“Go,' Cassian managed to breathe. 'Go.'

'This seems familiar,' the king mused. 'Was it him or the other bastard who crawled toward you that day?'

Cassian was indeed now crawling toward her, broken wings and leg dragging, leaving a trail of blood over the grass and roots.

Nesta rushed to him, kneeling.

Not to comfort.

But to pick up his Illyrian blade.”