns. They were fearsome and deadly and disciplined, equal to the best witch covens.

Manon caught herself just before she might look over her shoulder. Before she’d see no one there.

Steeling her face as Abraxos landed, she saw a crowd had gathered, waiting for them. They stayed back, not wanting to get too close. She couldn’t keep a smile off her lips as they stared in awe at Abraxos. When she dismounted, a woman came over from where she’d been standing in the shadows.

She had tightly braided hair, as dark as her flying leathers, and though she was rather small, she radiated an air of authority.

In that middle stage between adolescence and graying hair, Manon was bad at judging the age of humans. The group now happily watching Abraxos preen, the “children”, were easy for her to figure out. This woman though... It was hard to tell in the growing dark, but her face held the lines of someone old enough to have children, perhaps grandchildren. Then again, the sun and weather could age someone as much as time did.

Her scouts had reported the woman’s name was Orghana and she was a force to be reckoned with in the air. Manon liked her already.

“Your Majesty,” she said, bowing.

"Captain Orghana?” When she nodded, Manon dipped her head.

“You are earlier than expected.” A strange smile crossed her face and Manon wondered if she’d caused some offense. As if in answer, Orghana said, “We are very happy to have you here.”

Glennis had not given her much notice for the trip, a flight that would normally take about two days. After a sleepless night and a particularly cranky morning, her great grandmother had ordered her to "just leave”. Manon put up a decent fight, enough to look believable. But when she’d crawled onto Abraxos, Glennis had waved at her, a knowing smile creeping across her face.

One of the riders came over and spoke to his captain in Halha. Orghana translated, and Manon gave the young man, named Altai, permission to take Abraxos inside to a spot they’d prepared for him. When he didn’t move, only gawked at her, she glanced over to the other riders. They wore the same expression, Abraxos forgotten for the moment as they openly stared at her.

Orghana laughed and pushed him on his way. When Manon’s eyes landed on her runt of a wyvern, a pleased and haughty look on this face as he was ushered into the mountain, she sighed. It would take weeks to undo the spoiling Abraxos would receive here.

“When do you expect the King?” she asked mildly, turning back to the captain. With a shorter flight from Rifthold, she assumed he would arrive soon.

The woman’s grin widened, and Manon masked her face to hide the annoyance that had flicked on inside her. There was no threat, no insult, just that infuriating grin.

It reminded her of a Crochan she’d overheard recently talking about her daughter. The witchling had fallen in love with a human boy in Briarcliff, and her mother was practically giddy with excitement. Manon had walked away before her eye roll might insult the witch.

Orghana was wearing an expression quite like that mother. And like Glennis, she realized.

The wind shifted, blowing a frigid gust directly into her face, inundating her with a mixture of smells - birds, wyverns, spices, strange humans.

And one human that was familiar.

Dorian was already here.

Manon turned for the entrance, Orghana calling after her. Over her shoulder, she said, “Thank you. I’ll find him.”

She tried hard not to run, and managed to wait until she got indoors before sprinting down the halls, following his scent. When it led her to a closed door on the uppermost floor, she stopped, frozen.

What was she doing? Showing up after months of ignoring his attempts to reach out to her, thinking she could just barge into his room. What waited for her on the other side? Dorian, happy to see her? That was a fool’s hope.

Out of nowhere, Glennis’s soft voice echoed through her mind. You deserve to be happy.

She still didn’t believe it, but she could no longer deny the part of her that wanted to.

Manon took a steadying breath, turned the latch and pushed the door open.

It was empty.

Slowly, she walked around the room, only breathing again when she saw bags thrown across a sofa, their contents half hanging out. Something shifted, in the air or in her, and she sensed him approaching.

She turned, and a moment later, Dorian skidded through the open door and stopped.

She scanned him from head to toe and back again. He looked different, and yet, exactly the same. His hair had grown, with dark, silky strands curling around his ears. His shoulders seemed broader, stronger. His eyes had not changed at all.

When Manon settled her roaming gaze on his sapphire eyes, it was as if no time had passed. He was looking at her as he’d done in Orynth. None of the anger she’d feared, no resentment. Only hope.

