RHYSAND

It was very common to wake up in the early hours of the morning these days. Keeping an unstable peace in a continent such as Prythian, especially after a war, was tricky business. Now that things were starting to go back to what they were before, there was even more work to do in order to ensure that the agreement over the treaty was upheld by all.

It was uncommon, however, to awake in a house that seemed to be bursting in anxiety and worry. That feeling clung to me, to the walls and the stones of the street outside, but I wasn't feeling that same dread. In fact, I had woken up pleasantly naked in my mate's arms, before a string of worry pulled me away from that warmth and into the roof of the house.

I knew that my worry didn't come from Cassian either, who was still very much asleep downstairs in one of the guest rooms, as I could hear his snores coming from below. If it wasn't me, and it wasn't him, it had to be Azriel.

In fact, my brother showed up not even two seconds later, carrying a bloody mass in his arms. He was exhausted, his wings pulled tight, and his shadows swirling around him with an unseen agitation.

"Rhys," he croaked. "A healer."

My brow furrowed, a line of worry crossing down the middle of my forehead. The blood on him wasn't his, I could smell it. It belonged to the mass in his arms, whose chest barely rose with each breath.

"Who?" I asked.

"Marzia."

That name alone set me in motion. I told him to take her to the small infirmary we kept in our house and set her on the table. Then, I personally flew all the way to Madja's house.

It was unusual, if not unbelievable, to hear that name coming from Azriel. It had been over a century since he had uttered it, decades since Cassian had jokingly brought it up. To hear him say it, with a desperation that bordered in insanity, was entirely different.

Madja was thankfully awake and alert and joined me without hesitation. The severity of the situation must have shown in my face, and she said nothing as I flew as fast as I could back to the house.

The atmosphere in the infirmary was bleak. The little table in the middle now held an unmoving form that was deadly pale, while her blood soaked up the boards below her back.

Grief was etched in Azriel's face, as his fingers intertwined with hers until his knuckles turned white.

"Save her," he whispered, barely audible. "Please."

Madja nodded and began to work silently.

I took a few steps towards Azriel, placing a hand on his tense shoulder. He acknowledged me with a nod but stayed still.

"What happened?" I asked.

As soon as those words were out of my lips, Madja gasped loudly and asked us to help her. She wanted us to turn Marzia around. When we did, I felt my stomach lurch. I had never met her, but I knew that she had wings - wings that were no longer there, judging by the gashes on her back.

Madja's work became almost frantic, while Azriel slumped as if defeated, and I fought back the urge to vomit.

"Azriel," I repeated, as strongly as I could. "What happened?"

"I found her like this in the Steppes. Someone attacked her."

I watched how his eyes focused solely on Madja's work, and I knew I wouldn't get much from him like this. I stepped away from him, taking a seat in a small stool, and waited - while I went deep inside my memories.

I knew very little of Marzia. I knew that Azriel and Cassian had met her many years before, when they were busy calming down rebellions in the mountains, and convincing old and stern chiefs that female Illyrians could also be trained as warriors. I knew that something had happened between her and Azriel, and that Cassian hadn't been too happy about it.

If I had been there, perhaps I would know more about her, but I was in the Night Court, sometimes too busy with being High Lord to actually join them in every camp for long periods of time, as I would have preferred. Cassian definitely knew her more than I did, well enough to tease and taunt Azriel at random times, given what he claimed to have seen them do.

I knew that Azriel hadn't taken many lovers. Not because he couldn't or had trouble finding them, but because of Morrigan. However, there had been a few; and if I believed Cassian, Marzia had been one of them. Perhaps, she had been the most noticeable one in that list. Seeing him with her now, I had no doubts about it. Those worry-lines on his forehead were enough sign.

