Chapter Text
Madja’s clinic smelled of crushed mint and clean linen—sharp, sterile, and familiar. Shelves lined the stone walls from floor to ceiling, cluttered with jars of powders, tinctures, dried herbs, and things better left unnamed. The morning light slanted through narrow windows, turning dust mites into floating stars.
Madja herself stood at the front counter, sleeves rolled past her elbows, spectacles perched low on her nose as she sorted bandages with brisk, practiced efficiency. She didn’t look up when the door swung open.
She didn’t need to.
Bootsteps. Heavy. Two sets—warrior-weight. And behind them, a tread as smooth and quiet as a cat’s.
Madja exhaled through her nose. “If it’s blood, burned flesh, or broken bones, take it to the back.”
Cassian winced as he ducked inside, wings tucked tight, armor dented and smeared with dirt. “Good morning to you too, Madja.”
Azriel followed, silent as ever, shadows curling lazily at his heels. His leathers were slashed at the shoulder, a dark stain glistening beneath. He didn’t acknowledge the greeting—he rarely did. His hazel eyes swept the clinic, assessing exits, corners, threats. Habit, not hostility.
And then Rhysand stepped in behind them, immaculate as always. Not a hair out of place. Not a scratch on him. Of course.
Madja finally looked up—and rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall out. “Mother above, I swear the Cauldron sends you two just to keep my skills sharp.”
Cassian grinned. “We like to think of it as job security.”
“Mm.” She jabbed a finger toward the curtained doorway. “Back room. Sit. Don’t bleed on anything expensive.”
Cassian saluted dramatically and limped off, Azriel trailing after him without a word.
Only when the curtain swung shut behind them did Madja narrow her gaze at Rhys. “And you,” she said flatly. “Why are you here? You’re not injured.”
Rhys pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “What, I can’t simply visit my favorite healer?”
Madja snorted. “Flattery may work on half this city, but I’ve known you since you were in diapers. Try again.”
Rhys sighed, dramatic and long-suffering. “Fine. I actually want to ask you a favor.”
Madja’s brows rose. A favor from Rhysand was rarely small and never quiet. She crossed her arms. “I’m already regretting this. Hold on.”
Turning toward the back hall, she raised her voice with surprising volume for someone her size. “Girl!”
A beat—then hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Y/N appeared, slightly out of breath, curls escaping her braid, cheeks flushed from exertion. A smudge of herbal paste marked her forearm, and her healer’s apron was tied crookedly, as if she’d thrown it on mid-run. But she was smiling—bright, warm, utterly earnest.
“You called, Madja?”
Madja gave her a sharp once-over, the kind that weighed skill rather than appearance. “Your last patient?”
“Stabilized,” Y/N replied quickly. “The fever broke after the thyme infusion, and he’s resting comfortably. I left instructions for the assistant on monitoring his breathing and hydration.”
Madja grunted. Approval—high praise, coming from her. “Good. Then go check over the two idiots in the back. Blood, bruises, probably fractures. And try to make sure the loud one doesn’t flirt while you’re stitching him.”
Y/N blinked. “Flirt?”
“You’ll understand when you get there,” Madja muttered.
Y/N just nodded—eager, focused—and disappeared through the curtain.
The moment she was out of sight, silence settled. Then—
Rhys’s mouth curved into a slow, knowing smirk. “Where,” he drawled, “have you been hiding that one?”
Madja didn’t miss a beat. She smirked right back, fierce and pleased. “I knew the moment you laid eyes on her, you’d want to take her away.”
Rhys only kept smiling.
“Indeed.”
The back room of the clinic was quieter, dimmer, lined with neat rows of salves and neatly rolled bandages. Two narrow cots waited beneath hanging lanterns, one already occupied by Cassian, sprawled with all the graceless confidence of a male who’d broken every bone in his body at least twice.
Azriel stood beside the other cot, arms crossed, wings half-furled, his expression unreadable. Shadows curled lazily at his boots like living smoke.
Y/N cleared her throat, smoothing her apron. “Hello,” she said gently. “I’m Y/N. Madja sent me to—”
Cassian grinned before she could finish. “Heal me? Save me? Tell me I’m still devastatingly handsome?”
Her lips twitched. “I suppose that depends how bad the bruising is.”
Azriel’s gaze flicked to her. Not a word. Just that silent, razor-edged attention.
Cassian’s grin widened as he sat up. “I like her.”
Y/N stepped closer, professional despite the banter. “How long have you been limping?”
Cassian blinked. “Oh, you noticed that?”
“You’re putting weight on the outside of your foot to compensate for your left leg,” she said simply. “Which usually means pain in the knee or shin.”
Cassian looked delighted. “Madja, you’ve been holding out on us.”
“I’ve been training under her for a few months,” Y/N said, checking the angle of his leg. “Deep bruising. Possibly a hairline fracture. And—” She pressed lightly against his ribs, and he hissed. “—definitely cracked ribs.”
“Just a scratch,” Cassian said through gritted teeth.
She raised a brow. “You’re a terrible liar.”
Azriel’s mouth might—might—have twitched.
Y/N placed her palms gently over Cassian’s ribs. Her magic warmed beneath her skin, gathering, humming softly like a held breath. Light—not bright, just soft—bloomed between her fingers, seeping into bone and muscle. Cassian’s eyes widened.
The pain eased. The fractures knitted. The bruising melted away like ink in water.
Cassian stared. “Holy—”
Y/N moved to his leg, repeating the motion. The warmth spread, the fracture sealed, and—
Cassian bounced to his feet like a child, bending his knee, hopping once, twice. “I’m fixed! Do you do wings? Can you make me taller? Can you—”
Y/N laughed, the sound bright and helpless. “Just bones today.”
Cassian beamed at her, suddenly free of flirtation—just pure awe.
Azriel hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. But his gaze had sharpened, narrowed, fixed wholly on her.
Y/N brushed her hands off and turned to him. “Your turn.”
Azriel’s eyes lifted to hers. Something unreadable flickered there—surprise, maybe. Or caution.
He extended his arm slightly. The leather at his shoulder was sliced open, and beneath it a deep cut bled steadily down corded muscle.
Y/N stepped close—closer than she meant to. The shadows stirred.
“I’m going to touch your arm,” she murmured, voice instinctively softer.
Azriel nodded once.
Her fingers hovered, then settled lightly against his skin. His muscles tightened—just a fraction—but he stayed still, wings flaring the slightest bit before folding again.
Y/N focused, brows knitting. Magic pooled warm beneath her palms, flowing into the wound. The bleeding slowed. The torn flesh knit. The pain faded.
She was so focused, she barely noticed the shift around her wrists—cool, smoky tendrils curling curiously around her fingers.
Only when the cut fully closed and she stepped back did she notice the shadows twining gently around her hands like inquisitive ribbons.
Her breath caught—and then she let out a soft, startled giggle.
“Oh—hello,” she said to them, as if greeting a pet.
Cassian’s jaw dropped. Azriel went utterly still.
The shadows, almost shy, slipped away in a swirl of black silk, disappearing back into the dim.
Y/N blinked between the two males. “Do they always do that?”
Cassian opened his mouth, astonished. “No. They really—”
The curtain swept open.
Rhys stepped inside, Madja at his heels.
Cassian practically launched himself across the room.
“Look at this!” he crowed, slapping his once-injured ribs, then bouncing on his heel like a child who’d just discovered sugar. “Not even a twinge. Do you see this? Do you see this, Rhys?”
Rhys arched a brow, lips curving. “I see you acting like a drunk pigeon, if that counts.”
Cassian ignored him entirely, twisting, bending, flexing like a show pony. “Fully healed. In minutes. Madja, you might be out of a job!”
Madja merely sniffed, masking her amusement.
Rhys’s gaze slid from Cassian’s exuberant antics… to Y/N. Calm. Composed. A little pink-cheeked, but steady.
He exchanged a glance with Madja.
She lifted a brow. The smallest nod.
Rhys turned back, expression softening. “It seems we could use her.”
Y/N blinked. “Me?”
Her voice was small—not weak, just startled. As if no one had ever said those words to her before.
Rhys inclined his head. “If you don’t mind, may I speak with you for a moment?”
Y/N instinctively looked to Madja.
Madja was already untying her apron, waving a hand as she headed toward the front. “Go on. Be quick. Three more patients are waiting, and two of them are even more dramatic than this one.”
Cassian gasped in offense. “I am not dramatic—”
“You fainted when I reset your shoulder last spring,” Madja called back.
“I slipped!” Cassian protested.
Azriel’s hand closed on Cassian’s arm, firm and unyielding. “We’re leaving,” he said quietly.
Cassian tried again, “Wait—Rhys, did you see what happened with Az’s sha—”
Azriel steered him toward the curtain so fast Cassian nearly stumbled. “We’re leaving,” he repeated, low enough only Cassian heard.
Cassian shot Y/N a baffled, impressed look as he disappeared behind the fabric. Azriel didn’t look back—but his shadows did, curling once at the edge of the curtain before vanishing.
And then the room was still.
Just Y/N and the High Lord.
Rhys gestured to a small stool beside the counter. “Please. Sit.”
She did, smoothing her apron with nervous fingers.
Rhys leaned against the examination table, posture relaxed, voice gentle. “I came today to ask Madja for a favor. There’s been trouble along our northern border. Scattered attacks. Abandoned sites. Signs of magic left behind—magic we don’t recognize.”
Y/N swallowed. “Magic?”
“Not active,” he assured her. “Just residue. But concerning.” His eyes softened. “We’d like to bring a healer. Someone who can help interpret what was used—and be there if we find survivors.”
Y/N blinked. “You usually take Madja?”
“Yes,” Rhys said. “But when I asked her this morning, she suggested you instead.”
Y/N’s breath hitched. “She—what?”
Rhys’s smile warmed into something genuine. “She spoke very highly of you.”
A stunned silence.
Then, more lightly, “And it seems you’ve already won over Cassian—though admittedly, that is significantly less difficult.”
A surprised laugh escaped her—small, but real.
Rhys straightened, tone shifting—still kind, but steady, certain. “We leave tomorrow morning. Cassian and Azriel will accompany us. You’ll have protection, and you won’t be alone. If you’re willing, we’d be grateful for your help.”
Y/N’s pulse fluttered. A mission. With the Inner Circle.
But beneath the nerves was something steadier: purpose.
She nodded. “I’d be honored.”
Before Rhys could respond, Madja’s voice cut through the clinic like a whipcrack. “Girl! Unless the High Lord plans to heal the next patient himself, get back out here!”
Y/N stood so fast she nearly knocked over the stool. “Yes! Coming!”
Rhys’s grin returned, wicked and delighted. “Welcome to the team.”
Y/N hurried toward the curtain, heart racing—half from Madja’s bark, half from everything Rhys had just said.
She didn’t notice Rhys watching her leave.
Didn’t hear the quiet murmur he spoke to the empty room:
“She’s going to change everything, isn’t she?”