Choking with emotion, she said, “Hello prince-”

Before she could finish, he was there, cradling her wind chilled face in his warm hands and kissing her. The gentleness of his lips belied his rush to get to her. She lost all sense of her surroundings as her fingers found their way to his hair and she pulled him closer.

When their breath was close to running out, Manon broke the kiss. Laughing, she said, “-ling.”

Dorian rested his forehead on hers and gasped his reply. “Hello witchling.”

Every letter he’d sent began with those two words. She hadn’t realized just how badly she’d needed to hear them. How much she had craved him, the sound of his voice, the feel of his touch. And she hadn’t known she was crying until he brushed away the tears falling down her cheeks.

***

There was no explanation for it. He was deep in the Northern Fang, watching his rukhin guides feed the young wyverns. Cries and growls and gnashing teeth made it difficult to hear anyone speak.

Even so, he heard the boom of wings. The boom he’d wished to hear every night in Rifthold.

Calling out his apologies, Dorian took off, running up flights of twisting, narrow stairs to the main level. Shifting into the largest wyvern he could manage, he made the crossing in a few flaps of his wings. Back at the Omega, he landed, shifted and saw Orghana waiting. In answer to his unasked question, she nodded inside and he took off again.

She was here. Early. What that might mean, he didn’t know. Didn’t allow himself to think more about it as he tore through passages, muttering apologies to each person who had to jump out of his way.

His door was open and he just managed to catch himself on the edge to make the turn.

Manon stood in the middle of the room and immediately, his senses, his world narrowed to only her.

Dorian couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. He just stared at her, drinking her in as though he’d never had a drop of water in his life.

Grief and stress had changed her, leaving her face angular, her body slighter, her eyes shadowed with half moons. None of that could dim her extraordinary beauty though. Or the gold of her eyes, shining in the firelight as they brimmed with tears.

There was no room in him for bitterness over her months of silence. He’d let that go before getting here. Only one part of that mattered to him - reminding her she was not alone, and that he still cared.

She had not yet spoken, hadn’t even moved, and for a second, Dorian wondered if this was some sort of dream. Waking from it would be a nightmare.

Blinking away the tears, Manon smiled and opened her mouth to speak.

He didn’t think beyond knowing he had to touch her, had to make sure she was really here, flesh and blood. The moment he held her, kissed her, something deep within righted itself.

For so long, he’d been abuzz with nerves and plagued by an odd sense of imbalance. They’d become so much a part of him that he’d grown oblivious to their presence. Until this moment. When he touched her, kissed her, breathed her in.

Manon quieted the buzz and corrected the balance. Dorian knew it then. Even after months apart, he loved her.

With a breathless laugh, Manon finished her greeting. Those two words, interrupted by their kiss, were like a balm, and Dorian returned them hoping it might have the same effect on her.

“I missed you,” he said, looking deep into her eyes, so there was no mistaking the truth of his feelings.

“And I missed you.”

He had a million questions, a million things he wanted to say, but when he opened his mouth to speak, her eyes turned wary and her jaw tightened. She looked like someone waiting to be interrogated.

Dorian closed his mouth, trying not to let his worry show. The feather light touch of her fingers over his lips made his blood heat.

“Later,” she whispered. “We can talk later.”

Where he still held her, he felt the warmth spread through her cheeks, the quickening of her pulse. Manon relished his touch, leaned into it, demanding more. But, that wariness remained in her eyes.

Theirs was a love story in reverse, beginning with the physical and moving to the emotional. The trust to share their bodies had developed quickly, had almost been there from the start. Sharing their hearts required more time. They’d stared down that path before the realities of war clouded their vision. Before he’d left for Morath, and she’d lost everyone close to her.

“Anything you want.”

“Right now, I only want you.” Her voice, deep with desire, held an edge of relief he chose to ignore.

Dorian kissed her again, just a brush of his lips over hers. A sigh of pleasure rose from her and his heart raced in reply. Her eyes never wavered as she pulled him backwards to the bed.

A lock clicked into place after a gust of magic closed the door. Candles flickered to life around the room. And Manon smiled as she started to unbutton his shirt.

“Just you,” she repeated.

