Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Important Information: I'm adding another OC, Evelina(Ev-uh-leen-uh), into this story. Her backstory is called Stargirl, also on my account. I plan for it to end right where this fic begins, and Astraea is also in it. If you don't want to read it, you don't have to. 

This book is going through some serious rewrites and editing right now, so if there are inconsistencies, I apologize. Comment if you are confused about something, and I will clarify. 

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     Astraea Mae Madden was having dinner with her family in the House of Wind when the news broke.

"Amarantha is dead. I'm coming home," Rhysand had spoken into each of their minds. The first they'd heard from him in nearly fifty years.

     Their food had been forgotten in less than a second, and all of them were on their feet in an instant.

     Azriel and Cassian had gone to the balcony and taken off the flight, off to secure the madness that was sure to break lose with so many members of the Court of Nightmares returning to their home.

     Astraea turned to Evelina--Azriel's mate and Rhysand's sister. The girl had tears running down her tanned face, and Astraea placed her scarred hand on Eve's shoulder.

     Morrigan was the one who decided the smart thing to do would be to get to a balcony so Rhys would have them there to greet him.

     The three girls arrived at the largest balcony of the House of Wind, just in time to see his flapping wings.

     As his face became clearer, Astraea's gaze became blurry with tears. Evelina let out a choked sob, and Morrigan gasped.

     The male landed looking worse for wear. He was pale, so much paler than Astraea had ever seen him. He had lost weight, his face gaunt. And his eyes held pain that Astraea understood very well.

"Rhys," Morrigan whispered, stepping towards him.

"She's my mate," he choked out, his violet eyes welling with tears.

"What?" Evelina asked, her dark brows furrowed.

"She's my mate," he repeated helplessly before throwing himself into his twin's arms.

     Evelina slumped with his weight, her wings flapping to balance herself. She quickly recovered, wrapping her arms around him as he sobbed into her shoulder. None of the girls knew who he spoke of, but they all comforted him nonetheless.

"We should go inside," Astraea suggested softly. "It's cold out here."

"Yes, let's get you something warm to drink, Rhys," Morrigan agreed, nodding her head.

      The girls were gentle as they led him inside the House. He glanced around, as if checking to see if anything had changed in the last five decades. Nothing had. They'd kept the house entirely the same, feeling that changing it would make his lack of presence more apparent.

     Evelina helped him sit on the couch, and Astraea draped a blanket over his trembling body. Mor had disappeared into the kitchen to prepare a cup of tea for her cousin.

"Azriel and Cassian are dealing with everyone returning to the Court of Nightmares," Astraea said, kneeling in front of him. "They'll be happy to see you." Rhys just nodded, staring ahead at nothing in particular. 

     Morrigan stepped back into the room with a cup of tea cradled in her hands. Her rich brown eyes focused on the male who was slumped over on the couch. She handed the tea to him, helping steady his shaking hands as he brought the cup to his lips.

"Thank you," he whispered to his cousin after a long sip. She nodded, straightening as she brushed her golden hair out of her tanned face.

"Rhys, what happened?" Evelina asked, concern in her violet eyes.

     Rhys was quiet for a long while, but the girls were patient, waiting for him to be ready to speak up.

"The night of the masquerade, after she had trapped us all, Tamlin insulted Clythia. So she told him that she would only let us go if he got a human girl who hated Fae enough to kill one to fall in love with him. A human girl killed a Spring Court centry in wolf form in the forest of the mortal realm. Tamlin found her and demanded she come back to the Spring Court to pay her sentence. And against all odds, she fell in love with him. But she didn't tell him she loved him in time. When Amarantha brought Tamlin Under the Mountain, the human girl followed him. Amarantha could've killed her on the spot, but instead, she said if the human could survive three trials, she would let everybody go. The human completed all three trials over three months, though I had to go into her mind and help her with one of them. And after she completed the third, Tamlin killed Amarantha. But not before Amarantha killed the human. But each of us High Lords agreed that for her sacrifice, we'd bring her back. We each gave a piece of ourselves to revive her, and she came back as Fae. And tonight, she went home with Tamlin."

     The girls stared at him with wide eyes, taking in the story. It seemed unreal that a human could complete trials fabricated by a Fae as cruel as Amarantha, even with Rhys's help.

"The human, is she your mate?" Evelina asked. He nodded, just once. "Oh, Rhys, I'm so sorry."

"She's happy with him," Rhys mumbled. "That's all that mattered."

     Astraea wasn't sure how anybody could be happy with a male like Tamlin. She wondered if the human girl knew anything about the male's past.

"What's her name?" Astraea questioned.

"Feyre," he replied, the word a mere whisper, and his voice laced with pain. Astraea sighed.

"Are you hungry?" Evelina asked. "We have leftovers from dinner."

"No," Rhys declined with a slight shake of his head. "No, I just need to sleep."

Chapter Text

    Rhsyand spent the next few months adjusting to life in the Night Court. He had to remember how to live like he had before.

     Rhys would go to Astraea's room when he had nightmares, and she would let him open up to her. Astraea and Evelina were the only ones he found himself able to truly open up to about his time Under the Mountain. Either because they were sympathetic without pitying him, or because they'd both been through similar experiences. No matter what his reason, the girls were there for him through it all.

     Astraea was the eldest of her family, besides Amren. She had held all of them while they cried countless times, so she had been putting all her energy into helping Rhys heal. She knew what he was going through, and she knew how hard it was to forget.

     He didn't want the others to know how hard it had been for him, so Astraea kept it secret, letting him cry on her shoulder at three in the morning, then acting as though it hadn't even happened the next day.

     Astraea was washing her breakfast dishes at the sink of the townhouse while Azriel and Cassian drank coffee at the kitchen table. The two were in the middle of a conversation that Astraea had tuned out when she felt Evelina scraping at her mental shields.

"You need to come to the Moonstone Palace, now," Evelina said into her mind. "You need to get Rhys in line before I kill him." Astraea smiled in amusement.

"You know I can't leave Velaris, Eve," Astraea replied. "He could find me."

"I will come back there and winnow you here myself," Evelina said. "None of us will leave your side. The wards of the palace are powerful; he wouldn't be able to break them. And he won't even know you're there. Please."

"Fine," Astraea responded. "But get here soon."

     Astraea sighed, strolling over to the chair that she had thrown her cloak on. She threw it over her shoulders, preparing for Evelina to arrive.

"Where are you going?" Azriel asked his older sister.

"Your mate wants me to come to the Moonstone Palace," she explained. "She's coming back to winnow me."

"You never leave Velaris," Cassian pointed out, his hazel eyes studying her.

"She sounded desperate," Astraea sighed, shrugging her shoulders.

"Why didn't she ask me?" Azriel grumbled.

"She needs me to put Rhys in line," Astraea snorted. "You can't handle a night away from your mate?" Azriel just grumbled something under his breath, staring down at his cup of coffee.

     Evelina winnowed directly into the house, shivering and letting out a huff as she settled. Azriel got to his feet, going to greet his mate with a kiss.

"Hello, my love," Evelina smiled as they pulled away. "I just came to fetch Evelina."

"Is everything alright?" Azriel asked her, his shadows fussing over the girl, searching for any signs of harm.

"He kidnapped the human girl from her wedding," Evelina announced. The room went silent.

"He what?" Astraea demanded.

"He claims he could feel her through the bond, asking for somebody to help her," she explained. "So he showed up and called in his bargain."

"What bargain?" Cassian questioned.

"He saved her life Under the Mountain," Evelina said. "And in exchange, he said she had to spend one week out of every month back here with him. He wasn't actually going to call the bargain in until he heard her crying for help. But she isn't very happy with him."

"Obviously not," Astraea scoffed. "He can be so idiotic sometimes."

"You don't have to tell me," Evelina murmured. "But we should head back, Raea."

     Astraea nodded, taking Eve's hand when she offered it. The two vanished into the air, moving through space until they reappeared right outside of the Palace.

     They joined hands again as they took flight, their wings taking them up to the entrance. When they landed, Morrigan, with her golden hair pulled into a braid, was waiting for them.

"They're at breakfast," Morrigan announced as the two girls caught their breath. "Rhys wants us to join them. He says it's getting tense."

"Of course, it's getting tense; he kidnapped her," Astraea scoffed, rolling her hazel eyes.

"She threw her shoes at him last night," Evelina snorted as the three began the walk to the dining room.

"I think we'll get along just fine," Astraea smiled, looping her arms with Eve and Morrigan's.

     The girls stepped into the room to find the two sitting across from each other at the dining table. Feyre was quite pretty, though much too thin. Her golden brown hair fell in waves over her slim shoulders, her blue eyes narrowed at Rhysand.

"Hello, hello," Morrigan chirped, grinning.

"Feyre," Rhys said smoothly, "meet my cousin, Morrigan, and my sisters, Evelina and Astraea. Girls, meet the lovely, charming, and open-minded Feyre."

     Astraea smiled at the girl as they all approached. Evelina and Astraea settled at the table, but Morrigan stepped towards Feyre.

"We've heard so much about you," Morrigan said, and Feyre got to her feet, awkwardly jutting out her hand.

     Morrigan ignored it and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. As she pulled away, she grinned rather fiendishly.

"You look like you were getting under Rhys's skin," she said, strutting to sit beside Astraea. "Good thing we came along. Though we'd all enjoy seeing Rhys's balls nailed to the wall."

Evelina snorted, and even Astraea smiled a bit. Rhys slid incredulous eyes at Morrigan, his brows lifting.

"It's—nice to meet you all," Feyre said, forcing a smile that didn't meet her eyes.

"Liar," Mor said, pouring herself some tea and loading her plate. "You want nothing to do with us, do you? And wicked Rhys is making you sit here."

"You're ... perky today, Mor," Rhys said.

"Maybe she's just excited to see a new face for once," Astraea defended the blonde.

"You could each be attending to your own duties," he said testily.

"This young girl is trapped here with only you for company," Evelina said. "Forgive us for wanting her to have someone less insufferable to talk to."

"You look nothing like Mor or Astraea," Feyre observed.

     Of course, that was true. He did, however, look nearly identical to Evelina, the only difference being his features were masculine, hers feminine.

"Mor is my cousin in the loosest definition," he said. "Astraea and I are not related by blood. But we were all raised together, and Astraea is like a sister to me. Evelina is my twin, and my only surviving immediate family."

     Feyre seemed to be studying all of them, wanting to ask more, but stopping herself.

"And as my relatives," Rhys went on, "they believe they are entitled to breeze in and out of my life as they see fit."

"So grumpy this morning," Mor said, plopping two muffins onto her plate.

"I didn't see any of you Under the Mountain," Feyre pointed out.

"We weren't there," Astraea said. "We were in--"

"Enough, Astraea," Rhys said, his voice laced with quiet thunder. She just raised a brow at him for his harsh tone. "The girls will be here for the rest of the week, but by all means, do not feel that you have to oblige them with your presence."

     Astraea hoped she would, knowing that the girl was likely lonely. It would be good for her to have other females around, and maybe she would find that it wasn't so bad here with companionship.

"Did you eat enough?" Rhys asked. She nodded. "Good. Then let's go. Your first lesson awaits."

"If he pisses you off, Feyre, feel free to shove him over the rail of the nearest balcony," Mor teased.

     Rhys flipped her off as he strode down the hall. Feyre eased to her feet when he was a good distance ahead.

"Enjoy your breakfast," she nodded to us.

"Whenever you want company, we will be here," Astraea said to the girl with a gentle smile. She merely nodded and trailed after Rhysand.

     Evelina leaned back to watch them go, making sure they were out of earshot before she spoke up. "She seems nice enough."

"Yes, though quite shy," Astraea frowned.

"You would be too if you'd just been kidnapped from your own wedding," Evelina snorted, tying her dark hair up in a ribbon.

"Rhys needs to be less cocky," Astraea said. "And more gentle. How will she ever trust him if he continues to wear that mask?"

"What mask?" Evelina joked with a mouthful of muffin. "He's always been a cocky bastard."

"I think he's waiting until he knows he can trust her," Morrigan admitted, staring down at her plate. "She can report back to Tamlin." Astraea grimaced at the reminder.

"I can't believe she can love that male," Evelina murmured, her eyes flashing.

"She likely doesn't know what he did to our family," Astraea reasoned, placing a comforting hand on Evelina's back. "Tamlin would never accept responsibility for it."

"He should have died with the rest of his fucking family for it," Evelina scoffed, pushing her plate away.

"Eve," Astraea scolded softly.

"He sold my mother out, and she died for it," Evelina snipped with a glare. "I don't care if it's cruel to say, but he deserves the same fate."

"Perhaps," Astraea agreed. "But talk like that around Feyre will only alienate her more." 

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     Astraea lounged in the sitting room of the townhouse a month later, reading a book as she waited for Rhys to come back with Feyre. The fact that he was bringing her into Velaris was quite a big deal, and Astraea decided she was going to be there to greet the girl. 

     She heard the door open in the next room and two voices speaking. They entered the room, and Astraea jumped up, a grin spreading across her face.

"Feyre, dear!" Astaea greeted, going to her and kissing both her cheeks in greeting. "I was so happy to hear you're joining us."

"Astraea," she said with a nod. Astraea smiled, stepping back.

     Rhysand opened his mouth to speak, but then the silhouettes of two tall, powerful bodies appeared on the other side of the fogged glass of the front door. Cassian banged on it with his fist.

"Hurry up, you lazy ass," Cassian drawled. Astraea chuckled, sitting back on the couch with her book.

"Two things, Feyre darling," Rhys warned.

"If you're going to pick a fight with him, do it after breakfast," Azriel warned Cassian from the other side of the door.

"I wasn't the one who hauled me out of bed just now to fly down here," Cassian said. "Busybody." 

"One, no one—no one—but Mor, Eve, and I are able to winnow directly inside this house. It is warded, shielded, and then warded some more. Only those I wish—and you wish—may enter. You are safe here; and safe anywhere in this city, for that matter. Velaris's walls are well protected and have not been breached in five thousand years. No one with ill intent enters this city unless I allow it. So go where you wish, do what you wish, and see who you wish. Those two in the antechamber," he added, eyes sparkling, "might not be on that list of people you should bother knowing, if they keep banging on the door like children."

"You know we can hear you, prick," Cassian yelled, pounding on the door. 

"Secondly," Rhys went on, "in regard to the two bastards at my door, it's up to you whether you want to meet them now, or head upstairs like a wise person, take a nap since you're still looking a little peaky, and then change into city-appropriate clothing while I beat the hell out of one of them for talking to his High Lord like that."

"Just come get me when they're gone," Feyre said.

"You Illyrians are worse than cats yowling to be let in the back door," Amren said from between Cassian and Azriel. The knob jangled. She sighed sharply. "Really, Rhysand? You locked us out?"

     Feyre went up the stairs, where Cerridwen and Nuala were waiting. Rhys waited for her to be out of our sight before he let their family in.

"Welcome home, bastard," Cassian scoffed as he shoved his way into the house.

"I sensed you were back," Azriel added, his shadows clinging to him. "Mor filled me in, but I—"

"Send your dogs out in the yard to play, Rhysand," Amren instructed. "You and I have matters to discuss."

"As do I," Azriel agreed.

"We were here first. Wait your turn, Tiny Ancient One," Cassian joked.

"Is Eve here?" Astraea asked her younger brother, having not seen her in nearly a day.

"She's visiting Johanna," Azriel explained to her. "She'll be back for dinner."

"Hopefully she'll bring Johanna with her," Astraea bristled. "I never see my niece, anymore." 

"Why is everyone here so early?" Morrigan yawned as she clumsily stepped into the room. "I thought we were meeting tonight at the House."

"Trust me, there's no party," Rhys grumbled. "Only a massacre if Cassian doesn't shut his mouth."

"We're hungry," Cassian complained. "Feed us. Someone told me there'd be breakfast."

"Pathetic," Amren quipped. "You idiots are pathetic."

"We know that's true," Mor agreed. "But is there food?"

     Rhys snapped his fingers, and food appeared on the coffee table. Plates of donuts and pancakes. Mor's face lit up as she grabbed a plate and began filling it up. Astraea smiled, taking a donut for myself.

     Rhys and Cassian began quarreling, and Astraea tuned it out as she always did.

     Azriel sat between Mor and Astraea, filling his own plate. Astraea summoned a napkin and handed it to Mor, as she was getting jelly on her dress.

Chapter Text

"What's she like?" Azriel asked Astraea.

     They were all gathered in the dining room of the House of Wind, waiting for Rhys and Feyre to join them for dinner.

"She's sweet," Astraea replied. "But she's been through a lot. Be nice to her. Don't mess with her."

"Why would we do that?" Cassian questioned.

"It's what you did to me," Astraea recalled, shoving his shoulder.

"I didn't," Evelina reminded her, leaning against Azriel as he wrapped his arms around her from behind. 

"You females are far too overdressed," Cassian informed both Evelina and Astraea. 

"Just wait," Evelina taunted. "When Rhys, Feyre, and Mor show up, you'll both be underdressed."

     Astraea perked up, Eve proven right as the two arrived, flying into the window in flawless attire. Rhys sauntered toward them, Feyre staying behind. 

"Come on, Feyre. We don't bite. Unless you ask us to," Cassian joked. Astraea elbowed him in the ribs.

"He's a pig. Ignore him," Astraea sighed, stepping towards the girl and leading her forward.

"The last I heard, Cassian, no one has ever taken you up on that offer," Rhys recalled.

"So fancy tonight, brother. And you made poor Feyre dress up, too," Cassian said. He started messing with the fabrics of Astraea's dress, and she pushed him off.

"This is Azriel—Rhys' spymaster," Astraea introduced. "And my brother."

"Welcome," was all Azriel said as he extended a hand to Feyre.

     Feyre turned to Rhysand and Cassian with curiosity spread across her features.

"You're brothers?" Feyre wondered.

"Brothers in the sense that all bastards are brothers of a sort," Rhys clarified.

"And—you?" she asked Cassian.

"I command Rhys's armies."

"Cassian also excels at pissing everyone off," Evelina explained.

"Especially amongst our friends," Azriel clarified, taking his mate's hand. "So, as a friend of Rhysand, good luck."

     Cassian nudged Azriel out of the way, Azriel's mighty wings flaring slightly as he balanced himself, Eve reaching out to steady him. 

"How the hell did you make that bone ladder in the Middengard Wyrm's lair when you look like your own bones can snap at any moment?" Cassian demanded.

"How the hell did you manage to survive this long without anyone killing you?" Feyre questioned him.

     Cassian tipped back his head and laughed. Astraea smiled, Eve giggled, and Azriel's brows flicked up with approval as the shadows seemed to wrap tighter around him.

     Mor breezed onto the balcony with, "If Cassian's howling, I hope it means Feyre told him to shut his fat mouth."

     The blonde approached Astraea and kissed her on the cheek. As they pulled away, Astraea squeezed her arm. Morrigan greeted Eve and then went back to Feyre.

"I don't know why I ever forget you three are related," Cassian told Mor, jerking his chin to Rhys and his twin sister. "You three and your clothes."

"I wanted to impress Feyre," Mor explained. "You could have at least bothered to comb your hair."

"Unlike some people," Cassian said, "I have better things to do with my time than sit in front of the mirror for hours."

"Yes," Mor said, tossing her long hair over a shoulder, "since swaggering around Velaris—"

"We have company," Azriel reminded them, herding everyone into the dining room.

     Eve patted Azriel on the shoulder as she dodged his outstretched wing. "Relax, baby—no fighting tonight. We promised Rhys."

     Mor and Astraea gestured for Feyre to come sit with them. She nodded, approaching the two girls.

"Unless you'd rather drink," Mor offered as they entered the warmth of the dining room. "But we want you to ourselves before Amren hogs you—"

     The dining room doors opened, revealing the shadowed, crimson halls of the mountain beyond.

     Amren appeared, her silver gaze directed at the new arrival. She took a step closer to Feyre, sniffing delicately. 

"So there are two of us now."

     Amren jerked her chin at Feyre to sit in the empty chair beside Mor, her hair shifting like molten night.

     She claimed the seat across from Feyre, Azriel on her other side as Rhys took the one across from him on Feyre's right. Astraea sat next to Eve, who was on the other side of Az.

"Though there is a third," Amren said. "I don't think you've heard from Miryam in centuries. Interesting."

"Please, just get to the point, Amren. I'm hungry," Cassian said, rolling his eyes.

"No one warming your bed right now, Cassian? It must be so hard to be an Illyrian and have no thoughts in your head save for those about your favorite part."

"You know I'm always happy to tangle in the sheets with you, Amren," Cassian said. "I know how much you enjoy Illyrian—"

"Miryam," Rhysand said, "and Drakon are doing well, as far as I've heard."

"But Miryam was gifted long life—not a new body. And you, girl," Amren sniffed. "Your very blood, your veins, your bones were Made. A mortal soul in an immortal body."

"I'm hungry," Mor complained.

     Rhys snapped a finger, and plates piled high with roast chicken, greens, and bread appeared. It was simple but elegant.

"Amren and Rhys can talk all night and bore us to tears, so don't bother waiting for them to dig in," Mor said. "I asked Rhys if Astraea, Evelina, and I could take you to dinner, just the four of us, and he said you wouldn't want to. But honestly—would you rather spend time with those two ancient bores, or us?"

"For someone who is the same age as me," Rhys drawled, "you seem to forget—"

"Everyone wants to talk-talk-talk," Mor said. "Can't we eat-eat-eat and then talk?"

     Astraea snorted, beginning to eat the food on her plate. Everyone else followed suit, digging into the wonderful meal.

"Don't let these old busybodies boss you around," Mor told Feyre.

"Pot. Kettle. Black," Cassian said. Then he frowned at Amren, who had hardly touched her plate. "I always forget how bizarre that is."

     He took her plate, dumping half the contents on his own before passing the rest to Azriel.

"I keep telling him to ask before he does that," Astraea informed Amren, sending a sharp look at her brothers.

     Amren flicked her fingers, and the empty plate vanished from Azriel's scarred hands.

"If you haven't been able to train him after all these centuries, I don't think you'll make any progress now," Amren said to Astraea.

"You don't—eat?" Feyre asked.

"Not this sort of food."

"Cauldron boil me," Mor grumbled. "Can we not?"

"Remind me to have family dinners more often," Rhys chuckled.

"We shouldn't begin eating until Johanna arrives," Azriel spoke up, glancing around the room.

"Oh, love, she has plans tonight," Evelina informed him, placing a hand over his.

"With who?" Azriel demanded, his brows furrowing as he met his wife's eyes.

     Astraea had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. Even though his daughter was nearly 300 years old, Azriel was entirely too protective of her.

"We'll talk about this later, baby," Evelina promised him, stroking his scarred hand with her thumb. Feyre was focusing on Azriel's Siphons.

"They're called Siphons," Azriel explained to Feyre. "They concentrate and focus our power in battle."

     Rhys set down his fork and clarified, "The power of stronger Illyrians tends toward incinerate now, ask questions later. They have little magical gifts beyond that—the killing power."

"The gift of a violent, warmongering people," Amren added.

     Azriel nodded, shadows wreathing his neck, though one specific shadow was curled around his wife's wrist protectively.  

"The Illyrians bred the power to give them advantage in battle, yes. The Siphons filter that raw power and allow Cassian and Azriel to transform it into something more subtle and varied— into shields and weapons, arrows and spears. Imagine the difference between hurling a bucket of paint against the wall and using a brush. The Siphons allow for the magic to be nimble, precise on the battlefield—when its natural state lends itself toward something far messier and unrefined, and potentially dangerous when you're fighting in tight quarters."

     Cassian flexed his fingers, admiring the clear red stones adorning the backs of his own broad hands. "Doesn't hurt that they also look damn good."

"Illyrians," Amren muttered. Astraea rolled her eyes, taking another sip of wine.

"How did you—I mean, how do you and Lord Cassian—" 

     Cassian spewed his wine across the table, causing Mor to leap up, swearing at him as she used napkins to mop her dress.

     But Cassian was howling, and Azriel had a faint, wary smile on his face as Mor waved a hand at her dress and the spots of wine appeared on Cassian's leathers.

"Cassian," Rhys drawled, "is not a lord. Though I'm sure he appreciates you thinking he is. While we're on the subject, neither are Azriel, Astraea, or Eve. Nor Amren. Mor, believe it or not, is the only pure-blooded, titled person in this room."

     Feyre's eyes widened, her brows drawing together in confusion. Rhys picked up on that and nodded.

"Eve and I are half-Illyrian," he explained. "As good as bastards where the thoroughbred High Fae are concerned."

"So you—you aren't High Fae?" Feyre asked.

"Illyrians are certainly not High Fae. And glad of it," Cassian said. "And we're not lesser faeries, though some try to call us that. We're just—Illyrians. Considered expendable aerial cavalry for the Night Court at the best of times, mindless soldier grunts at the worst."

"Which is most of the time," Azriel clarified.

"I didn't see you Under the Mountain," Feyre observed.

     A hush fell across the room until Mor spoke up, "Because none of us were."

"Amarantha didn't know they existed," Rhys said. "And when someone tried to tell her, they usually found themselves without the mind to do so."

"You truly kept this city, and all these people, hidden from her for fifty years?"

 "We will continue to keep this city and these people hidden from our enemies for a great many more," Amren said. 

"There is not one person in this city who is unaware of what went on outside these borders. Or of the cost," Evelina said, her voice rough.

"How did you meet?" Feyre asked, turning mostly to Astraea. She seemed eager to change the subject. 

"We all hated each other at first," Cassian admitted. "We are bastards, you know. Az, Astraea, and I. The Illyrians. We love our people and our traditions, but they dwell in clans and camps deep in the mountains of the North, and do not like outsiders. Especially High Fae who try to tell them what to do. But they're just as obsessed with lineage, and have their own princes and lords among them. Az was the bastard of one of the local lords. And if you think the bastard of a lord is hated, then you can imagine how hated the bastard is of a war-camp laundress and a warrior she couldn't or wouldn't remember. Az's father sent him to our camp for training once he and his charming wife realized he was a shadowsinger."

"Like the Daemati," Rhys said, "Shadowsingers are rare—coveted by courts and territories across the world for their stealth and predisposition to hear and feel things others can't."

"The camp lord practically shit himself with excitement the day Az was dumped in our camp," Cassian said. "But me. . . once my mother weaned me and I was able to walk, they flew me to a distant camp and chucked me into the mud to see if I would live or die."

"They would have been smarter throwing you off a cliff," Mor said, snorting.

"Oh, definitely," Cassian said. "Especially because when I was old and strong enough to go back to the camp I'd been born in, I learned those pricks worked my mother until she died."

"The Illyrians," Rhys smoothly cut in, "are unparalleled warriors, and are rich with stories and traditions. But they are also brutal and backward, particularly in regard to how they treat their females."

"They're barbarians," Amren said.

"They cripple us females so they can keep us for breeding more flawless warriors," Astraea explained. "Though, they didn't bother to clip my wings because I hadn't yet learned to fly. And Eve's mother saved hers."

"My mother was low-born," Rhys said, "and worked as a seamstress in one of their many mountain war camps. When females come of age in the camps—when they have their first bleeding—their wings are clipped. Just an incision in the right place, left to improperly heal, can cripple you forever. And my mother—she was gentle and wild and loved to fly. So she did everything in her power to keep herself from maturing. She starved herself, gathered illegal herbs—anything to halt the natural course of her body. She turned eighteen and hadn't yet bled, to the mortification of her parents. But her bleeding finally arrived, and all it took was for her to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time, before a male scented it on her and told the camp's lord. She tried to flee—took right to the skies. But she was young, and the warriors were faster, and they dragged her back. They were about to tie her to the posts in the center of camp when my father winnowed in for a meeting with the camp's lord about readying for the War. He saw my mother thrashing and fighting like a wildcat. And. The mating bond between them clicked into place. One look at her, and he knew what she was. He misted the guards holding her."

"Misted?" Feyre questioned.

     Cassian let out a wicked chuckle as Rhys floated a lemon wedge that had been garnishing his chicken into the air above the table. With a flick of his finger, it turned to citrus-scented mist.

"My mother looked at him. And the bond fell into place for her. My father took her back to the Night Court that evening and made her his bride. She loved her people, and missed them, but never forgot what they had tried to do to her—what they did to the females among them. She tried for decades to get my father to ban it, but the War was coming, and he wouldn't risk isolating the Illyrians when he needed them to lead his armies. And to die for him."

"A real prize, your father," Mor grumbled.

"At least he liked you," Rhys countered. "My father and mother, despite being mates, were wrong for each other. My father was cold and calculating, and could be vicious, as he had been trained to be since birth. My mother was soft and fiery and beloved by everyone she met. She hated him after a time—but never stopped being grateful that he had saved her wings, that he allowed her to fly whenever and wherever she wished. And when I was born and could summon the Illyrian wings as I pleased, she wanted me to know her people's culture."

"She wanted to keep you out of Father's claws," Evelina corrected, face going vacant at the mention of her father.

"That, too," Rhys added drily. "When I turned eight, my mother brought me to one of the Illyrian war camps. To be trained, as all Illyrian males were trained. And like all Illyrian mothers, she shoved me toward the sparring ring on the first day, and walked away without looking back."

"She abandoned you?" Feyre asked.

"No—never," Rhys said. "She was staying at the camp as well, along with Evelina. But it is considered an embarrassment for a mother to coddle her son when he goes to train."

"Backward, like he said," Cassian said.

"I was scared out of my mind," Rhys admitted. "I'd been learning to wield my powers, but Illyrian magic was a mere fraction of it. And it's rare amongst them—usually possessed only by the most powerful, pure-bred warriors. I tried to use a Siphon during those years. And shattered about a dozen before I realized it wasn't compatible—the stones couldn't hold it. My power flows and is honed in other ways."

"So difficult, being such a powerful High Lord," Mor teased.

"The camp-lord banned me from using my magic. For all our sakes. But I had no idea how to fight when I set foot into that training ring that day. The other boys in my age group knew it, too. Especially one in particular, who took a look at me, and beat me into a bloody mess."

"You were so clean," Cassian said, shaking his head. "The pretty half-breed son of the High Lord—how fancy you were in your new training clothes."

"Cassian," Azriel spoke up, "resorted to getting new clothes over the years by challenging other boys to fights, with the prize being the clothes off their backs."

"I'd beaten every boy in our age group twice over already," Cassian went on. "But then Rhys arrived in his clean clothes, and he smelled different. Like a true opponent. So I attacked. We both got three lashings apiece for the fight."

    Feyre flinched.

"They do worse, girl," Amren cut in, "in those camps. Three lashings are practically an encouragement to fight again. When they do something truly bad, bones are broken. Repeatedly. Over weeks."

"Your mother willingly sent you into that?" Feyre asked Rhys.

"My mother didn't want me to rely on my power," Rhys said. "She knew from the moment she conceived me that I'd be hunted my entire life. Where one strength failed, she wanted others to save me. My education was another weapon—which was why she went with me: to tutor me after lessons were done for the day. And when she took me home that first night to our new house at the edge of the camp, she made me read by the window. It was there that Eve and I saw Cassian trudging through the mud toward the few ramshackle tents outside of the camp. I asked her where he was going, and she told me that bastards are given nothing: they find their own shelter, their own food. If they survive and get picked to be in a war band, they'll be bottom-ranking forever but receive their own tents and supplies. But until then, he'd stay in the cold."

"Those mountains," Astraea added, "offer some of the harshest conditions you can imagine."

"After my lessons," Rhys went on, "my mother cleaned my lashings while Evelina fussed over me. I realized for the first time what it was to be warm, and safe, and cared for. And it didn't sit well."

"Apparently not," Cassian said. "Because in the dead of night, the two little pricks woke me up in my piss-poor tent and told me to keep my mouth shut and come with them. And maybe the cold made me stupid, but I did. Their mother was livid. But I'll never forget the look on her beautiful face when she saw me and said, 'There is a bathtub with hot running water. Get in it, or you can go back into the cold.' Being a smart lad, I obeyed. When I got out, she had clean nightclothes and ordered me into bed. I'd spent my life sleeping on the ground—and when I balked, she said she understood because she had felt the same once, and that it would feel as if I was being swallowed up, but the bed was mine for as long as I wanted it."

"And you were friends after that?"

"No—Cauldron no," Rhysand said. "We hated each other, and only behaved because if one of us got into trouble or provoked the others, then none of us ate that night. My mother started tutoring Cassian, but it wasn't until Azriel and Astraea arrived a year later that we decided to be allies."

     Cassian's grin grew as he reached around Amren to clap his friend on the shoulder. Azriel sighed.

"A new bastard in the camp—and an untrained shadowsinger to boot. Not to mention he couldn't even fly thanks to—"

"Stay on track, Cassian," Evelina cut in.

"Rhys and I made their lives a living hell, though Eve beat our asses for it. But Rhys's mother had known their mother, and took them in," Cassian said.

"Azriel was sent to us alone, and he was distraught over being separated from Astraea," Rhys explained. "My mother went to the keep they'd lived in herself, and demanded they let Astraea come with her. She was Lady of the Night Court, and they had no choice but to listen."

"It was very kind of her," Astraea nodded. "She took me in, even though I was pregnant. Much to the delight of Rhys, who constantly taunted me for it."

"I was a child. I didn't understand what you'd been through," Rhys defended. Astraea rolled her blue eyes. "Anyway, with the way you were always coddling Azriel--"

"I didn't trust you!" Astraea defended. "No one had ever had our best interests in mind before."

"You wouldn't leave his side for a year," Cassian reminded her with a smile.

"You have a child?" Feyre asked Astraea, her eyes wide with interest.

"I did," Astraea said quietly. "She got very sick when she was eleven, and she passed away." 

"I'm sorry," Feyre said, her face sad.

"It's alright, dear," Astraea said softly. "It's been centuries." The truth was, a millennia could pass, and the pain would never go away. But Astraea didn't want any tears tonight. 

"As we grew older, and the other males around us did, too, we realized everyone else hated us enough that we had better odds of survival sticking together," Cassian said.

"Do you have any gifts?" Feyre asked. "Like—them?" She jerked her chin to Azriel and Rhys.

"I can fly, heal myself quickly, and all that," Astraea shrugged. "But that's all." 

"I don't have any gifts—not beyond a heaping pile of the killing power. Bastard-born nobody, through and through," Cassian said.

"You know that's not true, Cass," Astraea insisted.

"Even so, the other males knew that we were different. And not because we were two bastards and a half-breed. We were stronger, faster—like the Cauldron knew we'd been set apart and wanted us to find each other. Rhys's mother saw it, too. Especially as we reached the age of maturity, and all we wanted to do was fuck and fight."

"Males are horrible creatures, aren't they?" Amren said.

"Repulsive," Astraea agreed, wrinkling her nose. Living with them during that stage of their lives had been miserable.

"Rhys's power grew every day—and everyone, even the camp-lords, knew he could mist everyone if he felt like it. And the two of us we weren't far behind." He tapped his crimson Siphon with a finger. "A bastard Illyrian had never received one of these. Ever. For Az and me to both be appointed them, albeit begrudgingly, had every warrior in every camp across those mountains sizing us up. Only pure-blood pricks get Siphons—born and bred for the killing power. It still keeps them up at night, puzzling over where the hell we got it from."

"Then the War came," Azriel took over. "And Rhys's father visited our camp to see how his son had fared after twenty years."

"My father," Rhys said, "saw that his son had not only started to rival him for power, but had allied himself with perhaps the two deadliest Illyrians in history. He got it into his head that if we were given a legion in the War, we might very well turn it against him when we returned."

     Cassian snickered. "So the prick separated us. He gave Rhys command of a legion of Illyrians who hated him for being a half-breed, and threw me into a different legion to be a common foot soldier, even when my power outranked any of the war-leaders. Az, he kept for himself as his personal shadowsinger—mostly for spying and his dirty work. Astraea stayed with Rhys's mother. Eve was married at that point. We only saw each other on battlefields for the seven years the War raged. They'd send around casualty lists amongst the Illyrians, and I read each one, wondering if Id see their names on it. But then Rhys was captured—"

"That is a story for another time," Rhys said. "Once I became High Lord, I appointed these five to my Inner Circle and told the rest of my father's old court that if they had a problem with my friends, they could leave. They all did. Turns out, having a half-breed High Lord was made worse by his appointment of two females and two Illyrian bastards. Plus a female who was also an Illyrian bastard."

"What—what happened to them, then?" Feyre asked.

"The nobility of the Night Court fall into one of three categories: those who hated me enough that when Amarantha took over, they joined her court and later found themselves dead; those who hated me enough to try to overthrow me and faced the consequences; and those who hated me, but not enough to be stupid and have since tolerated a half-breeds rule, especially when it so rarely interferes with their miserable lives."

"Are they—are they the ones who live beneath the mountain?"

"In the Hewn City, yes. I gave it to them, for not being fools. They're happy to stay there, rarely leaving, ruling themselves and being as wicked as they please, for all eternity."

"The Court of Nightmares," Mor said.

"And what is this court?" Feyre asked.

"The Court of Dreams," Cassian said.

"And you?" she said to Mor and Amren.

     Amren merely said, "Rhys offered to make me his Second. No one had ever asked me before, so I said yes, to see what it might be like. I found I enjoyed it."

"I was a dreamer born into the Court of Nightmares," Mor said. "So I got out."

"What's your story, then?" Cassian said to Feyre with a jerk of his chin.

"I was born to a wealthy merchant family, with two sisters and parents who only cared about their money and social standing. My mother died when I was eight; my father lost his fortune three years later. He sold everything to pay off his debts, moved us into a hovel, and didn't bother to find work while he let us slowly starve for years. I was fourteen when the last of the money ran out, along with the food. He wouldn't work—couldn't, because the debtors came and shattered his leg in front of us. So I went into the forest and taught myself to hunt. And I kept us all alive, if not near starvation at times, for five years. Until everything happened."

     Cassian said, "You taught yourself to hunt. What about to fight?" She shook her head. "Lucky for you, you've just found yourself a teacher."

"You don't think it'll send a bad message?" Feyre wondered. "If people see me learning to fight? Use weapons?"

"Let me tell you two things," Mor said. "As someone who has perhaps been in your shoes before. One, you have left the Spring Court. If that does not send a message, for good or bad, then your training will not, either. Two, I once lived in a place where the opinion of others mattered. It suffocated me, nearly broke me. So you'll understand me, Feyre, when I say that I know what you feel, and I know what they tried to do to you, and that with enough courage, you can say to hell with a reputation. You do what you love, what you need."

"I accept your offer—to work with you. To earn my keep. And help with Hybern in whatever way I can."

"Good," Rhys merely replied. "Because we start tomorrow."

Chapter Text

     Rhys kept frowning at the amulet as he and Feyre hiked the slope of the Prison, so steep that, at times, they had to crawl on their hands and knees.  

     Higher and higher they climbed, and Feyre drank from the countless little streams that gurgled through the bumps and hollows in the moss-and-grass slopes. All around the mist drifted by, whipped by the wind, whose hollow moaning drowned out their crunching footsteps.

     When Feyre caught Rhys looking at the necklace for the tenth time, she said, "What?"

"She gave you that."

    Not a question.

"It must be serious, then," Feyre said. "The risk with—"

"Don't say anything you don't want others hearing." He pointed to the stone beneath us. "The inmates have nothing better to do than to listen through the earth and rock for gossip. They'll sell any bit of information for food, sex, maybe a breath of air."

     They climbed until the upper face of the mountain became a wall before them, nothing but grassy slopes sweeping behind, far below, to where they flowed to the restless gray sea. Rhys drew the sword from his back in a swift movement.

"Don't look so surprised," he said.

"I've—never seen you with a weapon." Aside from the dagger he'd grabbed to slit Amarantha's throat at the end—to spare Feyre from agony.

"Cassian would laugh himself hoarse hearing that. And then make me go into the sparring ring with him."

"Can he beat you?"

"Hand-to-hand combat? Yes. He'd have to earn it for a change, but he'd win." No arrogance, no pride. "Cassian is the best warrior I've encountered in any court, any land. He leads my armies because of it."

     Feyre didn't doubt his claim. And the other Illyrians--"Azriel and Astraea, their hands. The scars, I mean," Feyre said. "Where did they come from?"

     Rhys froze at the question, going quiet for a moment. Then he said too softly, "It's a long story." 

"We have time." 

     Rhys sighed, nodding his head. "Their mother was a slave to Astraea's father. He was cruel to her, and when he got her pregnant, he threw her out into the snow. After she had Astraea, she began working for Azriel's father. When Astraea was five, her mother got pregnant with Azriel. His father had two legitimate sons. Much older. Both cruel and spoiled. They learned it from their mother, the lord's wife. For the eleven years that Azriel and Astraea lived in their keep, she saw to it they were kept in a cell with no window and no light. She let them out for an hour every day—let them see their mother for an hour once a week. They weren't permitted to train, or fly, or any of the things their Illyrian instincts roared at them to do.

"When Azriel was eight, his brothers were beating up on him. Astraea was thirteen, and she begged them to stop. She said she'd do anything. They took her up on it." He was quiet for a second. "The eldest, Demetri, he claimed ownership of her. She was his slave . . . and his whore."

"When she was thirteen?" Feyre whispered, her eyes wide with horror. He nodded.

"She did it to keep Azriel safe," he sighed. "The tattoo on her arm sealed the arrangement. But months later, she disobeyed one of Demetri's orders. So he and his brother decided it'd be fun to see what happened when you mixed Azriel's quick healing gifts with oil—and fire. When Astraea tried to stop them, they burned her hands, too. The warriors heard their screaming. But not quick enough to save their hands."

     Nausea swamped Feyre. But that still left them with three more years living with them. What other horrors had they endured before they were sent away?

"Were—were his brothers punished?"

     Rhys's face was as unfeeling as the rock and wind and sea around us as he said with lethal quiet, "Eventually." He paused.

     The words were raw enough that Feyre asked, "What does Astraea do for you?" He sighed.

"She counsels girls in Velaris who have been through the same violence that she has," he paused. "Even if she didn't, I'd keep her around. Most of us have lost our mothers, and she's seemed to fill the role for us. Especially for Evelina."

"Evelina . . . Cassian mentioned she was married during the war," Feyre recalled. 

"Yes," he nodded. "Our father sold her to be married to a male named Elio Vanserra."

"Lucien's family?" Feyre asked.

"Yes, though this was before Lucien was born," he went on. "Elio was 35, Eve was 17. She was happy with him for a while, but after they had children, he grew cruel towards her. He was abusive and controlling. But after my father died, and I became High Lord, we were able to get her back."

"Where are her children now?" Feyre wondered.

"The twins from her first marriage, Gideon and Diana, are both married," he explained. "Diana is living in Summer, and Gideon is in Winter. Her other daughter, Johanna, is Azriel's. Johanna lives in an apartment a few miles away from ours. You'll likely see her often."

"And Mor—what does she do for you?"

"Mor is who I'll call in when the armies fail, and Cassian, Azriel, and Eve are all dead."

     Feyre's blood chilled. "So she's supposed to wait until then?"

"No. As my Third, Mor is my court overseer. She looks after the dynamics between the Court of Nightmares and the Court of Dreams, and runs both Velaris and the Hewn City. I suppose in the mortal realm, she might be considered a queen."

"And Amren?"

"Her duties as my Second make her my political adviser, walking library, and doer of my dirty work. I appointed her upon gaining my throne. But she was my ally, maybe my friend, long before that."

"I mean—in that war where your armies fail and Cassian, Azriel, and Eve are dead, and even Mor is gone." 

     Rhys paused his reach for the bald rock face before them. "If that day comes, I'll find a way to break the spell on Amren and unleash her on the world. And ask her to end me first."

     By the Mother. "What is she?" 

"Something else. Something worse than us. And if she ever finds a way to shed her prison of flesh and bone  Cauldron save us all."

Chapter Text

     Upon learning they would visit the mortal realm, Astraea made her way straight to Feyre's room. 

     She knocked on Feyre's door, pursing her lips as she waited for a response. When the door opened, Feyre's brows raised at the girl on the other side.

"I was wondering if you could help me," Astraea explained. "I have no idea what to wear to mortal lands." Feyre chuckled softly.

"Let's see what you have," Feyre said.

     Feyre stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind her. The two girls strolled back to Astraea's bedroom arm-in-arm. 

     They entered Astraea's closet, and she began sifting through her dresses. She felt a lot of them were too fancy, but many others were too plain. 

"What did Tamlin do to make you leave?" Astraea wondered, finding herself curious. Feyre froze, and Astraea worried that she had crossed a line. Feyre sighed, turning to her.

"He put a ward around the manor," she said quietly. "He locked me in that house. He didn't even notice that I was suffocating in there."

      A sense of dread washed over Astraea. She couldn't even imagine how terrified the young girl must've been at that moment. 

"Feyre," she said quietly, sorrow in her words. "I'm so sorry." 

"It's alright," she sighed. "I'm here, now." 

     Astraea nodded, staring at her lap. "What are your sisters like?" 

"Nesta is cold, but determined," Feyre informed her. "She spent every penny I made, but she did go to the wall and try to save me when I was taken by Tamlin. Things are complicated with her. We've never gotten along, but she risked her life for me."

     Astraea hummed, nodding her head as she took the words in.  

"Elain is sweet and quiet. She never helped me because it didn't occur to her that she could get dirty," Feyre said. 

"Eve and Mor are like sisters to me," Astraea sighed. "But as a very little girl, I desperately wanted a sister of my own. I love my brother, though." Feyre went quiet, turning to look at her.

"Rhys told me what you did for Azriel," she admitted.

     Astraea raised her eyebrows, feeling her face go a bit red. She stared down at the spiraling tattoo on her right arm, clearing a lump from her throat. 

"I'm sorry," Feyre said. "That you had to go through that." Astraea smiled at her, shaking her head.

"It was a long time ago," Astraea sighed. "He can't find me while I'm in Velaris." Feyre nodded, pulling a violet dress from the rack. She handed it to Astraea.

"I think this is perfect," Feyre smiled.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

"Stop it!" Astraea snapped at Rhys as he fidgeted with her sleeve.

     He chuckled as Astraea yanked her arm away from him and knocked on the door. Eve grumbled something about hating the mortal lands. Cassian, Mor, and Amren had stayed behind. Eve had wanted to as well, but Rhys insisted that she join.

     Feyre opened the front door of her house and found them waiting. 

"You'd think they'd been told plague had befallen the house," Rhys murmured.

"My sister Elain can convince anyone to do anything with a few smiles," Feyre explained, letting them into the house.

"Come," Rhys said, offering Feyre a subtle, understanding nod before motioning to lead the way. "Let's make this introduction."

     Astraea accompanied her family through the corridors until they reached the sight of Feyre's sisters.

     Astraea could tell which one was Nesta by the sneer on her face. The light from the chandeliers made the gold of her hair glisten. Her deep grey eyes were full of judgment, her golden brown hair was braided in a crown over her head.

     Nesta's eyes met Astraea's, and she tensed under her gaze. Nesta narrowed her grey eyes, glancing away from her in dismissal.

"My sisters, Nesta and Elain Archeron."

     Astraea nodded at Elain, being careful to avoid looking at Nesta again. 

"Azriel and his wife Evelina," she said, inclining her head to the left. Then she shifted to the right, "Astraea." She half turned. "And Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court."

     Rhysand bowed to them. "Thank you for your hospitality—and generosity," he said with a warm smile.

     Nesta just looked at the four of them, then at Feyre, and said, "The cook left dinner on the table. We should eat before it goes cold."

     Her voice was smooth and demanding, the voice of a woman who knew what she wanted. She didn't wait for any agreement before striding off—right to the head of the polished cherry table.

     Elain rasped, "Nice to meet you," before hustling after her, the silk skirts of her cobalt dress whispering over the parquet floor. Eve snickered, causing Rhys to elbow her in the ribs.

      Nesta was waiting at the head of the table, a queen ready to hold court. Elain trembled in the upholstered, carved wood chair to her left.

     Feyre sat by Nesta. Astraea claimed the spot beside Elain, who clenched her fork as if she might wield it against her, and Rhys slid into the seat beside Feyre, Azriel on his other side. Eve sat on the other side of him.

     Feyre sighed through her nose and yanked the lids off the various dishes and casseroles: poached salmon with dill and lemon from the hothouse, whipped potatoes, roast chicken with beets and turnips from the root cellar, and a casserole of egg, game meat, and leeks.

     Astraea scooped food onto her plate, the sounds of the others doing the same filling the silence. She noticed Feyre cringing when she took a bite of her food.

"Is there something wrong with our food?" Nesta said flatly.

"No," Feyre denied.

"So you can't eat normal food anymore—or are you too good for it?"

"I can eat, drink, fuck, and fight just as well as I did before. Better, even," Feyre retorted.

     Astraea choked on her water. Eve snorted, but shut her mouth when her brother sent her a harsh glance. Nesta let out a low laugh.

"If you ever come to Prythian, you will discover why your food tastes so different," Rhysand explained smoothly.

"I have little interest in ever setting foot in your land, so I'll have to take your word on it," Nesta replied.

"Can we just start over?" Feyre pleaded.

"Fine," Nesta hissed, and went back to eating.

     Astraea studied every bite that Nesta took, every bob of her throat as she swallowed. 

     In her younger years, Astraea had been tempted to take her pain and anger out on everyone around her, just as Nesta did. But she couldn't. She had her brother to take care of. Then, Rhys, Cassian, and Eve. She couldn't bring herself to take her anger out of them.

     But Nesta let that pain and anger consume her until she was taking it out on her sisters. A part of Astraea disapproved of that, but it also made her wonder if Nesta's family had ever asked themselves why she acted like she did. Astraea wondered if they ever asked her if she was okay.

"Can you truly fly?" Elain asked Azriel, pulling Astraea out of her thoughts.

"Yes," he nodded. "My sister and I hail from a race of faeries called Illyrians. We're born hearing the song of the wind."

"That's very beautiful," Elain said. "Is it not—frightening, though? To fly so high?"

"It is sometimes," Azriel said. "If you are caught in a storm, if the current drops away. But we are trained so thoroughly that the fear is gone before we're out of swaddling."

"You look like High Fae," Nesta cut in, her voice like a honed blade. "But you are not?"

"Only the High Fae who look like them," Astraea explained, waving a hand to Feyre, Rhys, and Eve, "are High Fae. Everyone else, any other differences, mark you as what they like to call lesser faeries."

     Rhysand said, "It's become a term used for ease, but masks a long, bloody history of injustices. Many lesser faeries resent the term—and wish for us all to be called one thing."

"But you were not High Fae—not to begin," Nesta said to Feyre. "So what do they call you?"

"Feyre is whoever she chooses to be," Rhysand said.

"Write your letter to the queens tonight. Tomorrow, Elain and I will go to the village to dispatch it. If the queens do come here," Nesta added, "I'd suggest bracing yourselves for prejudices far deeper than ours. And contemplating how you plan to get us all out of this mess should things go sour."

"We'll take that into account," Rhysand said smoothly, nodding his head.

"I assume you'll want to stay the night," Nesta said, her grey eyes looking exasperated.

     Evelina frowned at the idea, glancing at Feyre, who nodded.

"If it's not too much trouble, then yes," Feyre agreed. "We'll leave after breakfast tomorrow."

"I think there are a few bedrooms ready—" Elain began.

"We'll need two," Rhysand interrupted quietly. "Next to each other, with two beds each. Magic is different across the wall. So our shields, our senses, might not work right. I'm taking no chances. Especially in a house with a woman betrothed to a man who gave her an iron engagement ring."

     Elain flushed a bit. "The—the bedrooms that have two beds aren't next to each other," she murmured.

"We'll move things around. It's fine. This one," Feyre added with a glare in Rhys's direction, "is only cranky because he's old, and it's past his bedtime."

     Nesta just rose to her feet, a slim pillar of steel, and said to no one in particular, "If we're done eating, then this meal is over."

Chapter Text

     Rhysand was sharing a room with Feyre, which meant Astraea would be sharing with my brother and his mate. Astraea fluffed one of the pillows on one of the beds.

"Wouldn't it make more sense for you to share with Rhys, and for me to share with Feyre and Eve?" Astraea wondered, raising an eyebrow.

"Rhys just wanted an excuse to share a room with Feyre," Az joked. Astraea laughed, but she knew he very likely wasn't wrong.

     Evelina yawned, making her wings disappear before she crawled into the bed she was sharing with her husband.   

     The three of them were silent for a while as Eve cuddled up to her husband, laying her head on his chest as he wrapped his arms and wings around her. 

      Eve fell asleep quite quickly, her soft snores filling the room after just a half hour. Astraea rolled onto her side to face her still-awake brother.

"Evie was getting quite defensive of Feyre through the bond," Azriel murmured, stroking Eve's hair as she snoozed on his shoulder. "She told me mind-to-mind that Nesta and Elain should've done something to help instead of letting Feyre do all the work." 

"Well, Eve wasn't entirely wrong," Astraea said quietly. "They did do nothing while Feyre gave everything for them."

"You gave everything for me," Az recalled, glancing up at her. "I didn't do anything to stop it."

"You didn't know about it," Astraea reminded him, shaking her head. "You were just a kid. I made sure to shield you from it. You had no idea about the . . . arrangement or what it entailed."

"If I had figured it out, I could've done something--"

"No," she said quietly. "There was nothing either of us could do. I mean, the one time I rejected him, look what he did to your hands. Our hands."

     Honestly, she had rejected him every time. She always kicked, screamed, and begged. Sometimes, she even hid from him. It never mattered.

     That day, he was going to let his older brother use her, too. She was to be a present for his birthday, Demetri had said.

     She rejected him. She hadn't begged like she normally did; she just said 'no.' She said vile, insulting things to both of them and spat in their faces.

     They went and found Azriel, punishing her by lighting his hands on fire. And then they did the same to Astraea.

"Mother wrote to us," Azriel informed her. She could only scoff. "She really misses you, you know."

"I don't care," Astraea murmured, flipping onto her back to stare at the ceiling. 

     Astraea's mother was sold to her father once she had come of age. He tortured her brutally and threw her out when she got pregnant.

     Her mother gave birth to her in an inn, where they lived together for the first few years of Astraea's life. She was a kind female back then, and the two were closer than anything. So inseparable, that Astraea even clung to her mother's side as she worked in the inn throughout the day. 

     When Astraea turned four, her mother began working for Azriel's father, and Astraea was allowed to stick around as long as she helped with the housework.

     When Azriel came along, everything changed. The Lord's wife, Belinda, decided to lock Azriel and Astraea away from the world.

     They spent twenty-three hours a day in that cell, and Astraea had to take care of Azriel all by herself. He was an infant, and she knew nothing about infants. She was only five years old. But she managed, and she raised him herself.

     For the first eight years in that cell, her mother was still kind and loving. But when Astraea was thirteen years old and made the bargain with Demetri, everything changed between them. 

     While her mother was horrified when she found out about the arrangement, she had never done anything to stop it. Before the bargain, her mother had been very affectionate with her, holding her and loving her. But after the bargain, her mother had barely been able to look her in the eyes. Even when she begged her mother for comfort, it never came. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

     Evelina and Astraea were honestly dismayed when they found out they were staying in the mortal realms for the whole day. They thought that they would leave first thing in the morning, but Rhys wanted to train Feyre in the forest.  

     Evelina and Astraea stepped into the sitting room that morning, waiting for Rhys and Feyre to be done. 

     They found Nesta curled up on the couch, holding a book. Her hair was swept up in a braid, and she was wearing a simple lavender dress. 

     Astraea couldn't help but notice that she looked almost peaceful. There was no sneer on her face, and her eyes followed the words on the page. 

     Until she realized they had entered the room. She immediately tensed, her grip on her book tightening. 

"You know how to read," Astraea observed. Nesta huffed, slamming her book shut.

"Do you believe all humans to be illiterate?" she snapped, her nostrils flaring.

"Not at all," Astraea objected, shrugging. "I'm just surprised, seeing as Feyre could not read."

"Astraea's just intimidated because she couldn't read until she was sixteen," Evelina teased her. Nesta rolled her eyes, judgment in them.

"Nobody ever taught me," Astraea defended herself to her. She turned her attention back to Nesta. "Do you enjoy reading?" 

"Why are you speaking to me?" Nesta simply asked, then went back to her book. Astraea huffed at the dismissal as Evelina snickered.

Chapter Text

     Despite the chill night, every shop was open as they walked through the city. Musicians played in the little squares, and the Palace of Thread and Jewels was packed with shoppers and performers, High Fae and lesser faeries alike.

     But they continued past, down to the river itself, the water so smooth that the stars and lights blended on its dark surface like a living ribbon of eternity.

     The eight of them were unhurried as they strolled across one of the wide marble bridges spanning the Sidra, often moving forward or dropping back to chat with one another.

      From the ornate lanterns that lined either side of the bridge, faelight cast golden shadows on the wings of the three males, gilding the talons at the apex of each.   

     The conversation ranged from the people they knew, matches and teams for sports, new shops, the music they'd heard, and clubs they favored. 

     The other side of the city was even more crowded, with patrons in finery out to attend the many theaters they passed. They strolled along the riverside walkway, past shops and cafés, music spilling from them.

     Eventually, they entered a small restaurant beside the river, built into the lower level of a two-story building, the whole space bedecked in greens and golds and barely big enough to fit all of us. And five sets of Illyrian wings.

     But the owner knew them and kissed them each on the cheek, even Rhysand. Except for Amren, whom the owner bowed to before she hustled back into her kitchen and made them sit at the large table that was half in, half out of the open storefront.

     The starry night was crisp, the wind rustling the potted palms placed with loving care along the riverside walkway railing. No doubt spelled to keep from dying in the winter—just as the warmth of the restaurant kept the chill from disturbing them or any of those dining in the open air at the river's edge.

     Then the food platters began pouring out, along with the wine and the conversation, and they dined under the stars beside the river.

     The owner—a slim, dark-skinned female with lovely brown eyes—was standing behind Feyre's chair, chatting with Rhys about the latest shipment of spices that had come to the Palaces.

"The traders were saying the prices might rise, High Lord, especially if rumors about Hybern awakening are correct."

"We'll find a way to keep the prices from skyrocketing," Rhys said, leaning back in his chair.

"Don't trouble yourself, of course," the owner said, wringing her fingers a bit. "It's just so lovely to have such spices available again—now that things are better."

     Rhys gave her a gentle smile, the one that made him seem younger. "I wouldn't be troubling myself—not when I like your cooking so much."

"Is it to your liking?" she asked Feyre.

"I've lived in the mortal realm and lived in other courts, but I've never had food like this. Food that makes me feel awake."

"Then I'll bring you a special dessert," she said and strode into her kitchen.

     Mor was busy telling everyone a story when the owner emerged with a metal goblet full of dark liquid and placed it before Amren. When she saw the goblet laid before her, she flicked her brows up.

"You didn't have to do that."

     The owner shrugged her slim shoulders. "It's fresh and hot, and we needed the beast for tomorrow's roast, anyway."

     Amren swirled the goblet, the dark liquid lapping at the sides like wine, then sipped from it. "You spiced it nicely." Blood gleamed on her teeth.

     The owner bowed. "No one leaves my place hungry," she said before walking away.

     By the time they left, Astraea had eaten much more than her stomach could handle. Mor rubbed her stomach in lazy circles as they paused beside the river.

"I want to go dancing. I won't be able to fall asleep when I'm this full. Ritas is right up the street."

"I'll go—for the drinks. No dancing," Cassian decided.

"Thank the Mother. You nearly shattered my foot the last time you tried."

"Will the rest of you be joining us?" Mor asked us. Astraea sighed, throwing her head back.

"Fine," Astraea agreed.

"I think Eve and I will head home," Az said, wrapping an arm and wing around Evelina.

"I could go for the dancing," Evelina insisted. Az raised an eyebrow at her.

"You know you can't be around that much alcohol, Evie," he reminded her. Feyre furrowed her eyebrows, and Mor snickered.

"When Eve was married off in Autumn, she and her sister-in-law used to get wasted," Mor explained. "The entire court started calling them the Plastered Princesses. We even heard about it here in Night."

     Feyre chuckled with the rest of us, but Evelina just rolled her violet eyes.

"Fine, Az and I will head home," she decided, though she was pouting a bit. "Mor, you don't have to tell everyone that story, you know."

"I know, but I'm your cousin, and embarrassing you is what I do best," Morrigan teased her.

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"Astraea!" she heard. Astraea glanced up from her book as the young twins approached her.

     Little Evelina had pure excitement in her violet eyes, though there was nothing but boredom reflected in Rhys's.

"What is it?" Astraea questioned.

"Will you sign this?" Evelina asked, handing Astraea a piece of paper with writing on it. "It's Azriel's birthday card."

     Astraea's heart swelled at the words, and tears formed in her eyes. She blinked them back and smiled.

"That's so sweet of you guys," she said quietly.

     He'd never had a birthday celebration before. They had lost their sense of time in the cell they were kept in. They were never told the date or how many years had passed. They only had a vague sense of the time of year.

"Are you going to sign it or--" Rhys demanded.

"Can you two do it for me?" Astraea frowned. "I'm not feeling well."

"How do you spell Astraea?" Eve asked, putting the card on the coffee table as she pulled a pen out of her pocket.

"Sound it out," Astraea told her.

"Oh come on, you're not my teacher," she protested, her lower lip jutting out. "Just tell me."

"I don't know," Astraea confessed, her cheeks growing hot. Rhys seemed to perk up at that. Of course, he did.

"You don't know how to spell your name?" Rhys questioned. Astraea clenched her jaw, but shook her head. "I could spell my name by the time I was three."

"Good for you, Rhysand," she sighed.

"How old are you?"

"How old is Azriel?" Astraea questioned.

"He's turning twelve," Eve said, glancing over at her.

"I'm five years older than that," Astraea stated.

     Astraea could only count to five. She had been five when she was dragged away from her life and thrown into a cell. Demetri would make her count her lashings, but he never did more than five at a time. He didn't want them to scar, he would say.

"You can't count, either?" he demanded.

"Nobody ever taught me," Astraea explained, feeling a lump in the back of her throat.

"You're seventeen," Rhys told her. The number meant nothing to her. "That's young to have a baby. You're not even married."

"Shut up, Rhys," Evelina grumbled. "I'll just ask Mother how to spell your name."

"Thanks, Eve," Astraea said with a slight smile.

     She cleared her throat, blinking the tears out of her eyes. Rhys was just a child, and she couldn't fault him for his words. But sometimes, his taunts really hurt her.

     She sat up straight when she heard a loud cry coming from her bedroom. She sighed, got to her feet, and forced herself up the stairs.

     Movement was not easy for her, not since the pregnancy. Most Fae females did not have children until their 100s. Her body was not truly ready for childbirth at her young age. It was the same for her mother, who had her when she was eighteen. 

     The birth was brutal and had gone on for fourteen hours. She survived it, but she was bedridden for a month after. And Madja had told her she would be unable to have any other children. That didn't matter to Astraea because she didn't plan to let another male touch her again. And her little Luna was enough for her. 

     Astraea picked her daughter up from her crib. She hiccupped through her tears as Astraea gently rocked her.

"Hello, my love," Astraea greeted her. "Why are you crying, baby?"

     Astraea knew she couldn't understand her, but it was nice to talk to her.

"I promise I'll never hurt you," Astraea murmured. "I'll always love you more than anything else in the world, okay? Never think anything different."

     Her cries continued, and Astraea sighed, holding her closer. Astraea hated how much she missed my own mother. Even if her mother hadn't held her, or even bothered to comfort her since she was ten.

     A knock on the door made her tense. She relaxed a second later, calling for them to come in.

"Hey," Rhys's mother, Iridessa, greeted as she stepped into the room. "Do you want me to help calm her down?"

"Sure," she nodded, handing Luna to her.

     Iridessa smiled, rocking the baby. She seemed to know exactly what to do. Astraea watched curiously, wondering how she was able to get Luna to stop crying so quickly.

"I'm a terrible mother," Astraea realized, scoffing at herself.

"Oh, no," she insisted. "It took me a very long time to figure out how to quiet the twins. Especially Eve. She was a very fussy baby."

"I was never able to quiet Az," Astraea confessed, staring at her scarred hands in shame.

"Don't be too hard on yourself," she told her. "You were five, and a starved babe kept in the dark isn't going to quiet easily."  A smile spread across her face. "You know, I used to visit your mother when she worked at the inn. You were just a babe, then. And the two of us combined could never quiet you when you fussed." 

"You're more like a mother to me than she ever was," Astraea admitted.

"Well, you only got to see her once a week," Iridessa reminded her. "Go easy on her. She loves you. She went through a lot more than you know in that keep."

"I know she did," Astraea admitted. "But I wish she cared for me."

"Baby, she did," she promised. "She does. I remember when she worked at the inn when you were first born. She couldn't stand being away from you, so she found cloth to strap you to her chest while she worked. She would not let anyone else hold you. You were her pride and joy. She showed you off to everyone. She cared for you more than anything."

"And why did that stop when I needed her most?" Astraea grumbled.

"It was hard for her," she sighed, shaking her head. "Seeing what you were going through and not being able to stop it. She was ashamed of herself for not protecting you."

      She placed Luna in her crib and then sat by her side. Astraea rested her head on Iridessa's shoulder and burst into tears as she thought of her mother. She loved her. It was so hard to know that, after everything, she would always love her.

"Oh, my dear," Iridessa sighed, kissing her head.

"I'm sorry," Astraea sobbed, wiping her eyes. "I'm sorry, I can't stop."

"Cry it out, Raea," she comforted. "It's okay, love."

     The way Iridessa held her gave her a feeling she hadn't experienced since before the bargain. She felt safe and cared for. Nothing could harm her while she was in the female's arms.

"What is wrong with me?" Astraea mumbled, sniffling. "Something must be wrong."

"Nothing is wrong with you, my love," she promised. "You've been through so much and at such a young age. You need to be easier on yourself."

     Astraea woke from her dream with a start, a hand reaching her eyes to wipe the tears from them. Iridessa had taken her in, saved her from Demetri, and treated her like she was her daughter. It wasn't fair that Iridessa had been taken from them. Astraea missed her every day, just as much as she missed her Luna.

     Astraea let loose a breath, glancing at the clock. It was about time for her to get up. She knew they were visiting the mortal lands again.

     They were set to meet the mortal queens. While a part of her felt anxious, she was generally relieved that they were open to listening. 

     Astraea got dressed in silence, reflecting on the dream she had. Sometimes, dreaming of Luna was painful. Other times, she welcomed it. Anything to see her little girl again.

     Once she had gotten into the dress that Feyre had picked out for her, she sat at her vanity. She tied half of her hair up, letting the rest of her curls fall free. 

     She sighed deeply, glancing to the box that she kept her jewelry in. She took out a bracelet, a silver chain with a pendant in the middle, which was engraved. 

     To my little Luna. I'll love you always. 

     Astraea had given it to Luna for her eleventh birthday. Luna had died with it on her wrist. Astraea couldn't bring herself to bury Luna with it. She kept it, and wore it nearly every day.

Chapter Text

     The mortal queens were a mixture of age, coloring, height, and temperament. The eldest of them, clad in an embroidered wool dress of deepest blue, was brown-skinned, her eyes sharp and cold and unbent despite the heavy wrinkles carved into her face.

     The two, who appeared middle-aged, were opposites: one dark, one light, one sweet-faced, one hewn from granite, one smiling, and one frowning. They even wore black—and—white gowns and seemed to move in question and answer to each other.

     And the youngest two queens--One was perhaps a few years older than Feyre, black-haired and black-eyed, careful cunning oozing from every pore as she surveyed us.

     Rhys stepped forward. The queens all sucked in a little breath, as if bracing themselves. 

"We are grateful you accepted our invitation," Rhys said. He lifted a brow. "Where is the sixth?"

     The ancient queen merely said, "She is unwell, and could not make the journey." She surveyed Feyre. "You are the emissary."

"Yes," Feyre said. "I am Feyre."

"And you are the High Lord who wrote us such an interesting letter after your first few were dispatched."

"I am," Rhysand said with a hint of a nod. "And this is my cousin, Morrigan."

     Mor stalked toward them, her crimson gown floating on a phantom wind. The golden queen sized her up with each step, each breath.

"Morrigan—the Morrigan from the War."

     They all paused as if in surprise. And a bit of awe and fear. 

     Mor bowed again. "Please—sit."

     She gestured to the chairs they'd laid out a comfortable distance from each other, all far enough apart that the guards could flank their queens as they saw fit.

     Almost as one, the queens sat. Their guards, however, remained at their posts around the room. The golden-haired queen smoothed her voluminous skirts and said, "I assume those are our hosts."

     A cutting look at Elain and Nesta. Nesta had gone straight-backed, but Elain bobbed a curtsy, flushing rose pink. 

"My sisters," Feyre clarified.

"An emissary wears a golden crown. Is that a tradition in Prythian?"

"No," Rhysand said smoothly, "but she certainly looks good enough in one that I can't resist."

     The golden queen didn't smile as she mused, "A human turned into a High Fae and who is now standing beside a High Lord at the place of honor. Interesting."

     The eldest declared to Rhys, "You have an hour of our time. Make it count."

"How is it that you can winnow?" Mor asked from her seat beside Astraea.

     The golden queen now gave a smile—a small, mocking one—and replied, "It is our secret, and our gift from your kind."

"Fine," Rhys said. "War is coming. We called you here to warn you—and to beg a boon."

"We know war is coming," the oldest said, her voice like crackling leaves. "We have been preparing for it for many years."

"The humans in this territory seem unaware of the larger threat. We've seen no signs of preparation."

"This territory," the golden one explained coolly, "is a slip of land compared to the vastness of the continent. It is not in our interests to defend it. It would be a waste of resources."

"No. No, that—"

     Rhys drawled, "Surely the loss of even one innocent life would be abhorrent."

     The eldest queen folded her withered hands in her lap. "Yes. To lose one life is always a horror. But war is war. If we must sacrifice this tiny territory to save the majority, then we shall do it."

"There are good people here," Feyre rasped.

     The golden queen sweetly parried with, "Then let the High Fae of Prythian defend them."

"We have servants here. With families. There are children in these lands. And you mean to leave us all in the hands of the Fae?" Nesta hissed.

     The eldest one's face softened. "It is no easy choice, girl—"

"It is the choice of cowards," Nesta snapped. Astraea had to admit, she agreed with her. 

"For all that your kind hate ours, you'd leave the Fae to defend your people?" Feyre wondered.

"Shouldn't they?" the golden one asked, sending a cascade of curls sliding over her shoulder as she angled her head to the side. "Shouldn't they defend against a threat of their own making?" A snort. "Should Fae blood not be spilled for their crimes over the years?"

"Neither side is innocent," Rhys countered calmly. "But we might protect those who are. Together."

"Oh?" said the eldest, her wrinkles seeming to harden, deepen. "The High Lord of the Night Court asks us to join with him, save lives with him. To fight for peace. And what of the lives you have taken during your long, hideous existence? What of the High Lord who walks with darkness in his wake, and shatters minds as he sees fit? We have heard of you, even on the continent, Rhysand. We have heard what the Night Court does, what you do to your enemies. Peace? For a male who melts minds and tortures for sport, I did not think you knew the word."

"If you will not send forces here to defend your people, then the artifact we requested—" Feyre began.

"Our half of the Book, child," the crone cut her off, "does not leave our sacred palace. It has not left those white walls since the day it was gifted as part of the Treaty. It will never leave those walls, not while we stand against the terrors in the North."

"Please," was all she said.

     Silence again.

"Please," she repeated. "For fifty years, she terrorized Prythian, and when I defeated her, when I freed its people, she killed me. And before she did, I witnessed the horrors that she unleashed on human and faerie alike. One of them—just one of them was able to cause such destruction and suffering. Imagine what an army like her might do. And now their king plans to use a weapon to shatter the wall, to destroy all of you. The war will be swift, and brutal. And you will not win. We will not win. Survivors will be slaves, and their children's children will be slaves. Please Please, give us the other half of the Book."

     The eldest queen swapped a glance with the golden one before saying gently, placatingly, "You are young, child. You have much to learn about the ways of the world—"

"Do not," Rhys said with deadly quiet, "condescend to her. Do not insult Feyre for speaking with her heart, with compassion for those who cannot defend themselves, when you speak from only selfishness and cowardice."

     The eldest stiffened. "For the greater good—"

"Many atrocities," Rhys said, "have been done in the name of the greater good."

"The Book will remain with us. We will weather this storm—"

"That's enough," Mor interrupted as she got to her feet.

     And Mor looked each and every one of those queens in the eye as she said, "I am the Morrigan. You know me. What I am. You know that my gift is truth. So you will hear my words now, and know them as truth—as your ancestors once did."

     Mor gestured behind her—to Feyre. "Do you think it is any simple coincidence that a human has been made immortal again, at the very moment when our old enemy resurfaces? I fought side by side with Miryam in the War, fought beside her as Jurian's ambition and bloodlust drove him mad, and drove them apart. Drove him to torture Clythia to death, then battle Amarantha until his own. I marched back into the Black Land with Miryam to free the slaves left in that burning sand, the slavery she had herself escaped. The slaves Miryam had promised to return to free. I marched with her—my friend. Along with Prince Drakon's legion. Miryam was my friend, as Feyre is now. And your ancestors, those queens who signed that Treaty. They were my friends, too. And when I look at you, I see nothing of those women in you. When I look at you, I know that your ancestors would be ashamed. You laugh at the idea of peace? That we can have it between our peoples? There is an island in a forgotten, stormy part of the sea. A vast, lush island, shielded from time and spying eyes. And on that island, Miryam and Drakon still live. With their children. With both of their peoples. Fae and human and those in between. Side by side. For five hundred years, they have prospered on that island, letting the world believe them dead—"

"Mor," Rhys said—a quiet reprimand.

     The ancient one's eyes were bright as she declared, "Give us proof. If you are not the High Lord that rumor claims, give us one shred of proof that you are as you say—a male of peace."

"You desire proof?" Rhys asked. "I shall get it for you. Await my word, and return when we summon you."

"We are summoned by no one, human or faerie," the golden queen simpered.

"Then come at your leisure," Rhys said, with enough of a bite that the queen's guards stepped forward.

"Perhaps then you'll comprehend how vital the Book is to both our efforts," Rhys said.

"We will consider it once we have your proof." The ancient one nearly spat the word. "That book has been ours to protect for five hundred years. We will not hand it over without due consideration."

"Good luck," the golden queen said.

     Then they were gone. The sitting room was suddenly too big, too quiet.

"I hope they all burn in hell," Elain muttered.

Chapter Text

"It went well, I take it," Amren said when they arrived home. She and Eve had stayed behind, along with Eve's youngest daughter, Johanna.

     Cassian gave her a look and trailed after Rhys. Rhys sat on the rim of the fountain, forearms braced on his knees, staring at the moss-flecked flagstone between his feet.

"If you're out here to brood, Rhys," Amren said from her perch on a little bench, "then just say so and let me go back to my work."

"The humans wish for proof of our good intentions. That we can be trusted."

"Feyre wasn't enough?" Eve challenged, raising an eyebrow.

"She is more than enough," Rhys said with that deadly calm. "They're fools. Worse—frightened fools."

"We could depose them," Cassian suggested. "Get newer, smarter queens on their thrones. Who might be willing to bargain."

     Rhys shook his head. "One, it'd take too long. We don't have that time. I thought of the past few wasted weeks, how hard Azriel had tried to get into those courts. If even his shadows and spies could not breach their inner workings, then I doubted an assassin would."

     The confirming shake of the head Azriel gave Cassian said as much.

"Two," Rhys continued, "who knows if that would somehow impact the magic of their half of the Book. It must be given freely. It's possible the magic is strong enough to see our scheming. We are stuck with them."

"We could try again," Astraea suggested.

"Let me speak to them," Evelina said. "let me go to their palace—"

"No," Azriel said. Evelina raised her brows. "You're not setting foot in that human realm."

"Azzy, I am quite capable—"

"No," Azriel said again, refusing to break her stare. His shifting wings rasped against the back of his chair. "They would string you up and make an example of you."

"They'd have to catch me first."

"That palace is a death trap for our kind," Azriel countered, his voice low and rough. "Built by Fae hands to protect the humans from us. You set foot inside it, Evie, and you won't walk out again. Why do you think we've had such trouble getting a foothold in there?"

"If going into their territory isn't an option," Feyre cut in before Evelina could argue. "What proof can be offered?" Rhys lifted his head. "Who is—who is this Miryam? Who was she to Jurian, and who was that prince you spoke of—Drakon? Perhaps we perhaps they could be used as proof."

     The heat died from Mor's eyes as she shifted a foot against the moss and flagstone.

     But Rhys interlocked his fingers in the space between his knees before he said, "Five hundred years ago, in the years leading up to the War, there was a Fae kingdom in the southern part of the continent. It was a realm of sand surrounding a lush river delta. The Black Land. There was no crueler place to be born a human—for no humans were born free. They were all of them slaves, forced to build great temples and palaces for the High Fae who ruled. There was no escape; no chance of having their freedom purchased. And the queen of the Black Land."

"She made Amarantha seem as sweet as Elain," Mor explained with soft venom.

"Miryam," Rhys continued, "was a half-Fae female born of a human mother. And as her mother was a slave, as the conception was against her mother's will, so, too, was Miryam born in shackles and deemed human—denied any rights to her Fae heritage."

"Enough, tell the full story another time," I cut in.

"The gist of it, girl," Amren said, "is that Miryam was given as a wedding gift by the queen to her betrothed, a foreign Fae prince named Drakon. He was horrified, and let Miryam escape. Fearing the queen's wrath, she fled through the desert, across the sea, into more desert, and was found by Jurian. She fell in with his rebel armies, became his lover, and was a healer amongst the warriors. Until a devastating battle found her tending to Jurian's new Fae allies—including Prince Drakon. Turns out, Miryam had opened his eyes to the monster he planned to wed. He'd broken the engagement, allied his armies with the humans, and had been looking for the beautiful slave girl for three years. Jurian had no idea that his new ally coveted his lover. He was too focused on winning the War, on destroying Amarantha in the North. As his obsession took over, he was blind to witnessing Miryam and Drakon falling in love behind his back."

"It wasn't behind his back," Mor snapped. "Miryam ended it with Jurian before she ever laid a finger on Drakon."

     Amren shrugged. "Long story short, girl, when Jurian was slaughtered by Amarantha, and during the long centuries after, she told him what had happened to his lover. That she'd betrayed him for a Fae male. Everyone believed Miryam and Drakon perished while liberating her people from the Black Land at the end of the War—even Amarantha."

"And they didn't," Feyre said. Rhys and Mor nodded. "It was all a way to escape, wasn't it? To start over somewhere else, with both their peoples?" Another set of nods. "So why not show the queens that? You started to tell them—"

"Because," Rhys cut in, "in addition to it not proving a thing about my character, which seemed to be their biggest gripe, it would be a grave betrayal of our friends. Their only wish was to remain hidden—to live in peace with their peoples. They fought and bled and suffered enough for it. I will not bring them into this conflict."

"Drakon's aerial army," Cassian mused, "was as good as ours. We might need to call upon him by the end."

     Rhys merely shook his head.

"So, what do we offer them instead?" Feyre asked. "What do we show them?"

     Rhys's face was bleak. "We show them Velaris."

"What?" Mor barked. But Amren shushed her.

"You can't mean to bring them here," Astraea said, shaking her head.

"Of course not. The risks are too great, entertaining them for even a night would likely result in bloodshed," Rhys said. "So I plan to merely show them."

"They'll dismiss it as mind tricks," Evelina countered.

"No," Rhys said, getting to his feet. "I mean to show them—playing by their own rules."

     Amren clicked her nails against each other. "What do you mean, High Lord?"

     But Rhys only said to Mor, "Send word to your father. We're going to pay him and my other court a visit."

     There was a slight knock at the doorway leading to the outside. We all turned to see Johanna.

     Johanna was around three hundred years old. She had her mother's dark hair but her father's hazel eyes. She was the sweetest thing, but now, nothing but concern was etched upon her features.

"What's going on?" she asked. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing, baby," Evelina lied, standing up and going to her daughter's side. Azriel followed close behind.

"Why are you going to Hewn City?" she demanded. She must've been listening for longer than they realized.

"Don't worry about it, angel," Azriel said to her, his shadows going over to fuss over her.

     The two were very protective of her, especially Evelina. Her first husband had been very abusive, which meant the twins she had with him were subjected to many things they shouldn't have been. She always felt guilty for how the two were raised, so she was extra protective of her youngest.

"Well, I came to tell you that the twins wrote," Johanna told them. "They're coming for Starfall." Evelina's face broke out into a smile, a slight squeal releasing from her lips.

"Oh, thank you for letting me know, love," she said, kissing her daughter's cheek.

     She took Johanna by the hand and led her toward the group. Astraea realized that Feyre hadn't met Johanna yet.

"Feyre, this is our daughter, Johanna," Evelina introduced.

"I can't believe you two are parents," Feyre admitted, her eyebrows furrowing. Mor snorted, and Cassian snickered. Evelina shot Feyre a look.

     Evelina tended to act like a teenager, but she was different around her children. She was responsible with them. Since she'd been sold off at 17, she was forced to grow up much too young. She was rescued at 50, and once that pressure wore off, she seemed desperate to relive the youth she had missed.

"Johanna does have her own apartment, but she'll be staying here for a while," Azriel explained. "Unless she's decided to spend Starfall with that boy."

"Dad, I've told you a million times. Joseph is not a boy. He's a mature male who cares about me--" Johanna began ranting.

"No arguing about it right now," Evelina scolded the two. "We can talk about this later. Johanna, you're spending Starfall with us." Johanna pouted, going to argue. "That's final. The twins are coming out for this."

"Gods, I haven't seen the twins in so long," Astraea sighed.

     Ever since the two had moved off to different courts, each getting married, they hadn't had much time to visit.

"I can't believe I let them move so far away," Evelina mumbled.

"You're more controlling than Mother was," Rhys joked. She just narrowed her eyes at him.

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"Did you know," Mor said to Feyre as she strutted into the sitting room. "That the wingspan on an Illyrian male will tell you a lot about the size of his other parts?"

"It's true," Amren confirmed with a nod.

     Feyre gazed at them in surprise while Astraea laughed, reclining on the couch and adjusting her wings.

"And Azriel has the biggest wingspan," Mor smirked.

"It's true," Evelina confirmed, smiling with pride. 

"Ew!" Astraea groused, throwing a pillow at her from across the room. She caught it and laughed, throwing it back to Astraea.

"Don't say that to Rhysand or Cassian," Amren advised. "They will likely get out a measuring tape."

"Are you going with us to the Court of Nightmares?" Feyre asked, sitting down beside Astraea.

"No," Astraea replied with a shrug. "I'll stay here."

"Why?"

"I try to leave Velaris as little as possible," Astraea explained, staring down at her tattoo. "As long as I'm here, he can't find me."

"Demetri's been trying to get her back since Iridessa died," Mor explained to Feyre as she wrapped her arms around Astraea.

"Unfortunately for him, we won't let that happen," Evelina promised, smiling softly at Astraea.

      Feyre and Amren eventually went off together, chatting about Starfall and what Amren was going to wear. 

     Astraea sighed, sitting up as Mor set her head on her lap. Astraea stroked her hair as Eve rested her head on her other shoulder.

"Are you going to be okay?" Astraea asked Morrigan. "Going back there?" She was silent for a few seconds.

"Yes," she replied, though she sounded unsure.

"You know you can always talk to me," Astraea reminded her.

"Of course," she smiled.

     That was another reason Astraea could not go to the Court of Nightmares. She was very likely to lose herself and murder Keir for what he did to Mor. Every time Astraea saw her cry over it, she wanted him dead.

"Luna's birthday is coming up," Evelina murmured. Astraea tensed, but nodded. "I'm sure I could get Lucien to send some tulips from the Spring Court. Yellow was always her favorite color." 

"Yes, it was," Astraea agreed softly. 

     Every year on Luna's birthday, they all brought a new type of flower to her grave. They would get a cake, as well. They would eat the cake together as they reminisced on good memories of her. They would do the same for Iridessa every year. 

      Astraea did not like to talk about Luna most of the time. She'd loved her so deeply. She'd never known a love like that before.

     She had gotten very sick at the age of ten. After a year of suffering, bedridden, she passed away in Astraea's arms.

     Astraea found out she was pregnant a month after being recused from the keep. Iridessa had held her while she cried.

     Rhys had been cruel about it, calling her many things she was sure he had learned from the other boys at the camp.

     She wasn't sure if Azriel fully understood. Neither of them were very intelligent at the time. They were never granted an education, and they spent most of their lives isolated. It was impressive that they could even string a sentence together.

     Cassian had never mocked her for it. From the moment he found out she was unwed and pregnant, his dynamic towards her changed completely. 

     About six months into her pregnancy, he told her about his mother. Astraea realized that she would've ended up just like her if she hadn't been saved. 

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     As the Starfall celebration began, Astraea sat at a table with a glass of wine. She wore a floor-length deep blue satin gown with a fitted bodice, a slightly flared skirt, and delicate lace detailing on the sleeves. She borrowed silver strappy high heels from Mor and diamond stud earrings from Evelina. Evelina styled her hair in a low bun with soft waves framing her face. 

     Starfall was her favorite holiday. The sky was magical, and being locked away for much of her childhood made her appreciate it. She'd gone so many years without seeing it.  

      Some of the happiest times in her life were at Starfall. It was a day for everyone to come together and celebrate, and there was a particular joy and anticipation in the air.

     Astraea glanced up to see a bright, close star vaulting across the sky. The crowd and city below cheered, raising their glasses as the star passed overhead. They drank sincerely only when it disappeared over the curve of the horizon.

     Another star crossed the sky, twirling and twisting over itself as if it were reveling in its own sparkling beauty.

     Another chased it, and another, until a brigade of them were unleashed from the horizon's edge, like a thousand archers had loosed them from mighty bows.

     The stars cascaded over them, filling the world with white and blue light. They were like living fireworks, and Astraea smiled as the stars kept on falling and falling.

     And the music began when the sky was packed with them, when the stars raced and danced and flowed across the world.

     Wherever they were, people began dancing, swaying and twirling, some grabbing hands and spinning, spinning to the drums, strings, and glittering harps.

     Astraea glanced over and saw Evelina dancing with her twins, who were both visiting for the holiday. Azriel was next to them, dancing with Johanna. I never saw Evelina as happy as she was with all three of her kids.

     Azriel noticed Astraea sitting off to the side. He excused himself for a second and approached her, grabbing her hand and lifting her to her feet. Then, he brought her over to his family.

     Evelina's eldest daughter, Diana, grabbed Astraea's hand and began twirling around with her. Astraea laughed and danced with her while Evelina danced with her son Gideon.

     Eventually, Feyre and Rhysand joined them. Astraea hadn't been so at peace in a very long time. 

Chapter Text

       Spring had at last dawned on the human world, crocuses and daffodils poking their heads out of the thawed earth.

       Only the eldest and the golden-haired queens came this time. They were escorted by just as many guards, however.

"We appreciate you taking the time to see us again," Rhys nodded.

      The younger queen merely gave a little nod, her amber gaze leaping over to Astraea, Evelina, Cassian, and Azriel, and on either side of the bay of windows where Elain and Nesta stood in their finery, Elain's garden in bloom behind them.

      Mor stood on Rhys's other side, the onyx box containing the Veritas in her tan hands. The ancient queen, surveying them all with narrowed eyes, let out a huff.

"After being so gravely insulted the last time," A simmering glare thrown at Nesta. The fierce girl leveled a look of pure, unyielding flame right back at her. "We debated for many days whether we should return. As you can see, three of us found the insult to be unforgivable."

"If that is the worst insult any of you have ever received in your lives, I'd say you're all in for quite a shock when war comes," Feyre retorted.

"So he won your heart, after all, Cursebreaker," the youngest said to her.

"I do not think," Feyre said, "that it was mere coincidence that the Cauldron let us find each other on the eve of war returning between our two peoples."

"The Cauldron? And two peoples?" The golden one toyed with a ruby ring on her finger. "Our people do not invoke a Cauldron; our people do not have magic. The way I see it, there is your people—and ours. You are little better than those Children of the Blessed. What does happen to them when they cross the wall? Are they prey? Or are they used and discarded, and left to grow old and infirm while you remain young forever? Such a pity so unfair that you, Cursebreaker, received what all those fools no doubt begged for. Immortality, eternal youth  What would Lord Rhysand have done if you had aged while he did not?"

     Rhys said evenly, "Is there a point to your questions, other than to hear yourself talk?"

     A low chuckle, and she turned to the ancient queen, her yellow dress rustling with the movement. The old woman simply extended a wrinkled hand to the box in Mor's slender fingers.

"Is that the proof we asked for?"

     Before Mor could so much as nod, Feyre said, "Is my love for the High Lord not proof enough of our good intentions? Does my sisters' presence here not speak to you? There is an iron engagement ring upon my sister's finger—and yet she stands with us."

"I would say that it is proof of her idiocy," the golden one sneered, "to be engaged to a Fae-hating man and to risk the match by associating with you."

"Do not," Nesta hissed with quiet venom, "judge what you know nothing about." 

"The viper speaks again," the golden one said. She raised her brows at Feyre. "Surely the wise move would have been to have her sit this meeting out."

"She offers up her house and risks her social standing for us to have these meetings," Feyre said. "She has the right to hear what is spoken in them. To stand as a representative of the people of these lands. They both do."

      The crone interrupted the younger before she could reply and again waved that wrinkled hand at Mor. "Show us, then. Prove us wrong."

      The silver orb inside glimmered like a star under glass. "This is the Veritas," Mor said in a voice that was young and old. "The gift of my first ancestor to our bloodline. Only a few times in the history of Prythian have we used it—have we unleashed its truth upon the world."

     She lifted the orb from its velvet nest. It was no larger than a ripe apple, and fit within her cupped palms as if her entire body, her entire being, had been molded for it.

"Truth is deadly. Truth is freedom. Truth can break and mend and bind. The Veritas holds in it the truth of the world. I am the Morrigan," she said. "You know I speak truth."

     She set the Veritas onto the carpet. Both queens leaned in.

     But it was Rhys who said, "You desire proof of our goodness, our intentions, so that you may trust the Book in our hands?" The Veritas began pulsing, a web of light spreading with each throb. "There is a place within my lands. A city of peace. And art. And prosperity. As I doubt you or your guards will dare pass through the wall, then I will show it to you—show you the truth of these words, show you this place within the orb itself."

      Mor stretched out a hand, and a pale cloud swirled from the orb, merging with its light as it drifted past their ankles.

      The queens flinched, and the guards edged forward with hands on their weapons. But the clouds continued roiling as the truth of Velaris leaked from the orb, from whatever it dragged up from Mor, from Rhys, from the truth of the world. And in the gray gloom, a picture appeared.

      It was Velaris, as seen from above—as seen by Rhys, flying in. A speck in the coast, but as he dropped down, the city and the river became clearer and more vibrant.

      Then, the image banked and swerved, as if Rhys had flown through his city just this morning. It shot past boats and piers, past the homes, streets, and theaters, past the Rainbow of Velaris, so colorful and lovely in the new spring sun. People, happy and thoughtful, kind and welcoming, waved to him.

      Moment after moment, images of the Palaces, of the restaurants, of the House of Wind. All of it—all of that secret, wondrous city.

     The illusion faded, color and light and cloud sucked back into the orb.

"That is Velaris," Rhys said. "For five thousand years, we have kept it a secret from outsiders. And now you know. That is what I protect with the rumors, the whispers, the fear. Why I fought for your people in the War—only to begin my own supposed reign of terror once I ascended my throne, and ensured everyone heard the legends about it. But if the cost of protecting my city and people is the contempt of the world, then so be it."

     The two queens were gaping at the carpet as if they could still see the city there. Mor cleared her throat.

"We will consider."

"There is no time to consider," Mor countered. "Every day lost is another day that Hybern gets closer to shattering the wall."

"We will discuss amongst our companions, and inform you at our leisure."

"Do you not understand the risks you take in doing so?" Rhys said, no hint of condescension. "You need this alliance as much as we do."

"Did you think we would be moved by your letter, your plea?" She jerked her chin to the guard closest, and he reached into his armor to pull out a folded letter. The old woman read, "I write to you not as a High Lord, but as a male in love with a woman who was once human. I write to you to beg you to act quickly. To save her people—to help save my own. I write to you so one day we might know true peace. So I might one day be able to live in a world where the woman I love may visit her family without fear of hatred and reprisal. A better world." 

"Who is to say that this is not all some grand manipulation?"

"What?" Mor blurted.

"A great many things have changed since the War. Since your so-called friendships with our ancestors. Perhaps you are not who you say you are. Perhaps the High Lord has crept into our minds to make us believe you are the Morrigan."

"This is the talk of madwomen. Of arrogant, stupid fools," Nesta said softly.

       Elain grabbed for Nesta's hand to silence her. But Nesta stalked forward a step, face white with rage.

"Give them the Book. Give them the Book."

"No," the eldest queen hissed.

     But Nesta went on, flinging out an arm to encompass them, the room, the world, "There are innocent people here. In these lands. If you will not risk your necks against the forces that threaten us, then grant those people a fighting chance. Give my sister the Book."

"An evacuation may be possible—"

"You would need ten thousand ships," Nesta said, her voice breaking. "You would need an armada. I have calculated the numbers. And if you are readying for war, you will not send your ships to us. We are stranded here."

"Then I suggest asking one of your winged males to carry you across the sea, girl."

"Please," Nesta pleaded. "Please—do not leave us to face this alone."

     Astraea's heart broke at the desperation in her voice and the pain in her eyes. And she found that she respected Nesta for speaking up. 

"Is it a sum you're after?" Mor demanded. "Name your price, then."

      The golden queen snorted as their guards closed in around them. "We have all the riches we need. We will now return to our palace to deliberate with our sisters."

"You're already going to say no," Mor pushed.

"Perhaps. We appreciate the gesture of your trust."

      Then they were gone. Mor swore. Feyre turned to Rhys, but his eyes were on the chair where the golden queen had been seated.

      Beneath it, somehow hidden by her voluminous skirts while she'd sat, was a box. A box, that she must have removed from wherever she was hiding it when she'd leaned down to pick up her handkerchief.

       The voice of the second and final piece of the Book filled the room and sang out.

Life and death and rebirth

Sun and moon and dark

Rot and bloom and bones

Hello, sweet thing. Hello, lady of night, princess of decay. Hello, fanged beast and trembling fawn. Love me, touch me, sing me.

        Rhys smoothly picked it up and set it on the golden queen's chair. Rhys flipped back the lid. A note lay atop the golden metal of the book.

"I read your letter. About the woman you love. I believe you. And I believe in peace. I believe in a better world. If anyone asks, you stole this during the meeting. Do not trust the others. The sixth queen was not ill."

"It is your choice, ladies, whether you wish to remain here, or come with us," Rhys told the mortal girls. "You have heard the situation at hand. You have done the math about an evacuation." A nod of approval as he met Nesta's grey stare. "Should you choose to remain, a unit of my soldiers will be here within the hour to guard this place. Should you wish to come live with us in that city we just showed them, I'd suggest packing now."

     Nesta looked to Elain, still silent and wide-eyed. Elain thumbed the iron ring on her finger.

"It is your choice," Nesta said with unusual gentleness.

     Elain swallowed, a doe caught in a snare. "I—I cant."

"The sentries will be here, and remain unseen and unfelt. They will look after themselves. Should you change your minds, one will be waiting in this room every day at noon and at midnight for you to speak. My home is your home. Its doors are always open to you," Rhys said.

       Nesta looked to Rhys, then to Feyre. Despair still paled her face, but she bowed her head. And said to Feyre, "That was why you painted stars on your drawer."

Chapter Text

     Velaris was attacked. 

     Astraea spent the attack tending to the wounded since she had never been trained to fight. During the first war, she helped the healers treat the injured, though since she had no healing powers, she performed very simple things, such as stitches and bandages. 

"Velaris is secure," Rhys announced when it was all over. "The wards the Cauldron took out have been remade."

      They had not stopped to rest until then. For hours, they'd worked, along with the rest of the city, to heal, to patch up, to hunt down answers any way they could. And now they were all gathered, the clock chiming three in the morning.

       Astraea didn't know how Rhys was standing as he leaned against the mantel in the sitting room. Feyre was near-limp on the couch beside Mor, both of them coated in dirt and blood, like the rest of them.

       Sprawled in an armchair, Cassian's face was battered and healing slowly because he'd drained his power. But in his eyes were pure rage.  

       Amren was hardly better off. The tiny female's gray clothes mainly hung in strips, her skin beneath pale as snow.

      Azriel and Evelina sat side-by-side on the couch, Evelina's head resting on Azriel's shoulder. Johanna lay with her head on her mother's lap and her legs on her father's.

      Amren had spun illusions straight into the soldiers' minds. They believed they had fallen into the Sidra and were drowning; they believed they were flying a thousand feet above and had dived, fast and swift, for the city—only to find the street mere feet away, and the crunch of their skulls. The crueler ones, the wickedest ones, she had unleashed their own nightmares upon them—until they died from terror, their hearts giving out.

      Some had fallen into the river, drinking their own spreading blood as they drowned. Some had disappeared wholly.

"Velaris might be secure," Cassian replied, not even bothering to lift his head from where it rested against the back of the chair, "but for how long? Hybern knows about this place, thanks to those wyrm-queens. Who else will they sell the information to? How long until the other courts come sniffing? Or Hybern uses that Cauldron again to take down our defenses?"

"If we all go to Hybern to destroy the Cauldron, who will defend the city?" Feyre questioned.

    Silence fell upon the room. Rhys's throat bobbed.

     Amren said, "I'll stay." Cassian opened his mouth to object, but Rhys slowly looked at his Second. Amren held his gaze as she added, "If Rhys must go to Hybern, then I am the only one of you who might hold the city until help arrives. Today was a surprise—a bad one. When you leave, we will be better prepared. The new wards we built today will not fall so easily."

"I can help," Johanna spoke up, her voice weak.

"No, baby, you'll stay right here until we get back," Evelina declared, stroking her daughter's hair. 

"Stay with her, Evelina," Azriel said softly from beside his wife. Evelina glanced up at him, but he shook his head. "Please, Evie. I don't want her to be alone here." 

     Evelina sighed but nodded, glancing down at her daughter, whose head was still in her lap. 

"So what do we do now?" Evelina asked. 

     Amren simply said, "We sleep. We eat."

     And it was Azriel who added, his voice raw with the aftermath of battle rage, "And then we retaliate."

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    The following afternoon, Amren deciphered the code. The outcome was not good.

"To nullify the Cauldron's power," she said by way of greeting as they crowded around the dining table in the townhouse, having rushed in from the repairs they'd all been making on very little sleep, "you must touch the Cauldron—and speak these words."

"You know this for certain?" Rhys said.

    Amren hissed. "I'm trying not to be insulted, Rhysand."

"What happens if we put both halves together?" Astraea wondered.

"Don't put them together," Amren simply said. "With either piece laid out, their voices blended and sang and hissed—evil and good and madness; dark and light and chaos. You put the pieces together, and the blast of power will be felt in every corner and hole in the earth. You won't just attract the King of Hybern. You'll draw enemies far older and more wretched. Things that have long been asleep—and should remain so."

"Then we move in now," Cassian said. His face had healed, but he limped a bit from an injury unseen beneath his fighting leathers. He jerked his chin to Rhys. "Since you can't winnow without being tracked, Mor and Az will winnow us all in. Feyre breaks the Cauldron, and we get out. We'll be there and gone before anyone notices and the King of Hybern will have a new piece of cookware."

"It could be anywhere in his castle," Feyre pointed out.

"We know where it is," Cassian countered.

"We've been able to narrow it down to the lower levels," Azriel told her. "Every inch of the castle and surrounding lands is heavily guarded, but not impossible to get through. We've worked out the timing of it—for a small group of us to get in and out, quick and silent, and be gone before they know what's happening."

     Mor said to him, "But the King of Hybern could notice Rhys's presence the moment he arrives. And if Feyre needs time to nullify the Cauldron, and we don't know how much time, that's a risky variable."

     Cassian said, "We've considered that. So you and Rhys will winnow us in off the coast; we fly in while he stays. As for the spell, it's a risk we'll have to take."

"It's a solid plan," Azriel pushed. "The king doesn't know our scents. We wreck the Cauldron and vanish before he notices. It'll be a graver insult than the bloodier, direct route we'd been considering, Rhys. We beat them yesterday, so when we go into that castle. We'll leave a few reminders that we won the last damn war for a reason."

      Cassian nodded grimly. Even Mor smiled a bit.

"Are you asking me," Rhys finally said, far too calmly, "to stay outside while my mate goes into his stronghold?"

"Yes," Azriel said with equal calm, as Astraea shifted herself slightly between them. "If Feyre can't nullify the Cauldron easily or quickly, we steal it—send the pieces back to the bastard when we're done breaking it apart. Either way, Feyre calls you through the bond when we're done—you and Mor winnow us out. They won't be able to track you fast enough if you only come to retrieve us."

       Rhysand dropped onto the couch beside Feyre, loosing a breath. His eyes slid to her. "If you want to go, then you go, Feyre. You might be my mate, but you remain your own person. You decide your fate—your choices. Not me. You chose yesterday. You choose every day. Forever."

"Let's go to Hybern," Feyre said.

Chapter Text

"The King of Hybern is old, Rhys—very old. Do not linger," Amren warned.

"We'll be in and out before you miss us," Rhysand said. "Guard Velaris well."

"That Cauldron," she said, "makes the Book seem harmless. If the spell fails, or if you cannot move it, then leave. Fly well."

     They turned to Mor—whose arms were out, waiting for Feyre. Cassian and Rhys would winnow with Azriel and Astraea.

"Please be careful," Eve begged her mate, tears falling down her face.

"We will, my love," Azriel said as he held her face in his hands. "Keep Johanna safe, Evie." She nodded while he wiped the tears from her face. He kissed her goodbye, then pulled away.

"I'll be fine—we'll all be fine," Feyre promised.

"With my life, High Lord," Cassian bowed. "I'll protect her with my life."

"With all of our lives," Azriel assured.

     It was satisfactory enough to Rhys—who at last looked at Mor. She nodded once, but said, "I know my orders."

     And they were off. Toward the landmass they were now approaching. Hybern. No lights burned on it.

     Around a bend in the coast, built into the cliffs and perched above the sea, was a lean, crumbling castle of white stone.

     Not imperious marble, not elegant limestone, but off-white. Bone-colored. Perhaps a dozen spires clawed at the night sky. A few lights flickered in the windows and balconies.

     They swept toward the cliffs' base to the sea door before a platform. Mor was waiting, sword out, the door open.

     Azriel and Astraea reached her first, landing swiftly and silently, and Azriel immediately prowled into the castle to scout the hall ahead. Morrigan and Astraea waited for them—their eyes on Cassian as he and Feyre landed.

     The passage ahead was dark and silent. Azriel appeared a heartbeat later. "Guards are down." There was blood on his knife—an ash knife. "Hurry."

     Any time they reached a crossroads, Cassian and Azriel would branch out, carefully and quietly killing anyone they needed to.

     They found another stairwell, leading down, down, down— Feyre pointed. "There. It's down there."

     Cassian took the stairs, Illyrian blade stained with dark blood. Neither Mor, Azriel, nor Astraea seemed to breathe until Cassian's low whistle bounced off the stairwell stones from below. Astraea placed a hand on Feyre's back, and they descended into the dark.

     Cassian was standing in a round chamber beneath the castle—a ball of faelight floating above his shoulder.

     And the Cauldron sat atop a small dais in the center of the room. The Cauldron was absence and presence. Darkness and whatever the darkness had come from. But not life. Not joy or light or hope.

     It was perhaps the size of a bathtub, forged of dark iron, its three legs—those three legs the king had ransacked those temples to find—crafted like creeping branches covered in thorns.

"Hurry," Mor said to Feyre. "We've got a few minutes."

     Azriel scanned the room, the stairs they'd strode down, the Cauldron, its legs. Feyre made to approach the dais, but he extended an arm into her path. "Listen."

     So they did. Not words. But a throbbing. Like blood pulsed through the room. Like the Cauldron had a heartbeat.

     Astraea tensed as Feyre laid a hand on the lip. Reeling back into herself, she readied to read that spell.

"Feyre," Mor murmured in warning.

     They all seemed to quickly realize Feyre's plan to join the books together.

"Feyre."

     Realizing what she was about to do, Morrigan and Astraea lunged for her, but too slow. Feyre laid the second half of the Book atop the other.

     A silent ripple of power seemed to ripple through her.

     Then nothing.

"We can't risk—" Astraea began.

"Give her a minute," Cassian cut her off.

     Then they heard the footsteps. Azriel jumped towards Feyre, grabbing her and wrenching her away. Steps sounded above. Azriel instantly shoved her behind him, bloodied blade lifting.

     But those steps grew louder, and Jurisb walked down the stairs. Jurian. Astraea hadn't seen the man in centuries. It shouldn't have been possible.

"Stupid fool," he said to Feyre.

"Jurian," Feyre breathed.

"You," Cassian snarled.

"Worked your way up the ranks, did you?" Jurian snickered. "Congratulations." 

     Rhys appeared at Feyre's side. The Book was instantly gone, his movement so slick as he took it from her.

"You look good, Jurian," Rhys said, strolling to Cassian's side—casually positioning himself between Feyre and the ancient warrior. "For a corpse."

"Last time I saw you," Jurian sneered, "you were warming Amarantha's sheets." Astraea had to stop herself from snarling at him.

"So you remember," Rhysand mused. "Interesting."

     Jurian's eyes sliced to Mor. "Where is Miryam?"

"She's dead," Mor said flatly. "She and Drakon drowned in the Erythrian Sea."

"Liar," Jurian crooned. "You were always such a liar, Morrigan. Where did you take Miryam?"

"Away from you," Mor breathed. "I took her to Prince Drakon. They were mated and married that night you slaughtered Clythia. And she never thought of you again."

     Rhys reached back to grab Feyre's hand. She gripped the rim of the Cauldron again. Nothing happened. Mor gripped Cassian, Az, and Astraea's hands—and stayed still.

     Jurian smiled.

"New trick?" Rhys drawled.

"I was sent to distract you—while he worked his spell. You won't leave this castle unless he allows you to. Or in pieces."

     Astraea's blood ran cold. Cassian and Azriel crouched into fighting stances, but Rhys cocked his head. Astraea felt his dark power rise and rise, as if he'd splatter Jurian then and there. But nothing happened. Not even a brush of night-flecked wind.

"Then there's that," Jurian said. "Didn't you remember? Perhaps you forgot. It was a good thing I was there, awake for every moment, Rhysand. She stole his book of spells—to take your power. He made sure that particular book was returned to him. She didn't know how to use half of the nastier spells. Do you know what it is like to be unable to sleep, to drink or eat or breathe or feel for five hundred years? Do you understand what it is like to be constantly awake, forced to watch everything she did?"

"It couldn't have been so bad," Rhys said. "if you're now working for her master."

"Your suffering will be long, and thorough."

"Sounds delightful," Rhys said.

     There was a silent shout to run. But someone appeared atop the stairs.

     The King of Hybern said, "The trap was so easy, I'm honestly a bit disappointed you didn't see it coming."

     Jurian fired a hidden ash bolt through Azriel's chest, faster than any of them could see. Astraea screamed, collapsing by his side. She grabbed his shoulder as Mor burst into tears, crouching beside him as well.

     The ash bolt was coated in bloodbane that the King of Hybern claimed flowed where he willed it. If they fought, if they did not come with him upstairs, the poison would shoot to his heart. And with their magic locked down, without the ability to winnow--

     Cassian and Rhys hauled Azriel between them, his blood splattering on the floor behind them as they went up the twisting stairways of the king's castle.

     The guards were out now. And courtiers. High Fae and creatures. Their eyes were all dead. Empty.

     The throne room doors were open. The king mounted a dais carved of a single block of dark emerald—his throne assembled from the bones of humans.

     They stopped before it, Jurian leering at their backs. The throne room doors shut.

     The king said to no one in particular, "Now that I've upheld my end of the bargain, I expect you to uphold yours."

     From the shadows near a side door, two figures emerged.

     Lucien and Tamlin stepped into the light.

     Astraea nearly gasped. Rhysand went still as death. Cassian snarled. Hanging between them, Azriel tried and failed to lift his head.

"No," Feyre breathed. "No."

"What was the cost?" Rhysand said softly.

Tamlin ignored him, looking at the king at last. "You have my word."

     The king smiled.

"What have you done?" Feyre demanded.

     The King of Hybern said from his throne, "We made a bargain. I give you over, and he agrees to let my forces enter Prythian through his territory. And then use it as a base as we remove that ridiculous wall."

"You're insane," Cassian hissed.

     Tamlin held out a hand. "Feyre."

     She made no movement.

"You," the king said, pointing a thick finger at Feyre, "are a very difficult female to get ahold of. Of course, we've also agreed that you'll work for me once you've been returned home to your husband, but—Is it husband-to-be, or husband? I can't remember."

     Lucien glanced between them all, face paling. "Tamlin," he murmured.

     But Tamlin didn't lower the hand stretched toward Feyre. "I'm taking you home."

"There's that other bit, too. The other thing I wanted," the king went on. "Well, Jurian wanted. Two birds with one stone, really. The High Lord of Night dead—and to learn who his friends were. It drove Jurian quite mad, honestly, that you never revealed it during those fifty years. So now you know, Jurian. And now you can do what you please with them."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Feyre sneered at Tamlin.

"You'll say differently, my dear," the king countered, "when I complete the final part of my bargain. Break that bond between you two."

"Please," Feyre whispered.

"How else is Tamlin to have his bride? He can't very well have a wife who runs off to another male once a month."

     Rhys remained silent, though his grip tightened on Azriel. Observing—weighing, sorting through the lock on his power.

"Don't," Feyre begged Tamlin. "Don't let him. I told you—I told you that I was fine. That I left—"

"You weren't well," Tamlin snarled. "He used that bond to manipulate you. Why do you think I was gone so often? I was looking for a way to get you free. And you left."

"I left because I was going to die in that house!"

     The King of Hybern clicked his tongue. "Not what you expected, is it?"

     Tamlin growled at him, but again held out his hand toward Feyre. "Come home with me. Now."

"No."

"Feyre." An unflinching command.

"I'll come with you," she said softly to Tamlin, to Lucien, shifting on his feet, "if you leave them alone. Let them go."

"They're monsters. They're—"

     He didn't finish as he stalked, across the floor to grab her. Tamlin lunged for her over the few feet that remained. So fast—too fast—

     She winnowed beyond his reach. The king let out a low laugh as Tamlin stumbled. And went sprawling as Rhysand's fist connected with his face.

     Panting, Feyre retreated right into Rhysand's arms. Behind them, Mor leaped in to fill the space Rhys had vacated, slinging Azriel's arm over her shoulders.

"I don't believe it," the king said. "Your bride left you only to find her mate. The Mother has a warped sense of humor, it seems. And what a talent—tell me, girl: how did you unravel that spell?"

"I'm sorry," Feyre said.

     Tamlin's eyes were on Rhysand, his face near-feral. "You," he snarled, the sound more animal than Fae. "What did you do to her?"

     Behind them, the doors opened, and soldiers poured in. More and more, filling up the room, the exits, armor and weapons clanking.

"I'm not going with you," she spat at Tamlin. "And even if I did. You're a spineless, stupid fool for selling us out to him! Do you know what he wants to do with that Cauldron?"

"Oh, I'm going to do many, many things with it," the king said.

     And the Cauldron appeared again.

"Starting now."

     Feyre unleashed herself. Talons and wings and shadows were instantly around her, surrounded by water and fire—

     Then they vanished, stifled as that invisible hand gripped her power again, so hard she gasped.

"Ah," the king said, clicking his tongue, "that. Look at you. A child of all seven courts—like and unlike all. How the Cauldron purrs in your presence. Did you plan to use it? Destroy it? With that book, you could do anything you wished. You'll tell me soon enough."

"I made no bargain with you."

"No, but your master did, so you will obey," he told her. "Which reminds me--"

     He called for someone, and another figure appeared. Astraea's face fell, her blood going cold, her heart dropping to her stomach. She hadn't seen his face in over five hundred years.

"I have returned her to you," the king said. "So you will hold up your end?"

"Of course," Demetri assured him. He turned to Astraea with a smile. "It's been quite a while, hasn't it?"

     Astraea couldn't breathe. She was thirteen years old again. She was too young and helpless to defend myself, and she was terrified that he would hurt herself or Azriel.

     She was afraid for her life because he had the power to hurt and control her. He took her confidence and sense of self-worth away from her, and she was scared and abandoned and it was the worst feeling in the world.

"Do not come near her," Mor hissed from where she was holding Azriel.

"She will come to me," he informed her. Rhys snarled, stepping in front of Astraea, his grip still on Feyre. "I think she is forgetting that the king holds her brother's life in his hands."

     Astraea felt as though she was going to break down. She turned to Azriel, who was barely able to shake his head at her. She turned to the king and the male that had taken her childhood from her.

     If she didn't go with him, he would kill her brother. She felt like a teenager all over again, being forced to choose between her freedom and her brother's safety.

"You'll let him live?" Astraea questioned, her voice wavering as tears shone in her blue eyes.

"You have my word," Demetri swore.

"Astraea--" Cassian warned.

     Astraea turned to look at them. She knew they would find her. They would track her down. They knew it, too.

     Astraea nodded at Rhys as she stepped forward and took the hand of the person she despised more than anyone in the world.

Chapter Text

     When Astraea's eyes fluttered open, she was in a room she'd never been in. She wasn't wearing any clothing and could feel aching soreness between her legs. Her stomach turned violently.

     She could feel a stinging pain in her abdomen, and her hands went to the spot, only to find several cuts with blood pooling at them.

     She winced, glancing at the mirror that was mounted across from the bed. Her brows furrowed as she stared at the cuts in the reflection, realizing with a sickening start that they spelled out his name. He had carved his name into her abdomen.

     Her breaths were suddenly too fast, her body shaking. She leaned over the edge of the bed, heaving as she emptied her stomach onto the floor.

"You'll have to clean that up," Demetri mused as he entered the room. "Unless you've forgotten how this works."

     He looked exactly as she remembered him—exactly how he still looked in her nightmares. His curly blonde hair was kept short, just as it had been then. His hazel eyes were just as cruel and unforgiving as they had been when she was a teenager.

"Where am I?" Astraea questioned, glancing around desperately as she tried to wrap her body in the bedsheets.

"Our house," he answered, smoothing his blonde hair back.

"Ours?" Astraea whispered, furrowing her eyebrows.

"Yes," he replied. "Just the two of us. No one around for miles." 

"No," Astraea shook her head, tears forming in her eyes. "I would rather die than be your whore again."

"Let me remind you that you went with me willingly, darling," he recalled.

"You threatened to kill my brother!" she exclaimed.

     He swiftly struck her across the face. She did not even whimper. She would not give him the satisfaction.

"Don't raise your voice at me," he snarled. "Do I have to remind you what happened last time you ran your mouth?" She didn't dare glance down at her scarred hands. "You won't be able to leave this house, so don't try."

     Astraea had a dagger when he winnowed them away. Now, she had no clothes and no dagger. She was going to kill him. She just had to be careful about it.

"I won't be as forgiving as I once was with you," he informed her. She wanted to snarl that he'd never been forgiving, but she knew better. "Not after what your brothers did to me."

"You deserved what my brothers did to you," she whispered. "After what you did to Azriel and me, You deserved it."

"Poor Azriel would never have gotten his hands burnt if you had just obeyed me," he sighed. Astraea glared at him, though that guilt that had never gone away crept up her spine.

"I did not belong to your brother. He had no claim on me. I was not going to let him do that to me."

"You belong to me," he reminded her. "So if I say you are to let someone fuck you, you let them."

"That was never a part of the agreement."

"The agreement was that you would do whatever I told you to do."

"I was thirteen years old. I wasn't aware of everything that entailed," Astraea argued through tears. "You took advantage of my innocence."

"You still agreed."

"I'm not staying in this room with you."

"Be grateful I'm not locking you up in a cell," he spat.

     Astraea almost shuddered at the reminder. She didn't like to think about those years in that cell how she'd had to raise her brother in a pitch-black room. How she'd had to calm his hungry cries without access to food. How she herself had been starving and would wait desperately for that hour that Belinda allowed them to leave.

     Astraea had taught Azriel to speak, to walk, and do everything in that dark room. He would tell her how much he hated the dark, and she wouldn't be able to admit that she was as terrified as he was.  

     She remembered begging Belinda to let them leave for more than an hour. Or for more food. Belinda would just strike her across the face.

"I would've gotten rid of you a long time ago if my son didn't enjoy you so much."

     The words still stung years later. Belinda hated both Astraea and Azriel, though she tolerated Azriel's presence because he was her husband's son. Astraea had no relation to either of them.

      Astraea was allowed to stay, an act of kindness, Azriel's father called it. She hadn't thought of it that way. She would've rather lived in the mountains with my mother, though they would've been starving, and there were days when her mother struggled to look at her because she reminded her too much of her father.

     Astraea's father had been to her mother what Demetri was to her—a monster. Astraea used to think she understood why her mother couldn't stomach looking at her. But then she had Luna, whom she loved more than anything in the world—even if she despised Demetri.

     Astraea felt the moment Luna's heart stopped beating. And it broke her.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

     When Astraea awoke the following day, Demetri was gone, leaving her with a list of chores to complete.

     Astraea walked to the front door, surprised to find it unlocked. She carefully opened it. But as she went to step outside, she instantly hit a wall. She gasped, pounding her fist against the forcefield. She let out a grunt of irritation.

    Astraea could not even step outside. She now understood why Feyre had thrown such a fit when Tamlin locked her in his manor.

    She wondered how long it would take her brothers to find her, and she prayed it was soon.

     Astraea walked back into the house and began cleaning the kitchen, as she'd been instructed. She hadn't missed this life.

     If she could possibly find her dagger . . . 

     It was so cold in the house in the middle of the freezing mountains. He'd given her an awful dress that did not cover her, along with a pair of heels that were impossible to walk in.

     She'd been expected to wear that dress once she had her first bleeding and began to develop. He had very much enjoyed making her wear it when he or his father had company.

     Someone snapped from behind her, and she turned, immediately bowing her head as she'd been taught years ago.

"Good to know you still respond," he mused.

      She hated that it was true. Even in Velaris, the instinct remained if someone around her snapped their fingers.

"Trying to escape?" he wondered, smirking. She glared at him.

"Please let me wear something else," Astraea pleaded quietly. "It's cold. There's no one for you to humiliate me around. There's no reason for me to be wearing this."

"You'll wear it for me," he decided, his hands moving up her sides. She tensed, feeling her stomach turn. "You fill the dress out much more now than you once did."

"I was a child, and you starved me," she reminded him, ripping herself away from him. He smiled, gripping her hair and yanking her face towards his.

"I expect you to prepare dinner," he said, his breath hot on her ear. "You remember my favorite, don't you?" She did. She hated that she did, but she had prepared it once a week for three years.

      Astraea nodded. She could feel his eyes on her, and she wanted to rip them out of his skull. She would. Eventually.

Chapter Text

     Demetri was in a mood.

     Astraea knew to keep her mouth shut and prepare his lunch without upsetting him too much.

     She placed his plate in front of him. She narrowed her eyes as he looked up at her. She didn't flinch away; she just stared back at him.

"It seems you've forgotten your place in these past centuries," he said firmly. You should know you aren't to look a male in the eye."

"I see no males here."

     Before she could process what was happening, he had a bottle of wine in his hand. He smashed it into her head, and she shrieked, falling to the ground as pain exploded from her scalp. Hot blood streamed from the wound, down her neck.

     Astraea felt his hand wrapping around her hair, dragging her out of the dining room. He stormed toward the basement as she thrashed and struggled, trying to wrench his grip from her dark curls.

     Astraea grunted in pain as he pulled her down the stairs, her body hitting each one harshly. He tossed me to the ground of the dark basement, and she let out a sob.

     He pinned her to the floor, sitting on her legs to keep her from kicking. He stretched her right arm out, pinning her wrist down with his foot, then pinned her left wrist with his knee. She struggled against him, but to no avail.

     He reached a hand out to one of her wings, running a finger down the tendon. It didn't feel good, not like she'd been told it was supposed to. It made her sick to her stomach.

"Last I saw you, these wings dragged on the floor," he murmured. "Seems someone taught you to use them."

"Leave them alone," Astraea begged, her voice wavering.

     He flashed her a cruel smile as he retrieved her dagger from his pocket. She thrashed against him, her wings fluttering furiously, but he was able to pin one down easily with his forearm.

"Please, I'll do anything," she began to sob. "Just not my wings."

"I could not fly for a century after what your brothers did to my wings," he snarled. "And you, my dear, will never fly again after what I do to yours."

     Astraea struggled as he pressed the flat end of the blade against the tendon of her wing.

"The more you struggle, the more it will hurt, darling," he warned. She tried to kick him off of her, but his weight on her legs was too heavy.

     He slowly slid the flat blade down her wing as she trembled, wincing from the cold.

     The blade finally bit into the tendon. She bit her lip, trying not to scream. Trying not to give him the reaction he was waiting for. He pierced her deeper, dragging the blade down. She could feel a loss of control in her wing, as though he'd completely severed her use of iy.

     She tried to flap her wing, but it only caused the blade to jerk to the side, a shriek leaving her lips as it did so.

"You're making it worse," he tutted, gaining control of the blade once more. "All done with this wing. Think you can stay still for the next one?" She snarled at him.

     But the snarl was wiped clean from her face as the blade sank into the tendon of her left wing. She let out a soft whimper, the pain making her body tremble. He smirked, digging the blade deeper. A harsh breath escaped from her lips.

     When he was done, she was shaking from the pain, tears streaming down her face. He threw her dagger across the room and stroked her cheek with his blood-covered hand.

"The faebane in your food will keep you from healing," he informed her. "So you don't have to worry about using those pretty wings ever again."

     She let out a sob, her wings heavy and covered in blood. They weighed her down, keeping her pinned to the floor, as she felt she could not even flap them anymore.

     He gripped the fabric of her dress, tearing it until he had ripped it from her body, leaving her exposed to him.

     He grabbed a rope, tying her hands above her head, then hoisted the rope up. She was dragged to her feet, the bonds pulling on her arms until she was standing. Her drooping wings weighed her body down, putting painful pressure on her shoulders.

     He stepped away, disappearing into the darkness. She thrashed in her restraints as she heard his footsteps receding.

"Don't leave me!" she called out.

     Astraea could not stand the dark. And she was completely naked against the cold air, her hands tied above her head.

"Demetri, please, let me go," she begged.

     She screamed, frustrated, as he reached the top of the stairs, closing the door behind him. She kept yelling for a few minutes, but then realized it was no use.

     The quiet was almost worse. All she could hear was her own heartbeat. She couldn't see anything. All she could do was drown in horrible memories of those days in that dark cell.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

     Astraea stared straight ahead, her eyes fixed on one spot on the wall as Demetri brushed through her wet curls.

     He'd been kind today. He hadn't hurt her at all. He even let her take a bath in complete privacy.

     It was rare that he was good to her. So she was keeping her mouth shut and being on her best behavior.

     He gripped her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. She stared up at him, careful not to look into his eyes.

"Why are you acting so nervous?" he wondered.

     Astraea felt there were many obvious answers to that question, but she didn't say any of them.

"You know I care about you, don't you, my dear?"

     She sensed her mask of good behavior slipping. Before she could stop herself, she spoke up.

"If you cared for me, you wouldn't hurt me," she replied, regretting the words the second they left her lips.

     His hand wrapped around her hair until he had it in a tight grip. She winced as he brought her face close to his.

"Do you love your brother?" he asked her. Her lower lip was trembling, but she nodded. "Then don't mouth off to me, and don't complain. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Astraea whispered, blinking back tears.

"Good," he nodded, releasing her. "Now, give me your hands."

     Without thinking, she shook her head, holding her bandaged hands behind her back. It'd only been a week since he burned them.

"Now," he repeated, more sternly.

     His tone scared her into obedience. She took her shaking hands from behind her back and placed them in his.

     He began unwrapping the bandages. She winced as the cold air hit the blisters. She gave him a pleading glance, but he didn't give in.

     He took a switch from the nightstand. She felt her heart begin to race. Her breaths began to shallow as she shrunk away from him.

    He grabbed her hair again, making sure she didn't get away.

"Please," Astraea whispered, her voice shaky. "Please don't hurt me."

"Put your hands out, palms up," he instructed.

     She obeyed, her lower lip quivering and her hands shaking.

    He raised the switch into the air and brought it down hard, whipping the palms of her hands. She shrieked, tears welling in her eyes. A few of the blisters broke, releasing puss and blood.

"Please," she sobbed as he raised it into the air again.

     He didn't reply; he only whipped them again, making her cry out. The pain was almost as bad as when he set them on fire.

      Astraea had managed to fall asleep standing up, though it left an awful aching in her shoulders.

      She couldn't breathe very well because of the way she was tied. She had to take deep, harsh breaths to even get the oxygen to her lungs.

"Are you hungry?" Demetri wondered as he stepped down the stairs. She glared at him, not wanting to admit that her stomach was aching.

     As he approached, he held out a piece of bread to her. She could not reach out for it. She let go of another piece of her dignity and took a bite from the bread as he held it out.

      He then held a glass of water to her lips, and she drank from it desperately. He smiled.

"I think I'll dress you up," he decided. "Invite my friends over. Do you remember them? They used to really enjoy you."

     She felt her lower lip trembling. It was only once. She had been sixteen. It was a particularly painful memory, one that still gave her nightmares.

"Don't make me do that again," she whispered. He smiled, stroking her cheek.

"You poor thing," he mocked. "You'll do whatever I tell you to, and you won't complain." 

      She began struggling against her restraints again, which just made him laugh. He took a cloth from his pocket and began wiping the dry blood from her clipped wings.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

     Astraea stared at herself in the mirror. She was back in that awful dress. The one that barely covered her breasts and stopped just beneath her hips.

     He'd told her to braid her hair, and she'd done that. He had a chain around her neck like a leash. He had bandaged her wings, but they were still causing her excruciating pain.

     She couldn't believe she would never fly again. She'd been taught to fly after she'd recovered from Luna's birth. She had even taught Luna to fly when the girl was two. They would fly together nearly every night, until Luna got sick.

"You look gorgeous," Demetri complimented.

"Thank you," she whispered, though she was screaming on the inside.

"This time," he said into her ear. "You are not going to fight back." She swallowed a sob.

"Please," she pleaded. "Please don't make me do this."

     The word please had lost all meaning over the years. She had said it to him countless times, but it never got her anywhere. The very first time he hurt her, she spent the entire time whispering, "Please." And when she finally told her mother what had happened, she had sobbed, "I said please, but he wouldn't listen to me, Mama."

     He replied by tugging harshly on the chain, making her whimper.

Chapter Text

"You'll clean the study today," Demetri instructed Astraea as she served him breakfast.

     A month had passed. A month of hoping to be rescued and being disappointed. A month of being his whore. She wanted nothing more than to die.

"I'll be out, but back for dinner," he promised.

     Astraea nodded, not daring to look into his eyes. Not when she'd been viciously beaten for it the day before.

     As an Illyrian female, being submissive used to come naturally to her. But Iridessa made sure to change that. She taught Astraea that she didn't need to bow to every male or do whatever she was told.

"I expect a full meal ready when I return," he told her.

"Yes, sir," she said quietly, hating the words as they left her mouth.

     She couldn't get herself into trouble if she were planning on killing him. She had to stay strong; getting beaten again would only weaken her.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

     The study was in complete disarray. He had never been particularly organized. Astraea spent the first hour tidying up the desk.

     She waited for word from her brothers every day. When she stepped forward and took Demetri's hand, she thought they understood —she had seen it in their eyes. A part of her hated her family for taking so long to find her, even though she knew it wasn't fair.

     Astraea opened a drawer to put some papers away, but she froze.

     Her dagger.

     It was there in the drawer. She looked around, though she knew he was not home. Carefully, she took the blade out, studying it.

     It could have been a trap or a test. He may have placed it there for her to find so he could have a reason to punish her.

     But she did not care. With the dagger, she would kill him. She tucked it into her dress under the waistband.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

     Astraea poured Demetri a glass of wine that night, the knife tucked carefully in the folds of her revealing dress.

"How was your day?" he asked her.

"Good," she lied, trying to play a part.

     She had spent the day cleaning while he was away. Also, stealing back her rightful belonging. But that was not important.

     He caught her hand, studying the scars he had created centuries ago, and smiled slightly.

"How is your brother?" he wondered. "I hadn't seen the bastard freak in years."

"Don't call him that," she defended with a slight snarl.

"Don't tell me what to do," he cautioned. She froze, seeing a familiar fire in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, I just—" she began. "It's not a nice thing to say."

"Since when do you care about being nice?"

"You don't know me," she scoffed, sitting across from him.

"I owned you," he reminded her. "For three years, you were mine. And there were times when you opened up to me."

"You manipulated me. I was a little girl; I didn't understand. You would hurt me; then you would comfort me. It was confusing. I cried and opened up to you because I had no one else. You would pretend to care, then hurt me again."

     Astraea remembered hating him so much as a teenager. But being so emotionally attached. He pretended to care about her at times. That was something she craved.

     He'd beat her bloody, then hold and comfort her while he dressed her wounds. She'd grown so reliant on that softer side of him. That was his tactic. He did it on purpose.

"I know things about you that you've likely never told another soul," he said. "I know you hate your mother. You resent her for caring more about your brother's safety than your own."

"Stop," she begged him, staring at the table. He smiled, knowing that he had gotten into her head.

"I was in my study before dinner," he informed her. She tried not to tense, or give herself away.

"Oh?" she asked as confidently as she could.

"Yes," he confirmed. "It seems something has gone missing."

"And what would that be?" she questioned, the metal of the dagger digging into her side.

"Don't play dumb with me," he warned. "You and I are the only ones in this house."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she denied.

"Hand over the dagger," he commanded. She stared at him, unflinching.

"What?"

"You thought I didn't know?" he asked, smirking as he stood up. "I put the dagger in there on purpose, knowing you were cleaning the study today. It was a test. You failed."

"That's not fair," she whispered, flinching away as he stroked her cheek.

"Where is it?" he wondered.

"Under our mattress," she lied.

"Were you planning on stabbing me in my sleep?" he teased, raising an eyebrow.

"Please—"

      He cut her off, turning his entire body, his fist smacking into her eye. She yelled out from the pain.

     He gripped her shoulders and slammed her to the ground, delivering a brutal kick to her face that made her feel a crack in her nose. She screamed as blood gushed out.

     He gripped her by her hair, picking her up and slamming her head against an empty plate, shattering it. He slammed her face into the broken glass three times, her face streaming with blood.

     She let out a groan as he turned her around. Gripping her throat, he pressed her against the table and drew back his fist. He struck her on the cheekbone once more before pulling her close.

"Stop it—" she managed, tears streaming down her face.

"Don't fight," he insisted. "We're just having fun."

      He shoved her to the ground, climbing on top of her. She pleaded for him to stop, but he didn't listen. His hands and his mouth were everywhere.

     Astraea remembered something Cassian had taught her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and turned her entire body, throwing him off balance and flipping around so she was on top of him.

"You've never shown interest in being on top before," he teased, smirking as he gripped her hips. Astraea snarled. He had no idea how badly this would end for him.

     He started moving his hands up her hips. She had the pleasure of watching his face fall as his fingers grazed the blade of her dagger.

     He went to reach for it, but she was faster. She got it out of the folds of her dress and stabbed him in the thigh to keep him from getting up.

     He yelled out, his face twisted in pain. He writhed beneath her, but she kept him steady so he couldn't kick her off of him. She sank the blade into his other thigh, and he let out a gargled cry of agony.

     Astraea gripped his head and slammed it into the floor. When she stood up, he made futile attempts to get back on his feet.

     She drove the heel of her shoe into his eye socket. He screamed as blood cascaded from the injury. Spotting a butcher knife on the kitchen table, she quickly grabbed it.

     He was trying to drag himself away, but she knew his head was likely pounding, and he could not stand. She kicked him down again and straddled his waist.

      She took one of his hands and forced it above his head. She raised the butcher knife above her head and brought it down, the blade going through his hand and pinning it to the wooden floor. His screams were delightful.

"You aren't going to kill me," he sneered, though blood flowed from his mouth as he opened it. "And it doesn't matter if you do. You'll always be a fucking whore."

"Shut up," she warned.

"It's all anyone sees when they look at you," he taunted. "That isn't ever going to change."

"That's enough."

"You can kill me, but I'll always be in the back of your head," he spat. "You'll always feel my hands all over you."

"I said that's enough!" she screamed, stabbing him in the chest.

     He cried out, struggling against her as she stabbed him over and over, counting in her head just as he used to make her count her lashings.

     She felt a rush of exhilaration at his screams. It was deeply satisfying. He kept shouting nonsensical words filled with pain and confusion.

      After stabbing him twenty-five times, the screams halted, and his limbs stopped flailing.

     She halted, panting as she swept her hair from her face. Looking down, she realized she was drenched in her own blood and his.

"I came here with the intention of killing him for you, but it seems you have it under control."

     The voice sent a wave of hope rushing through her. She turned around, gasping in relief when her eyes fell upon Azriel. 

"Az, you're okay," she gushed as he knelt beside her.

"I recovered quickly," he promised with a nod. "I'm fine."

"What took you so long?" she demanded, her voice wavering, and a bit of resentment welling up in her.

"We couldn't locate you," he explained, a twinge of guilt on his features. She sighed, staring at the ground. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she lied.

     He stared at her, his face falling when he took in the many bruises that marred her skin, the blood she was covered in, and the jagged cuts down the tendons of her wings.

"No, you're not."

"Let's just get out of here," she said quietly. "We'll have to winnow. I can't . . . I can't fly." Her voice broke at the end of the sentence.

"'Raea, I'm sorry."

     Her lower lip started to quiver, but she bit it down. She tried hard to blink away the tears, but it was futile.

     He wrapped his arms around her and held her to him. She let herself cry into his shoulder. He shushed her, stroking her hair as she wept, loud wailing cries, letting herself cry more than she had in centuries.

     She couldn't get it out of her head. Everything that had been done to her in the past month. She was angry. Resentful. And so broken.

"Everyone misses you, you know," he said softly to her. She sniffled, pulling back and wiping her eyes.

"Is Feyre okay?" she questioned. He nodded.

"She's undercover in the Spring Court," he explained. "They think they severed her bond with Rhys, but they're still communicating."

"Will she come back soon?" she wondered. He nodded. "Is Cassian okay?"

"He's still recovering, but he will be fine," Azriel promised.

     She leaned against her brother as she stared at the corpse of her master. She'd wanted him dead for centuries.

     Now, she was free. She could go anywhere she wanted without worrying about him finding her. But she would never fly again.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

     They found the halls empty when they arrived at the House of Wind. Azriel hugged Astraea once more. It felt unreal knowing that she was safe, that he was dead, and that she had killed him.

"We're meeting here for dinner tonight. But I suggest you stay in the townhouse so you don't bother the sisters," Azriel warned.

"The sisters?" she questioned, raising a brow. Azriel sighed, glancing around.

"Elain and Nesta--"

"What happened to them?"

"They were Made by the Cauldron," he explained to her. Her eyes widened. "Right after he took you."

"Are they okay?" she demanded.

"They are fine," he replied. "Well, Nesta is. Elain . . . rarely leaves her room."

"Those poor girls," Astraea sighed, her heart aching for them. After considering her options, she made a decision: "I will stay here." His eyes darkened.

"You need to see a healer," Az decided, studying the cuts and bruises she was covered in. "You've been through hell this month."

     Before she could reply, she heard a loud squeal followed by pattering footsteps. Mor nearly tackled her, and Azriel had to grab the female so she didn't injure Astraea further.

"I was so worried about you," she was sobbing as she clutched onto Astraea. Cassian approached, yanking her off of the injured female and patting her on the head.

"I'm okay," Astraea said, faking a reassuring smile as she continued to cry.

     Cassian pulled her closer, and she hugged him tight until they finally separated. His gaze landed on her wings, causing him to tense up.

"I'll kill him," he said softly.

"I believe she already took care of that."

     The voice from behind Astraea had her spinning on her heel. She threw herself into Rhys's arms and he laughed, welcoming the embrace.

"Azzy, you said you'd tell me when she returned!" Evelina's voice shrilled out from across the hallway as she approached them.

"We arrived less than a minute ago," Azriel assured, kissing his wife's forehead.

     With tears glistening in her eyes, Evelina approached Astraea and hugged her tightly, receiving a warm embrace in return.

"If I had been in Hybern, I never would've let him take you," she said into Astraea's head.

"If I hadn't gone, Az would've died," she replied.

     While Astraea rarely permitted it, she allowed the five of them to fuss over her and comfort her. She was told that Amren would be joining us for dinner.

"You're covered in blood," Rhys observed. "Go to Madja. Now." Astraea rolled her eyes, but she knew he was right.

     Astraea walked down the familiar path to the infirmary. She was lost in her thoughts, in my disbelief over what had happened, when she smacked right into someone.

     The girl began to hiss an unkind remark, but when their eyes met, she trailed off. Astraea trailed off, too. She had not yet seen her as a High Fae.

     Nesta Archeron had become even more beautiful. Her gray eyes were sharper, her skin almost glowing, and her golden-brown hair was shining.

"Stop staring at me."

      Astraea obliged, breaking the gaze. Nesta's expression shifted as she examined her features.

"You look awful," she observed. Astraea couldn't read her tone or tell if it were a mere observation or a sign of concern.

"I know," Astraea admitted.

"What are you wearing?" the question was judging, her lip curling.

     Astraea glanced down, her cheeks pink as she realized she was still wearing the revealing dress she was expected to wear.

"He made me wear it," Astraea explained softly, too ashamed to meet her eyes.

"What happened to your wings?" she did not sound concerned or curious. It was simply a question. The bandages hadn't been changed all month.

"He clipped them," Astraea said the words very quietly. She had yet to say them out loud.

"Does that mean you can no longer fly?" Nesta wondered. Again, a monotone question. Astraea could not decipher her motive for asking.

"No, I can no longer fly," she replied, staring at the floor. She finally looked back up. "Are you doing well?" Nesta scoffed, glancing up.

"Am I doing well?" she demanded. "After being forced into the Cauldron and turned into this thing? Having to watch my sister suffer with her heartbreak?" She was right. It was a stupid question.

"I'm very sorry," Astraea said.

     With that, Astraea continued walking and did not look back. She cursed herself. The conversation had nearly been civil. If she hadn't asked that stupid question.

Chapter Text

    Mor and Astraea stood together, waiting for Cassian and Azriel to return with Feyre. The news that she was in danger had sparked fear through Astraea's veins, but the idea of getting her back kept her going.

     Mor clutched Astraea's hand so tightly that it had gone numb. She didn't mind, though. She was too nervous to care.

     Relief flooded her when Cassian landed with Feyre in his arms. She broke into a sprint, embracing both Morrigan and Astraea as they wrapped their arms around her.

"Where is he?" she asked, refusing to let go of them.

"He—it's a long story. Far away, but racing home. Right now," Astraea told her.

     Astraea pulled back enough to scan her face. Astraea sighed at Feyre's bruises as she brushed away flakes of dry blood.

"You got away from him," Feyre realized with relief as she stared at her. Astraea smiled, nodding my head.

"Azriel came to get me as soon as they had my location," Astraea promised her.

"Rhys picked up on you—the bond—minutes ago. The four of us were closest," Mor told her. "I winnowed in Cassian, but with Eris and the others there—" Guilt dimmed her eyes. "Relations with the Winter Court are strained—we thought if we were out here on the border, it might keep Kallias's forces from looking south. At least long enough to get you."

"I understand," Feyre said. She embraced them again. "I understand."

     Azriel landed with Lucien, which surprised her. Astraea raised an eyebrow, turning to Feyre and Cassian for an explanation.

"He fought against Eris and the other two," Cassian explained.

"Eris. Did you—"

"He remains alive," Azriel answered, shadows curling around the clawed tips of his wings, so stark against the snow beneath their boots. "So do the others."

"Let's all go home," Astraea said softly.

"Which one?" Feyre asked carefully.

     Mor swept her attention over Lucien once more. "The townhouse. You have someone waiting there for you."

     Mor had winnowed them all, and now stood behind them, panting softly, as they watched Lucien survey their surroundings.

     Cassian took up a place against the banister, crossing his arms with an arrogance Astraea knew meant trouble. Azriel carefully surveyed Lucien.

"Is Feyre finally back?" they heard as the door between the kitchen and the entryway swung open.

     Evelina came in, wiping her hands on her apron. Her eyes went wide when she saw the company Feyre brought.

"Oh my Gods, Lucien," she gasped, going to his side immediately.

     Astraea was shocked at the way he accepted her embrace, and the way she held him in an almost motherly way.

     Astraea was aware that Lucien had been born when Evelina was married to his brother, but she never really thought the two of them had been close. Lucien was still young, only a child, when Evelina escaped her husband and come home.

"Oh, I haven't seen you in nearly a century," she fussed as she pulled away. "You've grown so much. Your eye, Gods, Lucien—"

"We have plenty of time to catch up, Eve," he promised her. "Don't worry, I'll tell you everything." She nodded.

"I am glad you found a place in Spring," she promised him. "Even though Tamlin and I have our differences, well more than differences, I'm glad you're happy there."

     Astraea could tell by the way his face softened that what she said was a relief to him. Honestly, Evelina had every right to shun him for associating with Tamlin. Tamlin was the reason her mother had died.

"There are children laughing in the streets," Lucien said to her. Eve nodded.

"That they do so at all after Hybern's attack is a testament to how hard the people of Velaris have worked to rebuild," Amren said as she emerged from the other sitting room. "I see you brought home a new pet."

     Lucien bowed at the waist. Deeply. Cassian let out an amused grunt, and Feyre shot him a warning glare.

"Already trained, I see," Amren mused. Astraea bit her lip to keep from laughing.

"Amren, this is Lucien Vanserra," Feyre introduced.

"I don't use my family's name," Lucien clarified to Amren with another incline of his head, "Lucien will do."

"Clever work," Amren said as she studied his fake eye. She then surveyed Feyre. "Looks like someone clawed you up, girl."

"What is this place?" Lucien wondered. They all turned to him.

"Home," Feyre said. "This is—my home. This is Velaris. The City of Starlight."

"And you are High Lady of the Night Court," Lucien realized.

"Indeed she is," a voice said.

     Feyre's eyes widened. Rhysand leaned against the archway into the sitting room, arms crossed, wings nowhere to be seen, dressed in his usual black jacket and pants.

     Her face crumpled. A small, broken noise cracked from the girl. Rhys was instantly moving, but her legs had already given out. The foyer carpet cushioned the impact as she sank to her knees.

     She covered her face with her hands. Rhys knelt before her, knee to knee. Gently, he pulled her hands away from her face. He took her cheeks in his hands and brushed away her tears.

"My love," he murmured, kissing her.

     He scooped her into his arms and stood in one smooth movement. She pulled her mouth from his, glancing toward a pallid Lucien.

"Go find somewhere else to be for a while," Rhys instructed them.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

     Astraea sat with Cassian and Azriel, the two males casually seated in the dining room across the hall. Cassian smirked at Feyre as she walked down the stairs. Feyre shot him a warning glare that dared him to comment. Azriel kicked him under the table.

     Cassian gawked at Azriel as if to declare I wasn't going to say anything while Feyre approached the open archway into the sitting room, Lucien rising to his feet.

     Rhys appeared by Feyre's side. Lucien did not bother to hide the slight curling of his lip.

"I assume Cassian and Azriel have explained that if you threaten anyone in this house, this territory, we'll show you ways to die you've never even imagined," Rhys drawled. "But I can understand how difficult this past month has been for you. I know Feyre explained we aren't exactly as rumor suggests. But hearing it and seeing it are two different things. Elain has been cared for. Her participation in life here has been entirely her choice. No one but us and a few trusted servants have entered the House of Wind."

     Lucien remained silent.

"I was in love with Feyre," Rhys said quietly, "long before she ever returned the feeling."

"How fortunate that you got what you wanted in the end."

"I will only say this once," Rhys warned. Even Lucien flinched. "I suspected Feyre was my mate before I knew she was involved with Tamlin. And when I learned of it, if it made her happy, I was willing to step back."

"You came to our house and stole her away on her wedding day."

"I was going to call the wedding off," Feyre cut in, taking a step toward Lucien. "You knew it."

"I was willing to lose my mate to another male," Rhys said. "I was willing to let them marry, if it brought her joy. But what I was not willing to do was let her suffer. To let her fade away into a shadow. And the moment that piece of shit blew apart his study, the moment he locked her in that house. My mate may one day find it in herself to forgive him. Forgive you. But I will never forget how it felt to sense her terror in those moments."

"So, again, I will say this only once," Rhys went on. "Feyre did not dishonor or betray Tamlin. I revealed the mating bond months later—and she gave me hell for it, don't worry. But now that you've found your mate in a similar situation, perhaps you will try to understand how it felt. And if you can't be bothered, then I hope you're wise enough to keep your mouth shut because the next time you look at my mate with that disdain and disgust, I won't bother to explain it again, and I will rip out your fucking throat."

     Lucien only shifted on his feet. Wary. Considering. "There is a longer story to be told, it seems."

"I'm going to see my sisters up at the House," Feyre said to Lucien. "Would you like to come?"

     Lucien weighed her offer. He only nodded.

"Rhys is a better male than me," Azriel said quietly to his wife, who was perched in his lap. "If I hadn't been ordered against it by your father, I would've showed up on your wedding day and slaughtered them all."

     Astraea shot him a disapproving glance, but Evelina grinned, blushing a bit as she hid her face in his neck.

     They were gone within minutes. Cassian carried Lucien, Rhys carried Feyre, and Azriel carried Astraea. It was nice to be in the sky again. It was also a painful reminder that she would never do so on her own again.

     Madja had tried healing her wings. It was useless. Demetri seemed to think of every possible way to cripple them completely. Every angle, every possible cure. She would not fly again.

     They landed on the veranda that edged their usual dining room. Lucien just walked to the balcony rail and stared out. Astraea didn't quite blame him.

     Rhys put his hand on Astraea's back, and she flinched. She quickly sighed, remembering it was just him as he nodded for them to head inside so Feyre could speak with Lucien.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

     Astraea was eventually left alone with Rhys and Evelina in the dining room, after everyone else had retired to their rooms. Astraea stared at the glass of wine in her hand, her third of the evening.

"I still think you should go down to the library," Rhys mumbled from his seat across from her. Astraea's head shot up, and she gave him a warning glance.

"I already told you, no," she snapped.

     Astraea used to spend a lot of time in the library with the Priestesses. She helped them through their trauma. Every time they got a new Priestess, Astraea would counsel her. A sort of therapy. And she was always available to speak with the ones who'd been there for centuries.

"I refused to go for the longest time after I returned from Autumn," Evelina recalled. "And when I finally did, I went back nearly every day. They could help you."

"I'm the one who helps them," Astraea reminded them. "If they see me like this . . ." She trailed off. "I'm supposed to have recovered. That's the only reason I can counsel them. If they see me . . . broken like this, they won't accept my help anymore. How do I have the right to tell them how they get better, if I'm a mess?"

"They'll understand," Rhys promised her. "Unless you've forgotten, we know exactly what you're going through. And so do they."

     The reminder of their pain stabbed Astraea in the gut. The reminder of her little brother, imprisoned for all those years, and Evelina married off to a male that hurt her so badly.

     Astraea felt more comfortable opening up to Rhysand and Evelina than anyone else. They were able to empathize with her and relate to what she was going through. They understood the feelings of shame, guilt, and embarrassment. They were a safe and non-judgmental space for her.

"I'm not ready to face them," she admitted. "I'm ashamed."

"Ashamed?" Rhys repeated. She nodded. "You have nothing to be ashamed of."

"I went with him willingly," she whispered. "It's my own fault any of that happened to me."

"You went with him to save Azriel's life," Evelina corrected. "Just as you did when you were ten. Because you're brave and you care so much. You always have, Astraea."

"I had gotten over it," she said quietly. "Remember? It took me over a century, but I got over it. And now . . . I'm right back where I was when I was sixteen."

"I know," Rhys recalled. "And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry we couldn't get to you sooner. I know you're upset—"

"I'm not upset, Rhysand," Astraea nearly seethed. "I'm furious."

"At me?"

"No, of course not," Astraea sighed. "At him. I never allowed myself to be angry about what happened to me until the other day. I was angry about what he did to Az. But not about what he did to me."

"Why is that?" he wondered.

"Mostly because I blamed myself for it," she confessed. She'd never spoken this to anyone before. "It was my own fault for making the agreement with him. I couldn't be upset when I consented to being his slave."

"You were forced into it," Evelina said, her eyes seeming angry. "You did not consent; you were a child. All you knew was that your brother was in pain, and you'd do anything to stop it."

"It wasn't fair," Astraea said, voice breaking. "He had complete power over me, and he took full advantage of it. He took advantage of my innocence. He took whatever childhood I had left away from me. And even when I got over it, when I stopped being scared and stopped having nightmares, there were still deep wounds that have never fully healed."

"He's dead now," Evelina reminded her. "You killed him, and you'll never see him again."

"Except for every time I go to sleep," Astraea mumbled.

     Astraea recognized a glint of recognition in both of their eyes that told her they knew that feeling much too well.

Chapter Text

     Astraea's curls fell into her face as she stared down at the novel she was reading. She was relaxing in the small library in the House of Wind, the novel one of her favorites since she was a teenager. 

"Hey, kid," Rhys greeted, entering the room.

"I'm older than you," Astraea grumbled, not looking up from her book. She had to admit, she was drinking. She had just about finished an entire bottle of wine.

"Yes, but I am your High Lord," he gloated.

"I'm very sorry, High Lord," she mocked, glancing up to roll her eyes at him. "But you treated me like shit for the longest time, so I don't think I have to respect you."

"When are you going to let that go?" he demanded.

"Possibly never," Astraea joked.

     He sat by her side, grabbing her book from her. She glared, trying to take it from him, but he held it out of her reach.

"Are you feeling better?" he wondered, finally placing the book on the coffee table next to the nearly empty bottle of wine. She leaned back on the couch and wrapped her arms around herself.

"I look at myself, and I don't even recognize my body," Astraea admitted. He nodded, wrapping an arm around her. She leaned into his embrace.

"I know, 'Raea," he said quietly. She knew that he understood. "But he's dead. You know that."

"He is," she mumbled. "But I still feel their hands on me, and I want them off." He furrowed his eyebrows, turning to her in concern.

"Them?" he demanded.

     She pursed her lips, not sure if she'd even be able to say it out loud. She was too ashamed--too humiliated. 

"There was more than just him," Astraea whispered. "Twice, he let his friends. . . Never mind, I'd rather not talk about it."

"Show me," he said, his voice laced with anger.

"What?"

"Show me their faces," he repeated, pulling back to look at her, fire in his eyes. "And I will hunt each one of them down. I swear, Astraea."

"You don't have to do that--"

"Yes, I do!" he insisted. "It's my fault you were there. I should've done something. I should've found you sooner. I should've--"

"Do not blame yourself," Astraea begged him. "Please. It's not your fault."

"Show me, 'Raea. I need to see their faces."

     Astraea stared at him, noticing the rage in his eyes. She stared at her lap and took a deep breath. She pursed her lips, glancing up and taking his hand.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

     Everyone flew to Amren's loft. Astraea winnowed with Evelina and Azriel, feeling more than just a bit of envy for her friends that flew. 

     Amren was flipping through the book while Astraea sat with Evelina and Azriel. Evelina was not hiding her boredom well.

     When Cassian, Rhys, Morrigan, and Feyre entered, Evelina sighed in relief. Astraea rolled my eyes.

"You should kill Beron and his sons and set up the handsome one as High Lord of Autumn, self-imposed exile or no. It will make life easier," Amren said. Astraea chuckled at the idea of Lucien as a High Lord.

"You really should kill Beron," Evelina mumbled, leaning her head on Azriel's shoulder. Astraea pursed her lips, knowing the amount of pain Evelina suffered at Beron's hands as his daughter-in-law.

"I'll take that into consideration," Rhys said, striding toward her while Feyre remained with them at the table.

"Who else thinks it's a terrible idea to leave the three of them up at the House of Wind?" Feyre demanded.

     Cassian raised his hand as Rhys and Mor chuckled. Astraea grimaced.

"I give him an hour before he tries to see her," Cassian joked.

"Thirty minutes," Mor countered, sitting on the divan and crossing her legs.

"I guarantee Nesta is now guarding Elain. I think she might honestly kill him if he so much as tries to touch her," Feyre cringed.

"Not without training, she won't," Cassian grumbled, tucking in his wings. Evelina shifted onto Azriel's lap to give Cassian a seat.

     Feyre turned her attention to Astraea. "Nesta says you're always in the library." 

"Yes," Astraea agreed. "I like it in there. It's peaceful. But I usually leave if Nesta wants to be alone. We never really share civil conversations."

"Who does share civil conversations with her?" Rhysand murmured. Astraea shot him a glance, as did Feyre. 

"All of you need to be less harsh with those girls," Astraea scolded Rhys. "They were—violated. Their bodies stopped belonging wholly to them. Nobody deserves that."

     Evelina nodded in agreement, staring down at her wrists, which were encircled by scars. She had never told Astraea how she got those scars, and Astraea had never asked. Azriel was the only one who knew the story, and he'd advised the rest of the family never to ask the girl about them. 

"Nothing?" Rhys asked Amren.

"I don't know why you sent those three buffoons"—a narrowed glance toward Evelina, Azriel, and Astraea—"to monitor me."

"We're not monitoring you," Evelina said. "We're monitoring the Book."

     Amren had placed the Book of Breathings on her nightstand. A glass of old blood atop it. The Book murmured, Hello, sweetfaced liar. Hello, princess with—

"Oh, be quiet," Amren hissed toward the Book. "Odious thing."

"Since the two halves of the Book were joined back together, it has been known to speak every now and then," Rhys told Feyre.

"What does it say?"

"Utter nonsense," Amren spat. "It just likes to hear itself talk. Like most of the people cramping up my apartment."

"Did someone forget to feed Amren again?" Cassian joked. She pointed a warning finger at him without so much as looking up.

"Is there a reason, Rhysand, why you dragged your yapping pack into my home?"

"The information you got from Dagdan and Brannagh confirms what we've been gathering ourselves while you were gone. Especially Hyberns potential allies in other territories—on the continent," Rhys told Feyre.

"Vultures," Mor muttered.

     Feyre's eyes snapped to Rhys, anger and concern in them.

"I can stay hidden, mate," Rhys snorted.

"Having Hybern's movements confirmed by you, Feyre, is what we needed," Azriel explained to her.

"Why?"

"We barely stand a chance of surviving Hybern's armies on our own. If armies from Vallahan, Montesere, and Rask join them--" Cassian drew a line across his tan throat.

     Morrigan elbowed him in the ribs. Cassian nudged her right back as Azriel shook his head at both of them, shadows wrapping around his wife's wings.

     Azriel's shadows had fallen in love with Evelina from the moment the two met. They were much fonder of her than they were of Astraea. That was likely Astraea's fault. The day they'd appeared, she'd screamed and banged on the door of the cell for help because she thought they were attacking her brother.

"Are those three territories that powerful?" Feyre asked.

"Yes," Azriel confirmed. "Vallahan has the numbers, Montesere has the money, and Rask--it is large enough to have both."

"And we have no potential allies amongst the other overseas territories?"

"Not ones that would sail here to help."

"What of Miryam and Drakon?" Feyre wondered. "You fought for Miryam and Drakon centuries ago. Perhaps it's time to call in that debt."

"We tried," Rhys said. "Azriel went to Cretea."

     Astraea cringed at a sudden, sharp pain in her right wing, exactly where it had been clipped. She let out a harsh breath, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to breathe through the pain. 

"'Raea?" Evelina asked gently. "You okay?" 

"I'm fine," Astraea lied, getting to her feet. "Fill me in later. I need to go." 

     They bombarded her with questions and concerns as she left the room, but she didn't answer. She just needed to get to a bottle of wine. 

"'Raea, I'll take you to the House of Wind," Evelina said softly, getting to her feet. 

"You don't have to--" 

"I don't think you should be alone right now," Evelina advised, approaching her. 

     Astraea swallowed a lump in her throat but nodded. Evelina took her hand, and winnowed them to the edge of the House of Wind. 

"I'll fly you up, okay?" Evelina asked. 

     Astraea nodded, clutching onto her sister-in-law as she took off in flight, up towards the balcony of the House. Astraea closed her eyes, pretending that she was the one flying. Pretending that her wings still worked.  

Chapter Text

     Reading had become one of the easiest escapes for Astraea. A simple way to lose herself in someone else's problems instead of her own. She stayed up late most nights reading, so she didn't have to go to sleep and face the nightmares. 

     She was reading a mystery novel in the townhouse's sitting room when she heard footsteps coming down the stairs, accompanied by hushed voices.

"Where are you all going?" Astraea questioned. They jumped, turning to face her. Morrigan's face filled with relief when she saw her.

"We're going to Rita's," she whispered. Astraea furrowed her eyebrows.

"Why are you sneaking?" Astraea demanded.

"Because Azzy wouldn't want me to go," Evelina mumbled, a bit of guilt flashing on her face. Astraea snorted.

     Evelina never got to go to Rita's. While they tried to downplay it, Evelina did have an issue with abusing alcohol.

"Can I come?" Astraea wondered. They all exchanged a glance.

"'Raea . . . are you sure you're ready for that?" Evelina asked me, concern on her face. Astraea rolled her eyes.

"I'm fine," she insisted. "Please? I want to get back to my normal life."

"I don't think life will be normal for a while," Cassian admitted. "For any of us." She grimaced, knowing he was right.

"I'm coming with you," Astraea decided.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

      The wine at the bar was quite inviting. While the others danced, Astraea remained seated, sipping her drink. She glanced over as a man settled beside her. She felt a tension rise in her chest.

"I'll buy your next drink," he offered. She stared at him, unsure of what to say. He was blonde with pretty, gray eyes.

"You don't have to do that," Astraea promised him, shaking her head.

"Come on, I insist," he smiled. His smile was sweet.

       Maybe he was a kind male. Possibly, he would buy her a drink, and they'd talk. Perhaps they'd even dance together.

       Or he would expect her to go home with him and lash out when she denied him. Or he would say he was going to walk her home, then force himself upon her when they were far away from everyone.

       The thought alone made her heart beat out of her chest. She felt her breathing speed up against her will.

"No," she said, more forcefully this time.

"That's fine," he smiled again. "I'll see you around."

       She nodded and quickly got off the stool. It was too loud. Her mind raced, and her heart pounded. The place was too crowded, and it felt stiflingly hot. She started pushing through the crowd until she was outside.

      Astraea gasped in relief, collapsing onto a bench. She hid her face in her hands as she tried to stop her body from trembling.

"Astraea?"

      Astraea glanced up at Evelina, who was staring at her in concern. Astraea bit her quivering lip and grabbed her hand. She needed someone to hold on to.

"Hey, you're okay," Evelina promised, sitting next to her. Astraea nodded. She knew she was okay. 

"I thought I would be fine," Astraea mumbled. "It's just a night out. This is so pathetic."

"No, it isn't," she insisted, squeezing my hand. "You're not pathetic. He was." 

      Astraea collapsed against her, resting her head on Evelina's shoulder. Evelina sighed, wrapping her arms around her and kissing her head.

"When I escaped from the Autumn Court, I felt like you were the only one who understood what I had gone through," Evelina said quietly. "You were there for me every step of my recovery. And I'll be here for you, now, too." 

"Eve, you don't need to do that," Astraea assured her. 

"You were there for me when I needed you. It's the least I can do."

"I'm the oldest. It's my job," Astraea denied. "You're the youngest. You shouldn't have to take care of me." 

"You're practically my sister, Astraea," Evelina stated. "You've taken care of me since I was nine years old. And now, you need someone to take care of you. It's my turn, now." 

     Astraea swallowed a lump in her throat, grateful for the girl who was like a little sister to her. She didn't need to feel ashamed in front of Evelina.  

"I don't think I'll ever be the same again, Eve," Astraea admitted in a hushed whisper. 

"I felt the same way," Evelina mumbled. "And sometimes, I feel like I'm just pretending to be the girl I was before." 

     Astraea glanced at the girl, brows furrowed. Evelina had never told her that before. 

"You ready to go home?" Evelina asked. Astraea nodded. "Come on, 'Raea."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

     Astraea stood off to the side as her family gathered for dinner that night at the House of Wind. Rhysand stood with her, as they had all been quite weary about leaving her alone as of late. 

"Did you kill them?" Astraea asked quietly.

"Azriel's working on it," he admitted. She furrowed her eyebrows, turning to him. "They're in his dungeons."

"Oh," she said quietly, not sure how to feel about that.

"Would you like to kill them?" he wondered. "They're barely alive as it is, but you can deliver the final blows."

     The idea of seeing them again, even if they were half dead, made her heart race and her chest feel like it was closing in.

"No," she declined, shaking her head. "I killed Demetri, that's more than enough." He nodded. 

"Let's join the party."

     Astraea gave a single nod, moved to the dining room table, and sat down next to Evelina. 

     Lucien ran his one eye over Feyre—her casual attire, then the Illyrian males in their leathers, Amren in her usual gray, Evelina in a simple black dress, Morrigan in her flowing red gown, and Astraea in a light blue gown. "What is the dress code?"

"It's whatever we feel like," Feyre said, passing him a bottle of wine. "What did you do with yourself this afternoon?"

"Slept," he said. "Washed. Sat on my ass."

"I could give you a tour of the city tomorrow morning," Feyre offered. "If you like."

"You don't need to waste your time convincing me. I get it. I get--I get that we were not what you wanted. Or needed. How small and isolated our home must have been for you, once you saw this." He jerked his chin toward the city, where lights were now sparking into view amid the falling twilight. "Who could compare?"

     Astraea heard heels clanking against the tile, and she turned, watching Nesta Archeron enter the room.

     She was wearing a long-sleeved, dark blue gown that clung to her curves before falling gracefully to the ground in a spill of fabric.

"Where did that dress come from?" Morrigan asked, red gown flowing behind her as she breezed toward Nesta. Nesta tensed, but Morrigan didn't seem to notice as she fingered the heavy blue fabric. "I want one."

"I assume my mate dug it up somewhere," Feyre said, glancing over her shoulder at Rhys, who was perched on the edge of the dining table.

"He gets all the credit for clothes," Morrigan grumbled. "and he never tells me where he finds them. He still won't tell me where he found Feyre's dress for Starfall. Bastard."

     Rhys chuckled. Mor only examined the silver combs in Nesta's hair. "It's a good thing we're not the same size—or else I might be tempted to steal that dress."

"Likely right off her," Cassian muttered.

"Fortunately for you," Nesta said flatly, "I don't return the sentiment." 

     Azriel coughed into his wine, and Evelina snorted as her cousin blinked in shock. But Nesta only walked to the table and claimed a seat.

"I think we're going to need a lot more wine," Morrigan murmured. 

"I'll raid the collection," Cassian offered, disappearing through the inner hall doors.

     Nesta stiffened a bit more. Astraea felt inclined to reassure her that it was all fine and that they were joking, but she didn't.

"They mean well," Feyre told her.

 "I don't care."

"You're a real piece of work," Amren scoffed at Nesta, surveying her with silver eyes.  

"Why do your eyes glow?" Nesta wondered, meeting her stare without balking.

"You know, none of these busybodies have ever asked me that," Amren observed. "They glow because it was the one part of me the containment spell could not quite get right. The one glimpse into what lurks beneath."

"And what is beneath?"

"They never dared ask me that, either."

"Why."

"Because it is not polite to ask—and they are afraid. We are the same, you and I. Not in flesh, not in the thing that prowls beneath our skin and bones. But I see the kernel, girl. You did not fit—the mold that they shoved you into. The path you were born upon and forced to walk. You tried, and yet you did not, could not, fit. And then the path changed. I know—what it is to be that way. I remember it, long ago as it was."

     Nesta sat there for a few heartbeats, simply staring. "I don't know what you're talking about. 

"When you erupt, girl, make sure it is felt across worlds."

"Amren, it seems, has been taking drama lessons at the theater down the street from her house," Rhys drawled.

"I mean it, Rhysand—"

"I'm sure you do," he said. "But I'd prefer to eat something before you make us lose our appetites."

     Lucien frowned at the remaining place setting at the head of the table, then at the blank spot across from Nesta. "I—shouldn't you sit at the head?"

     Rhys raised an eyebrow. "I don't care where you sit. I only care about eating something right"—he snapped his fingers—"now."

     The food appeared across the table in platters and spreads and bowls. Roast meats, various sauces, and gravies, rice and bread, and steamed vegetables fresh from the surrounding farms

"You get used to it—the informality," Feyre told Lucien.

"You say that, Feyre darling, like it's a bad thing," Rhys said.

"It took me by surprise that first dinner we all had, just so you know," Feyre said.

"Oh, I know," Rhys grinned. Astraea smiled and Cassian snickered.

"Honestly," Feyre said to Lucien. "Azriel and Astraea are the only polite ones." A few cries of outrage from Morrigan, Evelina, and Cassian, but Azriel and Astraea both smiled. "Don't even try to pretend that it's not true."

"Of course it's true," Morrigan grumbled, "but you needn't make us sound like heathens."

"I would have thought you'd find that term to be a compliment, Mor," Rhys said mildly.

"I understand—what you meant about the food," Nesta said quietly, staring down at her plate. 

"Is that a compliment?" Feyre smiled. Nesta didn't answer, so Feyre turned to Cassian. "What time are we back in the training ring tomorrow?"

"I'd say dawn, but since I'm feeling rather grateful that you're back in one piece, I'll let you sleep in. Let's meet at seven."

"I'd hardly call that sleeping in," Feyre said.

"For an Illyrian, it is," Mor muttered.

"Daylight is a precious resource," Cassian stated.

"We live in the Night Court," Morrigan countered, glaring at him.

     Astraea found herself laughing out loud at that, causing them all to turn to her. It was the first time she'd truly laughed in a while.

     Cassian only grimaced at Rhys and Azriel. "I told you that the moment we started letting females into our group, they'd be nothing but trouble."

"Excuse me, I was here before you," Evelina reminded him.

"You don't count," Cassian countered. Evelina only glared.

"As far as I can recall, Cassian," Rhys countered drily, "you actually said you needed a reprieve from staring at our ugly faces, and that some ladies would add some much-needed prettiness for you to look at all day."

"Pig," Amren said.

"I was a young Illyrian and didn't know better," he said, then pointed his fork at Azriel. "Don't try to blend into the shadows. You said the same thing."

"He did not," Evelina said sharply, snarling to defend her mate. "Azriel has never once said anything that awful. Only you, Cassian." 

     Cassian stuck out his tongue, and Evelina only returned the gesture. Lucien studied her with furrowed brows. 

"What?" Eve asked the male when she noticed his stares. 

"You're . . . different than you were when I was a child," he murmured. "Happier. More playful." Evelina just grinned, rolling her eyes at him. 

     Evelina had been miserable in the Autumn Court, and even after she came home, it took years for her to return to her old, joyful self. Her trauma had run so deep that she had been an entirely new person. 

"You'd be wise to leave Cassian and Evelina at home for the meeting with the others, Rhysand. They'll cause nothing but trouble," Amren said.

"It remains to be seen if they'll be joining us," Rhys said. 

"You can't leave the Princess of the Night Court home for such an important meeting," Evelina bristled. 

"Invitations are going out tomorrow, calling all the High Lords to gather to discuss this war," Rhys explained to Lucien. 

     Lucien's hand tightened on his fork. "All?" Rhys nodded. "Can I offer my unsolicited advice?"

"I think that's the first time anyone at this table has ever asked such a thing," Rhys joked. "By all means, advise away."

"I assume Feyre is going."

"I am."

"Are you planning to hide her powers?"

"That was something I'd planned to discuss with my mate. Are you leaning one way or another, Lucien?"

"My father would likely join with Hybern if he thought he stood a chance of getting his power back that way—by killing you," Lucien admitted.

"Your brothers saw me, though," Feyre said. "Perhaps they could mistake the flame as yours, but the ice--"

"That's the information you need to gather," Lucien said to Azriel. "What my father knows, if my brothers realized what she was doing. You need to start from there, and build your plan for this meeting accordingly."

"Eris might keep that information to himself and convince the others to as well, if he thinks it'll be more useful that way," Evelina confirmed. "Your brothers may be awful, but they hate their father as much as you do. Elio certainly did."

"Perhaps," Lucien said. "But we need to find that out. If Beron or Eris has that information, they'll use it to their advantage in that meeting—to control it. Or control Feyre. Or they might not show up at all, and instead go right to Hybern."

"You and Azriel should talk," Rhys said. "Tomorrow."

     Lucien glanced toward the shadowsinger—who only nodded at him. "I'm at your disposal."

"There is another meeting that needs to be had—and soon."

"Please don't say we need to go to the Court of Nightmares," Cassian grumbled around a mouthful of food.

"Not in the mood to terrorize our friends there?" Rhys asked.

"You mean to ask my father to fight in this war," Mor said to Rhys, her face paling. 

"What is the Court of Nightmares?" Nesta demanded.

"The place where the rest of the world believes the majority of the Night Court to be," Lucien said. He jerked his chin at Rhys. "The seat of his power. Or it was."

"Oh, it still is," Rhys said. "To everyone outside Velaris." He leveled a steady look at Morrigan. "And yes. Keir's Darkbringer legion is considerable enough that a meeting is warranted."

"Why not just order them? Don't they answer to you?" Nesta questioned.

"Unfortunately, there are protocols in place between our two subcourts regarding this sort of thing. They mostly govern themselves—with Mor's father their steward," Cassian said. Mor's throat bobbed.

"The steward of the Hewn City is legally entitled to refuse to aid my armies," Rhys explained to Nesta. "It was part of the agreement my ancestor made with the Court of Nightmares all those thousands of years ago. They would remain within that mountain, would not challenge or disturb us beyond its borders,  and would retain the right to decide not to assist in war."

"And have they—refused?" Feyre asked.

"Twice. Not my father," Mor nearly choked on the word. "But there were two wars. Long, long ago. They chose not to fight. We won, but barely. At great cost."

"We leave in two days," Rhys said.

"He'll say no," Morrigan countered. "Don't waste your time."

"Then I shall have to find a way to convince him otherwise."

"What?"

"He fought in the War," Rhys said calmly. "Perhaps we'll be lucky this time, too."

"I'll remind you that the Darkbringer legion was nearly as bad as the enemy when it came to their behavior," Morrigan said, pushing her plate away.

"There will be new rules."

"You will not be in a position to make rules, and you know it," Morrigan snapped.

"We'll see."

"What do you think?" Morrigan asked Azriel.

"It's not my call to make," Azriel objected, unable to meet her eyes.

"That's a bullshit answer," Mor challenged.

     Astraea saw hurt flickering in Azriel's eyes, but he only shrugged, his face again a mask of cold indifference. Astraea shot Mor a disapproving glance.

"Don't speak to my mate that way," Evelina nearly snarled at her cousin. Morrigan just narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms, leaning back in her seat.

"You don't need to come, Mor," Rhys said.

"Of course, I'm coming. It'll make it worse if I'm not there." She drained her wine in one swift tilt of her head. "I suppose I have two days now to find a dress suitable to horrify my father."

     Amren chuckled at that, Cassian rumbling a laugh as well.

"Let's train at eight tomorrow. I'll meet you in the ring," Feyre told Cassian, changing the subject.

"Seven-thirty," he said with a disarming grin.

"Eight," Feyre countered with a flat look. She turned to Nesta, silent and watchful through all of this. "Care to join?"

"No."

     She gave her sister a casual shrug, reaching for the wine jug that Evelina was staring at longingly. Then she said to none of us in particular, "I want to learn how to fly."

     Mor spewed her wine across the table, splattering it right across Azriel's chest and neck. The shadowsinger was too busy gawking at her to even notice. Evelina made the wine disappear from his leathers with the swish of her hand.

     She gestured to Cassian, Rhys, Azriel, Evelina, and Astraea. "I want you to teach me."

"Really?" Morrigan demanded.

"Well, that explains the wings," Lucien mumbled.

"What wings?" Nesta asked.

"I can—shape-shift," Feyre admitted. "And with the oncoming conflict knowing how to fly might be useful. I assume the battles against Hybern will include Illyrians. Then I plan to fight with you. In the skies."

"I don't know if it's technically even possible—time-wise," Cassian warned. "You'd have to learn not only how to fly, but how to bear the weight of your shield and weapons—and how to work within an Illyrian unit. It takes us decades to master that last part alone. We have months at best—weeks at worst."

"Then we'll teach her what we know until then," Rhys said. "I'll give her any shot at an advantage—at getting away if things go to shit. Even a day of training might make a difference."

"Az should teach you," Astraea spoke up. Azriel nodded his agreement.

"Are you certain?" Feyre asked.

"Rhys, Eve, and Cass were taught how to fly so young that they barely remember it," Azriel pointed out.

"We've taught plenty of younglings the basics," Cassian countered.

"It's not the same," Azriel explained.

"When you're older, the fears, the mental blocks . . . it's different," Astraea informed them.

"I'll teach you," Azriel decided. "Train with Cass for a few hours, and I'll meet you when you're through." He added to Lucien, who did not balk from those writhing shadows, "After lunch, we'll meet."

"Thank you," Feyre said, then turned to Nesta."The King of Hybern is trying to bring down the wall by using the Cauldron to expand the holes already in it. I might be able to patch up those holes, but you being made of the Cauldron itself... if the Cauldron can widen those holes, perhaps you can close them, too. With training—in whatever time we have."

"I can show you," Amren clarified. "Or, in theory, I can. If we start soon—tomorrow morning." She considered, then declared to Rhys, "When you go to the Court of Nightmares, we will go with you."

"What?" Astraea spoke up.

"The Hewn City is a trove of objects of power," Amren explained. "There may be opportunities to practice. Let the girl get a feel for what something like the wall or the Cauldron might be like. Covertly."

"Why not just kill the King of Hybern before he can act?" Nesta asked.

"If you want his killing blow, girl, it's yours," Amren said.

"What happened to the human queens?" she wondered.

"What do you mean?" Feyre asked.

"Were they made immortal?" Nesta questioned.

"Reports have been murky and inconsistent. Some say yes, others say no," Azriel said.

"Why?" Cassian asked.

"By the end of this war, I want them dead. The king, the queens—all of them. Promise me you'll kill them all, and I'll help you patch up the wall. I'll train with her"—a jerk of her chin to Amren—"I'll go to the Hewn City or whatever it is, I'll do it. But only if you promise me that."

"Fine," Feyre said. "And we might need your assistance during the meeting with the High Lords—to provide testimony to other courts and allies of what Hybern is capable of. What was done to you."

"No."

"You don't mind fixing the wall or going to the Court of Nightmares, but speaking to people is where you draw your line?"

"No."

"People's lives might depend on your account of it. The success of this meeting with the High Lords might depend upon it."

"Don't talk down to me. My answer is no."

"I understand that what happened to you was horrible—"

"You have no idea what it was or was not. None. And I am not going to grovel like one of those Children of the Blessed, begging High Fae who would have gladly killed me as a mortal to help us. I'm not going to tell them that story—my story."

"The High Lords might not believe our account, which makes you a valuable witness—"

     Nesta shoved her chair back, chucking her napkin on her plate, gravy soaking through the fine linen.

"Then it is not my problem if you're unreliable. I'll help you with the wall, but I am not going to whore my story around to everyone on your behalf. And if you even dare suggest to Elain that she do such a thing, I will rip out your throat."

     None of them spoke as she left the dining room and slammed the door shut behind her. Mor passed Feyre a bottle of wine.

"It's fine if you drink directly from it," was all Morrigan said.

"She has a point," Astraea mumbled. They all turned to her, Rhys raising an eyebrow. "When you go through something traumatic like that. . . it's hard to even speak to people you trust about it. Speaking to a group of strangers like that . . . Well, I would never be able to do it."

"It could mean saving millions of lives," Rhys countered.

"Would you be able to open up to all of them?" Astraea demanded. "About everything you've been through? Tell them every detail? I wouldn't. And neither would you, so don't think less of her for it."

Chapter Text

     Astraea waited in the sitting room that afternoon, reading a book as she anticipated everyone's arrival. Rhys had informed her that the two sisters were moving into the townhouse.

     Feyre winnowed in with Evelina and greeted Astraea with a smile. They spoke about how her sisters were until Azriel arrived, with no shadows to be seen and Elain a pale, golden mass in his arms.

     He set her down gently on the foyer carpet, having carried her in through the front door. Elain peered up at his patient, solemn face.

"Would you like me to show you the garden?" Azriel asked.

     Elain nodded once. It wasn't clear whether she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, "Beautiful."

     Evelina shot to her feet at the words and declared, "I think I'll join you two." Azriel gave a low chuckle, but offered an arm to his wife. Astraea smiled as the three went out to the garden.

     A moment later, Nesta was stomping through the front door, her face a remarkable shade of green.

"I need—a toilet."

     Feyre wordlessly pointed Nesta toward the powder room beneath the stairs, and she vanished, slamming the door behind her.

     Astraea shot Rhys a demanding expression, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms as she waited for an explanation.

"You look like my mother when you do that," he told her. She threw my book at him, but he caught it with a grin.

      Cassian and Lucien appeared, neither looking at the other. But Lucien's attention went right to the hallway toward the back, his nostrils flaring as he scented Elain's direction. And who she'd gone with.

"Relax," Rhys said. "Azriel isn't the ravishing type. He has a mate." Lucien cut him a glare.

     Nesta's retching filled the silence. Cassian gaped at Rhys. Astraea groaned. "What did you do?"

"I asked him the same thing," Feyre said, crossing her arms. "He said he went fast."

     Nesta vomited again—then silence.

"I'm going to check on her," Astraea decided, cursing herself for always feeling the need to take care of everyone.

     Astraea went over to the bathroom, knocking before she stepped in. Nesta was washing her hands, but she turned when she saw the Illyrian.

"Are you okay?" Astraea asked quietly.

     Nesta's face was still greenish-pale, but her eyes burned. There was no way of describing that burning. Quicksilver set aflame.

     She pushed past Astraea and left the room. The Illyrian followed after her quickly, watching as she stormed towards Rhys.

     Cassian casually stepped in her path, wings folded in tight. Feet braced apart on the carpet. A fighting stance—casual, but his Siphons glimmered.

"Do you know," Cassian drawled to her, "that the last time I got into a brawl in this house, I was kicked out for a month?"

     Nesta's burning gaze slid to him, still outraged—but hinted with incredulity.

"It was Amren's fault, of course, but no one believed me. And no one dared banish her."

     She blinked slowly. And the burning, molten gaze became mortal.

"What are you?" Lucien breathed.

"I made it give something back," she said with terrifying quiet. The Cauldron. Nesta's gaze flicked to the carpet, then to a spot on the wall. "I wish to go to my room."

"Up the stairs, on your right. Second door. Or the third—whichever suits you. The other is for Elain. We need to leave in two hours," Feyre announced.

     A shallow nod was her only acknowledgment and thanks. They watched as she headed up the steps, her lavender gown trailing after her, one slender hand braced on the rail.

"I'm sorry," Rhys called up after her.

     Her hand tightened on the rail, the whites of her knuckles poking through her pale skin, but she didn't say anything as she continued on.

"Is that sort of thing even possible?" Cassian murmured when the door to her room had shut. "For someone to take from the Cauldron's essence?"

"It would seem so," Rhys mused, then said to Lucien, "The flame in her eyes was not of your usual sort, I take it."

"No. It spoke to nothing in my own arsenal. That was ice so cold it burned. Ice and yet fluid like flame. Or flame made of ice."

"I think it's death," Feyre said quietly. "I think the power is death—death made flesh. Or whatever power the Cauldron holds over such things. That's why the Carver heard it—heard about her."

"Mother above," Lucien said, dragging a hand through his hair.

     Cassian gave him a solemn nod. But Rhys rubbed his jaw, weighing, thinking. Then he said simply, "Only Nesta would not just conquer Death—but pillage it."

✧: *✧:*:✧*:✧

     Astraea swatted at Azriel's shadows as she tried to read on the couch. Rhys and Azriel had been pestering her all morning about Hewn City. She was on the verge of tears at their incessant badgering of her, but neither of them seemed to notice. 

"I told you already, I'm not going," Astraea declared, her voice shaking.

"You can't hide away forever," Rhys said to her, snatching the book from her hands.

"I'm not ready," she said quietly, shame making her cheeks heat.

"You'll never be ready if you don't talk to somebody," he pointed out. Her nostrils flared as she glared up at him and yanked her book out of his hands.

      Azriel studied his sister, taking a step back, his shadows retreating with him as he realized they had pushed her too far. 

"Rhys, let's leave her alone," Azriel said to the male. "She's not ready."

"She's not doing anything to get over it!" he expressed. "She won't leave the house, she won't get counseling, she won't even--"

"Stop it!" Astraea snapped. He turned to her with raised eyebrows. "I tried, Rhys. I went out with them the other night! And I couldn't do it. I nearly broke down in the middle of the bar! I can't leave this house. Not yet."

"Get out, Rhys," Azriel snapped at Rhysand. "Give her space."

     Rhys sighed, not wanting to listen. But he knew better than to argue. He went off to the kitchen, where his mate was preparing breakfast.

"Are you okay?" Azriel asked her. Astraea nodded, blinking tears away from her blue eyes.

"I'm just not feeling well today," Astraea admitted. "My wings hurt." She wasn't sure how long the soreness was supposed to last, but it wouldn't go away.

"Let me know if you need anything," he said softly, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head.

"Thank you," she whispered.

     Azriel nodded at her before going back upstairs to get ready. She sniffled, wiping a tear from her eye.

"That was quite dramatic," she heard from behind her.

     Astraea turned, her cheeks going red when she noticed Nesta there. The female crossed her arms, striding into the room. She was wearing loose pants and a cropped blouse. Astraea had never seen her in pants before.

"So you're not going?" she wondered. Astraea shook her head.

"I'll stay with Cassian," Astraea sighed. "You look nice."

"You don't need to lie," Nesta snapped at her.

      Before Astraea could insist she was telling the truth, the girl turned on her heel and left.

✧: *✧:*:✧*:✧

     Astraea sat on the sitting room floor, in front of Cassian, who was on the couch. He was braiding her hair like he used to. When she was far along in her pregnancy, she couldn't lift her arms to do her hair, so he would do it for her every morning. Even if he was only nine years old, he'd been a caring little boy.

     The rest of the group winnowed in, causing them both to perk up. Cassian tied her braid off and stood, halfway to Morrigan when she whirled on Rhys and said, "Why?"

     Her voice broke. Rhys just stood there, staring down at her. His face was unreadable.

"Why?" she shouted, slamming her fists into his chest. He yielded a step.

"Eris found Azriel—our hands were tied. I made the best of it. I'm sorry."

     Cassian and Astraea exchanged a confused and concerned glance. Morrigan whirled on Azriel.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because you would have tried to stop it. And we can't afford to lose Keir's alliance—and face the threat of Eris."

"You're working with that prick?" Cassian cut in. He moved to Mor's side, a hand on her back. He shook his head at Azriel and Rhys, disgust curling his lip. "You should have spiked Eris's fucking head to the front gates."

"I have to agree with Cassian. Eris is a snake," Lucien said. 

"Eris is a self-centered prick," Evelina agreed. "But . . . he would make a better leader than Beron."

     Evelina had a bit of a soft spot for Eris, simply because he helped her escape from the Autumn Court after Rhys was made High Lord. She didn't defend him often, mostly because she knew it would spark a fight with her mate. Evelina avoided fights at all costs. 

"I'm sure he will," Lucien said.

"It's not about Eris," Morrigan said, voice wobbling. "It's about here." She waved a hand to the town house, the city. "This is my home, and you are going to let Keir destroy it."

"I took precautions," Rhys said. "Many of them. Starting with meeting with the governors of the Palaces and getting them to agree never to serve, shelter, or entertain Keir or anyone from the Court of Nightmares. They have been sending out the word to every business owner in the city, every restaurant and shop and venue. So Keir and his ilk may come here But they will not find it a welcoming place. Or one where they can even procure lodgings."

"He'll still destroy it," she whispered.

"You should have warned us," Evelina said softly, wrapping an arm around Morrigan.

"I should have," Rhys said—though he didn't sound sorry for it. Azriel just remained a foot away, wings tucked in tight and Siphons glimmering.

"We'll set limitations—on when and how often they come," Feyre decided.

"If Amarantha were alive--" Morrigan began, glaring at Rhys. The word slithered through the room, darkening the corners. "If she were alive and I offered to work with her—even if it was to save us all—how would you feel?"

"If Amarantha offered us a slim shot at survival," Rhys said, his gaze unflinching, "then I would not give a shit that she made me fuck her for all those years."

     Astraea flinched at the words. The entire room flinched.

"If Amarantha showed up at that door right now," Rhys snarled, pointing toward the foyer entry, "and said she could buy us a chance at defeating Hybern, at keeping all of you alive, I would thank the fucking Cauldron."

     Mor shook her head, tears slipping free again. "You don't mean that."

"Don't use something like that against him," Astraea cut in. She turned to me with a sneer.

"What about you?" she challenged her. Astraea raised an eyebrow at her. "If Rhys made a deal with Demetri, and you had to work with him. If he was allowed in this city, in our home. How would that feel, Astraea?"

     Just hearing his name made every inch of Astraea's skin crawl. It made the scars on her hands, stomach, and wings burn.

"I'm not defending Rhysand's decision. I think it was wrong of him," Astraea whispered, tears in her eyes. "Bringing him up was cruel and unfair, and you fucking know it, Morrigan."

     Morrigan opened her mouth to retort, but Amren cut her off.

"Enough!" Amren snapped. "I kept this unit from breaking for forty-nine years. I am not going to let you two rip it to shreds now. Working with Keir and Eris is not forgiving them. And when this war is over, I will hunt them down and butcher them with you, if that is what you wish."

"My father will poison this city."

"I will not allow him to," Amren said.

     Amren turned to Rhys, whose face had now edged toward—devastation.

"You're a sneaky bastard. You always have been, and likely always will be. But it doesn't excuse you, boy, from not warning us. Warning her, not where those two monsters are involved. Yes, you made the right call—played it well. But you also played it badly."

"I'm sorry."

"This is war," Feyre announced. "Our allies are few and already don't trust us. You all have been to war and back—when I've never even set foot on a battlefield. But I have to imagine that we will not last long if we cleave apart. From within."

"She's right," Azriel said.

"What happened with the mirror?" Cassian asked Feyre.

"Keir says it's mine, if I dare to take it," Feyre sighed. "Apparently, what you see inside will break you—or drive you insane. No one has ever walked away from it." Cassian swore. "Exactly."

     Morrigan added a bit hoarsely, "My father spoke true about that. I was raised with legends of the mirror. None were pleasant. Or successful."

"So what—"

"You are talking about the Ouroboros," Amren said. "Why do you want that mirror?"

"If honesty is the theme of the night, because the Bone Carver requested it."

"You went to the Prison."

"Your old friends say hello," Cassian drawled.

"Why did you go."

"We had some questions for the Carver," Feyre said. "And we have some for you."

"You are going to unleash the Carver."

"Yes."

"That is impossible."

"I'll remind you that you, sweet Amren, escaped," Rhys countered smoothly. "And have stayed free. So it can be done. Perhaps you could tell us how you did it."

"No."

"It wasn't a request," Rhys said. "Feyre and Cassian spoke to the Bone Carver. He wants the Ouroboros in exchange for serving us—fighting Hybern for us. But we need you to explain how to get him out."

"Anything else?" Her voice was too calm, too sweet.

"When we're done with all of this," Rhys said, "then my promise from months ago still holds: use the Book to send yourself home if you want."

"Call off your dog," Amren said with that lethal tone.

     Because the shadow in the corner behind Amren, that was Azriel. The obsidian hilt of Truthteller in his scarred hand. Amren bared her teeth at him. Azriel's face didn't so much as shift.

"Why won't you tell us?" Rhys asked.

"Because the stone beneath this house has ears, the wind has ears—all of it listening," Amren said. "And if it reports back, they will remember, Rhysand, that they have not caught me. And I will not let them put me in that black pit again."

"No one will hear beyond this room."

"I had to give something up. I had to give me up. To walk out, I had to become something else entirely, something the Prison would not recognize. So I—I bound myself into this body."

"You said someone else bound you," Rhys questioned carefully.

"I lied—to cover what I'd done. So none could know. To escape the Prison, I made myself mortal. Immortal as you are, but mortal compared to—to what I was. And what I was I did not feel, the way you do. The way I do now. Some things—loyalty and wrath and curiosity—but not the full spectrum. I was perfect, according to some. I did not regret, did not mourn—and pain I did not experience it. And yet yet I wound up here, because I was not quite like the others. Even as—as what I was, I was different. Too curious. Too questioning. The day the rip appeared in the sky it was curiosity that drove me. My brothers and sisters fled. Upon the orders of our ruler, we had just laid waste to twin cities, smote them wholly into rubble on the plain, and yet they fled from that rip in the world. But I wanted to look. I wanted. I was not built or bred to feel such selfish things as want. I'd seen what happened to those of my kind who strayed, who learned to place their needs first. Who developed feeling. But I went through the tear in the sky. And here I am."

"And you gave all that up to get out of the Prison?" Mor asked softly.

"I yielded my grace—my perfect immortality. I knew that once I did I would feel pain. And regret. I would want, and I would burn with it. I would fall. But I was—the time locked away down there I didnt care. I had not felt the wind on my face, had not smelled the rain. I did not even remember what they felt like. I did not remember sunlight."

     Her attention drifted to both Astraea and Azriel. They gave her a look full of understanding.

"So I bound myself into this body. I shoved my burning grace deep into me. I gave up everything I was. The cell door just unlocked. And so I walked out. That will be the cost of freeing the Carver. You will have to bind him into a body. Make him Fae. And I doubt he will agree to it. Especially without the Ouroboros. You should have asked me before you went. I would have spared you the visit."

"Can you be—unbound?" Astraea spoke up.

"Not by me."

"What would happen if you were?" Astraea asked.

"I would not remember you. I would not care for any of you. I would either smite you or abandon you. What I feel now it would be foreign to me—it would hold no sway. Everything I am, this body it would cease to be."

"What were you," Nesta breathed.

"A messenger—and soldier-assassin. For a wrathful god who ruled a young world."

"Was Amren your name?" Nesta asked.

"No." The smoke swirled in her eyes. "I do not remember the name I was given. I used Amren because—it's a long story."

     Soft footsteps thudded, and then—

"Oh."

     Elain started—enough so that it seemed she couldn't hear them. Had no idea they were there, thanks to the shield that kept sound from escaping.

     It instantly dropped. She'd covered her nightgown with a silk shawl of the palest blue, her fingers grappling into the fabric as she held herself.

"Do you need anything?" Feyre asked, going to her side.

"No. I was sleeping, but I heard," She shook her head. "I didn't hear you."

"But you heard something else," Azriel observed.

"I think I was dreaming," she murmured. "I think I'm always dreaming these days."

"Let me get you some hot milk," Feyre said, putting a hand on her elbow to guide her into the sitting room.

     But Elain shook her off, heading back to the stairs. She said as she climbed the first steps, "I can hear her—crying."

"Who?"

"Everyone thinks she's dead." Elain kept walking. "But she's not. Only—different. Changed. As I was."

"Who," Feyre pushed.

     But Elain continued up the stairs, that shawl drooping down her back. Nesta stalked over to Feyre's side.

"What did you see," Azriel said.

     Elain paused halfway up the stairs. Slowly, she turned to look back at him. "I saw young hands wither with age. I saw a box of black stone. I saw a feather of fire land on snow and melt it. It was angry. It was so, so angry that something was taken. So it took something from them as punishment."

     Nobody said a word.

"What does that mean?" Feyre asked Azriel.

     Azriel simply winnowed away.

Chapter Text

     Elain was nestled between Morrigan and Evelina on the sitting room couch when Nesta, Rhys, and Feyre arrived at the town house. Astraea was sitting in a chair across from them.

     Nesta strode to Elain, and took up a seat on her other side, before turning her attention to where they remained in the foyer.

     From what Astraea had heard, the beast at the bottom of the library had been disturbed. Nesta and Feyre had been terrorized, and Cassian and Rhys had rescued them.

     Lucien, stationed by the front window, turned from watching the street. Monitoring it. A sword and dagger hung from his belt. No humor, no warmth graced his face—only fierce, grim determination.

"Azriel's coming down from the roof," Rhys said to none of them in particular, leaning against the archway into the sitting room and crossing his arms.

     And as if he'd summoned him, Azriel stepped out of a pocket of shadow by the stairs and scanned them from head to toe. His eyes lingered on the blood crusting Rhys's hands. 

     Feyre took up a spot at the opposite doorway post while Cassian and Azriel remained between them.

     Rhys was quiet for a moment before he said, "The priestesses will keep silent about what happened today. And the people of this city won't learn why Amren is now preparing to hunt. We can't afford to let the other High Lords know. It would unnerve them—and destabilize the image we have worked so hard to create."

"The attack on Velaris," Mor countered from her place on the couch, "already showed we're vulnerable."

"That was a surprise attack, which we handled quickly," Cassian said, Siphons flickering. "Az made sure the information came out portraying us as victors—able to defeat any challenge Hybern throws our way."

"We did that today," Feyre said.

"It's different," Rhys said. "The first time, we had the element of their surprise to excuse us. This second time, it makes us look unprepared. Vulnerable. We can't risk that getting out before the meeting in ten days. So for all appearances, we will remain unruffled as we prepare for war."

     Morrigan sagged against the couch cushions.

"A war where we have no allies beyond Keir, either in Prythian or beyond it."

     Rhys gave her a sharp look.

"The queen might come," Elain said quietly. Elain was staring at the unlit fireplace, eyes lost to that vague murkiness.

"What queen," Nesta said, more tightly than she usually spoke to her sister.

"The one who was cursed."

"Cursed by the Cauldron," Feyre clarified to Nesta, pushing off the archway. "When it threw its tantrum after you . . . left."

"No." Elain studied Feyre, then Nesta. "Not that one. The other."

     Nesta took a steadying breath, opening her mouth to either whisk Elain upstairs or move on.

     But Azriel asked softly, taking a single step over the threshold and into the sitting room, "What other?"

"The queen—with the feathers of flame."

     The shadowsinger angled his head.

"Should we—does she need--" Lucien began with concern.

"She doesn't need anything," Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien.

     Elain was staring at Azriel now—unblinkingly.

"We're the ones who need . . ." Azriel trailed off. "A seer. The Cauldron made you a seer."

     Elain turned to Morrigan, who was now gaping at the girl from her spot beside her on the couch. "Is that what this is?"

     Morrigan's gaze darted across Elain's face, as if weighing the words, the question, the truth or lie within.

     Morrigan at last blinked, mouth parting. Like that magic of hers had at last solved some puzzle. Slowly, clearly, she nodded. Lucien silently slid into one of the chairs, before the window, that metal eye whirring as it roved over his mate.

"There is another queen?" Azriel asked him.

"Yes."

"The sixth queen," Astraea recalled. "The queen who the golden one said wasn't ill."

"She said not to trust the other queens because of it," Feyre added, turning to Nesta. "You stole from the Cauldron. But what if the Cauldron gave something to Elain?"

"What?"

"You knew," Azriel said to Elain. "About the young queen turning into a crone."

     Elain blinked and blinked, eyes clearing again. As if the understanding, their understanding freed her from whatever murky realm she'd been in.

"The sixth queen is alive?" Azriel asked, calm and steady, a voice Astraea was not used to hearing so dark.

"Yes."

"What sort of curse?" Rhys asked.

"They sold her—to some darkness, to some sorcerer-lord " She shook her head. "I can never see him. What he is. There is an onyx box that he possesses, more vital than anything save for them. The girls. He keeps other girls—others so like her—but she . . . By day, she is one form, by night, human again."

"A bird of burning feathers," Feyre said.

"Firebird by day," Rhys mused, "woman by night. So she's held captive by this sorcerer-lord?"

"I don't know. I hear her—her screaming. With rage. Utter rage " She shuddered.

"Do you know why the other queens cursed her—sold her to him?" Astraea asked the girl.

"No. No—that is all mist and shadow."

"Can you sense where she is?" Astraea questioned.

"There is a lake. Deep in—in the continent, I think. Hidden amongst mountains and ancient forests." Elain's throat bobbed. "He keeps them all at the lake."

"Other women like her?" Astraea pressed.

"Yes—and no. Their feathers are white as snow. They glide across the water—while she rages through the skies above it."

"What information do we have on this sixth queen?" Mor asked Rhys.

"Little," Azriel answered for him. "We know little. Young—somewhere in her mid-twenties. Scythia lies along the wall, to the east. It's the smallest amongst the human queens realms, but rich in trade and arms. She goes by Vassa, but I never got a report with her full name."

"She must have posed a considerable threat to the queens if they turned on her. And considering their agenda--" Rhys began.

"If we can find Vassa," Feyre cut in, "She could be vital in convincing the human forces to fight. And giving us an ally on the continent."

"If we can find her," Cassian countered, stepping up to Azriel's side, his wings flaring slightly. "It could take months. Not to mention, facing the male who holds her captive could be harder than expected. We can't afford all those potential risks. Or the time it'd take. We should focus on this meeting with the other High Lords first."

"We need to help her," Astraea insisted. "And the others, we could free them--"

"Yes, and we could stand to gain much," Mor agreed. "Perhaps she has an army—"

"Perhaps she does," Cassian cut her off. "But if she's cursed, who will lead it? And if her kingdom is so far away, they have to travel the mortal way, too. You remember how slowly they moved, how quickly they died—"

"It's worth a try," Mor sniped.

"You're needed here," Cassian said. "I need you on a battlefield—not traipsing through the continent. The human half of it. If those queens have rallied armies to offer Hybern, they're no doubt standing between you and Queen Vassa."

"You don't give me orders—"

"No, but I do," Rhys said. "Don't give me that look. He's right—we need you here, Mor."

"Scythia," Mor said, shaking her head. "I remember them. They're horse people. A mounted cavalry could travel far faster—"

"No." Sheer will blazed in Rhys's eyes. The order was final.

"What about me or Eve?" Astraea insisted. "One of us could go."

"Absolutely not," Rhys decided.

"'Raea, you're not trained in battle," Cassian reminded her.

"I can hold my own," she pointed out.

"In hand-to-hand combat, yes, but not if they have weapons," he said.

"I'm trained," Evelina said. "I could go."

"No," Azriel and Rhys both said in unison.

"We need you here," Azriel said to her. "And if you were to go, I wouldn't want you going alone."

"There is a reason why Elain is seeing these things. She was right about the other queen turning old, about the Ravens attack—why is she being sent this image? Why is she hearing this queen? It must be vital. If we ignore it, perhaps we'll deserve to fail," Evelina said.

"I'll go," Lucien offered. He was staring at Elain as he spoke. They all looked at him. "I'll go. To find this sixth queen."

"What makes you think you could find her?" Rhys asked.

"This eye," Lucien gestured to the metal contraption. "It can see things that others can't. Spells, glamours. Perhaps it can help me find her. And break her curse. I'm not needed here. I'll fight if you need me to, but I do not belong in the Autumn Court. And I'm willing to bet I'm no longer welcome at h—the Spring Court. But I cannot sit here and do nothing. Those queens with their armies—there is a threat in that regard, too. So use me. Send me. I will find Vassa, see if she can bring help."

"You will be going into the human territory," Rhys warned. "I can't spare a force to guard you—"

"I don't need one. I travel faster on my own." His chin lifted. "I will find her. And if there's an army to bring back, or at least some way for her own story to sway the human forces, I'll find a way to do that, too."

"It will be—very dangerous," Evelina warned her old brother-in-law.

      A half smile curved Lucien's mouth. "Good. It'd be boring otherwise."

"I forget you're not a child anymore," Evelina sighed, shaking her head.

"I'll load you up with some Illyrian steel," Cassian grinned.

     Elain now watched Lucien warily. Blinking every now and then. She revealed no hint of whatever she might be seeing—sensing. None.

"I'll winnow you as close as we can get—to wherever you need to be to begin your hunt," Rhys said. "Thank you."

"Are you sure?" Feyre asked him.

"Yes. Let me help in whatever way I can."

"When do you want to leave?" Feyre asked.

"Tomorrow. I'll prepare for the rest of today, and leave after breakfast tomorrow morning." He added to Rhys, "If that works for you."

"For what you're about to do, Lucien, we'll make it work," Rhys promised.

Chapter Text

     Battle was something Astraea was unfamiliar with.

    Cassian had taught her self-defense, but that was all. The only reason she'd been able to murder Demetri was because he hadn't expected her to be as strong as she was. She had the element of surprise on her side.

    So when she heard that there had been an attack on the Summer Court, Astraea had been frustrated.

     Astraea was up the whole night, tending to the wounds the healers were unable to fix. Some of the injuries were minor, others were near fatal.

     Evelina spent the night going around the tents to make sure her daughter wasn't one of the dead or injured.

"Diana doesn't live anywhere near here, she's perfectly fine," Rhys had assured her. But Evelina had always been a neurotic female, so she continued to search.

    Despite the circumstances, Astraea was still struggling to be surrounded by so many people. She kept having to ground herself and take deep breaths.

    Of course, most of the males were injured or too focused on the war to intimidate her. But the screams of pain, the sobs, the panicked female healers. All of it was only adding to the anxiety that was welled up in her.

    Only a few Illyrians died during the night. But high up in the hills, the screams and wails of Tarquin's people rose to us on plumes of smoke from the still-burning fires Hybern had set. They continued burning when they left in the early hours after dawn, winnowing back to Velaris.

    Cassian and Azriel remained to lead the Illyrian legions to their new camp on our southern borders —and the former left from there to fly into the Steppes. To offer his condolences to a few of those families.

     Nesta was waiting for them in the foyer of the town house, Amren seething in a chair before the unlit fireplace of the sitting room.

"What happened?" Nesta demanded.

"There was a battle. We won," Rhys said.

"We know that," Amren said, her small feet near-silent on the rugs as she strode for them. "What happened with Tarquin?"

"Well, he didn't try to slaughter us on sight, so things went decently?" Feyre said.

"The royal family remains alive and well. Tarquin's armada suffered losses, but Cresseida and Varian were unscathed," Rhys explained to her.

   Something tight in Amren's face seemed to relax at the words—his careful, diplomatic words. But Nesta was glancing between them all, her back still stiff, mouth a thin line.

"We leave for the meeting in three days," Rhys said. "Send out dispatches to the other High Lords to inform them. And I'm done debating where to meet. Pick a place and be done with it."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

     Astraea took a very quick bath, just ensuring she got all the blood off of herself. She was going to take a very long nap.

     When she got out of the bath, I went to my bed, glancing at the clothes she had laid out. Her head turned towards the full-length mirror across the room.

     She stared at her naked body in the mirror, desperately looking for a part of her body that he had never touched.

     She could barely look at the name carved into her stomach without wanting to spill its contents into the trash can.

     Astraea hated what I saw. She despised it. It wasn't her body. It didn't belong to her anymore. She traced her fingers over the scars on her stomach.

     He had made sure they wouldn't heal. He'd done the same with her wings. She wished she could bring him back just to kill him again. 

     Astraea pulled on a pair of trousers, and then began putting her bra on. The door opened without a warning knock.

"'Raea, I really need to apologize because I can't stand when you're upset—"

     Morrigan trailed off when she saw the Illyrian. Her eyes went from the girl's face to her stomach, then widened in horror. 

     Morrigan was suddenly at her side without a word. She took a hand and grazed it over the scars. Astraea flinched, but then realized she was trying to heal them.

"It's too late for that," Astraea said quietly.

"Why didn't you tell us about this sooner?" Morrigan snapped. "We could've had a chance to heal them, then."

"Madja tried when I first returned. But I didn't want anyone to know about it," Astraea confessed. "It's embarrassing."

"I know," she admitted. "I'm sorry that I used him against you. I'm sorry I brought him up at all."

"I'm not upset," Astraea said quietly. "It was just hearing his name--"

"I know."

"How do you stand seeing your scars in the mirror every day?" Astraea whispered.  

     She stared at me for a second, then sighed, shrugging. She still had the scars from the sign being nailed to her womb.

"If my scars are exposed, I try not to look in the mirror," she confessed.

"My hands were one thing," Astraea mumbled. "I got over that eventually. But this is so personal. It's like he marked me as his and I'll never be able to get away from it."

"It doesn't mean anything," Morrigan promised, taking Astraea's hand in hers. "It's just a word, 'Raea."

"It's not just a word," Astraea insisted, her lower lip quivering. "It's a constant reminder of everything he put me through." The expression on her features told Astraea she knew that feeling very well.

     And she did know. Astraea knew she did. When Azriel had found her in the forest of Autumn, she would only talk to Iridessa, Evelina, and Astraea.

     She'd told Astraea how they had tortured her until they were both in tears. Astraea had held her and tried to tell her it'd be alright.

     Azriel, Cassian, Eve lina , and Astraea were all in the sitting room. Cassian was sobbing into his hands. He blamed himself. She tried to comfort him, but he was inconsolable.

    Azriel had found her two hours ago. When she'd been brought in, Astraea hadn't recognized her at first. She had been coated in blood, half-conscious, and bruises had marred her skin. Her hair was a mess of tangles and had been ripped out in places.

    Astraea had been so shaken by the sight that she'd sent Luna to bed immediately, then had to sit down. For two hours now, Astraea had been sitting there while the healers helped the girl. 

    The door opened softly, and Rhys and his father stepped out. Rhys came over to me first.

"She only wants to see you," Rhys told me. Astraea glanced up, but nodded.

     When Astraea got into her room, she was relieved to see that the healers had been able to mend most of her wounds.  But she was in tears.

"Morrigan," Astraea said, her voice breaking as she rushed over to her.

     Astraea got into the bed with her, and Morrigan carefully welcomed her embrace, sobbing onto her shoulder. Though most of her wounds were healed, Astraea was very gentle with her.

"I'm so sorry, Morrigan," Astraea whispered, stroking her hair. "I'm so sorry."

"All I wanted was to choose who I gave myself to," she cried.

"I know, Mor, I know," Astraea comforted, pressing a kiss to her head. She was so young. Only seventeen. Seven years younger than Astraea was.

"'Raea, how will I get over this?" she sniffled.

"With time," Astraea promised her. "It will get better. I promise you."

     Astraea had spent the last eight years living in comfort and happiness. No one had laid a violent hand on her. She'd had time to recover. But she could still feel those hands on her like it was yesterday. She was still plagued with nightmares every night. She still couldn't look at her body and think of it as hers. It was still his.

    Iridessa and Morrigan were the only ones who knew what Astraea had been through. Cassian had a vague idea of the conditions Luna was conceived in, but that was only because he was conceived in the same way. He'd guessed, and she'd confirmed that he was correct. She didn't tell him anything else.

    Two years back, Morrigan's mother caught her kissing another female. She had beaten Morrigan viciously and sent her to stay with them for a while. Her father, however, still remained oblivious to it.

    Astraea was the only one she confided in. The others didn't know why she'd gotten in so much trouble. Morrigan told her about all the abuse she'd suffered at the hands of her parents. Since she'd confided in Astraea, Astraea had confided in her. She'd told her of the abuse she had suffered.

"I thought they were going to kill me," she uttered.

      She was confiding in Astraea again. She was doing what Astraea had wanted to do for her entire childhood. She'd tried confiding in her mother, and had only been shut down. All she'd wanted was to be held by her mother.

      And Morrigan's mother was just as distant and awful as Astraea was. She realized that she could be for the young girl what she didn't have as a child. Astraea could tell her everything she desperately needed to hear, but never did. All of the things she had dreamed of hearing from her mother.

"You are so strong, Morrigan," Astraea told her, tears welling up in her eyes. "You survived it, and I'm so proud of you. I promise I will not leave your side until you ask me to. I swear. I will be here every step of the way."

Chapter Text

     Astraea's heart was beating out of her chest as she prepared for the meeting. She tried to calm herself. She knew every male who would be there. Most of them were good males, even friends of hers. She would be fine.

     She dressed in a floor-length violet satin gown with a subtle sheen, featuring a fitted bodice with a sweetheart neckline and delicate off-shoulder sleeves, flowing gracefully into a soft A-line skirt. 

     On her feet, she wore silver heels with a minimalist design to add height and sophistication without overpowering the dress.

     She added a pair of dangling amethyst earrings that she had gotten from Evelina for her birthday. She pulled her dark curls into a sleek, low bun and had Morrigan do her makeup. 

     Azriel and Cassian were in their Illyrian armor, all seven Siphons polished and gleaming. Mor had forgone her usual red for a revealing gown of midnight blue.

     Evelina was also in a revealing gown, but Azriel's shadows were covering the exposed parts of her body protectively.

     Feyre looked gorgeous in her beautiful dress as she stood atop the stairs. Rhys hadn't yet come downstairs, and there was no sign of Amren or Nesta to see them off.

"What?" Feyre asked Cassian as he gawked at her.

"You just look so--"

"Here we go," Morrigan muttered from where she picked at her red-tinted nails against the stair banister. 

"Official," Cassian said with an incredulous look in her direction. He waved a Siphon-topped hand to Feyre. "Fancy."

"Over five hundred years old," Mor said, shaking her head sadly, "a skilled warrior and general, famous throughout territories, and complimenting ladies is still something he finds next to impossible. Remind me why we bring you to diplomatic meetings?"

     Azriel chuckled, a hand on his mate's back. Cassian shot him a glare.

"I don't see you spouting poetry, brother."

"I don't need to resort to it," Azriel joked.

     Evelina snickered from beside him, Morrigan let out a crow of laughter, and Feyre snorted, earning a jab in the ribs from Cassian. Feyre batted his hand away.

     Rhys stepped off the stairs and took Feyre's hand.

"I thought you were leaving," Nesta's voice cut in from atop the stairs.

     Nesta was in a gown of darkest blue, with no jewelry to be seen. Her hair was swept up and unadorned as well. With her stunning beauty, she needed no ornamentation.

"You look beautiful," Nesta said to Feyre.

"That, Cassian, was what you were attempting to say," Morrigan joked.

"Thank you. You do as well," Feyre said to Nesta. Nesta only shrugged.

"Why are you dressed so nicely? Shouldn't you be practicing with Amren?" Feyre asked her.

"I'm going with you. I do not want to be remembered as a coward." 

"No one would say that," Feyre offered quietly.

"I would." Nesta surveyed them. "It was some distant thing War. Battle. It's not anymore. I will help, if I can. If it means telling them what happened."

"You've given enough," Feyre said, her dress rustling as she stepped towards her. "Amren claimed you were close to mastering whatever skill you need. You should stay—focus on that."

"No. A day or two delay with my training won't make any difference. Perhaps by the time we return, Amren will have decoded that spell in the Book." She shrugged with a shoulder. "You went off to battle for a court you barely know—who barely see you as friends. Amren showed me the blood ruby. And when I asked you why, you said because it was the right thing. People needed help." Her throat bobbed. "No one is going to fight to save the humans beneath the wall. No one cares. But I do." She toyed with a fold in her dress. "I do."

     Astraea wanted to speak up in comfort and assurance, but she stopped herself. She could see how difficult it was for Nesta to open up to them.

"As High Lady, Feyre is no longer my emissary to the human world," Rhys said to Nesta. "Want the job?"

"Consider this meeting a trial basis. And I'll make you pay through the teeth for my services," Nesta said.

"I would expect nothing less of an Archeron sister," Rhys joked. Feyre poked him in the ribs, and he huffed a laugh. "Welcome to the court. You're about to have one hell of a first day."

     A smile tugged at Nesta's mouth.

"No going back now," Cassian said to Rhys, gesturing to his wings.

"I figure it's time for the world to know who really has the largest wingspan," Rhys joked. Astraea groaned, but Cassian laughed, and even Azriel smiled.

"Twenty gold marks says there's a fight in the first hour," Cassian grinned. Astraea had to stop herself from scolding him for his habit of betting on every little thing. 

"Thirty, and I say within forty-five minutes," Morrigan said, crossing her arms.

"You do remember there are vows and wards of neutrality," Rhys said mildly.

"You lot don't need fists or magic to fight," Morrigan chirped.

"Fifty, and I say within thirty minutes. Started by Autumn," Evelina said from the door.

"Try not to look like you're all gambling on them. And no cheating by provoking fights," Rhys said. Their answering grins were anything but reassuring. Rhys sighed. "A hundred marks on a fight within fifteen minutes."

     Nesta let out a soft snort.

"Rhys and I are a team," Feyre said. "He can gamble away our money on this bullshit."

"A queen in appearance—" Rhys began.

"Don't even finish that," Feyre warned him. He laughed.

"Shall we?" he asked the group before him.

     Azriel instantly vanished. First to arrive—first to see if any trap awaited. In silence, they waited. One minute. Two.

     Then Rhys blew out a breath and said, "Clear."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

     Morrigan was gripping Astraea's hand when they entered the chambers. She knew Astraea was overwhelmed. Morrigan's hand in hers was enough to ground her.

     Thesan glided forward, his embroidered, exquisite shoes silent on the floor. His tunic was tightfitting through his slender chest, but flowing pants—much like those Amren favored—whispered with movement as he approached.

     His brown skin and hair were kissed with gold, as if the sunrise had permanently gilded them, but his upswept eyes, the rich brown of freshly tilled fields, were his loveliest feature. He paused a few feet away, taking in Rhys. The wings that Rhys kept folded behind him.

"Welcome," Thesan said. His lover monitored their every breath from a few feet behind. "Or, since you've called this meeting, perhaps you should be doing the welcoming?"

"I may have requested the meeting, Thesan, but you were the one gracious enough to offer up your beautiful residence."

"Your home is lovely," Feyre said to him.

     The other two High Lords approached, Helion and Kallias, High Lords of Winter and Day.

"Kallias," Rhys said to the white-haired one, whose skin was so pale it looked frozen.

     Even his crushing blue eyes seemed like chips hewn from a glacier as he studied Rhys's wings and seemed to instantly dismiss them.

     Viviane beamed at Morrigan, who returned it and squealed. Both females hurtled for each other, and Morrigan's squeal had turned to a quiet sob as she hugged her tight.

     Then they were laughing and crying and dancing around each other, pausing to study each other's faces, to wipe away tears, and then embracing again.

"You look the same," Viviane was saying. "I think that's the same dress I saw you in—"

"You look the same! Wearing fur in the middle of summer—how utterly typical—"

"You brought the usual suspects, it seems—"

"Thankfully, the company has been improved by some new arrivals—" Morrigan waved Feyre over. "Viviane, meet Feyre. Feyre, meet Viviane—Kallias's wife."

"I tried to suggest she stay at home," Kallias said drily, "but she threatened to freeze my balls off."

"Sounds familiar," Rhys joked.

"Wife," Viviane said. "You know, it still sounds strange to me. Every time someone says it, I keep looking over my shoulder as if it'll be someone else."

"I have yet to decide if I find it insulting. Since she says it every day," Kallias said. Viviane stuck out her tongue at him.

"It's about time," Morrigan said.

"Yes, well—everything was different after Under the Mountain. Thank you—for returning my mate to me."

"Mates?" Mor fizzed, glancing between them. "Married and mates?"

"You two do realize that this is a serious meeting," Rhys said.

"And that the fish in the pool are very sensitive to high-pitched sounds," Kallias added.

"Does Tamlin know what she is?" Helion finally spoke, after observing the conversation silently. His eyes had been on Feyre for most of it. 

"If you mean beautiful and clever, then yes—I think he does," Rhys joked. Helion leveled a flat look at him.

"Does he know she is your mate—and High Lady?" he rephrased.

"High Lady?" Viviane squeaked, but Morrigan shushed her, drawing her away to whisper.

"If he arrives," Rhys said smoothly, "I suppose we'll find out."

     Helion let out a dark laugh. "I always liked you, Rhysand."

     But Helion's attention snagged on Nesta. Lingered. She only stared right back at him. Unruffled, unimpressed.

"Who is your guest?" Helion asked.

"She is my sister, and our emissary to the human lands," Feyre said, stepping to her side. "And she will tell her story when the others are here."

"She is Fae."

"No shit," Viviane muttered under her breath, and Morrigan's snort was cut off as Kallias raised his brows at them. Helion ignored them.

"Who Made her?" Thesan asked politely, angling his head.

"Hybern did," Nesta said simply. Not a flicker of fear in her eyes, in her upraised chin. Stunned silence.

"They threw her in the Cauldron," Feyre said. "Along with my other sister, Elain." She sat, placing Nesta beside her, and gazed at the three assembled High Lords without an inch of manners or niceness or flattery. "After the High Priestess Ianthe and Tamlin sold out Prythian and my family to them."

     Nesta nodded her silent confirmation.

"That is a heavy accusation to make—especially of your former lover," Helion said to her.

"It is no accusation," Feyre said, folding her hands in her lap. "We were all there. And now we're going to do something about it."

Chapter Text

    The others arrived late.

    Everybody took their seats around the reflection pool, Thesan's impeccably mannered attendants brought plates of food and goblets of exotic juices from the tables against the wall. 

"Tarquin is here," Thesan announced an hour later. An uncomfortable silence spread.

"Heard about the blood rubies," Helion smirked at Rhys. "That is a story I want you to tell."

"All in good time," Rhys promised.

      Tarquin cleared the top step into the chamber, Varian and Cresseida flanking him. Varian glanced among the Night Court for someone who was not there, and glowered when he beheld Cassian. Cassian just gave him a cocky grin.

     Tarquin ignored all of them, Rhys's wings included, as he made vague apologies for the tardiness, blaming it on the attack. 

     An attendant whispered to Thesan that Beron and his sons had arrived. The smile instantly vanished from Morrigan's mouth and eyes.

     Evelina shifted uncomfortably, letting Azriel's wing wrap around her. His shadows were busy hiding her cleavage and midriff, as well as tugging down her skirt.

     Astraea was seated between Nesta and Morrigan. She took Morrigan's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, just as Morrigan had done for her when they entered.

     Nesta glanced down at their hands, but her face remained emotionless. She trained her focus back on the scene in front of her.

     The violence simmering the Night Court was enough to boil the pool at their toes as the High Lord of Autumn filed through the archway, his sons in rank behind him, his wife, Marzia, at his side.

     Her russet eyes scanned the room, as if looking for that missing son. They settled instead on Helion, who gave her a mocking incline of his dark head. She quickly averted her gaze. 

     Evelina lifted her head to meet the female's gaze, a sad longing in her eyes. Astraea felt for her sister, knowing how much she cared for the female.

     Marzia had been a second mother to her. Evelina had always felt like she betrayed her by leaving her behind. Marzia gave Evelina a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"It's no surprise that you're tardy, given that your own sons were too slow to catch my mate. I suppose it runs in the family," Rhys mused. 

"Mate—and High Lady," Beron observed.

     Eris's attention shifted to Morrigan, sweeping over her with disdain. Morrigan only stared blankly at him. 

"Rhysand, you have called this meeting. Pushed us to gather sooner than we intended. Now would be the time to explain what is so urgent?" Thesan asked.

"Surely the invading armies landing on our shores explain enough," Rhys said.

"So you have called us to do what, exactly?" Helion challenged. "Raise a unified army?"

"Among other things," Rhys said mildly. "We—"

     But then the door swung open. And Tamlin appeared, smiling like a wolf. Thesan rose, his captain remaining seated beside him—albeit with a hand on his sword. 

"We were not expecting you, Tamlin." Thesan gestured with a slender hand toward his cringing attendants. "Fetch the High Lord a chair."

     Tamlin did not tear his gaze from the High Lord and Lady of Night. His smile turned subdued—yet somehow more unnerving. More vicious.

"I will admit, Tamlin, that I am surprised to see you here," Beron said. Tamlin didn't alter his focus from Feyre. From every breath she took. "Rumor claims your allegiance now lies elsewhere."

     Tamlin sat, not saying a word.

"Let's get on with it, then," Helion sighed.

"It would seem congratulations are in order," Tamlin spoke up.

"We can discuss the matter at hand later," Rhys said.

"Don't stop on my account," Tamlin insisted.

"I'm not in the business of discussing our plans with enemies," Rhys declined.

"No," Tamlin said with equal ease, "you're just in the business of fucking them."

     Astraea was not a violent female, but she felt that she could've killed him for that. Evelina, Cassian, Azriel, and Morrigan were still as death—their fury rippling off them in silent waves. Rhys shrugged, smiling faintly.

"Seems a far less destructive alternative to war," Rhys said.

"And yet here you are, having started it in the first place. If you hadn't stolen my bride away in the night, Rhysand, I would not have been forced to take such drastic measures to get her back."

"And if you hadn't sold my mother out, my brother and father would not have been forced to take drastic measures to repay you," Evelina snarled. Tamlin's focus turned to the girl, his brow raised. 

"Evelina, I don't think we've met," Tamlin observed. "Though, Lucien's always had good things to say about you. Even though you left him behind when you escaped."

     Beron scoffed at the High Lord, but Evelina's face contorted into an expression of pain and guilt. Azriel glared at the male, one of his free shadows stroking Evelina's cheek in comfort.

"Enough," Azriel cut him off, his wing wrapping to fully hide his mate from sight. Astraea noticed the Lady of Autumn staring at her lap, trying to hide the grief from her expression.

     Evelina had told Astraea how she felt horrible leaving him, just a young boy at the time, behind in an abusive home. But she wasn't his mother. She would never have been able to get him out of there.

"Why are you here, Tamlin?" Thesan questioned.

"I bartered access to my lands to get back the woman I love from a sadist who plays with minds as if they are toys. I meant to fight Hybern—to find a way around the bargain I made with the king once she was back. Only Rhysand and his cabal had turned her into one of them. And she delighted in ripping open my territory for Hybern to invade. All for a petty grudge— either her own or her masters."

"You don't get to rewrite the narrative," Feyre breathed. "You don't get to spin this to your advantage."

     Tamlin only angled his head at Rhys. "When you fuck her, have you ever noticed that little noise she makes right before she climaxes?"

     Feyre's face went red. Astraea felt Morrigan's hand squeezing hers, not in reassurance but pure rage.

"Be careful how you speak about my High Lady," Azriel said smoothly. Astraea felt a hint of pride for her little brother. Surprise flashed in Tamlin's eyes—then vanished.

"It was not enough to sit at my side, was it?" he sneered at her. "You once asked me if youd be my High Lady, and when I said no. . . Perhaps I underestimated you. Why serve in my court, when you could rule in his? They peddle tales of defending our land and peace. And yet she came to my lands and laid them bare for Hybern. She took my High Priestess and warped her mind—after she shattered her bones for spite. And if you are asking yourself what happened to that human girl who went Under the Mountain to save us, look to the male beside her. Ask what he stands to gain—what they stand to gain from this war, or lack of it. Would we fight Hybern, only to find ourselves with a Queen and King of Prythian? She's proved her ambition—and you saw how he was more than happy to serve Amarantha to remain unscathed."

"Well played, Tamlin. You're learning," Rhys mocked.

"You asked why I'm here?" Tamlin asked Kallias. "I might ask the same of you. You mean to tell me that after Under the Mountain, you can stomach working with him?"

"We came here to decide that for ourselves," Vivianne said.

"I had no involvement in that. None," Rhys promised.

"You stood beside her throne while the order was given," Kallias insisted.

"I tried to stop it."

"Tell that to the parents of the two dozen younglings she butchered," Kallias said. "That you tried."

"There is not one day that passes when I don't remember it," he said to Kallias, to Viviane. To their companions. "Not one day."

"Remembering," Kallias said, "doesn't bring them back, does it?"

"No," Rhys said plainly. "No, it doesn't. And I am now fighting to make sure it never happens again."

"I was not present Under the Mountain. But I would hear, High Lord, how you tried to—stop her," Vivianne spoke up. 

"Finally speechless, Rhysand?" Beron chuckled. 

"I believe you," Feyre told her mate.

"Says the woman," Beron countered, "who gave an innocent girl's name in her stead—for Amarantha to butcher as well."

"When your people rebelled," Rhys began. "She was furious. She wanted you dead, Kallias. I  convinced her that it would serve little purpose."

"Who knew," Beron mused, "that a cock could be so persuasive?" Evelina looked about ready to explode at the male, but Azriel kept a firm hand on her shoulder.

"Father," Eris warned. 

"She backed off the idea of killing you. Your rebels were dead—I convinced her it was enough. I thought it was the end of it." His breathing hitched slightly. "I only found out when you did. I think she viewed my defense of you as a warning sign—she didn't tell me any of it. And she kept me confined. I tried to break into the minds of the soldiers she sent, but her damper on my power was too strong to hold them—and it was already done. She sent a daemati with them. The children's minds—they'd been shattered. I think she wanted you to suspect me. To keep us from ever allying against her."

"Where did she confine you?" Viviane asked. 

"Her bedroom."

"Stories and words," Tamlin said, lounging in his chair. "Is there any proof?"

"Proof—" Cassian snarled, half rising in his seat, wingsflaringe.

"No," Rhys cut in as Morrigan blocked Cassian with an arm, forcing him to sit. Rhys added to Kallias, "But I swear it—upon my mate's life." 

"Why are you here, Tamlin?" Kallias repeated to Tamlin.

"I am here to help you fight against Hybern."

"Bullshit," Cassian muttered.

"You will forgive us if we are doubtful. And hesitant to share any plans," Thesan spoke. 

"Even when I have information on Hybern's movements? Why do you think I invited them to the house? Into my lands? I once told you I would fight against tyranny, against that sort of evil. Did you think you were enough to turn me from that? It was so easy for you to call me a monster, despite all I did for you, for your family," he sneered at Nesta, who was frowning with distaste. "Yet you witnessed all that he did Under the Mountain, and still spread your legs for him. Fitting, I suppose. He whored for Amarantha for decades. Why shouldn't you be his whore in return?"

"Watch your mouth," Evelina snapped.

"I sometimes forget what you are. Have the masks come off now, or is this another ploy?" Tamlin asked Rhys.

"You're beginning to become tedious, Tamlin," Helion said. "Take your lovers' spat elsewhere and let the rest of us discuss this war."

"You'd be all too happy for war, considering how well you made out in the last one."

"No one says war can't be lucrative," Helion countered.

"Enough," Kallias said. "We have our opinions on how the conflict with Hybern should be dealt with. Are you here as an ally of Hybern or Prythian?"

"I stand against Hybern."

"Prove it," Helion goaded.

     Tamlin lifted his hand, and a stack of papers appeared on the little table beside his chair. "Charts of armies, ammunition, caches of faebane. Everything carefully gleaned these months."

"Noble as it sounds," Helion went on, "who is to say that information is correct—or that you aren't Hybern's agent, trying to mislead us?"

"Who is to say that Rhysand and his cronies are not agents of Hybern, all of this a ruse to get you to yield without realizing it?"

"You can't be serious," Nesta murmured.

"If we need to ally against Hybern," Thesan said, "you are doing a good job of convincing us not to band together, Tamlin."

"I am simply warning you that they might present the guise of honesty and friendship, but the fact remains that he warmed Amarantha's bed for fifty years, and only worked against her when it seemed the tide was turning. I'm warning you that while he claims his own city was attacked by Hybern, they made off remarkably well, as if they'd been anticipating it. Don't think he wouldn't sacrifice a few buildings and lesser faeries to lure you into an alliance, into thinking you had a common enemy. Why is it that only the Night Court got word about the attack on Adriata, and were the only ones to arrive in time to play savior?"

"They received word," Varian cut in, "because I warned them of it."

"Perhaps you're working with them, too," Tamlin told the Prince of Adriata. "You're next in line, after all."

"You're insane," Feyre breathed to Tamlin as Varian bared his teeth. "Do you hear what you're saying?" She pointed toward Nesta. "Hybern turned my sisters into Fae—after your bitch of a priestess sold them out!"

"Perhaps Ianthe's mind was already in Rhysand's thrall. And what a tragedy to remain young and beautiful. You're a good actress—I'm sure the trait runs in the family."

"That's ridiculous," Astraea bristled, her eyes narrowing.

      Tamlin stared at Astraea, his gaze flitting to Nesta, then back to her. He smiled cruelly, and suddenly felt a lot less brave than before.

"Astraea," he greeted, a smile flitting to his lips. "Tell me, how did you manage to escape your master?" She tensed. "Lucien told me you stabbed him 25 times."

"Yes, I did," Astraea confirmed. "And I will have no problem doing the same to you."

"Would I at least get to fuck you first?" Tamlin wondered. Astraea flinched at the words, Morrigan taking her hand again and squeezing it to keep her calm.

"Speak one more word to my sister or my mate, and I will carve your tongue out," Azriel snarled, making it clear to the entire room that the threat was anything but empty.

     The words were intimidating enough that Tamlin shifted his focus back to Feyre.

"What do you want?" Feyre hissed. "An apology? For me to crawl back into your bed and play nice, little wife?"

"Why should I want spoiled goods returned to me? The moment you let him fuck you like an—"

     One heartbeat, the poisoned words were spewing from his mouth, where fangs lengthened. Then they stopped.

     Tamlin's mouth simply stopped emitting sounds. He shut his mouth, opened it, and tried again. No sound, not even a snarl, came out.

     There was no smile on Rhysand's face, not a glint of that irreverent amusement as he rested his head against the back of his chair.

"The gasping-fish look is a good one for you, Tamlin," Rhys joked.

Chapter Text

     Tamlin's eyes were green flame, golden light flickering around him as his magic sought to wrest free from Rhysand's control. As he tried and tried to speak.

"If you want proof that we are not scheming with Hybern," Rhysand said, "consider the fact that it would be far less time-consuming to slice into your minds and make you do my bidding." 

     Only Beron was stupid enough to scoff. Eris was just angling his body in his chair, blocking the path to his mother.

"Yet here I am," Rhysand went on. "Here we all are."

"Despite Varian's unsanctioned warning," Tarquin began, a glare at his cousin, "You were the only ones who came to help. The only ones. And yet you asked for nothing in return. Why?"

"Isn't that what friends do?" Rhys asked softly.

"I rescind the blood rubies. Let there be no debts between us," Tarquin decided. 

"Don't expect Amren to return hers," Cassian muttered. "She's grown attached to it."

     Varian smiled a bit. But Rhys turned to Tamlin. "I believe you. That you will fight for Prythian." Kallias didn't appear so convinced. Neither did Helion.

     Rhys loosened his grasp on Tamlin's voice, who snarled. But Tamlin made no move to attack, to even speak.

"War is upon us," Rhysand declared. "I have no interest in wasting energy arguing amongst ourselves."

"You may be inclined to believe him, Rhysand, but as someone who shares a border with his court, I am not so easily swayed," Beron said. "Perhaps my errant son can clarify. Pray, where is he?"

"Helping to guard our city," Feyre said.

      Eris snorted and surveyed Nesta, who stared back at him with steel in her face. "Pity you didn't bring the other sister. I hear our little brother's mate is quite the beauty."

"You still certainly like to hear yourself talk, Eris," Morrigan said. "Good to know some things don't change over the centuries."

"Good to know that after five hundred years, you still dress like a slut."

      One moment, Azriel was seated. The next, he'd blasted through Eris's shield with a flare of blue light and tackled him backward, wood shattering beneath them. Evelina shrieked, being thrown toward Cassian, who caught her. 

"Shit," Cassian spat, and was instantly there—And met a wall of blue.

     Azriel had sealed them in, and as his scarred hands wrapped around Eris's throat, Rhys said, "Enough."

     Azriel squeezed, Eris thrashing beneath him. No physical brawling—there had been a rule against that, but Azriel, with whatever power those shadows gave him.

"Enough, Azriel," Rhys ordered.

     Perhaps those shadows that now slid and eddied around the shadowsinger hid him from the wrath of the binding magic. 

    Azriel dug his knee—and all his weight—into Eris's gut. He was silent, utterly silent as he ripped the air from Eris's body. Over and over, Beron's flames struck the blue shield, but the fire skittered off and fizzled out on the water. Any that escaped were torn to shreds by shadows.

"Talk to him, 'Raea!" Cassian snapped.

"Why should I?" Astraea demanded.

     Mor was squeezing my hand so tightly, her breathing was unsteady, and her eyes were on the floor. Astraea wasn't particularly upset with Azriel for his reaction. 

     But Evelina rose from her seat. She walked toward her mate, placing her hand on the hard, near-invisible curve of the shield and said, "Come, Azriel."

     Azriel stopped.

"Come sit beside me again, my love."

     Azriel's eyes slid to Eris, the High Lord's son, panting beneath him. And the shadowsinger leaned down to whisper something in his ear that made Eris blanch further.

     But the shield dropped. The shadows lightened into sunshine.

     Beron struck—only for his fire to bounce off a barrier Evelina had put up. She lifted her gaze to the High Lord of Autumn.

"You may have had control over my powers centuries ago, but you don't anymore," Evelina snarled at Beron, her eyes narrowed into a glare. "If you piss me off any further, you won't like the consequences."

     Helion laughed, eyes glinting with amusement. When Evelina had married Elio Vanserra, she'd been forced to wear a wedding ring made with faebane--one that was impossible to take off. It was customary for females in the Autumn Court. 

     She'd been without access to her powers for three centuries. But when she escaped the Autumn Court, Helion came to the Night Court and helped her take the ring off with enchanted shears that he had made specifically to save Autumn Court females from a magic-less life. 

      Morrigan opened her mouth to say something to Azriel, but Astraea put a hand on her shoulder and shook her head.

      Evelina walked to the table and poured a glass of wine, bringing it to Azriel.

"They are my family," Evelina said. "I don't care if we are allies in this war. If you insult my cousin again, I won't stop my mate the next time."

"Apologies, Morrigan," Eris said to the girl.

     His father gawked at the words. But something like approval shone on the Lady of Autumn's face as her eldest son settled himself again.

"This does not bode well," Thesan sighed.

"Looks like you owe me ten gold marks," Helion smirked. 

     Helion waved a hand, and the stacks of papers Tamlin had compiled drifted over to him on a phantom wind. With a snap of his fingers—scar-flecked from swordplay—other stacks appeared before every chair in the room.

"Replicas," he said without looking up as he leafed through the documents.

"If all of this is true," Helion announced. "Then I'd suggest two things: first, destroying Hybern's caches of faebane. We won't last long if they've made them into so many versatile weapons. It's worth the risk to destroy them."

"How would you suggest we do that?" Kallias asked.

"We'll handle it," Tarquin offered. "We owe them for Adriata."

"There is no need," Thesan said. "A master tinkerer of mine has been waiting for the past several hours. I would like for her to now join us." 

     Before anyone could reply, a High Fae female appeared at the edge of the circle. She bowed so quickly that Astraea barely glimpsed more than her light brown skin and long, silken black hair. 

"My Lord," she bowed.

"Nuan is one of my most skilled craftspeople," Thesan said. He turned to Beron. "You might know her as the person responsible for granting your errant son, as you called him, the ability to use his left eye after Amarantha removed it."

"And what has this to do with the faebane?" Helion demanded.

     Nuan turned, her dark hair slipping over a shoulder as she studied Helion. And did not seem impressed.

"Because I found a solution for it."

"We heard rumors of faebane being used in this war—used in the attack on your city, Rhysand," Thesan said. "We thought to look into the issue before it became a deadly weakness for all of us. Beyond her unparalleled tinkering, she is a skilled alchemist."

"Thanks to samples attained after the attack in Velaris, I was able to create an  antidote, of sorts."

"How did you get those samples?" Cassian demanded.

"I heard the rumors and assumed Lucien Vanserra would be residing there after what happened. I managed to contact him a few days ago—asked him to send samples. He did—and did not tell you," she added quickly to Rhysand, "because he did not want to raise your hopes. Not until I'd found a solution. The Mother has provided us with everything we need on this earth. So it has been a matter of finding what, exactly, she gave us in Prythian to combat a material from Hybern capable of wiping out our powers."

"Nuan has been able to quickly create a powder for us to ingest in drink, food, however you please. It grants immunity from the faebane," Thesan went on. "I already have workers in three of my cities manufacturing as much of it as possible to hand out to our unified armies."

"But what of physical objects made from faebane?" Tarquin asked. "They possessed gauntlets at the battle to smash through shields. And when they attacked your own city."

"Against that," Nuan said, "you only have your wits to protect you. The compound I've made will only protect you—your powers—from being rendered void by the faebane. Perhaps if you are pierced with a weapon tipped in faebane, having the compound in your system will negate its impact."

"And we are supposed to trust you with this substance we're to blindly ingest," Beron drawled.

"Would you rather face Hybern without any power?" Thesan demanded. "My master alchemists and tinkerers are no fools."

"No," Beron said, "but where did she come from? Who are you?" The last bit was directed at Nuan.

"I am the daughter of two High Fae from Xian, who moved here to give their children a better life, if that is what you are demanding to know," Nuan answered.

"What does this have to do with anything?" Helion demanded.

"If her family is from Xian—which Ill have you remember fought for the Loyalists—then whose interests does she serve?" Beron asked.

"I will have you remember, Beron, that my own mother hailed from Xian," Thesan said. "And a large majority of my court did as well. Be careful what you say."

"I am a child of Prythian. I was born here, on this land, as your sons were," Nuan said.

"Watch your tone, girl," Beron warned.

"She doesn't have to watch anything," Feyre cut in. "Not when you fling that sort of horseshit at her." She looked to the alchemist. "I will take your antidote."

"Father," Eris began.

"You have something to add?" Beron demanded of his son.

     Eris didn't flinch, but he seemed to choose his words very, very carefully. "I have seen the effects of faebane. It truly renders us unable to tap our power. If it's wielded against us in war or beyond it—"

"If it is, we shall face it. I will not risk my people or family in testing out a theory."

"It is no theory," Nuan said. "I would not stand here unless it had been proved without a doubt."

"I will take it," Eris decided. Astraea raised an eyebrow.

"No, you will not. Though I'm sure your brothers will be sorry to hear it," Beron spat.

"Then don't take it. I will. My entire court will, as will my armies," Rhys decided. He gave a thankful nod to Nuan.

"At least you have armies to give it to," Tamlin said. "Though perhaps that was part of the plan. Disable my force while your own swept in. Or was it just to see my people suffer? Surely you knew that when you turned my forces on me, it would leave my people defenseless against Hybern. You primed my court to fall. And it did. Those villages you wanted so badly to help rebuild? They're nothing more than cinders now. And while you've been making antidotes and casting yourselves as saviors, I've been piecing together my forces—regaining their trust, their numbers. Trying to gather my people in the East—where Hybern has not yet marched."

"So you won't be taking the antidote, then," Nesta drawled. Astraea bit her lip to keep from smiling.

"You said you had two suggestions based on the information you analyzed," Thesan said, getting them back on track.

"Indeed, though it seems Tamlin is already ahead of me," Helion said. "The Spring Court must be evacuated. Surely your northern neighbors will welcome them."

"We do not have the resources for such a thing," Beron snarled.

"Right," Viviane said, "because everyone's too busy polishing every jewel in that trove of yours."

     Beron threw her a glare that had Kallias tensing. "Wives were invited as a courtesy, not as consultants."

"If this war goes poorly, we'll be bleeding out right alongside you, so I think we damn well get a say in things," Vivianne glared.

"Hybern will do far worse things than kill you," Beron counted coolly. "A young, pretty thing like you, especially."

     Kallias's snarl rippled the water in the reflection pool, echoed by Morrigan's own growl.

"Only three of us were present for the last war," Beron said. A nod to Rhys and Helion, whose faces darkened. "One does not easily forget what Hybern and the Loyalists did to captured females in their war-camps. What they reserved for High Fae females who either fought for the humans or had families who did." He put a heavy hand on his wife's too-thin arm. "Her two sisters bought her time to run when Hybern's forces ambushed their lands. The two ladies did not walk out of that war-camp again."

"We will take your people," Tarquin cut in quietly to Tamlin. "Regardless of your involvement with Hybern your people are innocent. There is plenty of room in my territory. We will take all of them, if need be."

"So the Seasonal Courts are to become the charnel houses and hostels, while the Solar Courts remain pristine here in the North?" Beron asked.

"Hybern has focused its efforts on the southern half," Rhys said. "To be close to the wall—and human lands. Why bother to go through the northern climes—through faerie territories on the continent, when you could claim the South and use it to go directly to the human lands of the continent?"

"And you believe the human armies there will bow to Hybern?" Thesan asked.

"Its queens sold us out," Nesta said. She lifted her chin, poised as any emissary. "For the gift of immortality, the human queens will allow Hybern in to sweep away any resistance. They might very well hand over control of their armies to him. Where do the humans on our island go? We cannot evacuate them to the continent, and with the wall intact, many might rather risk waiting than cross over the wall anyway."

"The fate of the humans below the wall," Beron cut in, "is none of our concern. Especially in a spit of land with no queen, no army."

"It is my concern," Feyre said. "Humans are nearly defenseless against our kind."

"So go waste your own soldiers defending them," Beron said. "I will not send my own forces to protect chattel."

"You're a coward," Feyre breathed. Even Rhys tensed.

"The same could be claimed of you," he said to her.

"I don't need to explain myself to you."

"No, but perhaps to that girl's family—but they're dead, too, aren't they? Butchered and burned to death in their own beds. Funny, that you should now seek to defend humans when you were all too happy to offer them up to save yourself."

"As my lady said," Rhys drawled, "she does not need to explain herself to you."

"Then I suppose I don't need to explain my motivations, either."

"Your staggering generosity aside, will you be joining our forces?"

"I have not yet decided."

     Eris went so far as to give his father a look bordering on reproach. From genuine alarm or for what that refusal might mean for our own covert alliance, Astraea couldn't tell.

"Armies take time to raise," Astraea spoke up. "We will need to know who is joining us so we can organize a plan."

"I don't take orders from lesser fae whores," Beron spat at her.

      Astraea narrowed her eyes at him, but her anger didn't seem near the rage of her family as they glared at him.

"Get out if you're not going to be helpful," Feyre said.

"Did you know that while your mate was warming Amarantha's bed, most of our people were locked beneath that mountain?" Beron hissed. "Did you know that while he had his head between her legs, most of us were fighting to keep our families from becoming the nightly entertainment?" 

"That's enough, Beron," Tarquin murmured.

"And now Rhysand wants to play hero. Amarantha's Whore becomes Hyberns Destroyer. But if it goes badly," A cruel, cold smile. "Will he get on his knees for Hybern? Or just spread his—"

     Fire exploded out of Feyre. Raging, white-hot flame that blasted into Beron like a lance.

Chapter Text

   Beron shielded barely fast enough to block her, but the wake singed Eris's arm—right through the cloth. And the pale, lovely arm of the Lady of Autumn.

   The others shouted, shooting to their feet. Feyre stood and sent a wave of water from the reflection pond to encircle Beron and his chair. A bubble without air. 

   Flame pounded against it, turning water to steam, but she pushed harder. People were screaming, Rhysand was yelling for her to stop.

   Beron's flame barrier slammed into her water, hard enough that ripples began to form, steam hissing amongst them.

   She sent a fist of white light punching into that fiery shield—the white light of Day. Spell-breaker. Ward-cleaver.

   Beron's eyes widened as his shields began to fray. As that water pushed in. Rhys jumped in front of her, holding her face in his hands. And she let go of her magic.

   Berons flames exploded like an unfurling flower—and bounced harmlessly off the shield Rhys had thrown around us.

"That was how you got through my wards," Tarquin murmured.

"I wondered where it went—that little bit," Helion sighed. "So small—like a fish missing a single scale. But I still felt whenever something brushed against that empty spot. No wonder you made her High Lady."

"I made her High Lady because I love her. Her power was the last thing I considered."

"You knew of her powers?" Helion asked Tamlin.

"It was none of your business," was all Tamlin said to Helion.

"The power belongs to us. I think it is," Beron seethed.

   The Lady of Autumn was clutching her arm, angry red splattered along the moon-white skin. No glimmer of pain on that face, though.

"Im sorry," Feyre said to the Lady.

"Dont talk to her, you human filth," Beron spat.

   Rhys shattered through Berons shield, his fire, his defenses. Shattered through them like a stone hurled into a window, and slammed his dark power into Beron so hard he rocked back in his seat. Then that seat disintegrated into black, sparkling dust beneath him. Leaving Beron to fall on his ass.

   Glittering ebony dust drifted away on a phantom wind, staining Berons crimson jacket, clinging like clumps of ash to his brown hair.

"Dont ever," Rhys said, hands sliding into his pockets, "speak to my mate like that again."

   Beron shot to his feet, not bothering to brush off the dust, and declared to no one in particular, "This meeting is over. I hope Hybern butchers you all."

   But Nesta rose from her chair.

"This meeting is not over."

   I stared at the female, my eyes wide. Even Beron paused at her tone. Eris sized up the space between Nesta and his father.

"You are all there is," she said. "You are all that there is between Hybern and the end of everything that is good and decent. You fought against Hybern in the last war. Why do you refuse to do so now? You may hate us. I dont care if you do. But I do care if you let innocents suffer and die. At least stand for them. Your people. For Hybern will make an example of them. Of all of us."

"And you know this how?" Beron sneered.

"I went into the Cauldron," Nesta said flatly. "It showed me his heart. He will bring down the wall, and butcher those on either side of it." She turned to Kallias and Vivianne. "I am sorry for the loss of those children. The loss of one is abhorrent. But beneath the wall, I witnessed children—entire families—starve to death. Were it not for my sister I would be among them. Too long. For too long have humans beneath the wall suffered and died while you in Prythian thrived. Not during that—queens reign. But long before. If you fight for anything—fight now, to protect those you forgot. Let them know theyre not forgotten. Just this once."

   I watched her in awe. She had a way with her words.

"While a noble sentiment, the details of the Treaty did not demand we provide for our human neighbors. They were to be left alone. So we obeyed," Thesan said.

"The past is the past. What I care about is the road ahead. What I care about is making sure no children—Fae or human—are harmed. You have been entrusted with protecting this land. How can you not fight for it?"

"I shall consider it," Beron said.

   A look at his family, and they vanished.

"Did you master the ice?" Kallias asked Feyre.

"All of it."

"Does it make a difference, Kal?" Viviane asked her husband, placing a hand on his arm.

"I dont know," he admitted.

"You saved us Under the Mountain. Losing a kernel of power seems a worthy payment," Tarquin decided.

"It seems she took far more than that," Helion argued, "if she could be within seconds of drowning Beron despite the wards."

"Whats done is done. Short of killing her, there is nothing we can do," Thesan spoke.

"I did not take your power. You gave it to me, along with the gift of my immortal life. I am grateful for both. But they are mine now. And I will do with them what I will. I will use these powers—my powers—to smash Hybern to bits. I will burn them, and drown them, and freeze them. I will use these powers to heal the injured. To shatter through Hybern's wards. I have done so already, and I will do so again. And if you think that my possession of a kernel of your magic is your biggest problem, then your priorities are severely out of order."

"I will fight with you," Viviane decided, getting to her feet.

"As will I," Cresseida stood.

   Tarquin and Kallias rose. Then Helion, smirking. And finally Thesan—Thesan and Tamlin.

"You are all welcome to stay the night and resume this discussion in the morning—unless you wish to return to your own homes for the evening," Thesan announced.

   We were shown toward the suites appointed for us—the sunstone turning a deep gold in the late afternoon sun.

"That went well. It would seem none of us won our bet about who'd fight first," Rhys joked.

   I raised an amused eyebrow at my little brother, who was staring, stone faced at the floor.

"Sorry," he said, the word emotionless.

"He had it coming," Viviane said. "Eris is a piece of shit." Kallias turned to his mate with high brows. "What? He is."

"Be that as it may," Kallias said with cool humor, "the question remains about whether Beron will fight with us."

"If all the others are allying," Eve began, "Beron will join. Hes too smart to risk siding with Hybern and losing. And Im sure if things go badly, he'll easily switch over."

"How many troops do you have?" Rhys asked Kallias.

"Not enough. Amarantha did her job well. We've got the army that Viv commanded and hid, but not much else. You?"

"We have sizable forces. Mostly Illyrian legions. And a few thousand Darkbringers. But we'll need every soldier who can march."

"I always knew we'd fight alongside each other one day," Viviane said to Mor, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Its almost enough to make me feel bad for Hybern," Mor joked.

"Almost," Viviane grinned wickedly. "But not quite."

Chapter Text

   We were led to a suite built around a lavish sitting area and private dining room. All of it carved from that sunstone, bedecked in jewel-toned fabrics, broad cushions clumped along the thick carpets, and overlooked by ornate golden cages filled with birds of all shapes and sizes.

"How did Thesan keep Amarantha from trashing this place?" Feyre asked Rhys as we surveyed the sitting room that opened to the hazy sprawl of countryside far, far below.

"Its his private residence." Rhys dismissed his wings and slumped onto a pile of emerald cushions near the darkened fireplace. "He likely shielded it the same way Kallias and I did."

   I glanced to Azriel, who was currently leaning against the wall beside the floor-to-ceiling window. Eve was leaning next to him, muttering words I couldn't hear as she stroked his hair, shadows wrapped around the two of them.

   Mor was indeed sprawled on a couch—one wary eye on Azriel. Cassian sat beside her, holding her feet in his lap.

   I sat down in a chair across from them. Nesta had retired to her own room without a word—and remained there. I couldn't deny my disappointment.

   A knock thudded at the door.

"Don't open it," I warned. "Even with the shield, don't open it."

"Wise," Rhys said, prowling to the front door, "but unnecessary."

   He opened the door, revealing Helion—alone. A smile of relief spread across my face. Helion braced a hand on the door frame and grinned.

"Howd you convince Thesan to give you the better view?" Helion asked.

"He finds my males to be prettier than yours, I think," Rhys joked.

"I think its a wing fetish."

   Rhys laughed and opened the door wider, beckoning him in. "Youve really mastered the swaggering prick performance, by the way. Expertly done," Helion complimented.

   Helions robe swayed with his graceful steps, brushing his powerful thighs. He spied Feyre standing by the round table in the center of the foyer and bowed.

"Apologies for the bastard act," he said to her. "Old habits and all."

   I got to my feet and went over to the man. He opened his arms and I jumped into them, letting him embrace me.

"How've you been, kid?" he asked me. It didn't matter that I was five centuries old, I would always be a kid to him.

"As good as I can be," I replied as I pulled away.

   He ruffled my hair like he used to many centuries ago and I grinned, pushing his hand away from me. I sat back down and he turned to Rhys.

"You were on unnaturally nice behavior today. I was betting Beron would be dead by the end of it—you cant imagine my shock that he walked out alive."

"My mate suggested it would be in our favor to appear as we truly are."

"Well, now I look as bad as Beron," Helion scoffed. He grinned at Azriel. "You handing Eris's ass to him will be my new fantasy at night, by the way."

   I rolled my eyes. Azriel didnt so much as bother to look over his shoulder at the High Lord. But Cassian snorted.

"I was wondering when the come-ons would begin," Cassian said with a sigh. Helion sat between him and Mor on the couch.

"Its been what—four centuries now, and you three still havent accepted my offer," Helion said.

"I don't share my mate," Evelina said to him.

"You never know until you try," Helion purred.

   Helion had been hounding Cassian, Azriel, Eve, and Mor about a night in bed for centuries. Rhys seemed to be explaining that to Feyre mind to mind, because after a few minutes, the scent of their arousal filled the air.

"Whatever you're saying mind to mind, either share it or go to another room so we dont have to sit here, stewing in your scents," Morrigan spoke up.

   I nodded my agreement. Feyre stuck her tongue out. Rhys just laughed and kissed Feyre's neck.

"Apologies for offending your delicate sensibilities, cousin," Rhys joked.

"Are your forces ready?" Cassian asked Helion.

"Yes. Theyll rendezvous with yours in the Myrmidons," he replied.

"Good," Cassian said, rubbing at the arch of Mors foot. "We'll push south from there."

"With the final encampment being where?" Mor asked.

"We join Thesans forces, then eventually make camp along Kalliass southwestern border—near the Summer Court," I said to him. Cassian and I had pulled multiple all nighters coming up with plans.

"You and pretty Tarquin had a moment today," Helion said to Rhys. "Do you truly think he'll join us?"

"If you mean in bed, definitely not," Rhys said with a wry smile as he again sprawled on his spread of cushions. "But if you mean in this war Yes. I believe he means to fight. Beron, on the other hand "

"Hybern is focusing on the South," Helion said. "And regardless of what you think Tamlins up to, the Spring Court is now mostly occupied. Beron has to realize his court will be a battleground if he doesnt join us to push southward—especially if Summer has joined us."

"Will Beron choose to listen to reason, though?" Mor mused.

"He played games in the War and it cost him—dearly. His people still remember those choices—those losses. His own damn wife remembers," Helion sighed. I bit the inside of my lip at his mention of her.

"What do you mean?" Feyre asked.

"Marzia's two older sisters were indeed butchered. Tormented, and then butchered, during the War."

"Hyberns forces had swarmed our lands by that point," Rhys explained.

"Marzia was sent to stay with her sisters, her younger children packed off to other relatives. To spread out the bloodline. Hybern attacked their estate. Her sisters bought her time to run. Not because she was married to Beron, but because they loved each other. Fiercely. She tried to stay, but they convinced her to go. So she did—she ran and ran, but Hyberns beasts were still faster. Stronger. They cornered her at a ravine, where she became trapped atop a ledge, the beasts snapping at her feet."

"You saved her. You found her, didnt you?" Feyre guessed.

"I did."

"What happened?"

"I tore the beasts apart with my bare hands."

"Why?"

"She was still young—though shed been married to that delightful male for decades. Married too young, the marriage arranged when she was twenty."

"So?"

"I heard a rumor once, Helion, that she waited before agreeing to that marriage," Mor spoke. "For a certain someone who had met her by chance at an equinox ball the year before."

"Interesting," Helion said. "I heard her family wanted internal ties to power, and that they didnt give her a choice before they sold her to Beron." I glanced over at Eve, who had hidden her face in her mate's neck once the conversation had shifted.

"Too bad theyre just rumors," Rhys cut in smoothly, "and cant be confirmed by anyone."

"Does Beron know you saved his wife in the War?" Feyre asked.

"Cauldron, no."

"You had—an affair after you rescued her?" Feyre guessed.

"Careful, High Lady. Even the birds report to Thesan here," Helion joked.

"How long did the affair last?" she asked.

"Is that a polite question for a High Lady to be asking?" he joked. "On and off for decades. Until Beron found out. They say the lady was all brightness and smiles before that. And after Beron was through with her. . . you saw what she is."

"What did he do to her?"

"The same things he does now." Helion waved a hand. "Belittle her, leave bruises where no one but him will see them."

"He was that way to her before he found out about the affair," Eve admitted. "It just got worse after. And I left without her. I left her there."

"Starling, don't do that to yourself," Rhys scolded his twin. "She loves you. Under the Mountain, she sought me out and demanded to know where her daughter-in-law was. She was so insistent about your safety, I nearly dropped my mask."

   Eve's eyes welled up at the words, causing Azriel to hold her closer, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

"If you were her lover, why didnt you stop it?" Feyre asked Helion.

"Beron is a High Lord, and she is his wife, mother of his brood. She chose to stay. Chose. And with the protocols and rules, Lady, you will find that most situations like the one you were in do not end well for those who interfere."

"You barely even looked at her today," Feyre insisted.

"We have more important matters at hand."

"Beron never called you out for it?"

"To publicly do so would be to admit that his possession made a fool of him. So we continue our little dance, these centuries later."

"You High Lords really do love your melodrama, dont you?" Feyre joked.

"In your libraries, have you ever encountered a mention of how the wall might be repaired?" Rhys changed the subject.

   Helion began asking why we wanted to know, what Hybern was doing with the Cauldron and Rhys fed him answers, easily and smoothly.

   A door opened and shut in the foyer beyond, and I braced myself as Nesta appeared. Helion paused his debating the wall to survey her carefully, as he had done earlier.

"Im—" Helion began to introduce.

"I dont care," Nesta said with a snap of her wrist, striding right past him and up to Feyre's side. "Id like a word. Now."

   I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face. Feyre left the room with Nesta. Cassian went off with them. When he returned, his face was grave.

"Nesta senses that something is wrong," he announced.

"What?" Rhys demanded.

"She says we need to leave," he explained.

   Within moments, Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel had vanished, leaving me, Mor, Eve, and Helion in alert silence.

"You are just as quiet as you were centuries ago," Helion informed me. I sneered at him as Morrigan laughed.

   As ridiculous as he was, I had a soft spot in my heart for him. He was the first male to ever show me kindness.  

   Azriel's father was the most important Lord in Illyria. He saw to all the armies, and therefore was invited to some important meetings with the High Lords and their wives.

    Once I started my cycle for the first time, Demitri began dragging me along, declaring I was old enough. He'd put me in revealing dresses and show me off, sitting me on his lap.

   Most of the High Lords and their wives just ignored me. I got a few pitying glances from the females. The Lady of Night stood up for me once, but since had just glared at my master and his father.

   The only one to be outright cruel to me was Beron. He made a few remarks every now and then that would make me want to disappear. His wife would send me apologetic glances.

   When the meeting was over, Demitri went over to his father to talk with him and Beron about the Illyrian warriors helping them with something.

   I sat in a chair quietly, not moving as I had been told.

   A male with dark skin and hair walked over to me with a smile. Not a leering smile like I was used to, but a kind one.

"Hello, young one," he greeted me. I glanced over to make sure Demitri wasn't watching me.

"Hello," I said very quietly.

"I'm Helion, High Lord of Day," he introduced himself. "What's your name?"

"They don't call me by my name," I admitted, staring at my lap as I fidgeted with the revealing material of my dress.

"I will."

"Astraea," I said the word so quietly, so no one else would hear.

"That's a very pretty name," he smiled, kneeling before me. "How old are you, Astraea?"

"I don't know," I confessed, my cheeks going red. His eyes filled with a bit of sadness.

   He glanced at my arm, his brows furrowing as he noticed a nasty bruise on my wrist.

"Oh dear," he fussed. "Let me help you with that." I flinched away as he took my wrist in his hand. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

   I studied him for a second before placing my arm in his open palm. He put his other palm on the bruise. A light shone, and before I knew it, the bruise had healed.

   I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face at my fascination.

"Thank you," I whispered, staring in wonder. "That was amazing."

"I brought you something," he said.

   I raised a brow. I'd never spoken to him before. He must've seen me at the last meeting and felt bad enough to bring me something.

   He dipped his hand into his pocket and placed two small things into my hand. I studied them for a second.

"Is this candy?" I asked, my eyes wide. He nodded with a smile. "I haven't had candy in so long."

"I glamoured it so they won't see," he winked.

   I smiled, blinking back grateful tears. No one had ever been so kind to me before.

"Thank you," I whispered.

   When the meeting was over, I was thrown back into my cell, the door slamming and locking behind me. I got to my feet.

"Raea!" my brother exclaimed.

"Az," I sighed, going over to him.

   I sat on our mattress and he jumped into my lap, immediately leaning into my embrace as I pressed kisses to the top of his head.

"You were gone for so long," he said lowly.

"Lo siento," I apologized. "I didn't have a choice." I never had a choice.

"I already ate dinner," he told me. "But yours is still here." I glanced over to see a plate of mushy food. I cringed, shaking my head.

"I have something special for you," I told him. I handed him a piece of candy.

"What is it?"

"It's food," I answered. "Good food. Just unwrap it."

   He had never experienced good food before,  let alone candy. My mother and I had a few good meals when I was a child. When we could afford it. I'd had candy once or twice before.

   His eyes lit up when he tasted it, making me smile a bit.

"Isn't it good?" I teased. He nodded, finishing it quickly. I ate my own piece, being sure to cherish it.

Chapter Text

   I'd barely been able to sleep that night. Partly from worry of what Nesta had told us, but also because my room was next to Morrigan's, and she and Helion were at it all night.

   Mor didn't look like a female who had been tumbling with a gorgeous High Lord, however, as she picked at her breakfast. There was something vacant in her brown eyes, a paleness to her ordinarily golden skin.

   I wondered why she still went to bed with males. Even as a teenager, she'd told me of her preference for females. I figured it was a way to distract herself.

"You look terrible—Helion keep you up all night?" Cassian joked to her as he strode in.

   She threw her spoon at him. Then her porridge. Cassian caught the first and shielded against the other, his Siphon blazing like an awakening ember. Porridge slid to the floor.

"Helion wanted you to join," she mildly replied, refilling her tea. "Quite badly."

"Maybe next time," Cassian said, dropping into the seat beside Feyre.

"Is Nesta doing alright?" I wondered, poking at my porridge with my spoon.

"She seemed fine—still worried," Feyre replied.

"Ready for another day full of arguing and plotting?" Eve beamed at us.

   Mor and Feyre grumbled, and I rolled my eyes. Rhys strode in and grinned. "Thats the spirit."

   After breakfast, Eve and I went up to her room to decide what to wear. She let me borrow a modest black dress.

   Eve, however, did not dress modestly. I'd thought her outfit the previous day was just to shock and anger Beron, but maybe I was wrong.

"Where was Az all night?" I asked her as we dressed.

"I don't know," she replied quietly. "I'm scared to ask. And he knows I hate when he puts himself in danger, even though it's his job."

"I know, dulzura," I said quietly, rubbing her shoulder. "I hate it, too."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

   Helion was back to his edged, swaggering aloofness, lounging in his chair as we entered that lovely chamber atop one of the palaces many gilded towers. He gave Mor an extra glance, lips curving in sensual amusement. He was resplendent today in robes of cobalt edged in gold that offset his gleaming brown skin, golden sandals upon his feet.

   Thesan was the only person who bothered to greet us when we passed through that wisteriadraped archway, but he took one look at our attire, our faces, and muttered a prayer to the Cauldron.

   His lover, clad in his captains armor once more, sized us up, his wings flaring slightly, but kept seated with the other Peregryns.

   Tamlin arrived last, raking his gaze over all of us as he sat.

"I thoroughly reviewed the charts and figures youve compiled, Tamlin," Helion spoke.

"And?" Tamlin bit out.

"And," Helion said simply, no trace of the laughing, easy male of the night before, "if you can rally your forces quickly, you and Tarquin might be able to hold the front line long enough for those of us above the Middle to bring the larger hosts."

"Its not that easy," Tamlin said through his teeth. "I have a third of them left. After Feyre destroyed their faith in me."

   Nesta let out a breathy, sharp noise and surged from her chair.

   Feyre lunged for her, nearly tripping over the skirts of her dress as she staggered back, a hand clutching at her chest. Another step would have taken her stumbling into the reflection pool, but I sprang forward, gripping her.

"Whats wrong?" I demanded, holding Nesta upright as her face contorted in what looked to be—pain. Confusion and pain. Sweat beaded on Nestas brow, though her face went deathly pale.

"Something--" The word was cut off by a low groan. She sagged, and I caught her fully, scanning Nestas face.

"Nesta," Feyre said, reaching for her.

   Nesta seized—then twisted past me to empty her stomach into the reflection pool.

"Poison?" Kallias asked, pushing Viviane behind him. She merely stepped around his arm. Tamlin remained seated, his jaw a hard line, monitoring us all.

   But Helion and Thesan strode forward, grim and focused. Helions power flickered around him like blindingly bright fireflies, darting to Nesta, landing on her gently.

   Thesan, glowing gold and rosy, laid a hand on Nestas arm. Healing.

"Nothing," they said together.

    Nesta rested her head against my shoulder, her breathing ragged. "Something is wrong," she managed to say. "Not with me. Not me."

   But with the Cauldron.

   Rhys was having some sort of silent conversation with Azriel and Cassian. But the two Illyrians nodded to Rhys, and began stalking for the open windows—to fly out.

   Nesta moaned, body tensing as if she'd vomit again.

   But then we felt it.

   A shuddering through the earth. Through air and stone and green, growing things. As if some great god blew a breath across the land.

   Then the impact came.

   I gripped Nesta close to me to keep her steady. Mor and Eve clutched onto each other, and Rhys threw himself over Feyre.

   Then it stopped.

   Screaming rose up from the valley below. But silence reigned in the palace. Amongst us.

   Nesta vomited again, and I held her hair back, keeping her on her feet.

"What in hell—" Helion began.

   But Rhys hauled his body off Feyre's, his tan face draining of color. His lips going bloodless as he stared southward. Far, far southward.

"The King of Hybern just used the Cauldron to attack the wall."

    Murmuring—some gasps. Rhys swallowed a third time. "The wall is gone. Shattered. Across Prythian, and on the continent. We were too late—too slow. Hybern just destroyed the wall."

Chapter Text

   When we got back to the town house that evening, Rhys told us we were to prepare to travel to the Illyrian camps the next day.

   Even at the height of summer, the Illyrian mountain-camp was damp. Brisk. I'd always hated the mountains.

   Lord Devlon sneered at us, standing in front of his army of Illyrians. A few of Azriel's shadows wrapped around my wrists in comfort, and Eve stepped in front of me. The fact that they thought of my comfort even in a time like this made my heart swell.

"It's true, then. The wall came down," Devlon spoke.

"A temporary failure," Rhys crooned.

   Rhys began giving unwavering, cold instructions about the impending push southward. The voice of the High Lord—the voice of a warrior who had fought in the War and had no intention of losing this one.

   Cassian frequently added his own orders and clarifications. Azriel just stared them all down. We both greatly disliked being back here. We hated these people and our heritage.

   The other lords kept glancing to my brother in dread and rage and disgust. He only leveled that lethal gaze back at them.

"What is that," Devlon asked, looking at Nesta.

    Nesta merely stared at him, one hand clamping the edges of her gray cloak together at her chest. One of the other camp-lords made some sign against evil.

"That," Cassian said, "is none of your concern."

"Is she a witch."

"Yes," Nesta said flatly. I would've laughed if the situation weren't dire.

"She may act like one sometimes," Cassian clarified, "but no—she is High Fae."

"She is no more High Fae than we are," Devlon countered. "Keep her away from the females and children."

   Mor let out a snort that made the Illyrians stiffen. But she shifted, revealing Elain behind her. Elain was just blinking, wide-eyed, at the camp. The army.

   Devlon let out a grunt at the sight of her. But Elain wrapped her own blue cloak around herself, averting her eyes from all of those towering, muscled warriors.

"Dont be afraid of them," Nesta said beneath lowered brows.

"Lets find something warm to drink," Feyre said to her sisters, beckoning Mor, Eve, and me to join.

   We aimed for the largest of the tents in the camp, a black banner sewn with a mountain and three silver stars flapping from its apex. Warriors and females laboring around the fires silently monitored us. Nesta stared them all down. Elain kept her focus on the dry, rocky ground.

    The tents interior was simple yet luxurious: thick carpets covered the low wooden platform on which the tent had been erected to keep out the damp; braziers of faelights flickered throughout, chairs and a few chaise longues were scattered around, covered in thick furs. A massive desk with several chairs occupied one half of the main space.

   Eve flung herself onto the nearest chaise. "Welcome to an Illyrian war-camp, ladies. Try to keep your awe contained."

"What is the difference," Nesta asked none of us in particular, "between a faerie and a witch?"

"Witches amass power beyond their natural reserve," Mor answered with sudden seriousness. "They use spells and archaic tools to harness more power to them than the Cauldron allotted—and use it for whatever they desire, good or ill."

"Will—will many of these soldiers die?" Elain asked.

"Yes," Nesta said.

"Whenever youre ready, Elain, I'll glamour you," Mor said.

"Will it hurt?" Elain asked.

"It didnt when Tamlin glamoured your memories," Nesta said, leaning against the desk.

"No. It might  tingle. Just act as you would as a human," Mor told her.

"Its the same as how I act now." Elain began wringing her slender fingers.

"Yes," Feyre said, "but  try to keep the vision-talk  to yourself. While were there. Unless its something that you cant—"

"I can," Elain said, squaring her slim shoulders. "I will."

"Deep breath."

   Elain obeyed. Then, gone was the faint glow of immortal health; the face that had become a bit sharper. Gone were the pointed ears, the grace. Muted. Drab—or in the way that someone as beautiful as Elain could be drab. Even her hair seemed to have lost its luster, the gold now brassy, the brown mousy.

"I hadnt realized how ordinary it looked," Elain said, studying her hands

"Youre still lovely," Mor said a bit gently.

"I suppose that war makes wanting things like that unimportant," Elain acknowledged.

"Perhaps. But you should not let war steal it from you regardless."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

   They took Elain back to the mortal lands to ask a favor of her ex fiancé. Eve and I both stayed behind.

   They discovered Jurian, who was on our side, and who also warned them that Hybern was planning to attacked the Summer Court in the morning.

   I made my way to my tent that night, more tired than I had been in a while. I ducked down, entering the tent, only to see someone already there.

"What are you doing here?" Nesta sneered at me.

"This is my tent," I replied.

"No, it's my tent," she shot back, pursing her lips.

"Then, I guess we're sharing," I shrugged.

"Your wings will take up the whole bed," she snarled.

"No, they won't," I replied, rolling my eyes. "I'll lay on my side and wrap them around myself, leaving you plenty of room."

   She grumbled something to herself as I got beneath the covers. She was reluctant, but she climbed into the bed beside me, turning over so she wasn't facing me.

   I shivered, trying to warm myself beneath the covers. Being in a tent in the cold mountains reminded me of the breeding camp I'd spent a month in at sixteen.

   I didn't think of the camp very often. It was nothing compared to what I endured before that, and I had mostly blacked it out.

   Being kept in the cold, losing blood, not being fed often, I really didn't remember much. I considered that a blessing.

   I remembered the beginning and the end.

   I remembered that I was kept in a small tent with ten other females around my age. We were all half dead by the time I was rescued.

    I was only nearly conscious for some of it. The things I remembered were hazy. Some of the girls were sold by their desperate or cruel families as I was, others were taken.

   I was only half conscious. I wasn't sure how long I'd been in this camp. Most of the girls were farther gone than I was, but some of them still took care of themselves.

   One of the older ones even made sure to take care of the rest of us. She would help us eat when they brought us our meals.

"Astraea Mae?" I heard. I groaned, trying to look up at him. "You have a visitor."

   That couldn't have been good. I felt them grabbing my arms and pulling me to my feet. They dragged me out of the tent. I couldn't stand on my own.

   I was brought to one of the nearby houses that I'd never been in. I opened my fluttering eyelids, seeing a female.

"Mother above," the female whispered when she saw me.

   I forced my vision to focus on her. I recognized her. She was the Lady of the Night Court.

   She was friends with my mother when I was a very little girl. Before Azriel had been born. I had vague memories of her then.

   She also attended meetings I had been dragged to by Demitri. She once berated Demitri in front of everyone for what he was doing to me. It didn't stop anything, but it was the first time anyone had ever stood up for me.

"Are you okay, dulzura?" she asked quietly, rushing to my side. I couldn't answer. She turned to the males. "I'm speaking to the High Lord, and he is shutting down this camp. Those girls will be either taken back to their families or given to families that will care for them. And I am taking Astraea with me."

   She took me into her arms and suddenly, we were gone. I'd only experienced winnowing once, and it was terrifying.

   When I looked around, we were in a small cabin. I collapsed, and she grabbed me so I didn't fall. She helped me up the stairs and took me into a bathroom. There was a bathtub filled with warm water.

"Your brother is here," she said quietly. My head snapped up, my gaze meeting hers.

"Where?"

"He's in training now," she explained. "He'll be home for dinner tonight. But you need to get some rest and food before then."

"Thank you," I whispered. "He's okay?" She nodded.

"I'm going to need to help you bathe," she told me. "You're too weak to be in here on your own."

   I woke with a gasp, sitting straight up in the bed, my breaths uneven, tears staining my cheeks. Nesta groaned, sitting up as well.

"What is wrong?" she asked, the words rude, not concerned.

"Nothing," I sighed, placing a hand over my beating heart. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"It was impossible for me to fall asleep the first time," she grumbled. "No use trying again." She laid back down with an annoyed sigh.

"You really should train with Cassian," I spoke up. "I doubt you'll do well, but you should try."

"You don't think I can hold my own with Cassian?" Nesta demanded.

"It took me 200 years to be able to take him in a fight," I smirked, laying down and turning on my side to face her. She rolled over on her side as well, staring at me.

"You can take him in a fight?" Nesta doubted.

"Your lack of faith in me is insulting. He is much bigger than I am, yes, but I am quicker. Lighter on my feet."

"But you won't fight in the war," she observed.

"Well, I'm not that well trained," I chuckled. "I can hold my own in hand-to hand combat with another person. Not an army."

"You killed him," Nesta said carefully. "The man that took you." I glanced at her, surprised at the words.

"Yes," I recalled with a nod. "I wouldn't have been able to do it without training."

"How did you kill him?"

"I stabbed him twenty-five times," I replied. She raised an eyebrow. "He deserved it."

"I'm sure he did," she replied, the words surprisingly genuine. I gave her a warm smile before closing my eyes again.

Chapter Text

   My role was the same as it was last time we fought for Summer. I was brought warriors that had wounds not serious enough for healers, but not tame enough for them to deal with.

   I stitched up open cuts, treated burns, and set bones for hours. As tiring as it was, it felt nice to help people.

   Nesta, Feyre, and Eve were helping me when Rhys and Cassian approached, still in their armor, Azriel nowhere to be found.

   Rhys took a seat on the log Feyre was perched atop of, armor thudding, and silently pressed a kiss to her temple.

   His helmet clunked on the ground at our feet. Feyre silently handed him a pitcher of water, and made to grab a glass when Rhys just lifted the pewter container and drank right from it.

"Diana's name is not on the list of civilian casualties," Cassian informed Eve.

   The tension Eve had about her all day disappeared, and she let out a sob of relief. Morrigan wrapped an arm around her. Eve had been worried sick about her daughter all day.

"Where's my husband?" Eve demanded.

"He's leading team after team of scouts to find the rest of Hybern's host, to try to discover their next movement," Cassian answered, wincing as he put pressure on his right arm to shift his weight on the log.

"Cassian, you're hurt," I snapped, going to his side.

"Its fine," Cassian grumbled, his voice tired.

  I reached for his arm—his shield arm. Cassian seemed to hesitate, but offered it to me, tapping the Siphon atop his palm. The armor slid back a fraction over his forearm, revealing—

"You know better than to walk around with an injury," Rhys said a bit tensely.

"I was busy," Cassian said. "And it'll be fixed by morning."

   I pursed my lips, gently probing his golden-brown skin, and he hissed through his teeth.

"Yeah, you sound fine," I rolled my eyes. "Stubborn Illyrian males."

   I reached for the basket of bandages Feyre had been preparing, then for the pitcher at my feet. I washed his wrist, his hand. I wrapped bandages around his wrist.

"Thanks," he said hoarsely.

"What would we ever do without you," Rhys sighed at me. I smiled, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"You're hurt?" Mor asked Cassian as she came by.

"Nothing for you to cry over, dont worry," Cassian joked.

   I helped with the wounded long into the night, Mor, Feyre, Eve, and Nesta working alongside me. A long day for all of us.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

   Nesta and I shared a tent again, and this time she didn't seem so upset about it. She got into the bed without complaining, as did I.

"How did you know Cassian was wounded?" Nesta asked me, both of us laying on our sides, facing each other.

"I've known him since he was nine years old," I replied. "He's my little brother. I can read him like a book."

"Where did you learn to tend to the wounded like that?" she asked me, her blue-grey eyes looking truly curious.

"During the first war," I replied.

"Is that where you and Azriel got the scars on your hands?" she wondered.

   My brows raised in surprise, not sure why she cared. I didn't like to talk about my scars. What if she thought I was oversharing?

"No," I answered.

"What happened, then?" she asked.

"Do you remember the male that I killed?" I asked her.

"Yes," she responded, nodding slowly.

"He was Azriel's half brother," I confessed to her. "On his father's side. Az and I have different fathers. When I was thirteen, I upset him. To punish me, he and his other brother set Azriel and I's hands on fire."

   She stared at me with an expression I couldn't read. She blinked a few times, then took one of my hands in hers. She studied the scars, tracing them with her fingers. 

"He really did deserve what you did to him, then," she said through gritted teeth as her grip tightened on my hand.

"My hands still bear the scars of his cruelty," I explained. "But I consider the marks to be part of myself. They are a reminder of what I survived and the cost of fighting for my freedom."

   I hadn't started feeling that way until very recently. I used to just see the pain I'd caused my brother when I looked at them.

"Azriel's still ashamed of his, though," I went on. "And I do still feel guilty that he suffered that because of me."

"It was because of his brothers, not you," she said, finally letting go of my hand.

   As she pulled her hand away, I saw a long scar across the length of her palm, ending by her thumb.

"Where'd that scar come from?" I asked her, taking her delicate, pale hand in mine. She refused to meet my eyes.

"My grandmother used to whip my hands," she confessed to me, her cheeks a bit red.

   My heart ached for her. I raised her palm to my lips and pressed a kiss to the scar. Her head whipped up, and she stared at me as though I had ripped her hand clean off.

"You didn't deserve that, Nessie," I murmured. She pulled her hand away from me.

"I'm going to sleep," she announced, turning around in the bed. 

Chapter Text

   In the midst of battle, Morrigan had lost Feyre. While Eve had teased her for it, Rhys was in shambles.

   A healer was working on Cassian. He'd gotten sliced up on his stomach, the wound horrific.

   I was stitching up Eve's hand. She'd managed to get sliced pretty badly, but not bad enough to warrant a healer.

   Azriel was fussing over her, wincing every time she took a harsh breath as the needle pierced her skin.

   After a while, Feyre shoved through flaps of the tent that we were all sitting in, Rhys close behind her.

"How," Feyre rasped as she took in Cassian's wounds.

"Where were you," Morrigan demanded.

   She was soaked, bloody, and coated in mud. Azriel and Eve were, too. I had the blood of other warriors I had been tending to on me, but it wasn't nearly as bad as my family.

"All done, nena," I said to Eve quietly as I tied off the last stitch and cut the thread. I lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to it, careful to avoid the wound.

   She loosed a breath of relief. One of Azriel's shadows began swirling around the stitches, almost as fussy as its master.

"Is he--is he going to--" Feyre managed.

"No," the healer said without looking at her. "He'll be sore for a few days, though."

"How," Feyre repeated.

"He wouldnt wait for us," Mor said flatly. "He kept charging—trying to re-form the line. One of their commanders engaged him. He wouldnt turn away. By the time Az got there, he was down."

   Azriels face was stone-cold, even as he held his mate to him, his hazel eyes fixed unrelentingly upon Cassian's knitting wound.

"Where did you go?" Mor rephrased.

"If youre about to fight," the healer said sharply, "take it outside. My patient doesnt need to hear this."

   None of them moved.

"You are, as always, free to go wherever and whenever you wish," Rhys remined his mate. "But what I think Mor is saying is, try to leave a note the next time."

"Im sorry," she said. Mor didnt so much as look at her.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Rhys replied, hand sliding to cup her cheek. "You decided to take things into your own hands, and got us valuable information in the process. But, we have been lucky. Keeping a step ahead—keeping out of Hyberns claws. Even if today today wasnt so fortunate on the battlefield. But the cynic in me wonders if our luck is about to expire. And I would rather it not end with you."

   The two of them had a silent conversation in their heads. I turned my gaze back to Cassian, a pang in my chest as the sight of him in pain.

   Rhys perched on the foot of the cot as Cassians eyes at last opened, and the general let out a groan of pain.

"Thats what you get," the healer chided. "For stepping in front of a sword. Rest tonight and tomorrow. I know better than to insist on a third day after that, but try not to leap in front of blades anytime soon."

   Cassian just blinked rather dazedly at her before she bowed to Rhys and me and left.

"How bad," he asked, his voice hoarse.

"How bad was your injury," Rhys said mildly, "or how badly did we have our asses kicked?"

   Cassian blinked again. Slowly. As if whatever sedative hed been given still held sway.

"To answer the second question," Rhys went on, voice sharpening, "we managed. Keir took heavy hits, but we won. Barely. To answer the first . . . Dont you ever pull that kind of shit again."

   The glaze wore off Cassians eyes as he heard the challenge, the anger, and tried to sit up. He hissed, scowling down at the red, angry slice down his chest.

"Your guts were hanging out, you stupid prick," Rhys snapped. "Az held them in for you." I winced, wrinkling my nose at the words.

"Im a soldier," Cassian said flatly. "Its part of the job."

"I gave you an order to wait," Rhys growled. "You ignored it."

"The line was breaking," Cassian retorted. "Your order was bullshit."

   Rhys braced his hands on either side of Cassians legs and snarled in his face, "I am your High Lord. You dont get to disregard orders you dont like."

   Cassian sat up this time, swearing at the pain lingering in his body. "Dont you pull rank because youre pissed off—"

"You and your damned theatrics on the battlefield nearly got you killed. Im not pissed. Im furious."

"So youre allowed to be mad about our choices to protect you—and were not allowed to be furious with you for your self-sacrificing bullshit?"

"You could have died," was all Rhys said, his voice raw.

"So could you."

"Even after Hybern, I cant stomach it," Rhys admitted.

   Feyre strode out of the tent. Mor followed. I sighed, getting to my feet and giving my brother and his mate a look. They both followed us out. 

   Nesta stood by the nearest tent, an empty water bucket between her feet. Her hair a damp mess atop her mud-flecked head. Watching us emerge, grim-faced—

"You okay, Nessie?" I asked her. She nodded, for once not snarling at me for calling her that.

"Shouldnt you be refilling that bucket?" Mor sneered. Nesta went stiff. Sized up Mor. But Mor didnt flinch from that look.

   After a moment, Nesta picked up her bucket, mud caked up to her shins, and continued on, steps squelching. Azriel mumbled something to Eve, leading her to their tent.

"She didnt bother to tell anyone that you left," Mor snapped at Feyre.

"Nesta is many things, but shes certainly loyal," Feyre joked. Morrigan didn't smile.

"You lied."

   She stormed for her own tent, and with that comment, Feyre following her. I sighed, irritated at being left alone.

   I found my way back to my tent. Nesta was splashing her face with the water she had collected. I watched her as I collapsed on our bed.

"Is Cassian okay?" she wondered.

"Yes," I replied. "He'll just be sore for a while."

    She went silent for a minute, then dared to speak again.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice quiet.

"I'm fine," I sighed. "Just shaken up."

   Cassian was a ruthless, terrifying warrior. He was the tallest and most muscular of my brothers. But when I looked in his eyes, I still saw that nine year old boy I'd been so fond of.

   I was rubbing my swollen stomach as I laid back in my bed. I was ten months pregnant, ready to give birth any day now. Iridessa put me on bed rest, and I wasn't complaining.

   The door opened and a pair of hazel eyes peeked through. I tried my best to smile in welcome. Cassian came in, closing the door behind him.

"Why aren't you training?" I asked the young boy.

"I didn't feel well today," he grumbled, climbing into my bed. "You look terrible."

"Thanks, Cass," I chuckled, ruffling his hair.

"Your hair is a mess," he observed.

"I can't reach my arms to take care of it," I sighed. My belly was much too big to do anything comfortably.

"Do you want me to braid it for you?"

   The offer nearly made tears well in my eyes. It was so strange, having people care for me. Take care of me.

"That'd be lovely," I smiled. "My hairbrush is on the dresser."

    He took the hairbrush as I sat up. He climbed behind me and started brushing my tangled hair.

"Did the baby's father die?" he asked me.

"No, he's probably alive," I said quietly, not wanting to think of the babies father. Truthfully, I hadn't known his name.

"Were you in a camp?" he wondered. I furrowed my brows, turning to glance at him. "He hurt you, didn't he?"

"How do you know about that?" I wondered. He glanced down at his lap, fidgeting with his hands.

"My mother was in a camp," he admitted to me. "I don't know who my father is, but I know he was mean to her. He hurt her."

   I sighed, reached out to stroke the boys cheek. That was why he'd been so kind to me after he'd found out about my pregnancy.

"I'm sorry, Cass."

Chapter Text

   Half an hour passed before we were called to the main tent, where Amren had brought the book.

"Did you bring them?" Rhys asked Amren as Nesta and I silently approached the table.

   Amren reached into the pocket of her pewter cloak and chucked a black velvet bag onto the desk. It clacked and thunked as it hit the wood.

"Bones and stones."

   Nesta only angled her head at the sight of the bag. She lifted the bag, studying it.

"So, I scatter these like some backstreet charlatan and it'll find the Cauldron?"

"Something like that," Amren confirmed with a low laugh.

   Nesta untied the small pouch and dumped out its contents. Three stones, four bones. The latter were brown and gleamed with age; the former were white as the moon and smooth as glass, each marked with a thin, reedy letter I did not recognize.

"Three stones for the faces of the Mother," Amren said upon seeing Nesta's raised brows. "Four bones for whatever reason the charlatans came up with that I cant be bothered to remember."

   Nesta and Rhys both snorted. I bit my lip to keep from smiling.

"So what—I just shake them around in my hands and chuck them? How am I to make sense of any of it?" Nesta asked.

"We can figure it out," Cassian said, his voice rough and weary. The fact that he wasn't resting in bed irritated me. "But start with holding them in your hands and thinking about the Cauldron."

"Dont just think about it," Amren corrected. "You must cast your mind toward it. Find the bond that links you."

"I--am I to touch it?" Nesta asked, her voice shaky with the nerves she was trying to hide.

"No," Amren warned. "Just come close. Find it, but do not interact."

   Nesta still didn't move. I understood her hesitation. Feyre told me Nesta had a hard time even taking a bath because it reminded her of the cauldron. I got to my feet and went to her side.

"You're okay, Nessie," I murmured in her ear, so no one else heard me. "We won't let anything hurt you."

   Nesta glanced at me, nodding before she finally shut her eyes. I placed a hand on her lower back to steady her.

   Nesta stood before the map, a fist of bones and stones clenched over it. Her eyes shifted beneath their lids, as if scanning the world.

"I don't see anything."

"Go deeper," Amren urged. "Find that tether between you."

   She stiffened, but I stepped closer, and she settled again. A minute went by. Then another. A muscle twitched on Nesta's brow. Her hand bobbed. Her breath then came fast and hard, her lips curling back as she panted through her teeth.

"Nes?" I asked.

"Quiet," Amren snapped.

   A small noise came out of her—one of terror that had my stomach dropping.

"Where is it, girl," Amren coaxed. "Open your hand. Let us see."

   Nesta's fingers only clutched tighter, the whites of her knuckles as stark as the stones held within them.

   Too deep—whatever she had done—

   Feyre's eyes glossed over, and I realized she was going into her sister's mind.

"Open your fist," Feyre ordered. "Open it now. Open it now, or it will get in here. Open it now, Nesta!"

   With a gasp, Nesta's fingers splayed wide, scattering stones and bones over the map. I caught her with an arm around the waist as she swayed.

"Look," Amren breathed.

   The stones and bones formed a perfect, tight circle around a spot on the map.

✧: *✧:*:✧*:✧

   Rhys called in Tarquin and Helion to show them what we'd discovered. Too few. We had too few soldiers, even with three armies here, to take on that host.

"Kallias will arrive soon," Helion said, dragging his hands through his onyx hair.

"He'd have to bring forty thousand soldiers," Cassian said. "I doubt he has half that."

   Rhys was staring and staring at that cluster of stones and bones on the map.

"We'll rest on it," Tarquin said, blowing out a breath. "Meet at dawn tomorrow. Making a decision after a long day never helped anyone."

   Helion agreed, and saw himself out.

"We'll find a way to face this," Tarquin insisted.

   Rhys nodded, while Cassian's mouth quirked to the side. He'd slid back into his chair for the discussion, and now nursed a cup of some healing brew Evelina had fetched for him.

   Tarquin turned from the table, just as the tent flaps parted for a pair of broad shoulders--Varian. He didn't so much as look at his High Lord, his focus going right to where Amren sat at the head of the table.

   Amren's eyes flicked up from the Book as Varian halted. A coy smile curved her red lips. There was still blood and dirt splattered on Varian's brown skin, coating his silver armor and close-cropped white hair. He didn't seem to notice or care as he strode for Amren.

   And none of us dared to speak as Varian dropped to his knees before Amren's chair, took her shocked face in his broad hands, and kissed her soundly.

   Amren wrapped her legs around his waist, and he stood, lifting her in one swift movement. They continued kissing as they left the tent. Rhys let out a low laugh.

"I suppose that's how Varian decided hed tell Amren he was feeling rather grateful she ordered us to go to Adriata," Rhys joked.

"We'll alternate who has to deal with them on holidays," Tarquin cringed.

   I glanced over at Nesta as the rest of them laughed. She was pale, staring ahead. I wondered what she had seen. It must've been bad, because Feyre was still shaken up.

"Do you want something to eat, or are you too tired?" I asked Nesta.

"Tired," she replied.

   I nodded, getting to my feet. I helped the girl up and let her lean on me as we made our way back to our tent.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked as we got into our shared bed.

"No," she replied in a hushed voice.

✧: *✧:*:✧*:✧

   I awoke to Nesta jolting awake, her breaths heavy and panicked.

"What's wrong?" I grumbled, wiping the sleep from my eyes.

   She didn't answer me. She just got out of the bed, wrapping a shawl over her shoulders before leaving. I cursed, following her.

  I rushed after her, seeing Feyre and Rhys coming out of their tent. Nesta hurried towards Feyre, who seemed just as panicked.

"You hear it, too," Nesta panted to her sister.

   Amren's small figure darted around a tent, wearing what looked to be Varian's shirt, who followed after her.

"It came here--its power. I can feel it slithering around. Looking," Amren observed.

"The Cauldron," Varian said, brows narrowing. "But—it's aware?"

"We pried too deep," Amren said. "Battle aside, it knows where we are as much as we now know its location."

"Listen," Nesta whispered, holding up a hand.

"I can't hear anything," Rhys said. I nodded my agreement.

"You were not Made," Amren snapped.

"What does it want?" Feyre asked.

   I glanced over at the rustling of a tent as Azriel and Evelina emerged. Azriel approached, keeping Eve behind him protectively.

"What is that," Azriel demanded.

"You hear it?" Feyre asked him. He shook his head.

"No, but the shadows, the wind . . . They recoil," he explained.

"I think its leaving," Feyre whispered.

   Cassian stumbled and staggered for us a moment later, a hand braced on his chest, Mor on his heels. There was tension between her and Feyre as Rhys told them.

"Hybern knows where we are by now. The Cauldron likely wanted to have a look for itself. After we taunted it," Amren explained.

"Let's pray that's the last we see of it," Feyre mumbled, rubbing her face.

"So you three, because you were Made, you can hear it? Sense it?" Varian asked, angling his head.

"It would appear so," Amren said.

"What about Elain?" Azriel wondered, his eyebrows furrowing.

  My eyes widened. Nesta was just staring at Azriel. Staring and staring--Then she broke into a run.

"Elain--" Nesta shoved open the tent.

   She stopped short so fast, Feyre slammed into her. Nesta flung herself inside.

"Elain!" I heard her scream.

   Feyre whirled back into the camp, scanning the tents nearby. Rhys winnowed away.

   I followed Azriel as he stalked to Feyre's side, right into the tent where Nesta had now come to her feet. He tucked his wings in tightly as he squeezed through the narrow space, ignoring Nesta's snarl of warning, and knelt at the cot.

   He ran a scarred hand over the rumpled blankets.

"Theyre still warm," he observed.

"The Cauldron," Feyre breathed. "The Cauldron was fading away—going somewhere—"

   Rhys appeared out of the night, his blade now sheathed across his back. There was something in his hands. No emotion on his carefully neutral face.

   Nesta let out a sound that might have been a sob as she realized what he'd found at the edge of the forest. What the Cauldron had left behind in its haste to return to Hybern's war-camp. Or as a mocking gift.

   Elain's dark blue cloak, still warm from her body

Chapter Text

   I paced Feyre's tent as we all gathered there. Nesta sat with her head in her hands, not speaking or moving.

"We'll get her back," Cassian promised.

"You won't do anything, Cassian," I snapped at the male who was still recovering from his horrific injury.

"No," Nesta agreed with me. "I saw that army. Its size, who is in it. I saw it, and there is no chance of any of you getting into its heart. Even you," she added when Cassian opened his mouth again. "Especially not when you're injured."

   I nodded my agreement. As much as I loved my brothers, they had no regard for their own safety. They never had. If it weren't for Eve, Mor, and me, they likely would've gotten themselves killed a longtime ago.

"I'm getting her back," Azriel spoke up.

"No!" Eve and I exclaimed in unison.

   Eve got to her feet, going to her mate's side, her violet eyes filled with fear.

"Az, you heard what she said," Eve insisted. "You can't go alone. You'll die."

"I'll go with him," Feyre decided, getting to her feet. Azriel nodded.

"You'll never get far enough into the camp," Cassian warned.

"I'm going to walk right in," she announced.

   She shifted herself, her hair turning a white blonde, her eyes going bluer, her skins paler. A tattoo of the moon phase appeared on her forehead.

"Shit," Cassian breathed when I was done.

"They might already know shes dead," Nesta pointed out, getting to her feet.

"I need one of your Siphons," Feyre said to Azriel.

   He held out his palm, a round, flat blue stone appearing in it, and chucked it to Feyre. She wrapped her fingers around the warm stone.

"Where is the blacksmith?" Feyre asked Cassian.

✧: *✧:*:✧*:✧

   Hours later, we got news that they were back. It was early morning, now. Eve had been gripping my hand so tight, I'd lost circulation.

   The second we approached them, Eve let out a cry, rushing to her mate's side at his injuries. He was still holding Elain, who seemed fine despite the shackles on her ankles and wrists.

   Both Feyre and Azriel were injured. Walking next to them was another girl. A human, who was covered in burns and lashes.

"I'm fine, Evie," Az promised Eve as she fussed over him.

   Rhys winnowed into our path, his eyes studying Azriel's wings, then Feyre's injuries, then the girl beside them.  

"I couldn't leave her," Feyre explained, her voice raw.

   Running steps approached, and then Nesta rounded a tent, skidding to a halt in the mud. She let out a sob at the sight of Elain.

   Nesta broke into another sprint. Nesta's arms went around Feyre's neck and she embraced her. Her body shook as she sobbed and said over and over and over, "Thank you."  

   Rhys lunged for Azriel, taking Elain from him and gently setting the girl down.

"We need Helion to get these chains off her," Eve mumbled, taking Elain's wrist in her hand and studying the shackles.

   Elain walked to Feyre and Nesta, who pulled back long enough to survey Elain's clean face, her clear eyes.

"We need to get you to Thesan," Rhys said to Azriel. "Right now."

   Elain threw her arms around Feyre, who began to cry.

   I stayed with them as they all were patched up, and as Feyre explained what happened. Helion got the chains off of Elain, and Azriel got fixed up by Helion. Eve never left his side.

   It turned out that the human was named Briar. She'd been captured and tortured by Hybern's army, and Feyre had rescued her.

   Once it was all done, Feyre laid down on the bearskin rug. Elain laid down beside her, curling into her side. A moment later, Nesta settled beside her left.

   It reminded me of when my brothers and Eve were children, and they'd all crawl into my bed during a thunderstorm, or after a nightmare. 

"Let's leave them," Rhys mumbled to us. "We should check on Azriel and Eve."

✧: *✧:*:✧*:✧

   The next morning, I went to Azriel and Eve's tent. Eve stepped out before I could go in, a solemn expression on her features.

"Is he doing okay?" I asked her. She sighed, crossing her arms.

"He's alive. His back is fine. But Thesan hasn't healed many Illyrian wings, so the healing is slow. Rhys sent for Madja. She'll be here either later today or tomorrow to work on him."

"Will he fly again?" I asked, my own broken wings twitching at the words.

"Considering Cassian's wings were in worse shape, I'd say yes. But perhaps not in battle. Not anytime soon."

"He wont be happy about that," I mumbled, pinching the bridge of my nose.

   He'd always been so protective of his wings. Our wings were so neglected in our childhood, and we hadn't learned to fly until much later than normal.

   He never let anyone touch them except for Eve, and he was very careful to keep them from being injured.

   Even when he was a baby, he would fuss if I even brushed his wings on accident. We had a sink in our cell that I could bathe him when he was small. He used to scream his head off when I washed his little wings.

"None of us are," Eve admitted, her voice breaking.

   I noticed her lower lip trembling. I wrapped my arms around her, bringing her close to my chest. She broke down, sobbing as she clung to me.

"It'll be okay, Eve," I whispered, stroking her dark hair. "He's been through worse and come out alive. He'll get through this."

✧: *✧:*:✧*:✧

"My scouts say Hybern is on the move as of this afternoon," Helion announced as we all gathered in a tent over a map.

"My spies say the same," Azriel said, his voice hoarse.

   He was perched on a stool, his wings and back heavily bandaged and face still grayish with blood loss.

   Evelina was standing behind him, her arm on his shoulder to keep him steady. Her eyes were red and bloodshot from crying.

"He shifted directions, though. He'd planned to move that army north--drive us back that way. Now he marches due east," Helion went on.

"So he's now heading straight across the island--to what end? He would have been better off sailing around. And I doubt he's changed his mind about meeting us in battle. Even with Tamlin now revealed as an enemy," Rhys said.

"Losing Tamlin won't cost him many troops, but Hybern could be going to meet another ally on the eastern coast—to rendezvous with the army of those human queens from the continent."

   Azriel shook his head, wincing at the movement and what it surely did to his back. Eve fussed, mumbling something about him needing to be careful with his movements.

"He sent the queens back to their homes--and there they remain, their armies not even raised. He'll wait to wield that host until he arrives on the continent."

"Perhaps he's leading us on another chase," Kallias mused with a frown, Viviane peering at the map beside him.

"Not Hybern's style," Mor said. "He doesn't establish patterns--he knows we're onto his first method of stretching us thin. Now he'll try another way."

   As she spoke, Keir--standing with two silent Darkbringer captains—studied her closely. I shot the male a glare, not caring if he saw or not.

   It took everything in me not to kill him every time I saw him. I remembered that little girl Mor was when I met her, how she'd stay with us after fights with her parents. I remembered how she would cry and tell Eve and I what had happened.

  I had hated him then for the way he treated her then, but after what he did to her when she was seventeen, I truly despised him.

"Hybern is delaying the conflict," Helion murmured. "Why?"

"He still doesn't have the missing piece. Of the Cauldron's power," Feyre explained.

"Cassian," Rhys said, pointing to the massive river snaking inland through the Spring Court. "If we were to cut south from where we are now--to head right down to the human lands would you cross that river, or go west far enough to avoid it?"

"A river crossing like that would be time-consuming and dangerous. The river's too wide. Even with winnowing, wed have to construct boats or bridges to get across. And an army this size We'd have to go west, then cut south--" Cassian began.

"He wanted us exhausting ourselves on winnowing armies around," Helion realized. "On fighting those battles. So that when it counted, we would not have the strength to winnow past that river. We'd have to go on foot--and take the long way around to avoid the crossing."

"So he could march south, knowing we're days behind. And enter the human lands with no resistance," Tarquin said.

"He could have done that from the start," Kallias countered. "Why now?"

"Because we insulted him. Me--and my sisters," Nesta spoke up.

"He's going to march on the human lands--butcher them. To spite us?" Elain breathed.

"I killed his priestess," Feyre murmured. "You took from his Cauldron," she said to Nesta. "And you " She examined Elain. "Stealing you back was the final insult."

"Only a madman would wield the might of his army just to get revenge on three women," Kallias pointed out.

"You forget that some of us fought in the War. We know firsthand how unhinged he can be. And that something like this would be exactly his style," Helion said.

"He knows we'll come," Rhys observed.

"I'd say he's assuming quite a lot about how much we care for humans," Helion said.

"He'll have seen our prioritizing of Elain's safety as proof that the Archeron sisters hold sway here. He thinks they'll convince us to haul our asses down there, likely to a battlefield with few advantages, and be annihilated," Rhys shrugged.

"So we're not going to?" Tarquin frowned.

"Of course we're going to," Rhys said. "We will be outnumbered, and exhausted, and it will not end well. But this has nothing to do with my mate, or her sisters. The wall is down. It is gone. It is a new world, and we must decide how we are to end this old one and begin it anew. We must decide if we will begin it by allowing those who cannot defend themselves to be slaughtered. If that is the sort of people we are. Not individual courts. We, as a Fae people. Do we let the humans stand alone?"

"We'll all die together, then," Helion said.

"Good," Cassian said. "If I end my life defending those who need it most, then I will consider it a death well spent."

   Lord Devlon, for once, nodded his approval. I wondered if Cassian noticed it—if he cared. His face revealed nothing, but I remembered how much he had craved Devlon's approval as a child.

"So will I," Tarquin said.

"We'll need to leave by tomorrow if we are to stand a chance at staunching the slaughter," Kallias said.

"Sooner than that," Helion said. "A few hours." He jerked his chin at Rhys. "You realize humans will be slaughtered before we can get there."

"Not if we can act faster," Feyre said, rotating her shoulder. "Tonight. We winnow—those of us who can. To human homes--towns. And we winnow out as many of them as we can before dawn."

"And where will we put them?" Helion demanded.

"Velaris," Feyre replied.

"Too far," Rhys murmured, scanning the map before us. "To do all that winnowing."

"Then bring them to Adriata," Tarquin decided. "I will send Cresseida back--let her oversee them."

"We'll need all the strength we have to fight Hybern," Kallias said carefully. "Wasting it on winnowing humans--"

"It is no waste," Feyre argued. "One life may change the world. Where would you all be if someone had deemed saving my life to be a waste of time?" She pointed to Rhys. "If he had deemed saving my life Under the Mountain a waste of time? Even if it's only twenty families, or ten They are not a waste. Not to me—or to you."

   Viviane was giving her mate a sharp, reproachful glare, and Kallias had the good sense to mumble an apology.

   Then Amren said from behind us, striding through the tent flaps, "I hope you all voted to face Hybern in battle."

"We did. Why?" Rhys asked, arching a brow. Amren set the Book upon the table with a thump.

"Because we will need it as a distraction. We need to get to the Cauldron, girl. All of us," Amren said.

"You found another way to stop it?" Tarquin asked.

"Even better. I found a way to stop his entire army."

Chapter Text

   Evelina was holding my hand as they all got ready for battle, something she'd been doing a lot lately. Eve and Cassian both showed their love through physical touch. Rhys and I had never minded, but it had taken Azriel a while to get used to.

   Nesta and Feyre had climbed inside one of the supply caravans covered wagons to change into Illyrian fighting leathers. When they emerged, Nesta even buckled a knife at her side. I found the sight quite attractive.

   Azriel had been fussing over Evelina, hating the fact that she was fighting. Nevermind the fact that she was just as well trained as he was. He even gave her Truthteller to defend herself with.

   She hadn't fought in the first war. She'd been living in the Autumn Court then, pregnant with the twins during the first year of the war.  

   Azriel's wings had healed, though long, thin scars now raked down them. Still not strong enough, Madja had warned him, to fly today.

   He had fought with Rhys this morning, insisting that he could fly and fight with the legions. Rhys, Cassian, and I all told him 'absolutely not.'

   Azriel threatened to slip into shadow and fight anyway. Rhys merely said that if he so much as tried, he'd chain Azriel to a tree.

   It was then that Eve had burst into tears and begged her husband not to. He had agreed at the sight of her distress.

   Eve could convince him to do anything if she cried enough, something she had learned at a very young age.

"Do you want the inspiring talk or the bleak one?" Rhys asked.

"We want the real one," Amren said.

"I believe everything happens for a reason. Whether it is decided by the Mother, or the Cauldron, or some sort of tapestry of Fate, I don't know. I don't really care. But I am grateful for it, whatever it is. Grateful that it brought you all into my life. If it hadn't, I might have become as awful as that prick we're going to face today. If I had not met an Illyrian warrior-in-training," he said to Cassian, "I would not have known the true depths of strength, of resilience, of honor and loyalty." Cassian's eyes gleamed bright.

   Rhys said to Azriel, "If I had not met a shadowsinger and his sister, I would not have known that it is the family you make, not the one you are born into, that matters. I would not have known what it is to truly hope, even when the world tells you to despair." Azriel bowed his head in thanks and I smiled.

   Mor was already crying when Rhys spoke to her. "If I had not met my cousin, I would never have learned that light can be found in even the darkest of hells. That kindness can thrive even amongst cruelty." She wiped away her tears as she nodded.

"If it weren't for my twin sister, I would not have thought recovery for myself was possible," Rhys said to Eve, who wiped a tear from her eye, resting her head on my shoulder.

   Rhys bowed his head to Amren. "If I had not met a tiny monster who hoards jewels more fiercely than a firedrake, my own power would have consumed me long ago."

   Rhys squeezed Feyre's hand as he looked to her at last. "And if I had not met my mate " His words failed him as silver lined his eyes. "I believe that everything happened, exactly the way it had to, so I could find you."

   And then he said to her sisters, "We have not known each other for long. But I have to believe that you were brought here, into our family, for a reason, too. And maybe today we'll find out why."

   He surveyed us all again--and held out his hand to Cassian. Cassian took it, and held out his other for Mor. Then Mor extended her other to Azriel. Azriel to Evelina. Evelina to me. Me to Nesta. Nesta to Amren. Amren to Elain. And Elain to Feyre. Until we were all linked, all bound together.

"We will walk onto that field and only accept Death when it comes to haul us away to the Otherworld. We will fight for life, for survival, for our futures. But if it is decided by that tapestry of Fate or the Cauldron or the Mother that we do not walk off that field today . . . The great joy and honor of my life has been to know you. To call you my family. And I am grateful— more than I can possibly say—that I was given this time with you all."

"We are grateful, Rhysand," Amren said quietly. "More than you know."

"Then lets go make Hybern very ungrateful to have known us, too."

   A vast, grassy plain stretched to the shore. A mile inland, he had planted his army. It rippled away, a dark mass spreading to the eastern horizon. Rocky foothills arose at his back--some of his army also stationed atop them.

   Cassian landed from the skies, stone-faced, all of his Siphons smoldering as he crossed the flattopped knoll in a few steps. "The prick took every inch of high ground and advantage he could find. If we want to rout them, we'll have to chase them up into those hills. Which I have no doubt he's already calculated. Likely set with all kinds of surprises."

"How long do you think we have?" Rhys asked.

"We have five High Lords, and there's only one of him. You all could shield us for a while. But it might not be in our interest to drain every one of you like that. He'll have shields, too--and the Cauldron. He's been careful not to let us see the full extent of his power. I have no doubt we're about to, though."

"He'll likely be using spells," Feyre said.

"Make sure Helion is on alert," Azriel offered, limping to Rhys's side. "And Thesan."

"You didn't answer my question," Rhys said to Cassian.

"Let's say it goes badly. Shields shattered, disarray, he uses the Cauldron, a few hours."

"My shadows are hunting for it," Azriel said to Feyre. "But the wards are strong--no doubt reinforced by the king after you shredded through his at the camp. You might have to go on foot. Wait until the slaughter starts getting sloppy."

"You'll know when," Cassian said to Amren. He turned to Rhys. "On your command, I'll get the Illyrians into the skies. We advance on your signal after that."

   Rhys nodded distantly, attention still fixed on that overwhelming army. Cassian shot into the sky with a powerful thrust of his wings.

"I can fight on foot," Azriel said to Rhys.

"No," Rhys and Eve said in unison. There was no arguing with their tones.

   Azriel seemed like he was debating it, but I shook my head in warning and he backed down, shadows coiling at his fingers.

   In silence, we watched our army settle into neat, solid lines. Watched the Illyrians lift into the skies at whatever silent command Rhys sent to Cassian, forming mirror lines above. Siphons glinted with color, and shields locked into place, both magical and metal. The ground itself shook with each step toward that demarcation line.

   Tarquin barked an order far ahead, and our unified army came to a halt, like some mighty beast pausing. Summer, Winter, Day, Dawn, and Night--each courts forces clearly marked by the alterations in color and armor.

   A legion of Thesans Peregryns flapped into rank beside the Illyrians, their golden armor gleaming against the solid black of our own. No sign of Beron or Eris--not a whisper of Autumn coming to assist us. Or Tamlin.

"Magic first," Amren was explaining to Nesta. "Both sides will try to bring down the shields around the armies."

   As if in answer, they did. The High Lords unleashed their might--all but Rhysand. He was saving his power for once the shields came down. Hybern himself was doing the same across the plain.

   Shields faltered on either side. Some died. Not many, but a few. Magic against magic, the earth shuddering, the grass between the armies withering and turning to ash.

"I forgot how boring this part is," Amren muttered.

    Rhys shot her a dry look. But he prowled to the edge of our little outlook, as if sensing the stalemate was soon to break. He'd deliver a mighty, devastating blow to the army the moment their shield buckled.

   Hyberns shield came crashing down. Feyre's magic snapped from her. My eyes widened in surprise.

"Mother above," Azriel breathed. Both armies seemed to pause with surprise.

"You retrieved the Ouroboros," Rhys whispered.

   For standing before Hybern were the Bone Carver and the living nest of shadows that was Bryaxis, the former contained and freed in a Fae body.

"I did," she confirmed.

    Hybern was stirring, frantically assessing what and who now stood before them. The Carver had chosen the form of an Illyrian soldier in his prime. Bryaxis remained within the darkness roiling around it, the living tapestry it would use to reveal the nightmares of its victims.

   Another figure appeared. The Carver stumbled back a step. Stryga—the Weaver. And atop the Weavers dark hair, a pale blue jewel glittered. Ianthe's jewel.

"You're not the only one who can offer bargains, you know," Rhys drawled with a wicked smile.

"How?"

"I sent Helion to bargain on my behalf--that was why he was in the Middle that day he found you. To offer to break the containment spell on the Weaver in exchange for her services today."

"Hybern has no idea about the hell thats about to rain down upon them, do they."

"Here's to family reunions," was all Rhys said.

   Then the Weaver, the Carver, and Bryaxis unleashed themselves upon Hybern.

"You actually did it," Amren murmured.

   Rhys smiled as he reached a hand toward Hybern's army. Evelina smirked, stepping to her brother's side and following his lead. Their fingers pointed. Obsidian power erupted from the both of them. A massive chunk of Hybern's army misted.

   Red mist, and metal shavings lay where they had been. Rhys panted, his eyes a bit wild. The hit had been well placed. Splitting the army in two. Evelina laughed, tightening the ribbon that was keeping her raven hair up

   Azriel unleashed a second blast—blue light slamming into the now-exposed flank. Driving them farther apart.

    The Illyrians moved. That had been Rhys's signal.

   They shot down from the skies--just as a legion rose up from Hybern teeming with things like the Attor. Hidden amongst Hyberns ranks. Siphons flared, locking shields into place--and the Illyrians rained arrows with deadly accuracy.

    But the Attor legion was well prepared. And when they answered with a volley of their own ash shafts, but arrowheads made from faebane. Even with Nuans antidote in our soldiers veins, it did not extend to their magic—and it was no defense against the stone itself. Faebane arrows pierced Siphon-shields as easily as butter. The king had adapted—improved—his arsenal.

   Some Illyrians went down quickly. The others realized the threat and used their metal shields, unhooking them from across their backs.

   On land, Tarquins, Helion's, and Kallias's soldiers began to charge. Hybern unleashed its hounds, and other beasts.

   And as those two sides barreled for each other, Rhys sent another blast, followed by a wave of power from Tarquin. Splitting and shoving Hyberns lines into uneven groups.  

   The Bone Carver fought near Bryaxis. No weapons to be seen beyond a scimitar of ivory--of bone--in that males hands. He swept it before himself, as if he were threshing wheat.

   Soldiers dropped dead before it—with barely a blow laid upon them. Even that Fae body of his could not contain that lethal power—stifle it.

   Hybern fled before him. Before the Weaver. For on the other side of the Carver, leaving husks of corpses in her wake, Stryga shredded through Hybern in a tangle of black hair and white limbs.

    Elain covered her ears, cringing. I didn't blame her. Our friends were down there. Mor fought with Viviane, keeping an eye on her as she'd promised Kallias, while he released his power in sprays of skin-shredding ice.

   Cassian—I couldn't even spot him beyond the blazing flare of his Siphons near the front lines, crimson glowing amid the vicious shadows of Keir's Darkbringers as they wielded them to their advantage: blinding swaths of Hybern soldiers in sudden darkness, then blinding them doubly when they ripped those shadows away and left nothing but glaring sunlight. Left nothing but their awaiting blades.

"It's already getting messy," Amren said.

"Not yet," Rhys said. "Much of the army isn't yet engaged past the front lines. We need Hyberns focus elsewhere."

   Hyberns army began to move, pressing ahead. The Weaver, Carver, and Bryaxis plunged deep into the ranks, but Hyberns soldiers quickly stepped up to staunch the holes in the lines.

   Helion bellowed at our front lines to hold steady. Arrows rose and fell on either side. The ones tipped in faebane found their mark. Over and over again. As if the king had spelled them to hunt their targets.

"This will be over before we can even walk down this hill," Amren snapped.

"Not yet--"

   A horn sounded—to the north. Both armies seemed to pause to look.

"Now. You have to go now," Rhys said to Feyre.

   Because the army that broke over the northern horizon. Three armies. One bearing the burnt-orange flag of Beron. The other the grass-green flag of the Spring Court. And one of mortal men in iron armor. Bearing a cobalt flag with a striking badger. Graysen's crest.

   Out of a rip in the world, Eris appeared atop our knoll, clad head to toe in silver armor, a red cape spilling from his shoulders.

"We thought you might need some help," Eris explained.

   Tamlins small army, and Berons, and Graysens  Now they were running and winnowing and blasting for Hyberns ranks. And leading that human army was Jurian.

   But Beron. Beron had come.

"Tamlin made him. Dragged my father out by his neck." Eris said with a half smile.

"I would've paid to see that," Eve smirked, approaching him.

"It was delightful," Eris assured her, clapping on shoulder in greeting.

   Azriel snarled beside me, obviously not happy with his wife speaking with Eris. But Eve had a history with him. Nothing romantic. He had taken care of her in the Autumn Court and helped her get out.

"Tamlin wants orders," Eris said. "Jurian does, too."

"And what of your father?" Rhys asked.

"We're taking care of a problem," was all Eris said, and pointed toward his fathers army.

    For those were his brothers approaching the front line, winnowing in bursts through the host. Right past the front lines and to the enemy wagons scattered throughout Hyberns ranks.

   Wagons full of faebane crackled with blue fire and then turned to ash without even a trace of smoke. His brothers winnowed to every cache, every arsenal. Flames exploded in their path.

   Destroying that supply of deadly faebane. Burning it into nothing. As if someone—Jurian or Tamlin—had told them precisely where each would be.

   Amren ushered Elain and Nesta forward, even as Elain let out a low sob at the sight of the Graysen coat of arms. "Now. Quick and quiet as shadows."

   We were going down—into that. Bryaxis and the Carver were still shredding, still slaughtering in their little pockets past the enemy lines.

"This way," Feyre said to them.

"I assume we'll be following the path of bodies," Amren muttered to Feyre. "How does the Weaver know how to find the Cauldron?"

"Because she appears to have an unnaturally good sense of smell," Feyre said.

   Amren snorted, and we fell into flanking positions around Feyre's sisters. A glamour of invisibility would hopefully allow us to skirt the southern edge of the battlefield—along with Azriels shadows as he monitored from behind.

   Rhys was talking to Azriel and Eris, explaining the plan to relay to Tamlin, Beron, and Jurian. Eris's brothers made it back behind their father's lines--fires now burning throughout Hybern's army. Not enough to stop them, but at least the faebane had been dealt with.

   Nesta gasped, suddenly gripping onto me to steady herself.

"The Cauldron," Feyre realized.

   Hybern was rousing the Cauldron. Eris winnowed away—to warn his father, no doubt. Nesta held onto my shoulder, hair shaking free of her braid, lips bloodless. She heaved into the grass. I held onto her to keep her steady.

   Rhys's magic shot out of him, arcing around our entire army. It shredded Azriels shield. Then Rhysands. And then shredded any Siphon-made ones.

    It hollowed out my ears and seared my face.

   And where a thousand soldiers had been a heartbeat before Ashes rained down upon our foot soldiers.

   Nesta's body went stiff again, a low moan breaking from her. Rhys cast out his power—a silent warning signal.

    The other High Lords raised shields this time, backing the one he rallied. But the Cauldron did not hit the same spot twice. And Hybern was willing to incinerate part of his own army if it meant wiping out a strength of ours.

    Cassian was hurtling for us as the light and unholy heat of the Cauldron were unleashed again. Right into its own lines. Where the Bone Carver was gleefully shredding apart soldiers, draining the life from them in sweeps and gusts of that deadly wind.

   An unearthly, female shriek broke from deep in the Hybern forces. A sisters warning—and pain. Just as that white light slammed into the Bone Carver. The Cauldrons power crashed into the Carver. The Cauldron wiped him away without any sign of effort.

Chapter Text

   Azriel was crying again. He was a year old, it happened. But he wouldn't stop, even as I rocked him in my arms. He was hungry; I knew that. And he likely had a fever.

   I knew what my brother needed, despite being a child myself. This cell was freezing. It'd been about year since the two of us were put in here.

   Belinda didn't used to hate me. She used to let me stay in my mother's room. She let me eat three meals a day and wander the grounds. But that changed when my mother got pregnant with Azriel.

   My mother didn't even get to hold him after he was born. Belinda wrenched him from the nurses, grabbed me by my hair, and dragged me down the stairs until we got to that cell.

   She placed my newborn brother in my arms and shoved me into the room, locking the door behind her. Belinda punished my mother for sleeping with her husband by imprisoning her children.

   I had been terrified that Az would die in my arms. He wasn't doing well for the first week. Once a day, they brought in a small serving of food for me, and a bottle of milk and a clean nappy for Az. It was cold, and he was only eating once a day. I didn't know how to take care of him.

    Eventually, he started to do better. He began to grow. He was already walking with assistance. I taught him. I guess I would eventually teach him everything.

    There was a toilet and a sink in the corner of the room. Once a week, I got a new roll of toilet paper. There was no bathtub. I could bathe Az in the sink, but eventually he would get too big. About once every two weeks, Belinda let me use a real bathtub during my hour out of the cell.

    Az was burning up. I had told Belinda three  days ago. I told the guards. I told anyone I came in contact with during the hour I was allowed out. Nobody did a thing.

   The door opened, and a sigh of relief escaped my lips. They were a bit early for our food. Belinda stepped in with a man I'd never seen before. Neither of them acknowledged me. The man approached me and reached for Azriel.

"Don't touch him!" I snapped, my arms wrapping tighter around my brother. The man wrenched him from my arms. "Stop! Give him back!"

    Tears formed in my eyes as I got to my feet and went after him. Belinda grabbed me and yanked me away from him as he left the room holding my weeping brother.

"What is he doing? Where are they going?" I shrieked as I struggled against her grip. She shoved me backward and struck me hard across the face.

"Stupid little girl," she chastised. "He's a healer. Don't you want your brother to get better?" I sniffled, wiping my eyes and nodding at her.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I didn't realize . . ."

"Of course you didn't," she scoffed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"When will he be back?" I asked.

"I don't know. Stay here."

"I can't leave? It's my hour."

"Not after that tantrum, no."

"What about food?"

"Absolutely not."

"He'll at least give Azriel his bottle, right?" I pleaded. "He's starving. He can't go without his bottle."

    She struck me across my face again, gripping my hair in her hand and throwing me onto the ground.

    I awoke with a slight scream, tears spilling from the edges of my eyes. I gripped my sheets, trying to take calming breaths.

    A knock at my door had me jumping, but I told them to come in, my voice hoarse as I wiped my eyes.

    Cassian peeked through as he opened the door, then came in, closing it behind him. The concern on his features was prominent. 

"I was passing by and I heard you scream," he explained.

"Just a nightmare," I insisted, though my voice was barely a squeak.

    He didn't listen, only crawled into bed with me and cuddled up by my side. He pulled me to him, making me rest my head on his chest as his arms wrapped around me.

"Cassian, I'm fine," I lied.

"No, you're not," he murmured. "You haven't been fine for a while."

"Then why are you just doing something about it now?" I demanded, not realizing how much of a grudge I had been holding.

    Before he could answer, another knock sounded. I glanced up, watching as Azriel and Rhys both stepped in.

    Neither of them said a word. They just climbed into the bed with me, like they had as children. But that was usually because they had a nightmare, not me.

    Since the war, things had been tense. Rhys had died. He'd died, and it had broken nearly all of us. We all owed Feyre everything for bringing him back.

     Nobody spoke. The four of us just held onto each other. I knew that Evelina and Mor had gone out tonight, but I wished they were here, too.

"You guys left me there for a month," I whispered, my voice breaking.

     I'd tried so hard not to hold that grudge. They had been looking for me. It wasn't their fault. But it hurt.

"We were trying to find you--" Rhys began.

"I thought you'd given up on me," I confessed, the tears I had wiped away falling.

"We would never give up on you," Azriel promised me.

"I was so scared," I admitted, my lower lip trembling. "So scared that nobody would ever find me."

"We were trying," Cassian insisted.

"You didn't try hard enough," I cried, my shoulders shaking with sobs. "I was there for a month."

"I'm sorry, Rae-Rae," Rhys whispered.

"He clipped my wings," I sobbed, wrapping them around me as I spoke. "Every time I see one of you flying, all I can think about is him clipping my wings."

"You survived him, Astraea," Azriel said to me, one of his shadows stroking my cheek. "You survived, and you don't have to worry about him hurting you ever again."

"I want to be alone," I decided, their presence only upsetting me further.

"Will you be okay alone?" Cassian asked me.

"Yes, just leave," I snapped, irritation rising in my chest.

    They didn't speak to me as they sat up and got to their feet. I glared at Rhys, pushing him away when he tried to kiss my forehead.

"You know you can come to us for anything," Cassian said to me.

"Can I?" I scoffed, sniffling as I wiped my eyes.

"Yes, you can."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

    I ignored the boys for the next few days. They had tried to speak to me, but when I'd made it clear that I was upset with them, they realized that they needed to respect my boundaries.

    Evelina was drinking coffee in the kitchen that morning, watching me cautiously.

"Raea, maybe you should get counseling at the library," she suggested with a shrug.

"I give counseling, I don't receive it," I disputed. She rolled her eyes. "Eve, I've already had this discussion with Rhys. I'm not interested."

"I felt the same way," she insisted. "But when I actually started therapy, it really helped me."

"We're very different, Eve," I sighed, shaking my head. She pursed her lips.

"I'm worried about you," she said quietly. "It's hard for me to see you like this."

     She was right. I was supposed to be her big sister. I was supposed to hide my struggling to take care of her. I was failing at everything lately.

"We love you," she went on. "All of us. Even though we failed you, we love you so much."

"I know," I promised, going to her side. "I love you guys, too. I just . . . I'm upset that it took them so long to find me."

"They really were looking for you," she swore. "Everyday, they were doing everything they could to find you."

"I'm sure they were," I sighed. "But my wings were clipped. Cassian's wings were shredded, and he was able to fly again. But just a few simple cuts to my tendons, and I can't even spread them as wide as I used to."

"It's not fair, and it's disgusting what he did to you," she said sadly. "It's awful what males are capable of."

    Her eyes grew distant at the words. I pressed a kiss to her forehead. She'd been hurt my a male just as I had. And while she had gotten therapy and mostly recovered, she still held trauma from it.

"Neither of us deserved what they put us through," I mumbled. She nodded her agreement, glancing at her hands as she fidgeted with them.

"I'll never forget the things he did to me," she said quietly. "But with therapy, it gets easier. I don't think I would be as happy as I am now without it."

    I envied her happiness, though I'd never say it out loud. She had a family, one that loved her so much. She had three incredible children.

    A day didn't go by that I didn't think of my daughter. I missed her so dearly. He had truly taken everything from me, but the worst thing he took was her.

    I could still see her precious little face, her beautiful smile. Her sweet laugh. I just wanted her back. I would give anything to get her back.

Chapter Text

    Rhys and Cassian had spent a very long time convincing Devlon to allow the girls to train instead of their chores.

    Cassian had brought me with him. It felt like a peace offering. A way to get me out of the house and around others. He said I could train the girls. I hadn't trained them in such a long time. Since before the Spring Court.

    I watched the girls sparring, studying their techniques. I was disappointed in the obvious lack of training.

    Half of them were clipped, and half of the clippings were botched. Which meant most of them had trouble with agility.

    My own wings still ached most days, the wounds having never properly healed.

    I thought I was ready to come back here. Unfortunately, I was wrong. Every time a male even passed by, my heart rate went up and I had to stop myself from bolting the other direction.

    Something moved in the corner of my eye. I turned, noticing a small figure moving behind the trees. A little pair of wings. I looked over at the girls once more before stepping into the trees.

    I approached a small shivering figure. A tiny, female Illyrian, likely no more than nine years old.

    She had long blonde hair that was wrapped around her shoulders. Her deep blue eyes were filled with so much pain. Her pale skin was covered in dark bruises.

"Are you alright, chiquita?" I asked in the Illyrian tongue, kneeling at her side.

     She stared up at me, tears streaming down her face. I went to wipe the tears from her eyes, but she flinched away.

"What camp are you from?" I wondered. Her eyes widened at the remark, and she shook her head.

"I can't go back," she whispered, her Illyrian accent strong as she spoke the language. "He said he'd clip my wings if I ran away again."

     I felt a stab of agony in my heart. I stared at the little girl for another second. She reminded me so much of myself at her age.

    I couldn't just leave her in the snow to die. And I was not going to send her back to someone who would just clip her wings.

"Come with me," I decided. She seemed wary of me. I didn't blame her. I hadn't trusted Iridessa at first. "I won't make you go back there, okay?"

    She looked into my eyes before finally nodding. I scooped her up and held her in my arms, wrapping my useless wings around us to keep her warm. She was still shivering in my arms.

"Training is done for the day," I announced to the girls.

    They all disbanded to set up for the solstice. The little girl had her face hidden in my shoulder.

"Hold on tight," I cautioned, holding onto her as I winnowed away.

    I appeared in the front of the lodge and opened the door. I stepped in the door and snapped my fingers so the snow on us disappeared.

     I placed the little girl on the ground and she stared up at me in confusion. She was still shivering.

"I'm going to run you a hot bath," I decided. "There should be some clothes in the attic that will fit you. Are you hungry?"

    She shook her head. She was horribly underweight, even for her age. "When was the last time you ate, dulzura?"

"A week ago," she admitted.

     I put a can of soup on the stove for her. She was staring at the ground now. I knelt by her side and brushed her hair away from her face.

"You won't go hungry while you're with me, okay?" I said to her.

"You really aren't gonna make me go back there?" she questioned, her voice not raising above a whisper.

"No," I swore, shaking my head. "What's your name?"

"Saphira," she whispered. "But nobody's called me by my name in a while."

    I nodded, her words confirming my suspicions. Slaves were never addressed by name. I may had forgotten mine were it not for Az and my mother.

    The door opened, and Cassian stepped in. Saphira squeaked slightly, hiding behind me. Cassian took in the sight of the two of us before turning to me with a confused expression.

"He's not going to hurt you, Saphira," I promised, leaning down and picking her up.

    She hid her face in my neck again. I shot him a glance, telling him to be gentle and not too loud.

"This is Saphira," I said very quietly. "Saphira, this is Cassian."

"Hey, kiddo," Cassian greeted with a soft smile. She glanced at him, trembling in my arms. I sighed.

"I'm going to run her a bath," I said.

    He nodded, and I carried her off to the bathroom. I motioned my hand, and the tub filled with warm water.

"Are you okay if I leave while you get in?" I asked her. "I'll bring you back some soup, okay?" She nodded.

"Don't let him come in here," she pleaded. My heart ached.

"I won't," I swore. "And he would never do that, okay?" She nodded.

    While I knew Cassian would never lay a hand on her, she had every right to be scared. I'd been scared of every older male I'd encountered for years after what happened to me. I still was.

    I stepped out of the room and saw Cassian staring at me with a raised eyebrow.

"She was all alone in those mountains," I explained. "Her master was going to clip her wings if she went back there. I couldn't do it. I couldn't leave her, Cass."

"Of course you couldn't," he said, but the words were not mocking. "I wouldn't have left her, either. But what is your plan?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "I need to know more about her. If she has parents. If they're good enough for her."

"Good enough for her?" he mused. "You sound like an overbearing mother."

"She's so young," I said with a sigh, crossing my arms. "I want to help her." He nodded, getting himself some soup.

"She looks like Luna," he observed.

    That was true. The blonde hair and blue eyes, and just a few years younger than Luna had been when she died.

"I don't think she speaks the common Fae tongue," I sighed.

"Good thing most of us speak Illyrian," he assured me.

"I'm not coming back here for a while," I mumbled. "I thought I could handle it, but I can't."

"That's okay," he said. "It'll take time."

    I nodded, preparing a bowl of soup for the young girl.

    I stepped back to the bathroom where the little girl was. She was in the tub, trembling again, tears streaming down her face.

"Hey, it's okay," I comforted, sitting on the edge of the tub.

    She wiped her tears away, sniffling like she  was embarrassed. I placed the soup down next to me and she grabbed it, beginning to eat.

    When she was done with her bath, I dried her off and got her in some of Luna's old clothes that I found in the attic.

    I tucked her into my bed. I would sleep on the couch. I stroked her hair back and made sure she was comfortable.

"Will you stay in here?" she whispered.

     I nodded, getting into the bed next to her. She quickly huddled into my arms. I wrapped my wings around her to keep her warm.

     I wondered if she'd ever known her mother. If anyone had ever cared for her before. She really did remind me of Luna.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

     The next day, Cassian went off on his own. I decided to bring Luna to get some more clothes of her own.

     There was a nice shop owned by a female named Emerie. I'd gotten leathers for myself there before. Emerie was a sweet, though quiet girl.

     She smiled at us when we entered the store. She'd always had a sort of glow about her, though there was also a profound sadness there. She was clipped, so I could assume her childhood wasn't the best.

"Astraea," she greeted. "It's been a while."

"I know, I've been so busy," I lied, shrugging.

     I was carrying Saphira, who was hiding her face in my shoulder. She was so nervous around people.

"Who's this?" she asked me.

"This is Saphira," I introduced. "Saphira, this is Emerie."

     She glanced up, meeting the Illyrian's eyes. Emerie smiled at her. Saphira gave her a shy smile, but didn't speak.

"I wanted to get her some clothes," I explained.

"Okay," Emerie nodded. "What kind of things do you like, sweetie?"

"Anything that will keep me warm," she answered, her voice quiet.

"Well, let's take a look," Emerie encouraged as I set the girl on the ground.

     I followed Emerie to the children's section with Saphira's hand in mine. She began pulling sweaters and pants from the rack.

"You can go into the dressing room and try them on," Emerie instructed. "Leave the ones you don't like behind, and bring me the ones you do."

    Saphira nodded, taking the handfuls of clothes and making her way to the dressing room.

"Thank you," I sighed, brushing my hair behind my ear.

"Is she yours?" Emerie asked. It had been so long since I'd seen her, it would've been possible.

"No," I scoffed, shaking my head. "I found her in the woods yesterday. It seems she escaped someone who was holding her captive. I'm going to have her show Rhys so we can figure out who it was."

"Poor thing," Emerie sighed. "Are you going to take care of her?"

"I want to," I confessed. "Now that I found her, I wouldn't feel right giving her to someone else. I want to make sure she's okay."

"She seems to be very attached to you already," Emerie said with an amused smile.

     I chuckled, nodding. Emerie's smile faded as her eyes caught onto something. I realized she was staring at my wings.

"You were clipped," she realized. I pursed my lips, staring at my lap. "Was it recent?" I nodded. "Wait here."

    I glanced up as she left me to go to the back of the store. She came back a few minutes later with a small container.

"This ointment helps with the pain," she said, handing it to me. "I still have to use it, sometimes."

"Thank you," I said, grateful for her kindness.

    Before she could answer, Saphira came out of the dressing room, her hands full with clothes. I chuckled, getting to my feet and going over to her to help her with them.

Chapter Text

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

"I have Solstice decorations," Cassian announced as he got home the next evening.

"If I know you, you're going to do an amazing job decorating," I scoffed, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"Fuck off, Feyre will help," he grinned.

"Language," I scolded, glaring at him.

"She isn't even in here," he insisted, glancing around to make sure.

"She's getting dressed," I said with an exasperated sigh. "The walls are thin."

As if on cue, the door to her bedroom opened, and Saphira came out in the new dress I'd bought her. It was green velvet, with a white silk sash around the waist. She also wore white stockings and black boots. I had curled her blonde hair and put half of it up in a black ribbon.

"I'm going to celebrate the Solstice with my family, back at our home," I had explained to her. "You can stay in my room, or you can join us."

"How many people are gonna be there?" she asked quietly.

"Well, there's my three brothers," I recalled. "You already met one of them. Two of my brothers have mates that will be there. Rhys's mate has two sisters. Az and his wife have a daughter. His wife has two other kids, a male and a female. And my cousin and two family friends. Only five males. Three of them are my brothers, one is my nephew, and the other is very kind."

"Your brothers," she replied. I nodded. "They won't hurt me. They're your brothers." She seemed to be convincing herself of the fact.

"They would never hurt you," I swore, kneeling down to her level and stroking her hair back. "But if you're uncomfortable at any time, I'll take you to my room and stay with you there."

She nodded. There were still a few bruises staining her arms. The dress I bought her would cover them. I could tell she was self conscious of them.

"Do you speak the common Fae tongue?" I asked her.

"A little bit," she replied. "I understand it better than I speak it."

"Good."

"You look so pretty," I said as she stepped over to us. She blushed, but a slight smile stretched upon her features.

"Do you think your family will like me?" she wondered, leaning against me. I wrapped an arm around her.

"They'll love you," Cassian promised her with a smile. She hid her face in my side, and I rubbed soothing circles on her back.

"He's right, Saphira," I insisted. "They will."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Cassian went in first with the decorations while I stood outside the Town House with Saphira. She was gripping my hand tight enough to cause pain, but I let her.

"Are you ready?" I asked quietly. She stared ahead for a second, but eventually nodded. "Let me know if you're uncomfortable, okay?" She nodded again.

"You call that a decoration?" Feyre was saying when we walked in.

"A heap of pine in the middle of the floor is Night Court tradition," Cassian smirked.

Indeed, he had thrown all the pine on the floor of the entry.

"Funny," Feyre grumbled, crossing her arms as Evelina snickered from the cough.

"I'm serious," he insisted. "Its for the mantels, the banister, and whatever else, smartass. Want to help?"

"Language," I repeated. They turned to me for the first time.

A smile appeared on Feyre's face when she saw Saphira. I assumed Cassian had told Rhys mind to mind, and Rhys had likely updated everyone else.

"Is this Saphira?" Feyre asked gently.

"No, it's the other child she took in," Evelina deadpanned. Feyre shot her a glare, and Cassian snorted.

"Saph, this is Feyre, High Lady of the Night Court," I introduced. Saphira clutched onto me shyly as Feyre approached.

"Hi, Saphira," Feyre smiled, kneeling down to her level. "Do you want to help us decorate?" Saphira nodded.

"Good idea, let's all decorate together!" Eve exclaimed, jumping up from the couch.

"That's Eve," I informed the girl. "She's the High Lord's sister."

"I prefer to be introduced as Princess of the Night Court," Eve corrected me with a glare.

"Of course," I smiled. "I apologize."

We spent the next hour decorating, Cassian and Feyre getting drunk off of Rhys's wine. Eve was sober, and I decided not to drink in front of Saphira.

Saphira loosened up, and I noticed her smiling and laughing a few times as she helped us. Eve was actually quite good with the girl.

After a while, we all took to the couches. Saphira fell asleep on my lap, her head resting on my shoulder. I pressed a kiss to her head, wrapping my arms around her.

When Azriel entered, I immediately raised my brows at the amount of hickeys and bite marks covering his neck. I turned to Eve, an amused smile on my face.

"A bit excessive, isn't it?" I asked her. She shrugged.

"I just don't want anyone to be confused about who he belongs to," she muttered.

"Oh," I realized, my mind going to the middle Archeron sister.

In most mating bonds, the males were more possessive than the females. But not with them. Eve was the most possessive female I'd ever met. Even as a child, she'd made it known that Azriel was hers.

"You realize your daughter will be here tomorrow, don't you?" I asked the girl. 

"We glamour her," she said. "We've been doing it for years."

"You glamour her?" I repeated, eyes wide. "That's the worst thing I've ever heard."

"Oh please, do you think she'd be more traumatized by knowing she was glamoured, or seeing Az like that?" she challenged with a raised brow.

"I think I'm traumatized seeing him like that," I grumbled. She grinned. 

Azriel had sighed at the mess we'd all left, and immediately began organizing the decorations.

"Azzy, relax," Eve said, jumping to her feet and approaching her husband. She wrapped her arms around him from behind. "Take off your coat, and have some wine and cookies."

"Its almost like you guys tried to make it as ugly as possible," he said, though he turned around to face his wife.

"We take offense to that," Cassian claimed, clutching his heart.

"Poor Az," Feyre said, pouring herself another glass. "Wine will make you feel better."

Eve took him by the hand and led him over to us, and the wine. He took the bottle from her hand, and chugged the rest. Cassian grinned with delight.

"Well, at least now I know whos drinking all my good wine. Want another one, Az?" Rhys drawled from the doorway.

Azriel nearly spewed the wine into the fire, but made himself swallow and turn, red-faced, to Rhys. "I would like to explain--"

"Five centuries, and you think I dont know that if my wines gone, Cassians usually behind it?" Rhys laughed. Cassian raised his glass in a salute.

Rhys surveyed the room and chuckled. "I can tell exactly which ones you guys did, and which ones Azriel tried to fix before I got here. I expected better from an artist." Feyre stuck out her tongue at him.

"Its cold as hell!" Mor called as she entered the room. "You guys couldnt wait until I got here to break into the good wine?"

"We were just getting started on Rhyss collection," Cassian grinned.

"It is there for anyone to drink, you know. Help yourself to whatever you want," Rhys said.

"Dangerous words, Rhysand," Amren warned, strutting through the door, nearly swallowed up by the enormous white fur coat she wore.

"You look like an angry snowball," Cassian said. I snorted, and Eve giggled.

"Careful, boy. Wouldnt want to start a war you cant win,” Amren warned.

"I'm going to put Saphira to bed," I sighed, standing up with her in my arms.

"Where did you get a child?" Morrigan demanded, her eyes widening. It seemed no one had caught her up. Cassian snorted.

I went up to my bedroom and carefully set her on my bed. I tucked her under the covers and kissed her forehead. I would come check on her in an hour.

When I got back downstairs, Cassian was explaining what had happened to everyone. Eve had gotten Azriel to sit down, and she was sitting on his lap, neither of them listening to him speak.

"Can we speak in private?" Rhys said into my mind.

I let out a sigh, but agreed. I made my way to an empty room, and he followed.

"What's your plan, here?" he asked once we were far away from everyone else.

"I'm going to help her recover," I explained to him.

"You should focus on recovering yourself, first," he said to me. I stared at him, the words hitting me a bit harder than he intended.

"I'm doing fine," I insisted, crossing my arms.

"No, you're not," he told me. "And you're using this girl as a project so you don't have to focus on your own issues."

"I don't have issues," I lied.

"Cass told me that you aren't going back to the mountains for a while," he told me. "He said you thought you'd be able to handle it, but you couldn't." I sighed, pursing my lips.

"He didn't have any right to tell you that," I said. "And if you did a better job at making this court safe for females, it wouldn't be a concern."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

"It means that this court is just as awful for females as it was when I was a child," I snapped. "Especially in Illyria and the Court of Nightmares."

"I've banned wing clipping," he pointed out.

"But you don't enforce it," I scoffed. "My wings were clipped. That female Emerie who owns the shop in Illyria is clipped. Half the girls I train are clipped."

"It's a difficult thing to enforce," he insisted.

"No, it's not," I denied. "Why don't you clip the wings of the males who clip us?"

"Because they'd riot, and we need their army," he explained.

"That's a selfish reason," I snarled. "You have no idea how hard it is for us. What we've had to put up with. Do you have any idea how many females in this court have been raped and hurt by males? All of the Priestesses. Me. Morrigan. Saphira. Even your sister."

"My sister wasn't hurt in this court," he deflected.

"No, but she was still hurt by because your father, who was High Lord of this court, sold her," I argued. "All of us are sick and tired of the misogyny and the pain. Do something about it."

"I'm trying—"

"Not hard enough," I cut him off. "You know what it's like to go through what we've been through. You know how much pain in causes. Please, just do something to help us."

He stared at me in disbelief. I knew he thought he'd done so much for the females in the Night Court, but he really hadn't. And I was sick of letting him think he was a savior.

"Putting that aside," I continued. "After Solstice, I need your help. I need Saphira to show you the male that hurt her, and then I want you to kill him. And I want you to make it painful."

He raised his brows at me, but after a few seconds, he nodded. I knew it was extreme, but I didn't want this person coming back to find her.

"I can do that," he promised me.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Chapter Text

Saphira spent a lot of time sleeping. I wondered how long she'd been on the run. I doubted she'd been able to sleep at all in the cold.

She was still fast asleep by two in the morning the next day. I went into the fourth room in the town house, finding my brothers and Eve in there.

Cassian dumped his leather bag on the narrow bed against the wall, the contents rattling.

"You brought weapons to Solstice?" Evelina asked, raising a brow as she leaned against Azriel.

Cassian shrugged and plopped onto a bed that was far too small for him.

"Some might be gifts," he pointed out.

"And the rest?" Rhys wondered.

Cassian took off his shoes and leaned against the headboard, folding his arms behind his head as his wings draped to the floor.

"The females bring their jewelry. I bring my weapons," he said.

"That's offensive," I informed him, Eve nodding her agreement. Cassian offered me a wicked grin in response.

Eve let out an annoyed sigh, staring at the small bed beside Cassian's, which she and Azriel would be sleeping in tonight.

"Ive never stayed in this room," Eve grumbled. "That bed isn't big enough for the two of us."

"Thats because we have been shoved to the bottom of the ladder," Cassian answered, his wings draping over the bed and to the wooden floor. "Astraea and Saphira get the good bedroom, Elain and Mor are in the other, and so we get this one."

"Better than the attic," Rhys offered.

"Barely," Eve scoffed.

"Poor Lucien," Cassian grinned.

"If Lucien shows up," Rhys corrected.

"My money's on yes," Cassian said. "Want to make a wager?"

"No," Azriel said, arms wrapping around his wife from behind her. She was still pouting at the small bed.

"No?" Cassian demanded, sitting up.

"Would you want people betting on you?" Evelina challenged, raising a brow.

"You assholes bet on me all the time. I remember the last one you did--you and Mor, making wagers about whether my wings would heal," Cassian recalled.

"That's awful!" I scolded.

I was . . . gone for the healing of Cassian's wings, so I'd never known that. Rhys snorted.

"Will Nesta stay here if she comes?" I wondered.

Rhys cleared his throat, not answering my question. Instead, he changed the subject.

"Our meeting with the commanders went as well as could be expected. Devlon actually had a schedule drawn up for the girls training, whenever this oncoming storm blows out. I dont think it was for show," Rhys said.

"I'd still be surprised if they remember once the storm clears," Azriel said.

"When I trained them, it was obvious it's been a while," I sighed. "And so many of them were clipped, which affected their agility."

"Anything new about the grumbling in the camps?" Cassian asked.

"Little to add to what you already know," my brother said. "But they sensed that its growing. The best time to assess is after Solstice, when theyve all returned home. See who spreads the discord then. If its grown while they were all celebrating together or snowed in with this storm."

Rhys sighed, seeming deep in thought.

"Who used this bed anyway? It's Amren-sized," Cassian groaned, changing the subject.

"Careful how you whine. Feyre calls us Illyrian babies often enough," Rhys snorted.

"Her flying has improved enough that I think shes entitled to do so," Azriel chuckled.

"I can see about finding you two longer beds," Rhys offered with an amused smile.

"No need. Better than the couch," Cassian insisted, shrugging.

"You being too drunk to climb the stairs last night aside," Rhys said, earning a vulgar gesture in response, "space in this house does indeed seem to be an issue. You could stay up at the House if you'd prefer. I can winnow you in."

"The House is boring." Cassian yawned for emphasis. "Az sneaks off into shadows and I'm left all alone."

Azriel gave Rhys a look that said, Illyrian baby indeed. Eve snorted, rested her head back against Azriel's chest.

"Perhaps you should get a place of your own, then," I said with a shrug.

"I have one in Illyria," Cassian recalled.

"I meant here," I said.

"Oh, you're one to talk," Cassian scoffed. That was true. I still didn't have a place on my own, either. "I dont need a house here. I need a room. This one would be fine, if it didnt have a dolls bed."

"Perhaps that will be your Solstice present, Cassian," Rhys replied. "A new bed here."

"Better than Mor's presents," Az muttered. Cassian laughed, the sound booming off the walls.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

We gathered in the sitting room that evening, the fire crackling, wine opened and flowing. Nesta hadn't come by, yet. I had to admit, I was nervous to see her.

I thought we had been getting closer when we shared that tent during the war. But after, she had distanced herself from all of us.

Saphira sat on my lap, drinking some apple cider that Eve had made. She let me dress her up for Solstice. I had gone into town while she was still sleeping to buy her a present.

I hadn't been aware that Varian was coming. I'd had to quickly inform Saphira, btu she had told me she would be okay.

"Do you even celebrate Solstice in the Summer Court?" Cassian asked Varian. I scoffed at the question.

"In the summer, obviously. As there are two Solstices," Varian replied.

Azriel hid his smile by taking a sip from his wine. Cassian slung an arm across the back of the sofa.

"Are there really?" Cassian asked.

"Dont bother answering him," Amren said to Varian. "Cassian is precisely as stupid as he looks. And sounds."

"He is not," I defended my brother.

It was a common misconception about him. But I'd worked with him, organizing armies for centuries. And he was brilliant.

"I suppose your Summer Solstice is the same in theory as ours," Rhys said to Varian. "Families gather, food is eaten, presents shared."

"Indeed," Varian nodded.

"So Tarquin doesnt celebrate Winter Solstice at all?" Feyre asked Varian, sitting on the arm of Rhys's seat, her arm wrapping around him. "Perhaps we should have invited him."

"Theres still time," Rhys offered. "The call is yours, Prince."

"Ill think about it," he said.

Mor plopped onto the sofa between Cassian and Azriel, who had Eve on his lap. "I like it to be just us anyway. And you, Varian."

Elain slid into the room. Mor was instantly on her feet, offering—insisting on wine. Typical. Elain politely refused, taking up a spot in one of the wooden chairs set in the bay of windows.

"To family old and new. Let the Solstice festivities begin," Rhys said, lifting his drink.

We all drank to that.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

I climbed into bed that night, a bit after Saphira had gone to bed. But when I laid down, Saphira turned to face me.

"Are you gonna keep me?" Saphira asked.

I raised a brow, studying her sweet little face. The hope in her blue eyes. She was so precious, so young, and had already been through so much.

"Would you like me to?" I wondered, stroking back her blonde hair. She nodded, too shy to meet my gaze. "Do you have any family? Anyone that would come looking for you?"

She let out a little sigh, her lips pursing.

"I never met my father," she admitted to me. "And my mother wasn't very nice to me."

Her lower lip trembled at the words, and my heart ached for her. I stroked her cheek soothingly as silver lined her eyes.

"She was my only family," she went on. "But there is someone who is probably trying to find me."

I nodded, thinking back to the male that she said would clip her wings. She hadn't told me anything about him, and I hadn't pressured her.

"Well, Rhys has a super awesome power," I told her. "He can go into people's minds." Her little eyes widened at the words. "He can go into your mind, and all you have to do is show him what that person looks like. And Rhys will make sure that they never find you, okay?"

"That's all I have to do?" she asked, her voice filled with anxiety.

"That's all," I promised, nodding.

"Astraea, if you can keep me," she began, shifting nervously. "I don't think I can live with so many males."

I sighed, but nodded my head. I understood. Truly, I did. And I wasn't going to force her to.

"Okay," I said. "We'll figure something out. Maybe get a place for the two of us."

"Promise?"

"I promise," I smiled. "Now, let's go to sleep, Saphie."

Chapter Text

Saphira and I found Morrigan sitting at the bottom of the stairs the next morning, drinking a bottle of wine.

"Little early for that, don't you think?" I teased the female. She rolled her brown eyes.

"Want a glass?" she offered.

"Yes, that would be a great example to set for Saphira," I deadpanned, sitting down next to her and tugging Saphira into my lap.

"I don't care if you drink wine," Saphira spoke up.

"It's too early for me," I said, wrapping my arms around her.

Feyre let out a sigh as she entered the room. But her eyes brightened when she saw us on the stairs.

"Drink?" Mor offered her. I snorted. She wasn't gonna give up until she found a drinking buddy.

"Mother above, yes," Feyre answered, nearing us and sitting on Mor's other side. She poured herself a glass and downed it.

"Do you want my advice?" Mor asked her. I wasn't sure what she was talking about. Maybe she overheard Feyre talking before I entered the room. Feyre nodded.

"Stay out of it. Shes not ready, and neither is he, no matter how many presents he brings," Morrigan said.

Ah, so they were speaking of Lucien and Elain. I believed the two would be wonderful together. But Elain needed time.

"Snoop," Feyre lifted a brow.

"Let him live with his Band of Exiles. Let him deal with Tamlin in his own way. Let him figure out where he wants to be. Who he wants to be. The same goes with her," Morrigan went on.

"What are we talking about?" Saphira whispered in my ear.

"Elain and her mate," I whispered back. She turned to face me, brows furrowed. "I'll explain later."

"I know you still blame yourself for your sisters being Made," Mor went on. "And because of that, you want to fix everything for them now that theyre here."

"I always wanted to do that," Feyre said glumly.

"Thats why we love you. Why they love you," I assured her.

"Just be patient. Itll sort itself out. It always does," Mor went on.

"I want them to be happy. All of them," Feyre explained.

I knew how she felt. I felt the same way about my family. They always told me their happiness wasn't my responsibility. But I was the oldest. It would always be my responsibility.

"They will be," Mor said to her.

"And are you two happy?" Feyre asked us.

Morrigan and I exchanged a glance, both of us knowing the answer, but not wanting to admit it.

"Its Solstice. I'm with my family. Im drinking. Im very happy," Mor smiled.

"Speaking of our family Where the hell are they?" Feyre demanded.

"Language," I scolded, covering Saphira's ears. She squealed, twisting out of my grip. Feyre only smirked.

"Oh—oh, he didnt tell you, did he?" Mor grinned. I groaned, muttering a silent prayer for patience.

"Tell me what."

"What the four of them do every Solstice morning," Mor continued.

"Im beginning to be nervous."

Mor set her glass down and stood, holding her hand out. I let out a long sigh, standing and helping Saphira to her feet.

"Come with us," Mor said.

She winnowed us out, and when we had arrived, the cold hit me. I shivered, picking up Saphira and wrapping my wings around her to keep her warm as she nuzzled close to me.

We were at the cabin. I glanced over to see my brothers and Eve in the middle of their annual snowball fight.

"Are those snow forts?" Feyre demanded. We nodded.

A snowball flew through the air, hitting Cassian, who yelped and yelled, "You bastard!" Rhys's answering laugh was bright as the sun on snow.

"Theyre having a snowball fight," Feyre observed. "Illyrian warriors. The greatest Illyrian warriors. Are having a snowball fight."

"Since they were children," I sighed.

"Theyre over five hundred years old," Feyre pointed out.

"Do you want me to tell you the running tally of victories?" Morrigan asked her.

"No magic," I recited the rules they'd tried to explain to me, "no wings, no breaks."

"Theyve been out here since noon," Feyre recalled. It had been three hours, now.

"Astraea and I always stayed in to drink," Mor explained.

When we were kids, they never let me join because they said my age gave me an unfair advantage. Once we were all older, I had no interest in being in the cold for hours.

"How do they even decide who wins?" Feyre wondered.

"Whoever doesnt get frostbite?" Mor joked.

"This is ridiculous," Feyre gaped.

"Theres more alcohol in the cabin," Mor assured.

None of them seemed to even notice us. Not as Azriel popped up, launched two snowballs sky-high, and vanished behind his wall of snow again.

"Asshole!" Eve laughed as she got hit.

"Eve and Azriel are the most competitive," Morrigan told her. "They put their marriage aside for this."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

We bundled up on the couch of the cabin, buried beneath several blankets. Feyre and Mor had partaken in many glasses of wine.

Azriel won. His one-hundred-ninety-ninth victory. The four of them had entered the cabin an hour later, dripping snow, skin splotched with red, grinning from ear to ear.

Morrigan sat by my left, Feyre on her other side. Saphira was on my right, cuddled up to me, fast asleep with her head on my shoulder. I wrapped an arm around her, careful not to wake her.

Rhys pressed a kiss to his mate's head and told her that the three of them were going to steam in the cedar-lined shed attached to the house, and then they were gone.

Eve stayed behind, about to plop herself on the couch.

"Absolutely not! Go change before you get on the couch," I scolded at the snow covered girl.

She grumbled, but winnowed away. Just a minute later, she was back, completely clean and in a sweater and sweatpants.

"The steaming is another tradition," Mor told Feyre. "An Illyrian custom, actually—the heated sheds. The birchin. A bunch of naked warriors, sitting together in the steam, sweating."

"That's why I don't join them," Eve muttered, sitting on Feyre's other side. "Growing up in that small cabin, I saw them naked more times than I needed to." I nodded my agreement.

"I believe it's the only good custom the Illyrians ever came up with, to be honest," Mor smirked.

"So the three of them are just in there. Naked. Sweating," Feyre said. I groused.

Feyre's eyes went distant, and I realized she was likely in a mental conversation with her mate. I rolled my eyes, Morrigan and I exchanging a glance.

I heard a door slamming somewhere in the house, followed by a distinctly male yelp. Then banging--as if someone was trying to get back inside.

"You got him kicked out, didnt you?" Mor demanded. Feyre just grinned.

"Gross," Eve commented. Feyre laughed, shoving the girl's shoulder.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Azriel's sense of victory was short lived when Eve told him Johanna was planning on skipping Solstice to spend it with her boyfriend. He had winnowed to her apartment and dragged her back here.

I just smirked at my niece as she approached me, pouting with her arms crossed.

"Will you talk to him?" Johanna demanded. "He only listens to you and Mom."

"You could bring Joseph here, if you wanted," I pointed out to her.

"They'll scare him away," she grumbled. I chuckled. That was very true.

"Sweetheart, you can spend tomorrow with him," I assured her. "For now, just be with the family. It's important to your father."

She pursed her lips, but a bit of guilt seemed to soften her eyes. She nodded, sighing as she sat beside me.

There was a knock at the door, and Eve squealed, jumping up and rushing to the door. She opened it and immediately attacked the twins in a hug.

They both laughed, hugging her back. I smiled, knowing it was hard for Eve to be away from them. They both lived in different courts, and she hated it.

"Okay, Mom, give us space to breathe," Diana chuckled.

"I'm sorry, I just missed you guys," Eve fussed, pulling away and studying them.

"We missed you, too," Gideon promised, stepping into the house.

We all spent a while greeting them, introducing them to Elain and Varian. I grinned as Gideon and Diana approached Johanna and me.

They both hugged their little sister, catching up a bit with her before sitting down on her other side.

"Mom said you adopted a child," Diana said to me. I snorted.

"I wouldn't say adopted," I corrected. "I'm taking her in."

"Where is she?" Johanna asked.

"Getting ready," I replied.

She had asked to be alone for a bit. I knew she wanted some time to prepare herself. I told her if she wanted, we could leave and spend Solstice alone. But she insisted that she wanted to be here.

"How old is she?" Gideon wondered.

"Nine," I answered. "Her name is Saphira. She's been through a lot, so just be gentle and patient with her." The three nodded.

Once Saphira had joined us, Rhys raised a glass. We had all actually dressed up for the night. I had gone into town to buy Saphira a nice dress.

"To the blessed darkness from which we are born, and to which we return," Rhys said. We raised our glasses and drank.

"I've never participated in one of these," Elain said as she stared out the window.

"Theyre highly overrated," Amren said.

"Says the female who makes out like a bandit every year. I dont know how you dont get robbed going home with so much jewelry stuffed into your pockets," Mor smirked.

"Careful, Morrigan, or Ill return the pretty little thing I got you," Amren warned her.

Rhys came back into the room, carrying a giant tired cake with twenty-one candles on it.

"You didnt," Feyre blurted.

"You thought you could sneak it past us, didnt you?" Cassian slapped her on the shoulder.

"Youre all insufferable," Feyre groaned.

"Happy birthday, Feyre," Elain smiled, breezing to her sister's side.

"Did you ?" Feyre asked Elain. She nodded.

"Nuala did the decorating, though," Elain said. The three tiers were decorated with flowers, flames, and stars. "I asked Nuala to do it in that order. Because youre the foundation, the one who lifts us. You always have been."

"Make a wish and let us get to the presents!" Mor yelled.

After cake, Rhys snapped his fingers and boxes and bags, all brightly wrapped and adorned, filled the bay windows. Piles and mountains and towers of them. Mor let out a squeal of delight.

"I took it upon myself to add your presents to the communal trove," Rhys assure Feyre.

"Everyone gave you their gifts?" Feyre demanded.

"Hes the only one who can be trusted not to snoop," Mor explained.

Feyre looked towards Azriel and me.

"Even them," Amren said.

"I get curious," I defended myself. Saphira giggled from my lap.

"And I'm spymaster, remember?" Azriel reminded her.

"We started doing it two centuries ago," Mor went on. "After Rhys caught Amren literally shaking a box to figure out what was inside."

"What they didnt see was Cassian down here ten minutes earlier, sniffing each box," Amren recalled.

"I wasnt the one who got caught," Cassian pointed out.

"And somehow youre the most trustworthy one?" Feyre asked Rhys.

"I am a High Lord, Feyre darling. Unwavering honor is built into my bones," Rhys said, offended.

"I'll go first," Amren decided.

"Of course she will," Varian muttered.

Amren smiled sweetly at him before bending to pick up a gift. Varian had the good sense to shudder only when she'd turned her back on him. But she plucked up a pink-wrapped present, read the label, and ripped into it. Everyone tried and failed to hide their wince.

But she beamed as she turned to Azriel, a set of exquisite pearl-and-diamond earrings dangling from her small hands. "Thank you, Shadowsinger."

"Im glad they pass inspection," Azriel replied.

Cassian elbowed his way past Amren, earning a hiss of warning, and began chucking presents. Mor caught hers easily, shredding the paper with as much enthusiasm as Amren. She grinned at the general.

"Thank you, darling," Mor said.

"I know what you like," Cassian shrugged. Mor held up a red negligee. I snorted, covering Saphira's eyes.

"Dont let him fool you: he couldnt think of a damn thing to get me, so he gave up and asked me outright. I gave him precise orders. For once in his life, he obeyed them," Mor said.

"The perfect warrior, through and through," Rhys drawled.

"Dont worry, Rhysie. I got one for you, too," Cassian assured him.

"Shall I model it for you?" Rhys joked. We all laughed.

I was about to retrieve Saphira's gift when a knock sounded on the door. Just once. Quick and hard. Silence fell, interrupted only by the crackling fire.

Feyre crossed into the foyer, heaved open the door.

Nesta stood on the other side.

Chapter Text

Feyre held the door open, her gaze locked with Nesta's. A blush from the chill painted Nesta's cheeks a soft pink, while flakes of snow adorned her like delicate lace.

"We're in the sitting room."

"I saw."

Nesta and I had lost touch after the war. The nights we spent together in that bed, the intimacy of our conversations, seemed to have left no mark on her.

"Here--I'll take your coat," Feyre offered.

"You'll fall ill if you just stand there in the cold," Elain tutted to Nesta, smiling broadly. "Come sit with me by the fire."

Nesta crossed the threshold. She wore a simple, elegant gown of grey. Elain linked elbows to lead Nesta into the room, and Feyre followed.

Nesta had lost weight, and there were dark circles beneath her eyes. According to Elain and Feyre, she was rarely sober lately. I was concerned for her.

Feyre introduced her to the twins, Johanna, and Saphira, who was still in my lap. Then, to Varian.

"Don't take her to the wine--take her to the food," Amren called to Elain. "I can see her bony ass even through that dress."

I shot Amren a disapproving glance. Nesta halted halfway across the room, spine stiff. Amren just smirked at Nesta. "Happy Solstice, girl."

"Pretty earrings," Nesta commented.

"We were just getting to presents," Elain said brightly.

"We havent eaten yet," Feyre said. "But if you're hungry, we can get you a plate--"

Nesta accepted the glass of wine Elain pressed into her hand. Elain downed a glass of liquor before turning back to Nesta. A soft snort from Amren at that.

But Nestas attention had gone to the birthday cake still sitting on the table, its various tiers delved into many times over.

"Happy birthday," she said to Feyre.

"Elain made the cake," Feyre commented.

"You can return to your presents," she said softly as she sat.

Elain rushed toward a box near the front of the pile. "This one's for you," she declared.

Mor sprang into motion, handing Azriel his gift. He had received a set of embroidered blue towels—with his initials on them. Bright blue.

"There is absolutely no way we are keeping those in our home," Eve snorted, shaking her head. Morrigan threw an empty box at her.

Evelina handed me a wrapped parcel. I opened my present to see a romance novel. I smiled as Eve smirked at me.

"You'll love this one," she winked. "It's one of my favorites."

"Thank you," I smiled, blushing a bit.

I picked up another one, from Mor, and prepared myself. I sighed, opening it up. Inside was the ugliest statement necklace I'd ever seen. But I held it together.

"It's lovely, Mor," I lied. She grinned.

Cassian and Eve burst into laughter, doubling over, tears in their eyes. Feyre was soon laughing with them, Rhys joining in. Even Az chuckled a bit.

"Guys, be nice," I snapped at them. "I really do love it, Mor." Mor glared at them, but even Saphira had her little nose wrinkled as she studied the necklace.

I gently passed a small box to Saphira, and instantly, a radiant grin overtook her young features.

"For me?" she inquired, her voice a blend of hope and surprise.

"Yes, darling, for you," I affirmed with warmth.

Her gaze was fixed on the box, and as she opened it, her blue eyes brimmed with tears. She delicately took the doll out, the one I had spotted in a Velaris shop window.

"Astraea, thank you," she murmured, her fingers tracing the fabric of the doll's dress. "I've never owned a doll before. No one's ever given me anything." The sorrow in her words chipped away at my heart, yet I forced a comforting smile.

"I'm glad you like it," I whispered back, my voice soft yet sincere.

I felt guilty for not getting Nesta anything. I decided I'd go into town tomorrow and buy her something. Maybe I'd drop it off at her apartment. Only Elain had bothered to buy her a gift.

The night was a blur of laughter and drinking, even with Nesta sitting in near-silence at the packed dinner table.

After Saphira had dozed off on the sofa, clutching her doll close, I decided it was time to call it a night.

I gently pressed a kiss to each of Eve's children's cheeks, then carefully lifted Saphira in my arms.

Ascending the staircase, I brought her to our room, exhaling softly as I tucked her into bed beside me. So very young, she was a reflection of my own childhood--full of pain and haunted by nightmares.

The memory of my own first Solstice with Rhys's family came flooding back. I'd been overwhelmed with emotion, tears streaming down my face as I unwrapped my very first gift. Luna, merely a few months old at the time, and I had shared our first Solstice together.

I knew I would have to help her. But I also needed to help myself. I couldn't be there for her unless I was also on the path to recovery.

Maybe moving into the library would be a good thing. A way for us both to get the help we need and also have a safe place to live. I could work to keep my mind off things, and the Priestesses could offer Saphira guidance, helping her master the Fae language, reading, arithmetic—essentials for a child her age.

"Goodnight, Saphie," I whispered, my lips brushing her forehead in a silent promise of better days ahead, as I settled into bed beside her.

Chapter Text

    Saphira was already awake when my eyes opened that morning, her gaze fixed on the ceiling's expanse as dawn crept in. I turned to her, my hand reaching out tenderly to caress her cheek. 

"What's troubling you, sweetheart?" I inquired softly. 

        She whispered back, a trace of apprehension in her voice, "I have to talk to him today, don't I?" A sigh escaped me as I nodded gravely. 

"Yes," I acknowledged. "Saphie, I don't want to make you do anything you're not comfortable with. But we need to find him." 

"But he can't find me in Velaris, you told me so," she countered, her small face creased with worry. 

"He can't," I reaffirmed.  "But Saphie... I spent five hundred years hiding away in Velaris from the male who did that to me. And even though I knew he couldn't get in, I was constantly looking over my shoulder. And leaving Velaris was a constant risk. A year ago, I left, and he found me."  

"What happened?" she asked, her blue eyes wide 

"He held me captive for a month," I revealed. "I waited to be saved. But when I wasn't, I worked up the courage to kill him."

"I don't think I'd ever have the courage for that," she said quietly. I brushed her cheek with a featherlight touch. 

"Neither could I, once," I confided."But I never have to worry about him hurting me again. All you have to do is show Rhys what he looks like and where you was keeping you. That's all." 

"Can we get ice cream after?" she asked, her words a mumble. I laughed, nodding my head. 

"Of course," I assured her.

 ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

     I wanted to make this as comfortable for her as possible. I let her stay in her pajamas, and I did the same. We bundled up in blankets on the couch, me holding her close. 

    Rhys arrived and sat in the chair across from the couch. She glanced over at Rhys and huddled closer to me, hiding her face in my shoulder. 

"He's only here so he can make sure that whoever hurt you won't find you here," I reminded her quietly. 

"Promise?" she asked me. I took her hand, linking our pinkies together. 

"I promise," I replied. "I won't ever lie to you, or let anyone hurt you."

"His name is Masion," she admitted, her eyes glazing over. "My mother sold me to him a year ago."  

     I nearly felt my heart splinter as I exchanged a glance with my brother. Even my own mother's cruelty hadn't gone that far. 

      She burst into tears. I wrapped her up in my arms and held her as she cried into my shoulder. No wonder she'd been so scared. 

"Can you show Rhys what he looks like?" I asked quietly, trying not to push her. She sniffled, pulling back, and nodded. "Okay, he's going to go into your head. It will feel a bit weird, but just picture him in your head. Then, show him where he lived." 

     She nodded, and obeyed. I saw her eyes widen from what must've been the feeling of him in her mind, but he seemed to be done quickly. 

     He nodded at me, and winnowed away. Relief filled me. Now he could take care of this male, and I wouldn't have to worry about him tracking her down.

"Can we get ice cream, now?" she asked me. I smiled, nodding before I kissed her forehead. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

      We got dressed and went into Velaris. I took her to a cute ice cream parlor that I'd been going to since I was a teenager. I used to take Luna every Sunday. 

"Mother didn't let me eat ice cream a lot, but when she did, I always got strawberry," she was telling me. 

      I watched her, glad to see the childlike joy in her eyes as she ate her strawberry ice cream cone. I had gotten chocolate. 

"I was thinking we could go shopping after this," I said to her. "I'd like to get Nesta a Solstice present and drop it off at her apartment." 

"Nesta wasn't very nice," Saphira pointed out, wrinkling her nose. 

"She's been going through a hard time," I explained to her. 

"So are we, and we're still nice," Saphira grumbled. 

"Everyone copes differently," I informed her. "Nesta just tends to shut people out."

      She nodded, seeming to take it in. She ate in silence for a while before turning to me again. "Do you really think Rhys will be able to find him?" 

"Yes," I assured her. 

"And I won't ever have to see him again?" she clarified.

"Never again," I swore. 

"That seems too good to be true," she said, her brows furrowing. I nodded, knowing the feeling very well. 

 ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

      We spent our day going through various shops, on a mission to pick out the perfect gift for Nesta. As we hopped from one store to the next, we couldn't help but buy some things for ourselves. 

      Saphira, though always anxious when in crowded places, was genuinely enjoying herself. It was heartwarming to see her smile and laugh, like every other child.

      In an antique store, my eyes fell upon a symphonia, and instantly, I knew it was meant for Mesta. Nesta had once opened up to me about her love for music during those intimate conversations in that tent. 

      With the symphonia now in a box wrapped with a bow, we made our way to her apartment, our spirits high. 

      As we reached her doorstep, I grasped Saphira's hand, holding her close to me as I glanced around the sketchy area. 

       After several knocks, the door creaked open. There she stood, looking worse than she had the night before.

 "What are you doing here?" she demanded. Saphira glanced up at me with an expression that screamed I told you so. 

"I felt bad that I didn't get you a present," I explained, shrugging. 

"I don't need one," she snipped, her grey eyes narrowing. "Not from you."

"Well, I got you one, anyway," I said, holding out the wrapped gift. 

       She stared at it for a second, then went to slam the door on me. I scoffed, pushing her aside and entering the apartment. 

"Hey!" she snapped, turning to me. "Get out!" 

     As I stepped over the threshold, the creaking floorboards seemed to groan with neglect. The wallpaper hung in tattered strips, its colors faded. The air was thick with the scent of mildew and dust particles danced in the slivers of light that managed to penetrate the grimy windows.

     Saphira wrinkled her nose and pressed close to me, her hand finding mine in a silent plea for reassurance.

"I'll leave it on the table," I decided, placing it down. "I just wanted to tell you that Saphira and I are moving into the library with the Priestesses. So you won't be seeing much of us." 

"I don't care," she sneered, crossing her arms.

"I told you she wasn't very nice," Saphira mumbled. 

"Saphira!" I scolded in a hissed whisper. 

"Get out," Nesta repeated, pointing to her door with a glare. 

"Fine," I sighed, not wanting to stay in her shithole apartment for much longer, anyway. "Just open the gift, okay?" 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

       Saphira and I finished packing our things, ready to move into the library. Despite the fear gnawing at my insides, there was also a flicker of excitement for the new beginning.

      Rhys stood by the door. "I spoke with the Priestesses. They're more than happy to welcome you."

      I nodded, my throat tight. "It's a fresh start," I managed to say, "one we desperately need." 

      I glanced over at Saphira, who was trying to fit her new doll into her backpack. I turned back to Rhys. 

"And Maison?" My voice trembled slightly as I dared to ask.

       Rhys's expression hardened for a moment before he replied, "He's dead." The finality in his tone allowed me to exhale the breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

"That means a lot," I whispered, my voice steadier now. "To me, and to her."

Chapter Text

     The Priestesses greeted us with a warm welcome, easing Saphira into her new environment. It was clear that she was much more comfortable in a place with no males. 

     She eagerly began her lessons, while I found solace in tasks assigned by Clotho—organizing books and managing paper work. It was a welcome distraction.

     Saphira would find me deep in my work everyday after her lessons and gush about everything she learned that day. It warmed my heart.

     I had also begun counseling sessions with Roslin, albeit reluctantly. It took time to open up, but in the past few months, my nightmares had been less frequent. 

     My brothers would drop in occasionally, when Clotho permitted them to, and when Saphira was in her lessons. They asked how I was doing, and I always told them I was fine. Even if it was a hard adjustment for me. I would do it for her. 

     Eve and Mor came by practically everyday, whining about how much they missed me. Even Johanna had come to visit. 

     They said they were proud of me. I wasn't used to those words, but they resonated deeply. The first time I had heard that was at sixteen from Rhysand's mother, Iridessa, after Luna's birth. 

     Her memory weighed on me. Stepping in to nurture Saphira reminded me of the female who had stepped in for me when no one else had. 

      It was difficult and painful, even five centuries later. But I knew she was looking down on me. And she'd be proud of me now, too. 

      The one thing we hadn't started yet was Saphira's counseling. And she desperately needed it. We had separate rooms, but she ended up in mine every night, after her persistent nightmares woke her up.  

       I had scheduled a session for her that afternoon. The struggle was convincing her to go. 

     Chaos erupted as I coaxed Saphira to leave her room, her screams echoing while she stubbornly anchored herself against the doorframe, sitting on the ground with her feet against it so I couldn't drag her out. 

"Please, Saph, it's important," I pleaded, letting go of her hands.  

"I don't want to!" she yelled, her face scrunched up.  

"I know, but it will help you heal," I insisted. She shook her head stubbornly. "Please, Saph." 

"No," she declined, crossing her arms. 

"I know it's hard, trust me," I swore. "But it--"

     She shut her eyes, covered her ears, and began screaming a loud, shrill scream. Several of the Priestesses had gathered around to see what the commotion was. 

     I saw a blur of red hair out of the corner of my eye as Gwyn pushed her way through the others to get to the door. 

     Gwyn had arrived at the library just after I had gotten back from Under the Mountain. I had counseled her until I was taken by Demetri. Since then, I hadn't been able to counsel anybody.

      Her story was heartbreaking, and always left me feeling awful for her after our sessions. But she was a sweet, compassionate girl. And despite what she'd been through, she could still laugh and smile. 

      She was very young for a High Fae, just a bit older than the Archeron girls. But what she'd been through was something nobody would be able to recover from easily, even if they had been alive a millennia. 

     Gwyn entered the room, closing the door behind her so the rest of them weren't witnessing Saphie's breakdown. 

     Gwyn knelt in front of the girl, and carefully took her wrists, moving her hands away from her ears. Saphira stopped screaming, and opened her tear-filled eyes. 

"Hello, sweetheart," Gwyn said soothingly to her.  

     They had met before. Gwyn was fond of the girl, having worked with children for most of her life. 

     I sat down on the floor next to Gwyn, both of us facing the ten year old girl who had tears streaming down her face.

"Tell her not to make me do this," Saphie sniffled.

"Why don't you want counseling, Saphira?" Gwyn asked the girl. She sniffled again, looking up at us with shame in her eyes. 

"I don't want to talk about him," she whispered. 

"You don't have to start off talking about him," Gwyn promised. "When I first started going, I would spend the whole session crying. Or screaming like you just were."

      That was true. And I hadn't pushed her. I'd allowed her to get the sorrow, anger, and fear out. I knew how necessary it could be.  

"Every female in this library has been through what you have," I told the girl. "And we all understand how you feel."

"But you're all grown ups," she explained. "You're so good at dealing with it." 

"No, we aren't," I promised her, shaking my head. "We have all seen each other breaking down."

"That's true," Gwyn told her. "All of us. Some females have been here for centuries, and they still have bad days." 

"I was your age when I went through . . . that for the first time," I told her. "And I didn't even get counseling until a few months ago."  

"If you went that long without counseling, why can't I?" she demanded. I sighed. 

"I was scared, just like you are," I said. "I was ashamed of what happened to me, and I didn't want to talk about him. But getting counseling was the best decision I ever made. Truly, it has helped me." 

"But you're still too scared to leave the library," she snapped. 

    Her eyes widened after the words left her lips, and her hand flew to her mouth. Tears of guilt welled in her eyes. 

"I'm sorry, Rae-Rae, I didn't mean it like that," she wailed, sobbing into her hands. I sighed, pulling her close to me and letting her cry on my shoulder. 

"It's okay," I comforted. "I know you didn't mean that." 

"Saph, you're allowed to have these feelings and fears," Gwyn told her, stroking her hair back. "No one is going to judge you. And no one will force you to do counseling, but we won't stop trying to convince you." 

"You don't have to go today, baby," I decided, and instantly felt her relax in my arms. "But please, think about it." 

     Her eyes glistened as she retreated slightly, her gaze lifting to meet mine. I exhaled a gentle sigh, tenderly sweeping a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"You told me he's dead," she said. 

"He is." 

"So why does he still scare me so much?" 

    I pondered her question, my lips instinctively tightening. Cradling her face gently, I held her gaze with intention.

"I don't know," I admitted. "But I feel the same way." 

"All of us do," Gwyn added, a distant look in her teal eyes.

     Once Saphira made her mind up, there was no swaying her. I decided that cheering her up and getting her mind off of Maison was the best thing to do.  

"Why don't I have Azriel bring us some ice cream," I offered. She perked up a bit, though tears were still falling. "Strawberry?" 

"Yes, please," she sniffled, nodding. I smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Chapter Text

     Saphira was reading a book, her focus undisturbed as I organized documents near the library's threshold. During the last nine months, she had become a very good reader, and I was proud of her progress. But, despite my efforts and Gwyn's gentle persuasions, she still refused to seek counseling. 

     Abruptly, the library doors swung open, pulling my gaze upward to lock with Cassian's warm eyes. A welcoming grin spread across his face, and at the sight of him, Saphira's demeanor shifted from absorbed to animated, her book snapping shut.

     While Saphira was initially wary of Cassian, she had become more comfortable with each of his visits. Still, she wasn't comfortable being left alone with him--or any male, for that matter.

     With childlike enthusiasm, she bolted towards him. His laughter rang through the air as he effortlessly scooped her into an embrace. 

"Hey, kiddo," he greeted. 

"Did you bring me candy?" she asked, eyes lit up. 

"Of course," he grinned, putting her down. He pulled a few pieces of candy from his pocket and handed them to her. 

"Thank you, Cassie," she beamed, rushing back over to me and sitting down to eat her candy. 

     A smile played his lips as he neared, and with a sigh, he let his body sink into the chair opposite mine. My gaze lifted as I raised a brow.

"What is it?" I asked him. He took another deep breath. 

"Do you remember," he asked softly. "After Luna died, you had that spiral." 

"Yes," I recalled, not wanting to discuss the details of my spiral in front of Saphira. I'd been stuck in a cycle of drinking to numb myself. It had taken the first war to snap me out of it. 

"Nesta is going through something similar," he explained. "Rhys and Feyre decided it'd be beneficial for her to move into the House of Wind. With Azriel and me. I'm going to train her, and she's going to work down here." 

"She's working here?" I demanded. He nodded his confirmation. 

"I don't want her here," Saphira piped up, her mouth full of chocolate. 

"Be polite, Saphie," I scolded. 

"She's not polite," Saphira grumbled. Cassian snorted, and I shot him a look. 

"She needs this," he said to me. "I think it will be helpful." 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

     Saphira was in her lessons when Nesta made her appearance. I was standing next to Clotho, who was seated at her desk. 

     Nesta's condition had visibly deteriorated from nine months earlier when I had last visited her apartment. Her frame had become too thin, dark circles formed beneath her eyes, and her cheeks were hollow. 

     Her eyes flickered between Clotho and me, lingering with a hint of shock on the disfigurement of Clotho's hands. I arched an eyebrow in silent query as her gaze returned to me. 

     Without a word, Clotho reached for a parchment and began to inscribe her thoughts, the quill dancing swiftly across the paper.

You can begin today by shelving books on Level Three. Take the ramp behind me to reach it. There will be a cart with the books, which are organized alphabetically by author. If there is no author, set them aside and ask for help at the end of your shift.

"When is the end of my shift?" Nesta demanded. 

     Using her wrists and the backs of her hands, Clotho pulled a small clock to herself. Pointed with a bulging knuckle to the six o'clock marker.

"Fine."

"Come on, Nesta," I sighed, having been tasked with showing her what to do. 

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Nesta declined. 

"Get over yourself," I said to her. 

     She let out a scoff, but trailed behind me as I guided her toward the descending ramp. Once we had put distance between ourselves and the other priestesses, I paused and pivoted to confront her.

"We've all been through a lot," I said to her. "None of us deserve to put up with your disrespect." 

     Her eyes narrowed, yet the subtle shift in her expression revealed that my words had struck a chord.

"And you will be kind to Saphira," I went on. "She deserves nothing but kindness."

     Though she remained silent, the knowing glint in her eyes told me that she understood. Nesta turned her attention to the task at hand, while I returned to the desk where Clotho was stationed.

     I huffed in frustration, and Clotho gave me a look that said, be patient with her. 

"I know," I grumbled. 

     She smiled and slid a stack of documents across to me. I took them, I settled into the desk opposite hers, ready to begin. 

     Immersing myself in the paperwork became a welcome distraction from my thoughts. Counseling had taught me that distractions weren't always bad. For me, it was the paperwork helped me cope; for Saphira, it was her lessons. 

     Hours later, Saphira bounded in, radiant with the fresh energy of a child finished with learning for the day. She leaped into my embrace, and without hesitation, I welcomed her into my arms.

"I started learning multiplication tables today," she announced. Merrill shushed her from the desk she was working at, causing Saphira to whisper an apology. 

"That's wonderful, Saphie," I said quietly, smiling at her as she rested her head on my shoulder. 

      Exhausted from her lessons, she would often find sanctuary in the warmth of my lap, dozing off while I navigated through the sea of paperwork. It didn't mind one bit. 

      As she slumbered peacefully, Nesta returned to us, her day's work complete. Catching my eye, she sought silent confirmation, to which I responded with a knowing nod.

"I'm done for the day," Nesta announced. 

     With a subtle motion, Clotho discreetly passed a note across the desk, its contents hidden from my view, followed by two additional slips of paper before Nesta took her leave.

"Nesta," I said. She froze, then turned to face me. "I'm sorry if I was harsh earlier." 

      Her gaze shifted between me and the slumbering child cradled on my lap. Without a word, she simply pivoted and exited the library.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Chapter Text

     Nesta didn't speak to me during her second day of work. But luckily, I was called up to the House by Rhys for a meeting, so I didn't have to suffer in silence for long. 

     Saphira was in her lessons, so I made my way up to the main House and into Rhys's office. He was sitting behind his desk, Feyre on the chair beside his. Evelina was leaning against Azriel as they stood off to the side. 

"What's going on?" I asked, brows furrowing as I crossed my arms. 

     Feyre smiled at me, her gaze drifting to Rhys who sighed and placed his arms on the desk. 

"How was Nesta's first day working?" he asked me. 

"It was fine," I shrugged. "Is that really what you called me up for? You could've just--" 

"No, that's not all," Rhys assured with a low chuckle. 

"We were wondering if you wanted to legally adopt Saphira," Feyre explained. 

     I perked up at that. Legally adopting her wouldn't change much, but maybe I'd feel more comfortable knowing I was her caretaker on paper, as well.

"Let me talk to her," I decided. "But if she wants that, yes. I'd like that." 

"Good," Rhys smiled. "It should be easy since both of her parents are out of the picture. You just need to sign some papers." 

"Thank you," I nodded. "Is everything else fine?" 

"Yes," Rhys answered. "Oh, but Elain wants to go into Velaris to get a new dress. She needs an escort." 

"I would, but--" Feyre began. 

"No, not in your state," Rhys cut her off. I raised a brow at that. 

"Her state?" I repeated. "What do you mean?"

"Never mind," Feyre said, shaking her head. "Az, would you take Elain?" 

“No, I don't want him around her anymore," Evelina decided, crossing her arms. 

"Why?" Az asked his wife, his eyebrows furrowed. She stood up straight, turning to face him. 

"Because she likes you," she explained. "I can hear her thoughts when she's around you. She's in love with you." 

"I don't have feelings for her," he promised, taking her hand in his. 

"I know," she insisted. "It just makes me uncomfortable watching her pine over you." 

"She's gone through a lot," he defended. "Do you not trust me?" 

"Of course I trust you," she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

"Evelina, I would never, ever cheat on you," he snapped, irritated. "And you have no place to speak on trust, considering you cheated on your first husband." 

     Evelina flinched, stepping away from him, and staring at the floor. Rhys was out of his seat in the next second. 

     Rhys pinned him to the wall, his fist rearing back. Before any of us could stop him, it slammed into Azriel's face, wrenching a grunt from my brother's lips.

"Rhys!" Feyre exclaimed, trying to yank her husband off of Azriel. 

    In any other circumstance, I would've helped her. But he was well aware of how sensitive Eve could be about her past. Bringing it up was cruel. None of us even mentioned her first husband if we could help it.  

"If you ever use anything that happened to her, or anything she did in that marriage against her, ever again, you will regret it," Rhys snarled before releasing him. 

     I could see the shame in Azriel's eyes, but I shook my head at him in disappointment, taking Eve in my arms. 

"Can you take me to the library?" she asked me into my mind. 

Of course, Eve," I replied.  

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

    The Priestesses greeted Eve with excitement. They knew her well, since she spent a lot of time around them after she first got back from the Autumn Court. She'd taken counselling sessions and made friends with them.  

    Now, even centuries later, she tried to hide the lasting trauma she'd been left with. We saw through it, but we never brought it up. 

    But every now and then, something would trigger her, and she'd come stay here for a few days. It was rare, but when it happened, she was inconsolable. 

    The second the Priestesses started greeting her, she'd burst into tears. They'd all comforted her while she told them what happened. 

     Eve had an affair with her husband's sister, Eden. They'd hooked up one night after Elio had come home particularly drunk. She had gone to Eden for comfort, and comfort had definitely been provided. 

     Eden was there for her when nobody else was. But when Elio found out, he'd been furious. Eve had spent over a week in the infirmary, and Beron had married Eden off to a male in the Summer Court. 

    Now, an hour later, she was in my room with me, laying on my chest, her head tucked under my chin as I stroked her hair. 

      Azriel's shadows had come with her, all of them leaving him behind entirely. They usually chose her when the two fought. Now, they were swirling around her as though trying to soothe the girl. 

"The night Elio found out about the affair was the worst night of my life," she admitted to me. "I thought he was going to kill me that night. I thought I was going to die, and all I could think about was that it was my fault. It would be my fault if he killed me, and my fault if my children had to go on without a mother." 

"I know, baby," I murmured, pressing a kiss to her head. 

"Az knew that," she mumbled. "And he used it against me, just like Elio did for years." 

"I'm sure he didn't mean it," I assured her. 

"I know he didn't. It still hurts, though."

    I understood the feeling very well. She let out a sigh. 

"Elain is so perfect," she whispered. "She's skinnier than me. Shorter than me. She's prettier and so pure. She's innocent. She doesn't need constant reassurance like I do. She isn't damaged like I am. She doesn't come with baggage like I do. What if he decides he deserves better than me?"

"Oh, Eve," I cooed, holding her closer. "He loves you more than anything in the world. He's been infatuated with you since he was eleven years old. You helped him out of his shell as a child. You were his first kiss. You are the one who holds him when he has nightmares. You gave him a beautiful daughter. He loves you and your baggage."

"I'm not good enough for him," she insisted. "I never have been. For years, I've been hoping I have time to spare before he finds that out and leaves me."

"He would never, ever leave you. You are his mate, Eve." 

"He deserves better," she murmured. "Better than me."  

    She drifted off laying on top of me, her soft snores filling the room. It reminded me of when she was a little girl, and I'd let her crawl into my bed after she had a nightmare. She would lay on top of me, just as she was doing now, as she fell back asleep. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

    When Azriel entered the library that morning, all the Priestesses shot him dirty looks. Even Clotho shook her head at him as he walked by. 

     I raised a brow at him as she neared me, his eyes heavy with shame. My jaw clenched just looking at him. 

"Is she here?" he asked me, not meeting my eyes. I nodded. "Can I see her?" 

"I want to talk to you first," I informed him. He sighed, but agreed. "How could you say that, Az?" 

"It hurt that she doesn't trust me," he explained, fidgeting with his scarred hands. 

"So you brought up the fact that she cheated on her abusive husband?"

"I--" 

"No, let me speak," I cut him off. "She was only seventeen when she was sold to him. She had no choice, and she had no obligation to be faithful. Eden was there for her. Eden comforted her, and made her feel heard. Eden cared for her, and Eve needed that. And Elio nearly murdered her when he found out. Why would you bring that up? Why would you want her to relive that?"

"I didn't," he swore, finally meeting my gaze. "I don't know why I said it, I was just upset." 

"She set a boundary. And she had every right to set it, especially considering Elio paraded his mistress around to hurt her. She has a history with this sort of thing, and she has abandonment issues." 

"I know," he said quietly. "I feel awful, Raea." 

"Don't tell me. Tell her."

     I led him to my bedroom, where Eve was eating her breakfast. I had brought it to her, since she had woken up crying.

     When she glanced up and saw him, her wide eyes filled with tears again. He was by her side in an instant, whispering apologies. She let him hold her as she cried, as she listened to him beg for her forgiveness. I sighed, deciding to leave them. 

     I hadn't gotten a chance to speak with Saphira, yet. She hadn't come to my room last night, which likely meant she'd slept without nightmares. That was a relief. For both of us. 

     I knocked on her door and let myself in. She was still in her bed, though her eyes were open. I made my way to her side, sitting down. 

"Morning, sunshine," I greeted with a smile, patting her head. 

"Don't make me get out of bed, yet," she grumbled, brows furrowed at me. 

"I won't," I chuckled. "But I have to ask you a question." 

"Hmm?" she hummed, rolling over to face me.

"How would you like it if I legally adopted you?" I asked her.

"What would that mean?" she wondered, glancing at me curiously. 

"Well, not much would change," I promised. "And you're still welcome here if you don't want this. It would just mean that legally, you would be my daughter."

"That sounds nice," she said, her eyes lighting up. "But I don't think I could call you 'mother.'" 

"I don't expect you to," I promised. 

"When I say 'mother,' I think of being hit, and mean words, and getting yelled at. And you aren't like that," she explained to me. "You're what a mother should be. But if I called you mother, I would only think of her."

    My heart wrenched for her. Her mother didn't deserve her. I wanted to track the female down myself and scream at her for mistreating such a sweet, innocent girl. 

    She rarely opened up about her mother. She told me about her captor, but speaking about her mother made her a lot more emotional. And I truly understood that. 

    Despite my rocky relationship with my mother, I still loved her, and craved her love in return. But I had no love for Demetri, and I had no confliction about speaking poorly of him.   

"You can call me whatever you want," I said to her. "You're safe, now, Saphie."

"Yes," she admitted. "But I still see his face everywhere I go. I dream about him every night."

"I'm sorry. Saph, you didn't deserve anything that happened to you." 

"You didn't deserve anything that happened to you, either," she said to me. I smiled sadly, brushing her hair behind her ear.

Chapter Text

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Gwyn was stressing over the work Merrill gave her, so I'd offered to help her since I was done with my paperwork for the day. Saphira was in her lessons, excited because she was learning cursive today.

"I understand that Merrill has been through a lot, but so have the rest of us," Gwyn was ranting. "And she's the only one who has to take it out on everyone else."

"I know," I nodded.

"It's not fair," she grumbled.

Before I could respond, a voice sounded from behind the corner.

"I said I'm not hungry," I heard Nesta saying from where she was working. "This is absolutely none of your business."

Gwyn and I exchanged a glance, both of us confused. We approached her carefully, being careful her.

"Who are you talking to?" Gwyn spoke up.

Nesta twisted around, stiffening when she saw us. "I wasn't talking to anyone."

"Are you finished for today?" I asked her, ready to report back to Clotho if she was.

"No. I was taking a break."

"You've only been working for an hour," I observed, frowning.

"I didn't realize anyone was timing me," she said unkindly.

"It's not every day we have someone new in our library," Gwyn said as she dumped the books she was carrying onto Nesta's cart. "These can be shelved."

"I don't answer to acolytes," Nesta scoffed.

"Careful how you speak to her, Nes," I defended Gwyn.

I found myself to be a bit protective of the young girl. I had counseled her myself. After everything she went through, and at such a young age, I couldn't let Nesta be unkind to her.

"You're here to work," Gwyn stated. "And not only for Clotho."

"You speak rather informally of your high priestess."

"Clotho does not enforce rank. She encourages us to use her name," Gwyn explained.

"And what is your name?" Nesta asked her.

"Gwyneth Berdara," she answered. "But most call me Gwyn."

Nesta glanced up, noticing Roslin and Deirdre on the level above us. I stared up at them, too, shooting them a look for snooping on us.

"That's Roslin and Deirdre," I explained. "Roslin and I have counselled the others here for centuries. Though, she's taken over for me in the last year. Now, she counsels me."

"How can you tell who they are?" Nesta asked. With their hoods on, they appeared nearly identical.

"Their scents," Gwyn said simply.

"Do you plan to shelve these, or do we need to take them elsewhere?" I asked as I glanced at the books Gwyn had set down.

"I'll do it," Nesta said. Her eyes softened when she turned to us, and her voice became more gentle. "I'll do it right now."

"We don't need your pity," Gwyn said sharply.

I felt her tone was a bit harsh, but I understood. I'd never appreciated pity, and I knew she didn't, either. It was why I shared my story with so few. I knew that Rhys had shared my story with Feyre, and I had shared only a bit with Nesta. But she didn't know the whole thing.

"It wasn't pity."

"I've been here for nearly two years, but I haven't become so disconnected from others that I can't tell when someone remembers why I am here and alters their behavior," Gwyn said. "I don't need to be coddled. Only spoken to like a person."

"I doubt you'll enjoy the way I speak to most people," Nesta said. I couldn't help but smile a bit at that. She wasn't wrong. Even Gwyn snorted.

"Try me."

"Get out of my sight. Both of you."

"Oh, you're good." Gwyn grinned as I laughed softly. "Really good."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Saphira was scribbling in her journal, all in nearly illegible cursive. But I didn't say anything; I just encouraged her to keep practicing.

I was reading a novel I had found, having searched the entire library for anything fictional. Entertaining.

Saphira's face lit up as she jumped out of her seat. I followed her gaze over to Cassian entering the bedroom.

I put my book down with a sigh when I saw the irritable state he was in. Azriel and Evelina had come by and told me of the fight Cassian and Nesta had that morning. Cassian had told her that everyone hates her. I couldn't defend that. If someone had said that to me when I had been struggling . . .

"Hey, Saph," he sighed as she grinned up at him, holding her hand out expectedly. "Don't worry, I didn't forget." He took some candy from his pocket and placed it in her hand.

"Why don't you go to your room, sweetheart," I suggested, needing to speak with Cassian alone.

"Will you come tuck me in?" she asked.

"Of course I will," I promised with a slight smile.

She went off to her bedroom, bringing her candy and journal with her. I turned a harsh gaze back to Cassian.

"You are a prick," I informed him. "You told her that everybody hates her?"

"It wasn't my best moment," he acknowledged.

"No, it wasn't," I agreed. "She is struggling, Cass. She probably already feels that everyone hates her. That was cruel of you."

"She refuses to train in Illyria," he explained to me.

"Of course she's refusing!" I snapped at him. "You really don't understand what it's like to be a female in Windhaven. I certainly don't plan to go back there anytime soon. The males there are terrifying, and cruel, and they disregard and demean us. Yet you expect her to train in front of them? When all they'll do is laugh and leer at her?"

He was silent for a moment as he took in my words. His face fell with realization as he turned back to me, meeting my eyes.

"How did I not think of that?" he scoffed.

"Because you're a self-centered idiot."

"You sound like Eve," he scoffed. "She also chewed my ass for what I said to Nesta."

"You deserve it," I stated.

"I know I do," he admitted with a deep sigh. "I could start taking her to the training ring in the House."

"Yes, do that," I nodded, clenching my jaw as I glared at him. "But do tell me how it goes."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Chapter Text

     Of all the Priestesses, I found the most comforting company with Gwyn. Her sweetness and bubbly nature put me in a good mood, distracting me from the horrific memories that liked to torment me throughout the day. Usually, Saphira was that distraction. But with her in lessons, I found myself completely vulnerable to my thoughts.

But now, Gwyn was far from the happy girl I usually knew. She was in a panic over not being able to find one of Merrill's books. I was trying to help her, but she wouldn't calm down.

In our search, we found Nesta on her toes, trying to reach the top shelf to place a book. She grunted, trying to shove the book up. But to no avail.

I was taller than Nesta, so I went ahead to help her, but Gwyn spoke up before she saw us.

"Oh, good. It's you," Gwyn said.

Neta turned to face us, not bothering to even smile as she stepped away from the bookshelf. I smiled in greeting, taking the book from her and placing it on the shelf with no struggle. She only rolled her eyes, no words of thanks.

"Can't you use magic to put it up on the shelf?" Gwyn asked her.

"No."

"You dont mean to tell me you've been shelving everything by hand?" Gwyn asked, brows furrowed.

"How else would I do it?"

"You have power, though, dont you?" Gwyn wondered, eyes narrowed. I nudged the girl, sending her a look that she ignored.

"It's none of your concern," Nesta stated.

"Very well," Gwyn shrugged. She dumped her books right into Nesta's arms. "These can go back."

Nesta staggered under the books weight and glared. Gwyn ignored the look, instead glancing around before lowering her voice.

"Have you seen volume seven of Lavinia's The Great War?" Gwyn asked quietly. I rolled my eyes, letting loose a sigh. We'd looked everywhere for it.

"No. I haven't come across that one," Nesta told us.

"Its not on its shelf," Gwyn frowned.

"So someone else has it," Nesta said.

"Thats what I was afraid of," Gwyn groaned, releasing a dramatic breath.

"Gwyn, I told you it will be fine," I assured her, a bit amused.

"What are you afraid of?" Nesta wondered.

"I work for someone who is very . . . demanding," Gwyn explained to her.

"I take it youre not fond of the person?" Nesta guessed. I smirked, knowing that the words were tame compared to Gwyn's true feelings toward Merrill.

"Honestly, while I consider many of the females here to be my sisters, there are a few who are not what I would consider nice," Gwyn said. I chuckled, and even Nesta snorted. "You know why we're all here. We all have endured . . . " Gwyn trailed off, rubbing her temples. "So I hate, I hate to even speak ill of any one of my sisters here. But Merrill is unpleasant. To everyone. Even Clotho."

"It's true," I admitted.

The only person she wasn't unpleasant to was, thankfully, Saphira. And she still snipped at the young girl every now and then.

I had counseled Merrill when she first came here, centuries ago. Many of the girls had struggled with counselling, and many of them had been unpleasant at first. But Merrill had been outright cruel to me, snipping back to my questions with insults that she knew would hit very close to home, to what had happened to me.

I had made the mistake of sharing my story with her in an attempt to get her to open up. She had used it against me. Once, she had gone too far, and made me cry. I could still recall her words.

"Just because you were whored off as a child doesn't mean you can help me. Do us all a favor and leave. You aren't a Priestess, and you don't belong here. It's been two hundred years since that happened to you, so get over it or go wallow in your self pity and cry over your dead daughter somewhere else."

I had told Clotho that someone else would have to counsel her, because I couldn't do it anymore. I had always felt awful for giving up on her, but she had really, truly hurt me. I hadn't left my room for three days after that.

"Because of her experiences?" Nesta wondered.

"I dont know," Gwyn said. "All I know is that I was assigned to work with Merrill and aid in her research, and I might have made a teensy mistake." She grimaced.

"What manner of mistake?" Nesta asked.

"I was supposed to deliver volume seven of The Great War to Merrill yesterday, along with a stack of other books, and I could have sworn I did, but this morning, while I was in her office, I looked at the stack and saw I'd given her volume eight instead."

"And this is a bad thing?" Nesta asked, the words a bit mocking.

"She'll kill me when it's not there for her to read today." Gwyn said. "Which could be any moment. I got away the instant I could, but the book isnt on the shelf. Even if I found the book, she'd spot me swapping it into the pile."

"And you cant tell her?" Nesta asked.

"Gods, no. Merrill doesnt accept mistakes. The book is supposed to be there, I told her it was there, and . . . I messed up."

"Why does it matter?"

"Because I dont like to fail. I cant . . . " Gwyn shook her head. "I dont want to make any more mistakes." I placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Ah," Nesta acknowledged.

"These females took me in. Gave me shelter and healing and family," she said. "I cannot stand to fail them in anything. Especially someone as demanding as Merrill. Even when it might seem trivial."

'Have you left this mountain since you arrived?" Nesta asked her.

"No. Once we come in, we do not leave unless it is time for us to depart--back to the world at large. Though some of us remain forever."

"And never see daylight again? Never feel fresh air?"

"We have windows, in our dormitories. They're glamoured from sight on the mountainside. Only the High Lord knows about them, since theyre his spells. And you now, I suppose."

"But you dont leave?"

"No," I spoke up. "Only I leave, since I'm not a Priestess. And I don't leave unless I have to."

"And what do you do with the time you're not in the library? Practice your . . . religious things?" Nesta wondered.

"In part," Gwyn said, huffing a laugh. "We honor the Mother, and the Cauldron, and the Forces That Be. We have a service at dawn and at dusk, and on every holy day. It's not so dull as all that. The services are beautiful, the songs as fair as any you'd hear in a music hall. I enjoy the dusk services. The music was always my favorite part of it, you know. I mean, not here. I was a priestess--an acolyte still--before I came here. In Sangravah."

I pursed my lips at the mention of her old temple. I rubbed a comforting circle on her back.

"I need to return to Merrill before she starts wondering where I am. And come up with some way to save my hide when she cant find that book in the pile," Gwyn said. She jerked her chin to the books in Nesta's hands. "Thanks for that."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

An hour later, Gwyn was still panicking. I brought her to a private reading area where it was just the two of us and told her to sing for me, knowing it would distract her. She loved singing, and she had a beautiful voice.

Sometimes, during our sessions, she would start singing to herself to calm herself down when she got overwhelmed, or when talking about what happened to her made it too real. Since then, I'd discovered that it was a healthy coping mechanism for her.

"Hello again!" a voice pulled me from my thoughts. I startled, turning to see that the voice belonged to Gwyn, who had stopped singing to greet Nesta.

Nesta only extended volume eight of The Great War. Gwyn gasped. Nesta threw her a wicked smile.

"This was shelved improperly. I swapped it with the right book," Nesta said. I raised a brow, smiling a bit. That had been so kind of her.

"Thank you. Youve just saved me from a terrible tongue-lashing," Gwyn thanked, holding the book to her chest.

"What's Merrill researching, anyway?"

"Lots of things," Gwyn frowned.

"Merrills brilliant," I admitted. "Horrible, but brilliant. When she first came here, she was obsessed with theories regarding the existence of different realms--different worlds. Living on top of each other without even knowing it. Whether there is merely one existence, our existence, or if it might be possible for worlds to overlap, occupying the same space but separated by time and a whole bunch of other things I cant even begin to explain to you because I barely understand them myself."

"Really?" Nesta asked, raising a brow.

"Some philosophers believe there are eleven worlds like that. And some believe there are as many as twenty-six, the last one being Time itself, which . . . " Gwyns voice dropped to a whisper. "Honestly, I looked at some of her early research and my eyes bled just reading her theorizing and formulas."

"I can imagine," Nesta chuckled. "But she's researching something else now?"

"Yes, thank the Cauldron. She's writing a comprehensive history of the Valkyries," Gwyn explained.

I raised a brow at that. I had known some of the Valkyries during the first war. They were kind, brave females. I'd always envied their strength, their bravery.

"The who?" Nesta asked.

"A clan of female warriors from another territory," I said. "They were better fighters than Illyrians, even. The Valkyrie name was just a title, though--they weren't a race like we are. They hailed from every type of Fae, usually recruited from birth or early childhood. They had three stages of training: Novice, Blade, and finally Valkyrie. To become one was the highest honor in their land. Their territory is gone now, subsumed into others."

"And the Valkyries are gone, too?" she asked.

"Yes," I sighed. "Valkyries existed for millennia. I knew some of them. But the War--the one five hundred years ago--wiped out most of them, and the few survivors were elderly enough to quickly fade into old age and die afterward. From the shame, legend claims. They let themselves die, rather than face the shame of their lost battle and surviving when their sisters had not."

"I've never heard of them," Nesta frowned.

"The Valkyrie history and training were mostly oral, so any accounts we have are through whatever passing historians or philosophers or tradespeople wrote down. It's just bits and pieces, scattered in various books. No primary sources beyond a few precious scrolls. Merrill got it into her head years ago to begin compiling all of it into one volume. Their history, their training techniques."

Nesta opened her mouth to ask more, but a clock chimed somewhere behind us. Gwyn stiffened. "I've been gone too long. She'll be furious. But not as mad as she would have been with the wrong book." She flashed Nesta a grin. "Thank you. I am in your debt."

"It was nothing."

Gwyn sprinted off to Merrill's office, and I smiled after the young girl. I let loose a sigh, then turned back to Nesta.

"That was very kind, what you did," I told her.

"It was nothing," she repeated, shrugging.

"You can put on that mask, but I see through you, Nesta," I told her. "You aren't as heartless as you want people to believe."

She didn't reply. I decided it was time to change the subject.

"Do you enjoy working here?" I asked, sitting down at a desk. She sighed.

"It's not awful," she admitted to me, sitting across from me. "I will admit I feel guilty being here."

"Why?" I frowned.

"You've all been hurt by males, meanwhile I was fucking every male I saw for the last nine months," she scoffed. I pursed my lips and shook my head.

"That's no reason to feel guilty," I assured her.

"Rhys and Cassian sure seemed to think it was something I should be ashamed of," she said quietly. I just rolled my eyes.

"None of my brothers have any place to shame you for that. When they were your age, I saw at least one female I'd never even seen before leaving our house every morning."

"Really?" she asked. I nodded with a smile. "Don't tell anyone else what I said . . . about being with so many males. I don't want them to think badly of me."

"I won't," I swore. "But they wouldn't think badly of you. While most of us can't be intimate with males anymore, or even be near them, we would never judge females that can be. A lot of the girls here want to be in relationships one day. It's just hard to get over our fears."

"Do you want to be in a relationship with a male one day?" she wondered.

"With a male?" I repeated. "Never. What happened to me left me completely repulsed and terrified by the idea of sex with a male. Maybe because I was so young when it happened, but it's different for everyone."

"Ah," she nodded, going quiet. I shifted in my seat, deciding the change the subject again.

"I'm sorry about what Cassian said, by the way," I scoffed. "I love him, but he can be an idiot."

"He told me you chewed him out for it," she snorted. I grinned. "But yes, Cassian is insufferable."

"Is it just the two of you?" I asked her.

"Eve and Azriel come by every now and then," she shrugged. "But they're usually too busy fucking to pay us any mind."

I wrinkled my nose and groaned. "When a mating bond first snaps, there's a frenzy for the first few weeks. Theirs never ended. It was so bad, we made them get a place of their own after a week of being mated." She actually snorted.

"I think they've already fucked in every room of the House," she informed me. I groused.

"I wouldn't be surprised," I admitted, rolling my blue eyes.

A hand on my shoulder pulled me from the conversation and made me jump. I turned around, heart racing, only to see Roslin.

"Sorry, Raea, I didn't mean to scare you," she said to me.

"It's fine, Roslin," I assured her, shaking my head. "What is it?"

"Saphira has told me that she wants me to counsel her," she said to me.

I perked up, getting to my feet. Nesta took it as a sign to give us privacy and went off on her own. Her shift was almost over, anyway.

"She did?" I asked, eyes widening. Roslin nodded with a smile. "Oh, that's wonderful. Thank you."

"Do you know what changed her mind?" Roslin asked me. I sighed, thinking it over.

"Her nightmares have gotten worse lately," I recalled. "And she startles more easily. I'm not surprised she wants to do something about it."

"Well, I was thinking we could have our first session tomorrow after her lessons," Roslin said to me. I smiled, nodding.

"That would be great," I said. "Thank you."

Chapter Text

     I waited for Saphira to get out of her counselling session that afternoon. It would be about another hour. She had been so nervous all morning. She had slept in my room the night before, complaining about her nightmares. She'd cried right before her session, and I had assured her that she didn't have to do this until she was ready. But she insisted that she needed to.

While I waited, I wandered the library, trying to find Gwyn. We had really become close; I would even call us friends.

When I found Gwyn, she was beside Nesta in the sitting area, the two of them pale and wide eyed.

"What is it?" I asked, brows furrowed as I neared them.

"The darkness that dwells at the pit of the library," Gwyn explained, shuddering. "They say the being that dwelled down there is gone. But I believe some piece of it might have lingered. Or at the very least altered the darkness itself."

"It didn't feel like that. It felt . . . older," Nesta explained.

"Are you an adept in such things?" Gwyn asked.

I sat myself beside them, crossing my legs on the couch and leaning against the cushion, then taking a pillow to press against my chest.

"I . . . " Nesta blinked. "Do you not know who I am?"

"I know you are the High Lady's sister. That you slew the King of Hybern," Gwyn recalled. "That you, like Lady Feyre, were once mortal. Human."

"I was Made by the Cauldron," Nesta confirmed. "At the King of Hybern's order."

"I didnt know such a thing was possible," Gwyn admitted.

"My other sister, Elain--we were forced into the Cauldron and turned High Fae," Nesta explained. "It  imparted some of itself to me."

"Like calls to like," I murmured, staring ahead as I listened to their conversation.

"Yes," Nesta nodded.

"Well, perhaps don't go down to Level Six again," Gwyn suggested.

"It's my job to shelve the books," Nesta pointed out.

"I can tell Clotho and she'll ensure those books are given to others," I offered with a shrug.

"It seems cowardly."

"I don't wish to learn what might come crawling out of that darkness if you, Cauldron-Made, fear it. Especially if it's . . . drawn to you," Gwyn said.

"I'm not a warrior," Nesta grumbled, sitting between Gwyn and me on the couch.

"You slew the King of Hybern," I reminded her, turning to glance at her. "With my brother's knife."

"Luck and rage," Nesta admitted. "And I had made a promise to kill him for what he did to me and my sister."

Another Priestess--Riven--strolled by, beheld us lounging there, and scurried off. Her fear left a tang in the air. I let out a sigh, watching her leave. I'd tried to help her, but she just wasn't ready.

"That's Riven," Gwyn said. "She's still uncomfortable with any manner of contact with strangers."

"When did she arrive?" Nesta asked.

"Eighty years ago."

"We do not gossip about each other here," Gwyn said when she saw the shock in Nesta's eyes. "Our stories remain our own to tell or to keep. Only Riven, Clotho, and the High Lord know what happened to her. She will not speak of it."

"And there has been no help for her?" Nesta wondered.

"We tried counselling," I sighed. "But she just isn't ready. And I won't push her. It took me 500 years to   be ready for therapy."

"500 years?" Nesta repeated, her eyes wide.

"Yess," I confirmed, nodding solemnly.

"I meant to find you yesterday to thank you again for switching out that book, but I got tied up with Merrill's work," Gwyn said. I was grateful for the change in subject. "I'm in your debt."

"It was nothing," Nesta said, rubbing her leg.

"Whats wrong with your leg?" I asked the girl, frowning at her.

"Nothing. I'm training every morning with Cassian," Nesta sighed, grimacing at the soreness.

I snorted, knowing Cassian was very tough when it came to training. I'd never trained with him, but I'd watched the sessions.

"Why do you train with him?" Gwyn asked.

"Lets just say that I was presented with several options, all designed to . . . curb my behavior. Training with Cassian in the morning and working here in the afternoon was the most palatable," Nesta explained.

"Why do you need to curb your behavior?" Gwyn pressed.

"It's a long story," Nesta shrugged. Gwyn and I didn't push her to go on.

"What manner of training is it? Combat?" Gwyn asked her.

"Right now, its a whole lot of balancing and stretching," Nesta complained.

"Such things are painful?" Gwyn asked, frowning.

"They are when you're as out of shape as I am," Nesta explained. I smiled, shaking my head at her.

A few Priestesses passed by, shaking Gwyn from her relaxed state. She immediately got to her feet, gathering her things.

"Well, I should be getting back to Merrill," Gwyn declared. She nodded to the the pit. "Don't go looking for trouble."

"Why dont you wear that stone on your head like the others?" Nesta asked, nodding to the blue stone in her hand.

"Because I dont deserve to."

Gwyn went off, and I stayed behind, still sitting with Nesta as we processed her words. Nesta glanced at me, letting out a deep sigh.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"Cassian and I are considering training some of the Priestesses down here . . . if they're interested," she said to me. "I thought it could help them like it helps me."

"I could talk to them," I shrugged. "But I'm not sure they'll be interested."

"Would you be interested?"

"I'm not sure," I admitted, frowning as I considered it.

"You and Cassian used to train the Illyrian females together," she pointed out.

"Used to," I repeated her words. "I can't handle being in Windhaven, anymore. And the priestesses . . .  some of them cant even be near another male."

"You'll be there," she insisted.

"Some might not be able to stomach his presence," I explained.

"He would never hurt them like that."

"I know," I assured her. "But even being near another male can bring up bad memories and trauma. There's a reason I don't leave the library anymore."

"Even for you?" she questioned, her brows furrowing with curiosity.

"For a long time I couldn't be around any males without Rhys's mother with me," I recalled. "Even her mate. She knew he would never touch me, but she refused to leave me alone with him because she knew I couldn't handle it."

"Is that why you won't leave Saphira alone with your brothers?" she wondered. I nodded.

Rhys and I hadn't told any of them about Saphira's past, but it was fairly obvious what she had been through.

"Saphira's been through a lot," I sighed. "She's finally warmed up to Az. She can be alone with him, now. She told me it's because of his scars. She knows he's been hurt like we have."

"How long did it take you?" she wondered. "To recover from what happened to you?"

"It took a century for me to get over my fear," I admitted. "I stopped having nightmares and I stopped being scared of every unfamiliar male I saw. I truly recovered."

I trailed off, remembering the first time I had introduced myself to a male without being afraid. How proud I had been of my progress. How proud my brothers had been when I told them.

"But then he took me back there," I said quietly. "And it set back all the healing I did. I have to start all over now. I know it's not my fault and that I have nothing to be ashamed of, but I can't help but feel unsafe and scared around most males. I try to be brave and I'm working on facing my fears, but it's not always easy."

"Will you be okay training?" she asked, her voice softer than I was used to.

"I don't know."

"Training helps me," she confessed. "With what I've been through. It helps me channel the anger into something else."

"I'm glad you found something," I said to her. "I might try it. I'll be fine with Cassian. As long as it's just him or my other brothers."

"Just Cassian," she promised me. "I'll look forward to seeing you there." And, strangely, she sounded like she truly meant it.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Nesta went back to the House, and I waited outside of Roslin's office for Saphira to be done. I sat there, hoping that it wasn't too painful for her.

The door creaked open, and I perked up. Roslin smiled at me as she stepped out of her office, a hand on Saphira's shoulder as she guided her out.

Little Saphie was sniffling, wiping her eyes as she came out. But when our eyes locked, she rushed forward, burying herself in my arms before I had time to process it. I sighed, holding her close as she cried into my shoulder.

"Thanks, Roslin," I said to the female. She nodded, saying a goodbye to Saphira before going back into her office. "Are you okay, Saphie?"

Saphira sniffed, pulling back to look at me. She nodded, wiping the tears from her blue eyes.

"I'm glad I went," she admitted to me. "It was just hard to talk about him."

"I understand," I said with a grimace. "I'm so proud of you, though. Do you want Azriel to bring you ice cream?"

"Yes, please," she nodded.

Chapter Text

"What do you know of the Dread Trove?" Nesta asked.

Gwyn and I were sitting at a desk in the library, both of us reading our own books as Gwyn silently sang to herself. It didn't bother or distract me. In fact, it helped me focus.

Saphira was in her lessons, and she had counseling directly after. It had been going well for her. She hadn't had as many nightmares, though she still slept in my room quite often.

"The what?" Gwyn asked, perking up.

"The Dread Trove," Nesta said, jumping up to sit on the desk. "Three ancient artifacts ..." Gwyn shook her head.

"My brothers have spoken to me about it when visiting," I recalled. "But I only know as much as they do."

"It seems like the Trove has a glamour to make people forget that it exists," Nesta said to us before explaining what she knew.

None of the information was new to me. Rhys had told me all about it yesterday--along with telling me that he was going to be a father. I was thrilled for him and Feyre. In eight months, there would be a baby boy in the family.

"And you must find it?" Gwyn asked her.

"I don't have the faintest idea where to begin looking," Nesta stressed. "Which one to find first."

"We do have an extensive card cataloging system," I shrugged. "But if there was information about the Trove down here, my brothers would've found it already."

"Why come to us about it?" Gwyn asked.

"You're clearly good at what you do, if you're working with someone as demanding as Merrill. And Astraea, you've been counseling here for five centuries. I figured you would know this library better than anyone. Could you just point me in a direction?"

"I can try," I decided with a nod.

"Thank you," she said with a tight smile. It was unusual, seeing this new side of her.

"Finding objects to help our court protect the world is rather exciting. About as exciting as I'm willing to get these days, but it shall be an adventure," Gwyn said.

"You could come to training if you want another sort of adventure," Nesta said carefully.

I had noticed the sign up sheet. It stayed blank. I kept considering signing my name. Maybe training would be good for me. At least it would just be Cassian.

"That's not for me, I'm afraid," Gwyn sighed.

"Why not?" Nesta asked.

"I'm not a warrior."

"Neither am I. But you could be."

"I don't think so. If I wished to be a warrior, I would have gone that route as a child. Instead I offered myself as an acolyte—and that is what I am."

"You don't have to give up one thing to be the other. Training is exercise. Learning to breathe and stretch and fight. Aren't you researching Valkyries for Merrill? That might even give you further insight. And I already have muscle building up. Two weeks, and I can tell the difference."

"Why would a priestess need muscular thighs?" Gwyn demanded. I couldn't help but smile.

"Is it Cassian?" Nesta guessed.

"Cassian is a good and honorable male."

"I know he is," Nesta acknowledged. "But is it Cassian's presence that makes you hesitate?"

Gwyn's cheeks went red, her head bowing in shame. I put a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she glanced over, giving me a grateful smile.

"All right. Let me know if you learn anything regarding the Trove," Nesta said gently.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Five days later, I worked up the nerve to sign my name. And I wasn't alone. Gwyn came with me, her hand clutching mine.

I glanced at her as we approached the sign up sheet--still blank. I could feel Clotho's eyes on us as we neared it, and I picked up the pen.

I took a deep breath, signing it with a shaky hand. I handed the pen to Gwyn, who signed it after me.

"It'll be okay," I assured her. "We can leave whenever we want. And I'll be there the whole time."

"I know," she nodded as she fidgeted with her hands. "How do you stand being around them?" I knew she meant my brothers.

"They're the only males I've never been scared of," I confessed. "Sometimes one of them will sneak up on me, or I'll only see them out of the corner of my eye. And I panic. But then I realize it's just one of my brothers and I calm down."

"Rationally, I know they won't hurt me," she said quietly. "But it doesn't stop my heart from racing whenever they're around."

"I know," I promised her. "Hey, the only reason I'm not scared of them is because I've known them since they were children. I watched them grow up. If I had met them in their adulthood, I would've been terrified."

She tilted her head at that, studying her name on the sign-up sheet. I took her hand again gave it a reassuring squeeze.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Gwyn and I walked ahead, hand-in-hand as we advanced towards the training ring. We'd braided each other's hair in two braids. I wore actual training leathers that I'd always had, but rarely wore.

"Hello," I greeted with a smile. I could feel Gwyn's hand shaking in mine.

"I, um—I realized on the way up here that I don't have proper clothes," Gwyn said, gesturing to her robes. "I suspect these will not be ideal."

"I can teach you in the robes, if you wish. Whatever's most comfortable," Cassian offered.

"I'll see how today's lesson goes and then decide. We wear the robes mostly from tradition, not strict rules," Gwyn explained. "I forgot how it feels to have the full sun upon my head. Forgive me if I spend some time gawking at the sky."

"Of course," Nesta said.

"All right. No more chitchat," Cassian announced, facing us. "Nesta, show our new friend—Gwyn, is it? I'm Cassian. Nes, show her and Astraea your feet."

"Feet?" Gwyn's copper brows rose. Nesta rolled her eyes.

'You'll see."

Nesta showed us how to ground through our feet, and the correct posture for it. Gwyn and I picked it up fairly quickly, though I had a harder time with my wings throwing me off balance. Cassian helped me with that.

Nesta and Cassian were kind and patient with us. We were able to laugh at our mistakes, and take corrections from Cassian without offense.

When we were done, I was flushed and sweaty, and my braids were frizzy. Cassian told us to drink before our cooldown.

"At the temple in Sangravah, we had a set of ancient movements that we would go through every sunrise," Gwyn told us as we drank our water. "Not for battle training, but for calming the mind. We did cooldowns after those, too, though we called them groundings. The movements took us out of our bodies, in a way. Let us commune with the Mother. The groundings settled us back into the present world."

"That sounds lovely," I hummed before taking a sip of water.

"Why did you sign up for this, then?" Nesta wondered. "If you already have mind-calming exercises you're accustomed to?"

"Because I don't ever want to feel powerless again," Gwyn said softly.

I nodded my head, letting her know that she wasn't alone. I felt the same way. In a way, I felt like I'd taken back control by killing him. But he still took so much from me that I hadn't ever gotten back.

"Me too," Nesta said quietly.

Chapter Text

     Nesta had begun to stay back after she was done working, reading with Gwyn and I in a private sitting area. It would be just the three of us. We would train in the morning, Nesta would come back here to work, and then we'd all read together.

But today, Gwyn was too busy working with Merrill to join us. Nesta and I were lost in our own novels, sitting on couches that sat across from each other.

I winced as I leaned back, a sharp pain shooting through the tendons of my wings. Clipping them didn't just affect flight, it also affected everyday movement. Which made training particularly difficult.

I forced my wings to move in ways they weren't supposed to anymore. But i did it anyone. Because he had taken my flight from me, but I wouldn't let him take training, too.

I carried the ointment Emerie had gotten me in my pocket, because my wings would start hurting unpredictably throughout the day. The only issue was that it was hard for me to reach my tendons. I had to twist and turn, reach and pin my wings down.

I up my book down and took the ointment out of my pocket. I grunted, trying to reach my right tendon, frustration making my brows furrow.

"Must you make so much noise?" Nesta snapped, slamming her book shut.

I froze, turning back to look at her even though I knew I'd have to start over, now. She had been irritable all day. I figured something had happened with Cassian. They seemed to be particularly skilled at pissing each other off.

"I can't reach," I explained.

"What is that even for?" she demanded, grumbling.

"My wings weren't clipped properly," I explained. "So they hurt often. Emerie got me an ointment for it."

Her face didn't soften, but there was less irritation in her eyes when she processed the explanation.

"Let me do it," she decided, her voice more gentle than before.

"Really?"

"If it will stop you from being so insufferably loud, yes," she said. I bit my lip to hide a smile.

She set her book down and crossed the room, sitting by my side. She dipped her fingers in the ointment and carefully spread it across the scars.

I gasped at the sensation. I'd heard much talk about how good it felt to have your wings touched, but I'd never experienced it.

"Sorry, they're sensitive," I whispered.

"Feyre said something about that," Nesta mused, a smirk on her face. "I didn't know if it also applied to females."

"It does," I confirmed, squeezing my eyes shut.

She chuckled, going to do my other wing. My brows furrowed at the sensation as I tried to keep from making any sound.

My attempts were in vain as a soft moan slipped from my lips, right as her finger brushed a sensitive spot. My eyes shot open, my face burning.

"I'm so sorry--" I gushed, humiliation settling in my gut.

"Don't apologize," she said as she wiped her hands on her leathers. "It's just your natural response."

"You really didn't have to do that, Nes, I was doing just fine on my own, and--" she cut me off by placing a finger on my lips.

My eyes were wide, staring into hers. Her grey eyes glanced down at my lips, then back up to meet my gaze.

She seemed to be asking for permission with her eyes, which meant a lot to me--more than she could know.

I nodded slightly, and she leaned in, softly brushing her lips to mine. I closed my eyes, my hand intertwining with her hair. She kissed me a bit harder, and I reciprocated.

The kiss only lasted a few seconds, but it felt like an hour. I pulled back, my face pink. She only smirked, getting off of the couch.

"They'll be expecting me for dinner," she said to me.

With that she was off, leaving me dumbfounded on the couch, wondering what the hell just happened.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

An hour of reflection later, I picked up little Saphira from her counseling session, and the two of us went to the kitchens together for a late dinner--one that could be just the two of us. We did that every night, just so we could have some time alone.

"When I'm ready to go outside again, would Cassian teach me to fly?" Saphira asked me with a full mouth of rice.

I glanced at her, surprised by the words. She was eleven years old, and her wings hadn't been clipped. Plus, they didn't drag like mine had at her age.

"You never learned to fly?" I asked her, my brow quirking.

"I can get off the ground," she shrugged. "I can fly for a few feet, but then I fall. And I can't go very high. That's why he always caught me when I tried to escape." I tensed at the mention of the captor--a rare topic between us.

"Oh," I said quietly, nodding.

"When he left the house, he never told me how long he would be gone for," she explained. "So I never knew if I had enough time to run. And after a while of getting caught, I stopped risking it. The punishments weren't worth it."

I took her hand in mine as I noticed it starting to shake. She glanced at me gratefully, then sighed before she went on.

"I wasn't allowed to have a calendar, and he was careful not to tell me what day it was," she whispered, gazing away so she didn't have to meet my eyes. "But I tracked the days based on the moon. And I started to notice that he left the house for hours every night of a full moon. So, I ran the next time there was one."

She was staring straight ahead, her eyes empty and unmoving from one spot on the wall. Dissociating so she didn't have to live it again. I understood that feeling well.

"I flew as much as I could, and I ran for two days," she went on. "But then, I collapsed because I was tired and hungry. I let myself rest, hidden in the trees. That was where you found me."

"You got all the way to Windhaven in two days?" I asked gently. Rhys had found her captor in a camp that was miles from Windhaven.

"I moved as fast as I could, and I didn't let myself stop until I couldn't stand it anymore," she said. "I was so scared that he would catch up to me."

"Oh, sweetheart," I sighed, stroking her hand with my thumb. "You're the most resilient child I've ever met."

I was careful not to call her brave, or strong. I hated being told I was so brave for what I went through. As if I'd had any other choice.

"Of course Cassian will teach you to fly," I said. "He would love that, you know."

"You don't think it's too late for me to learn?" she asked.

"Of course not," I assured her. "I was seventeen when I learned."

"And Rae-Rae?" she asked. I hummed a response, tilting my head at her. "When can you adopt me?"

I smiled at the question, remembering that I had just spoken with Rhys and Feyre about it yesterday, after they'd told me she was pregnant.

"He'll have the papers ready for me to sign by tomorrow," I grinned, squeezing her hand.

She beamed at me, jumping up from her seat, the haunting look that had been in her eyes gone. She sat herself in my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck.

"I love you," she told me.

"I love you, too, little one."

Chapter Text

The idea of seeing Nesta for training the next day provided me with a mixed sense of dread and eagerness.

The kiss was wonderful, but it was also very confusing. It left me wondering what she wanted--what we were.

I hadn't told a soul, yet. Gwyn was blissfully unaware, talking away as the two of us made our way towards the training ring. If I was being honest, I wasn't totally paying attention. I murmured responses to let her know I wasn't completely ignoring her, but the nerves in my stomach were all I could focus on.

When we arrived, letting ourselves into the ring, we were met with Cassian already warming up. He had likely been up for hours already, while the rest of us had just rolled out of bed.

Nesta was standing off to the side, wrapping her knuckles with furrowed brows. Her hair was in a simple braid down her back, and she was wearing her training leathers. She looked the same as always, but something was different, now. Now, it seemed I couldn't take my eyes off of her.

"Morning," Gwyn beamed. Nesta's focus was broken, her head shooting up, and her eyes meeting ours.

"Morning," Nesta said as we neared her. "Anything on the Trove?" Gwyn shook her head.

"I even asked Merrill last night. She broke through that glamour, but beyond a few mentions in old texts, she couldn't find anything more than what you already know. Not a hint about when or where they were lost, or who lost them. We can't even uncover who last possessed them, since it's information that goes back at least ten thousand years."

"It might prove an impossible task," I spoke up. "Is there no other way of finding it?"

Nesta's eyes flashed with something I couldn't quite place, but she shook her head. "No. There's no other way."

I raised a brow, studying her. She was lying, but I wouldn't call her on it. If she wasn't being truthful, I knew it was for a reason.

Training went as it usually did, neither Nesta nor I acknowledging what had happened between us the day before. But it was difficult to look at her face without remembering how soft her lips had felt against mine--how she had stroked my wings so delicately. I had never felt this type of attraction--this longing. It was driving me insane.

After we were finished with training, Cassian gave me a few exercises I could do on my own to improve my balance.

"Stay behind," Cassian called out to me when I went to leave to Gwyn. "I'll take you up to the House; you can sign the papers."

I perked up, a slight smile spreading across my features. I bid a farewell to Gwyn, then went back over to him.

"They're ready to be signed?" I asked.

"Rhys has them upstairs," he assured me. "Does Saphira want to come along?"

"No," I declined. "I asked her, but she's not ready to leave the library."

"He's waiting for us," he said, slinging an arm around my shoulders. I leaned into him.

Cassian had always been there for me in a way nobody else was. He understood me in a way that nobody else did. As a child, he once told me I reminded him of his mother.

"Would you like to come with us, Nes?" I asked carefully. She met my eyes, which only reminded me how beautiful hers were.

"I'm going to go through a few of those exercises again," she murmured, glancing away from me. "But I'm happy for you, Rae."

Rae.

I didn't hear that very often. My mother had called me Rae. 'Come on, what happened to my little Rae of sunshine?' she used to tease when I cried as a child.

I nodded, then turned back to the House.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

Rhys and Feyre were waiting for me in his office, both of them greeting me with warm smiles. Rhys slid the papers across the table to me.

"I'm sorry this has taken so long," Rhys said to me. "It was difficult to track down the documents that we needed. It seemed there was no record of her existing, at all."

"That's her mother's fault," I scoffed, sitting down across from them. The fact that the female was able to live, likely happier without another mouth to feed, while Saphira was being tortured--it made me furious.

"But we managed to figure it out," he assured me. "Now, there are a few documents for you to sign, and I dealt with the rest."

"Thank you, Rhys," I smiled as he handed a pen to me.

He showed me the several places that I needed to sign, and I did, very carefully. I blinked back tears as I did so, the feeling almost surreal.

"Congratulations, Astraea," Rhys said softly when I was done.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Waiting for Saphira to get out of lessons and counseling had been a struggle. All I wanted was to rush to her side and tell her the news, then hold her to me. But I waited, not as patiently as I could've.

Nesta entered the sitting area that I was in--all alone--and gave me an amused smirk when she noticed my fidgeting.

"You seem restless," she observed, crossing her arms as she took me in.

"I'm waiting for Saphie to get out of counseling," I explained, sighing deeply and leaning against the couch.

"I'm sure she will be overjoyed," Nesta said, stepping into the room.

She had changed out of her leathers and into a simple dress. One she could move easily in while she worked.

"May I sit beside you?" she asked me. I glanced up at her, surprised, but nodded.

Nesta sat herself down right beside me, and I tried to force myself to relax. But it was difficult when she was right next to me, her leg brushing against my own.

"How are your wings feeling?" she wondered.

"Better," I said, my words a bit breathless as I tried to focus on anything but the parts of her body that were touching mine. "Thank you--for yesterday."

"You did nothing to deserve that pain," she said with a shrug. "If I can help ease it, I will." I smiled softly, gratefully.

"It means a lot," I said quietly. "That you care."

"I didn't expect myself to care for you as much as I do," she admitted. "But you--you're different than the rest of them. You're the only one who never looked at me like I was a monster. You gave me a chance when the rest of them wrote me off as selfish."

"You're not a monster," I said to her. "And you're not selfish. You've been through so much, and you deal with it differently than they do. I love my family, but they have a hard time seeing passed their biases."

"You don't need to give me so much grace," she said. "The way I treated Feyre was wrong."

"Yes, it was," I agreed. "But you've grown as a person since then. I believe people can change when given a chance, and you've proven yourself. You saved Prythian from Hybern--you saved Feyre."

"It wasn't me alone," she murmured, staring at her lap.

"We couldn't have done it without you," I stated.

She gazed up at me, her grey eyes holding something that resembled hope. Hope that she was worth more than she thought she was.

Her hand lifted, fingers grazing my cheek. And after a moment of looking into each other's eyes, she leaned in, her lips meeting mine again.

This time, her tongue slid into my mouth. And I allowed it. I laid back on the couch, adjusting my wings carefully.

She laid on top of me, one hand caressing my face, the other resting on my side. I moaned against her lips as her thumb brushed the underside of my breast.

One of my hands rested on the back of the head, and my other gripped her hip. Her tongue almost massaged my own.

I gasped, finally letting myself breath as she began focusing on my jaw and neck. Sweet kisses were peppered on them.

Her hand came up to my breast, groping it in her hand, eliciting a soft moan from me. I could feel her smug smirk against my neck.

She nipped at the skin, making me gasp. But her tongue soothed over the pain, a hum of comfort leaving her lips.

"You're so perfect," she murmured against my throat.

I mewled at the words, and at her knee sliding between my thighs. And as incredible as it felt, it also brought me back to reality. We were going much too far, much too fast. Besides, Saphira must've been done with her counseling, now.

"Nes," I managed, squeezing my eyes shut at the pleasure. "Nes, we need to stop."

And she listened to me.

She got off of me and helped me sit up. I needed a second to catch my breath--to calm myself down.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked, her eyes filled with concern.

"No," I assured her. "It wasn't you. I just . . . I need time to adjust to all of this before we go any farther." She nodded. "And I need to find Saphira."

"Right," she recalled, cheeks flushed. "I should go."

She stood up and began to leave the room, but before she could, I said, "This was nice, Nes." She turned at me, and I swore I saw the ghost of a smile grace her lips before she turned away.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

I sat with myself for a few more minutes, my fingers brushing over the spot that she had bitten on my neck. I could still feel a slight sting.

When I had finished my thinking, I went to pick Saphira up from Roslin's office. Cassian had given me a handful of candy for her, which I had in my pocket, now.

She came out of the office with a focused pout on her face, which made me think the session hadn't gone quite well. It was difficult for her to talk about what had happened to her.

When she saw me, her expression softened to relaxation. I knelt down, holding my arms out, and she ran into them. I squeezed her close to me, pressing several kisses to the top of her head.

"Did you sign them?" she asked me.

"Yes, I did," I confirmed, squeezing my eyes shut.

I could hear her sniffling in my arms, and I placed a comforting hand on her head. I felt her tears falling on my shoulder, but I didn't care. She pulled back, wiping her blue eyes.

"So if she found me, she wouldn't be able to take me away from you?" she asked me. I knew she was speaking of her mother.

"Nobody will ever take you from me," I promised her, taking her hands in mine. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me forever." Relief seemed to take over her, her shoulders slumping.

"I love you," she whispered, squeezing my hands tight.

"I love you, too," I replied. "And I brought you some candy."

Her face lit up, which made me chuckle. I let go of her hand for just a moment to get the candy out of my pocket. She took it from me eagerly, putting most of it into her own pocket, but keeping one in her hand.

"Let's go to dinner, my little love."

Chapter Text

     I awoke in an empty bed for the third night in a row. A sense of relief washed over me, since I knew that meant Saphira had slept through the night.

I checked the clock on the wall, letting out a soft sigh as I realized that it was time for me to get out of my bed.

I groaned, stretching and yawning as I sat up, rolling my neck to get the kinks out. It was the first morning in a while that I had woken without any pain in my wings. I supposed that ointment truly did work wonders.

After I pulled my training leathers on and tied my hair up, I decided to check on Saphira, just to make sure she didn't sleep in for lessons.

Her room was beside me, and when I let myself in, she was sound asleep in her bed. She laid on her stomach, her wings draped over her arms to keep them warm.

I neared the side of her bed, very carefully tapping her arm so I didn't startle her. A grunt left her little lips, which made me smile.

"Good morning," I hummed, nudging her awake.

"It's too early," she groaned, her words muffled against the pillow.

"You have lessons in an hour," I reminded the girl. "If you want time for breakfast, you need to get up now."

She yawned, rolling onto her side, her eyes squinted against the sunlight coming through the window.

"No nightmares last night?" I asked her. Her blue eyes met mine, and she nodded.

"None," she replied, sitting up.

"Three nights in a row," I grinned, wrapping my arm around her. "That's a new record, little love." A sheepish smile spread across her tired features.

"Did you have any?" she asked me, turning her head to meet my eyes.

"Yes, but it was the first time in a week," I admitted, pursing my lips. She rested her head against my shoulder, and I rubbed her arm soothingly. "I need to go, Saph. Promise you'll make it to your lessons in time?"

"I promise," she grunted, rolling her eyes as she got to her feet.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

When Gwyn and I arrived the the training ring, Nesta was nowhere to be seen. Cassian was warming up, as he always was.

I glanced around, trying to find the female, but instead, my eyes caught on another. An Illyrian female at the water station.

I knit a brow, stepping closer until I realized that it was Emerie. A smile spread across my face as I neared her.

"Em, are you joining us?" I asked curiously.

"Nesta invited me," she explained.

She wore leathers, a lot like mine, but looser. It was hard to find training leathers made for females in Windhaven, so I was surprised she had any at all.

"I had no idea you two knew each other," I hummed, contemplating the words.

"They met when I took Nesta to Windhaven," Cassian explained to me, approaching us. Sweat already gleamed on his skin, and it made me wonder how early he'd gotten out here.

"Well, thank you again for the ointment," I said to her. "It's helped me so much."

"Of course," she shrugged. "Us girls need to stick together, don't we?"

I nodded, fidgeting with my hands as I did so. It would be nice having someone around who understood the agony of having your wings clipped. My brothers never would, and even Evelina had hers saved by her father. He had been a prick, but he'd let her keep the gift of flight.

When Nesta entered, our eyes met, but she quickly glanced away. I didn't let myself frown, not in front of the others.

Training truly proved Cassian right about clipped wings. Emerie was just as awkward and off balance as I had been--as I still was.

"It has to do with your wings," Cassian said as Emerie tumbled to the ground. "Astraea has the same problem. Without full use of your wings, your body compensates for its off-kilter balance in ways like that."

"Why?" