Lorcan winced as he pulled a clean shirt over his head. He hated wearing other people's clothes. It was one of the few things that still bothered him about his early days as a demi-bastard on the streets of Doranelle. For the most part over the centuries he'd learned to ignore the looks people gave him and the small comments they made intentionally, or unintentionally. He was comfortable living with his history. He had always been a survivor, and he did not regret selling himself to avoid starvation.

But he hated that that was the only way he could survive.

Every time he wore someone else's clothing he catapulted back to those memories he otherwise would leave well enough alone. He was back to being a youth, scurrying out the back entrance of some pure-blood's estate with a couple coins in hand, a sick sensation in his gut, and someone else's smell clinging to him. It didn't matter how old he was or how far up in society he climbed, he started out as a demi-bastard who sold his own body to survive and all it took was wearing someone else's clothes to remind him of that. Serving as one of the bloodsworn, one of the highest ranking males in all of Doranelle, was a freak accident. Nothing more.

The male that this shirt belonged to smelled of honey and mead. He shuddered for no particular reason. He just hated smelling like someone else.

"Nerene is ready," the gold-haired witch came back into the barrack room to tell him. Elide and Gavriel were already packed and saying their goodbyes to the kitchen-master and the Captain.

Lorcan grunted as he heaved himself off the bed, leaning heavily against the wall as the world spun for a few moments.

"You good?" The witch took a step toward him as if she might catch him if he fell. She probably could too, Lorcan had seen the bruises up Gavriel's side while he changed earlier. His ribs were possibly cracked where the witch had tackled him.

"I'm fine," Lorcan responded out of habit.

"Uh huh, just halfway to the grave," the witch rolled her eyes and flashed him a crooked grin, but she stepped back and let him gingerly make his way out of the room on his own.

Gavriel and Elide were quietly discussing something with Emrys and Malachai as the wyvern waited patiently in the courtyard. Calculating his steps conservatively, Lorcan went straight to the wyvern instead of to the demi-fae couple. He would like to give his thanks, but he also would like to be able to walk out of here on his own two feet.

Malachai saw him move for the wyvern and met him halfway.

"I appreciate that you've prioritized the safety of Mistward," the weathered soldier nodded. "And we all appreciated your assistance during the siege last year."

Had it really been a year? Things had happened so swiftly, the time had snapped by. First Mistward, then Rowan swearing fealty to Aelin, then the ring, then Elide, then his betrayal, then this wound. It felt like too much for a single year, and yet a year seemed far too long.

Lorcan simply nodded. He'd never been one for fond words.

"I want you to know, Salvaterre," Malachai continued, steely grey eyes hard. "That if you are ever in need of a home in the coming days, your people will not turn you out."

Lorcan blinked.

"I don't have a people." He never had. He was neither fae nor human, and he had never had a place among the demi-fae either.

"Yes, you do," Malachai insisted. "Now you do."

Lorcan blinked again.

The others were moving in their direction and Malachai was turning with a smile to wrap an arm around his mate. He did not press the issue or require an answer from Lorcan, and Lorcan was glad for it. He didn't know what to say.

"Hey," Elide said, her cheeks flushed in the autumn morning.

"Hey," Lorcan responded, feeling a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth. She was stunning in her witch leathers and knives, with a long dark braid slithering down her spine.

"What?" The sight of his poor excuse of a smile drew a brilliant one of her own, her dark eyes sparking with confusion and unexpected joy.

"Nothing," Lorcan shrugged and turned back to the Wyvern. The massive beast swung a triangular head around and scented him. He held still and watched her.

"Don't worry," the witch said, ducking under the Wyvern's head and coming around her other side to scratch under her chin. "She likes you."

The Wyvern nudged his hand with her scaled nose and he hesitantly patted her. She was smaller than the dragons he'd fought in his early service to Maeve, but still bigger than any other beast. Her movements were more snakelike than a dragon's movements, quicker, sharper.

She blinked at him as though she could hear his thoughts.

"Alright," Asterin said. "We doing this? Or are we doing this?"

Lorcan turned back to Gavriel who was dressed lightly for the run. He didn't carry a pack and had even stripped most of his weapons. He only carried his sword on his back and a long dagger at his hip. Elide was wearing most of his knives.

Lorcan was suddenly struck with how much he loved this brother of his soul. Caring for him and the Cadre was something he'd grown accustomed to. But the Lion had armed Lorcan's mate.

"Watch your six out there," he said instead of thanking him. Sometimes Lorcan hated himself.

"That's what I'm out there for right?" Asterin said, beckoning them over to help them mount.

"Watch your six anyway," Lorcan said to Gavriel. The Lion smiled and rolled his eyes.

"I'm offended," the witch said but she flashed another wicked grin that said she really wasn't.

"Ready?" Elide asked him, her head tilted back and sunlight glittering in dark eyes. Suddenly struck with the urge to slip his fingers into that long, dark braid that wove down the back of her head, his eyes fell to her full lips and he swallowed. What was getting into him? She'd made it absolutely clear now was not the time to start anything. Or finish whatever it was they'd already started in the Marshes. He'd never had such a hard time schooling himself before.

"Ready," he nodded.

Elide smiled, almost knowingly and ducked under his arm to mount the wyvern behind him. Gavriel was smirking at him.

"What?" he scowled at his carranam.

I enjoy seeing you so completely out of your depth, the Lion said directly to his mind. It happens so rarely.

Could you hear everything I was thinking? Lorcan's scowl deepened.

This is why you need to prioritize healing, Gavriel replied instead of answering the question.

This is why I need to prioritize getting the two people I love most in the world onto that ship and off of this continent. Lorcan sighed. Communicating with thoughts made him too transparent. None of his usual methods for masking his heart or intentions worked with his carranam.

I'll see you this evening, Gavriel clapped him on the shoulder and nodded to Asterin.

"Do you need help getting in the saddle?" the witch asked, eyeing him carefully.

Rather than responding, Lorcan focused on climbing up onto the Wyvern's back. On his own. He'd been forced to sacrifice too much of his pride over these past few weeks. He'd take every chance to keep a scrap of it that he had.

He settled in behind Elide, who had the reigns. Unsure what he should do with his hands he hesitated.

"You're probably going to want to hold on," Elide said over her shoulder. "I'm not very good at this yet."

"But you're getting better," Asterin said encouragingly. Then she turned to Lorcan and handed him a thick cord with a clip on it. "Secure this to you however you think best. If you pass out, Elide's not going to be able to catch you."

She was right. Lorcan frowned but accepted the cord, wrapping it around his waist and securing it in his belt strap. He didn't know if it would completely catch him but it would at least slow his fall down and allow the wyvern a chance to grab him. If the Wyvern felt so inclined.

He gingerly wrapped his arms around Elide and gripped the saddle in front of her. He wasn't going to cling to her, he'd just take her down with him.

"Alright Nerene," Elide slapped the Wyvern's back. "Let's go."

In a sudden beat of wings that sounded off the courtyard walls like thunder, they were off, Mistward growing smaller in the distance.

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