“I’m all yours, witchling.”

To be continued...

[rufousnmacska]

Goodbye and Hello sneak peak

Manon and Dorian said goodbye in Orynth. But for them, saying hello again is only a matter of time.

In anticipation of posting the next chapter soon, here’s a little recap and preview of part 5. Sorry it took so long! If you’d like to be tagged in the next chapters, let me know!

Part One: I Wish…

A manorian goodbye we didn’t get at the end of Kingdom of Ash.

Part Two: Another Day

Ten months have passed, and while Manon and Dorian make excuses not to see each other, their friends have a surprise planned.

Part Three: Those Two Words

The rukhin living at the Ferian Gap welcome royal visitors. (And if you don’t know what two words are referenced in the title… your assignment is to reread all the manorian chapters in the ToG series.)

Part Four: Breakfast in Bed

Dorian stays true to his word from chapter 1 and treats Manon to something new. All too quickly he realizes the brave front she’s putting up is hiding something he might not be able to help fix.

Preview of Part Five: Waiting

Dorian turned to see one of the older riders jogging towards them. Erden wasn’t old exactly. No gray salted his hair, but he had a ruggedly handsome face that only came with age. When he reached them, he stared with open admiration at Manon, completely oblivious to Dorian’s presence.

“Is there something you need?” Dorian asked, not masking his annoyance at being interrupted.

Erden looked over, his dark eyebrows raised in what could only be surprise. The man truly hadn’t seen him. Dorian almost laughed.

Addressing Manon, he said, “Oh, yes. I have some questions about the crossing.”

With a clear expression of dismissal, Manon said, “I’ll be right there.”

Erden didn’t need to be told twice. He gave her a sharp bow, ignored Dorian, and returned the way he had come.

Dorian watched him go, not noticing when Manon took her cloak back and swung it over her shoulders.

“Jealous, princeling?”

Turning back, he found her smirking again, all the tension of a moment ago gone. “How can I not be? Half of them are in love with you. And the other half are in love with you.”

The riders all seemed to worship her, looking at her as if she was a warrior goddess sent from above. Which she was, he happily admitted. Beautiful, clever, lethal, immortal. He really couldn’t blame them.

[their-misplaced-wings]

“Neith’s Arrow” Part II

A Nesryn Faliq Fan Fiction 

[Part I] ,  [Part III]

    An inch of snow already blanketed the uncovered floors of the aerie. The giant curtains they drew and bolted into the stone rippled and groaned as the winter storm ravaged through their mountains. Nesryn Faliq sat beside Borte in the hall, their toes outstretched to the fire. They tucked a wool blanket around themselves and huddled together to share body heat.