I went back further, to the first time that Cassian had mentioned her. If Azriel's looks could kill, there would have been very little left of Cass. The teasing had been relentless soon after they had left that camp, and even in my presence, the mere mention of her name made Az go unusually quiet, while Cassian dissolved into laughter. When I dared to ask about "poor little Marz," Cassian had explained everything to me in graphic detail, while Az had said nothing. I heard about the first time they had seen her, when she had been so angry about being left out from a training session that she had smashed her way to the training grounds until she found the camp leader, broke his nose, and proceeded to beat up every opponent until she had proven herself worthy of being there; to the last time they had seen her, when Cassian saw them naked in Azriel's tent. Many years later, Az would tell me his version.

It wasn't much different from Cassian's story, but his tone was melancholic and nostalgic. He had felt something very real for her, and I was now seeing it with my own eyes - while all the memories continued to flow. I couldn't deny what I was seeing, and I also couldn't help to compare it to what had happened Under the Mountain.

If that had been Feyre lying on that table right now, I knew I would be as afflicted as Azriel was. However, in all those years, I had never once heard the mention of the word "mate," though now, I was beginning to consider that to be a very real possibility.

A sigh of relief pulled me from my thoughts as Madja took a step back. There wasn't much to see from Marzia's back other than bandages, but Azriel looked renewed and relieved.

"Thank you," he muttered, voice raw.

I wondered if he had cried during the process.

"She will never be the same again," Madja said, voice low. "But she will survive."

Azriel nodded, keeping a scarred hand firmly over Marzia's pale fingers.

"She must rest," Madja continued, giving instructions. "She shouldn't move for a few hours, until her body begins to adapt."

"How bad was the damage?" I asked, getting up and taking a step forward.

"The cuts on her back were made with a jagged blade, making their full healing almost impossible. She will always have scars between her shoulders."

"Was she conscious when they-?" Az asked, unable to finish.

I knew it wasn't just because it was Marzia, but because if it happened to any of us, the pain would be unbearable.

"She must have been debilitated somehow, but, yes, there is a chance she was conscious and aware that her wings were being removed."

I felt my stomach churn with nausea. Azriel only nodded, although his shadows were agitated, swirling around his tense shoulders and upper arms.

"Anything else?" He asked.

"Let her rest and change her bandages every two or three days."

"How much time will she need to recover?" I asked.

"As much as she deems necessary."

"Then that means she will stay here for a while," I mused. "Az, you can take her -"

"She will stay with me, in my bedroom."

I nodded. His tone didn't leave room for saying much else.

"I'll take Madja home," I said. "Will you be okay?"

But he wasn't looking at me when he answered with a soft 'yes.' He was looking at her, at the gentle rise of her chest with each breath, while one of his hands ran softly and lovingly through the curls on her head.

That scene stayed in my mind through my flight to Madja's house. It replayed over and over, until there was only one thing occupying my thoughts. If Azriel didn't have a mate, could it be possible for Marzia to be his, then? If the answer was yes, why hadn't the bond snapped in the two hundred years they had known each other?

As I was entering the house, I was greeted by the sound of Cassian and Feyre having breakfast. It wasn't extremely late, and while my stomach still felt a little queasy, I could enjoy the company until I felt better to eat.

"Rhys!" Cassian bellowed. "You look like hell!"

I let out a soft laugh, taking a seat next to them.

"Where were you?" Feyre asked. "When I woke up, you were already gone."

"Yes," I said. "I… had to attend to some things."

"Did it involve going to the butcher?" Cassian asked. "You smell like blood."

I noticed Feyre's worried eyes upon me and shook my head.

"No. Azriel brought someone injured here."

"Are they okay?" Feyre asked.

"Yes," I said. "They'll survive."

Cassian had stopped moving. From the moment I mentioned that Azriel brought someone, he had slowly begun to lower his fork and go extremely still.

"Who?" He asked.

"Cassian," I said. "It's okay…"

"Who is it, Rhysand?"

"Marzia," I whispered.

He swore loudly, getting up abruptly. "Where is she?"

"She was injured. I couldn't deny Azriel-"

"Don't tell me she is in his bedroom…" he muttered, before finally striding away from the table.

With a sigh, I followed after him. Feyre was right behind me, confusion written all over her features. By the time we reached Azriel's bedroom, Cassian was already inside; may the Cauldron help us.