    Nesryn gripped her steaming mug of tea inches from her face. The warmth seeping into her fingers, the steam brushing away the biting cold from her cheeks.    “This is only the beginning of winter?” Nesryn asked her hearth-sister. She had taken to the name during the long flight to Terrasen. Borte merely nodded, her silence promise enough of the storms they were yet to face.    After a drunken night in Skull’s Bay, a celebratory night before uniting with Aelin Galanthynius’ forces, Borte swaggered over to Nesryn and Sartaq. They had occupied a table in the corner of the taproom, separate enough for them to speak over the steady thrum of clunking, laughing, and shouting that filled the hall.    Borte had dragged a chair to their table, having forced its previous occupant to vacate it with no shortage of threats. She sank down, swaying into Nesryn’s side, and slung an arm around the archer’s shoulders. A cup of ale sloshing in Borte’s other hand.    The rukhin- currently wedged between a cushion and Nesryn under that warm blanket- stared Sartaq in the eye and said “Listen Mister,” pointing an index finger in his direction, mug and all. She settled him with a look that would have made any lesser man tremble.    Sartaq, however, chuckled in anticipation of what would follow. “You have my attention, Borte,” he said after a moment passed.    Nesryn noted a few heads inclined in their direction out of curiosity. The atmosphere of the Bay certainly seemed to encourage regular bar fights, which there was no shortage of that night. Unfortunately for them, that was not where this encounter was heading.    Borte clapped Nesryn’s back twice and jostled her a bit, crushing her in a one armed hug. “This woman right here, this is my hearth-sister. You will be wise not to hurt her,” Borte threatened, her speech steady despite the sway of her torso.    Nesryn couldn't help the heat that rose to her face, “Borte-” she began but Sartaq let out a peal of laughter.    “I would never dream of pissing off Neith’s Arrow, dear sister,” he said, with a wink at Nesryn. “I have seen the wrath that befalls her enemies, and anyone who stands in her way, enough to know better.”     Nesryn was roused from the memory as a familiar cadence of footsteps approached from the kitchens. She twisted her head enough to see Sartaq approaching with a tray of food.    Sartaq caught her gaze, smiled that half smile of his, and raised the tray a bit in greeting before placing it on the table before them. “The two of you certainly look comfortable,” he said, crossing his arms.    “Jealous, Your Highness?” Borte asked as she released one hand from her mug only to loop her elbow through Nesryn’s own. “Sorry, this is a women's only cocoon of warmth. You’ll have to find your own,” she added before he could respond.    Sartaq placed the back of his palm to his forehead in mock despair before settling on the couch beside Nesryn. He shrugged and grabbed one of the plates, the savoury spices wafting across the space between, filling her senses. Nesryn was suddenly aware of her hunger.   “Betrayed by my sister, and my heart,” he teased. Nesryn shoved his shoulder hard enough to jostle his dinner and curled further into Borte’s warmth. Sartaq feigned anger, leveling a cool glare at his heart.   Nesryn met that glare, but casually stretched her legs across his lap and placed her mug on the table. Sartaq rested his plate on her knees and continued to eat.    Having scooped up their own plates during the commotion, Borte handed one to Nesryn. The whistling gusts from the storm raging outside and the crackling of the fire filled the silence as they ate. When they had finished, Borte announced she was tired. Nesryn protested as the blanket shifted and she was again subject to the butter cold.    As Borte’s steps faded Nesryn found herself sitting in Sartaq’s lap, his arms pulling her against him, and the blanket tucked around them both. His mouth against her hair, his hands stroking her back, she regretted not abandoning her stubborn allegiance with Borte sooner.    “How long do the storms last?” she asked, her hands curling in his hair. It had grown since he’d cut it to save their lives during their encounter with the kharankui nest.    “Some clear over the course of a day or night,” he offered. “Others have last for days.”    “Days?” she didn’t bother hiding her surprise.    Sartaq nodded, “The longest I have witnessed lasted eight days.”    Nesryn raised her eyebrows but waited for him to continue. The longest winter storm she had seen in Ardalan lasted five. By the third day she and her sister had to be separated by their father. Each of their tempers on end from being cooped up the house.    Sartaq smiled, reading the thoughts that passed over her face. “During those storms the ruk’s-and their riders- grow restless. The Halls within the aeries are converted into spaces where riders can take their ruk’s one, at sometime two at a time to exercise. What little they can within the mountain,” he added.    “I bet that is quite the sight to see,” Nesryn smiled at thought of Borte and Arcas taking advantage of the ruk’s smaller size.    Sartaq chuckled, as if recalling such a memory. “The spectacle helps keep up our spirits.” he admitted. “After the ruk’s are settled with their meal, the rukhin will use the space for training. It keeps our senses sharp, and keeps our minds clear.”    “That sounds like bragging, Captain,” she replied, not wanting to think of the long winter ahead.    “Although,” he paused, that crooked grin of his creeping across his face. One hand remained on her back, while the other roamed the length of her thigh. “I can think of a few other ways we might occupy our time this winter,” he whispered against her neck.    “Oh? More entertaining than sparing and target practice?” Nesryn’s toes curled in her boots, but she kept her voice steady. Even as Sartaq began trailing slow, steady kissed down her jaw.    “A few things,” he murmured against her neck. His reached her collarbone and began back up her neck, kissing and nipping along the way.    Nesryn’s resolve quickly melted, her hands roaming over his shoulders, his biceps, his chest.   Sartaq claimed her mouth and stood, lifting her and the blanket into the air in one motion. His kiss deepened, his hunger a plea that Nesryn answered greedily. She wrapped her legs around him, needing to be closer. Sartaq strode from the hall and down the corridor, not breaking their kiss, kicked their bedroom door closed, and carried her to their bed without so much as stopping for air.

[Part I] , [Part III]

[their-misplaced-wings]

“Neith’s Arrow” Part III

Okay so here is part three! More is coming, I’m slowly trying to build up to a few things but am also just enjoying these two being together so much? I could literally just write them being cute all day long. @vilya1​, @rufousnmacska​, and anyone I forgot that anted tags (sorry), thank you all for the support and for reading

[Part I] , [Part II] , [Part IV] 

 The first winter storm of the season passed after two long and freezing days. After the skies had cleared, Nesryn, Sartaq, and the other riders spent an entire day removing snow that piled past Nesryn’s calves from the aerie ledges and ruk nests. Once the training platform and the last of the nests were cleared Nesryn’s body ached. She welcomed the ache as she saddled Salkhi. After three days indoors she and the ruk both needed to be in the sky.  

  Kadara impatiently waited nearby, already saddled and ready to leap with or without her rider. Nesryn swung herself onto Salkhi and buckled her legs as Sartaq stored a light lunch in the saddlebags and followed suit. Moments later they were in there air, soaring over the freshly snow capped mountains and across the rolling white plains that flowed below.

   Tomorrow, Sartaq had informed her, they would accompany Houlun in visiting the other aeries. After the first winter storm, he told her, it was custom for each clan to meet and exchange supplies with one another. This winter, the first since the war that claimed too many of their people and ruk, the visits would also provide an opportunity to see how the communities were coping with their loses. To offer condolences and support amongst all rukhin.

   Truthfully, it terrified Nesryn to face those who lost loved ones. Lost on behalf of her cause. She had come to these lands and asked these people to abandon their peace. Though she knew the war was inevitable, that it was for the survival of all life across the planet, she could not shake the guilt that gripped her since that first battle. The guilt she lived with since she heard that rider cry, saw those vicious, wyvern teeth clamped through his ruk’s neck.

   Nesryn had watched, completely useless, as the ruk and it’s rider plummeted down onto the battlefield below. Worse. All of it had been so much worse than she could ever had dreamed. Visiting the other aeries to offer her support would be her honor, never a burden. She had told Sartaq as much earlier that morning. He simply gave her a knowing smile, nodded and went to ready the ruks for their flight.

   Salkhi bobbed in the wind, jostling Nesryn enough to snap her focus back to the present. She patted the ruk’s neck and glanced to Sartaq. He inclined his head towards a frozen lake. The sun had already melted away a considerable amount of snow, which was ideal if they intended on landing their ruks. A few caves dotted the shoreline, which was promising for the ruk’s own chances of finding a fresh meal.    

    They landed, scouted the area for safety, and set up a blanket to eat on near the mountainside. Nesryn and Sartaq sat, eating leisurely, neither inclined to leave the open landscape any sooner than necessary.

   Kadara and Salkhi happily ripped into their own meals, Salkhi occasionally risking a taste of Kadara’s. Nesryn smiled, noting the way Kadara let him past her defenses a few times, then snapped her beak at him when the younger ruk dared another bite too soon.

   Sartaq chuckled beside her and Nesryn wished she could bottle that carefree sound. Salkhi was distracted by a bird taking flight from a nearby brush and Kadara seized the chance to steal a considerable portion of his meal.

   “When I was young,” Sartaq began after a few moments passed, “after the first winter storms passed Borte’s mother would bring us out to this lake.” A familiar, sad smile graced his lips as memories filtered behind his eyes. Nesryn waited for him to continue, all too familiar with those types of memories.

   “Borte and I would have hardly finished eating before we were running about,” a soft laugh. “We would compete with each other at anything we could find.”

   “Fighting like siblings from the beginning?” Nesryn asked, picturing the two racing around the shoreline, climbing the mountainside, terrifying their poor chaperone.

   “Worse,” Sartaq admitted. He began cleaning up their small picnic site, Nesryn stood to help bundle the blanket. “Our favorite contest,” he continued, “was testing which of us could walk out onto the frozen lake before breaking the surface.”

   Nesryn’s face must have revealed her horror because Sartaq nodded, a crooked grin mercifully replacing the somber one he wore moments ago.

   “Rukhin are born without fear,” he said with pride, “and any mistakes we made, or injuries we earned, were opportunities to learn.”

   “Did you learn any such lessons on this lake?” Nesryn tried to picture her sister’s children out on the ice and panic gripped her gut. The thought of a four year old taking their first flight even still astounded Nesryn, though the sensation had become as familiar as breathing.

   Sartaq thought for a minute, as if contemplating telling her or not. She fixed with a look that promised she’d ask Borte when they returned to the aerie if he refused.  

   “Only once,” he relented. “One winter, after four days stuck inside, the three of us flew out here for much needed exercise. Our ruk’s, as young and headless as we were, chased each other through the air above while Borte and I went through our usual challenges. Borte climbed the highest, I through my rock the furthest. She fired her arrow more accurately, I split it with a dagger,” he laughed.

   “We were tied, and walking the ice would determine the victor. Borte went first, because there was no arguing otherwise,” a fond smile. It sounded as though neither sibling had changed since their childhoods. “Determined to win, and stubborn as a Ruk, Borte ventured out further than either of us had ever dared,” he paused. “Satisfied I would never make it as far, my already greater height a disadvantage in that type of task, she dropped her marker and start back to shore.”

    “Marker?” Nesryn asked, thankful the children did not test the ice to support both of their weight together.

    A nod, “We mostly used fruit cores or pits. If we had none, we would find small rocks to use instead.”

   Nesryn caught herself wringing her hands. A terrible habit she picked up only recently. Having her family in Antica was a blessing from the gods, but also a curse. The more time she spent with her aunt and sister, the more she picked up their mannerisms. And the more she began to fuss over the children. And everything.  

   Sartaq had teased her relentlessly. Especially the night she caught herself pacing-pacing-their bedroom floor when Ej and Borte visited Yeran and his father to discuss wedding details. Borte would be insulted, you know, Sartaq had said. He was right. Nesryn begged him not to tell Borte, and he simply raised a rather suggestive eyebrow.

   “Did you make it further?” Nesryn asked, though she already disliked the direction of this story.

   “No,” he stated flatly. “I took five steps out onto that ice,” he paused and Nesryn could feel each heartbeat that passed. “The ice gave out completely and I fell like a log into the black, freezing water below.”

   Nesryn couldn’t help her sharp intake of breath. Obviously he had survived. Yet-

   “Borte hauled me from the lake faster than I had registered I was even submerged,” Sartaq shook his head in awe and Nesryn loosed her breath. “She stood me up, shook my shoulders once, and we walked back to where my aunt waited with our ruk’s.”

   “Did she say anything?” she ventured.

   “No,” Sartaq laughed, “she apologized to Kadara for the state of her rider, handed me a change of clothes I did not know she packed, mounted her own ruk, and took off into the sky without so much as a word.” The smile on his face didn’t reach his eyes, but it was not pain that she read in them. Respect. That was respect on his face for the woman that left a child to freeze by that lake. Freeze, or learn to take care of himself and fly home.

   “Borte and I raced back to the aerie,” he added before stuffing the last of their things into Kadara’s saddlebag.

   “Saving your life wasn’t enough to claim victory?” Nesryn asked as she buckled her legs into Salkhi’s saddle. She refused the let her unease at the rukhin’s blatant disregard for safety show. Sartaq grew into the man she loved because of his rukhin family.

   “We agreed that it would have been a cheap win,” he shrugged. He readied to take off, catching Nesryn’s gaze, the challenge clear on his face. Nesryn braced herself. With a wink he added, “Neither of us have ever been satisfied with settling.”

  Two sharp whistles later Kadara was in the air, and Salkhi had given chase. Nesryn and Sartaq raced across the open fields below, changing lead at each bend and pass, until their competition became more like a dance. The ruk’s played along with their riders, each if them savouring the wind, the sights, the freedom. When the aerie at last came in sight, and even after they had landed and unsaddled their ruk, Nesryn and Sartaq were laughing freely.

[Part I] , [Part II] , [Part IV]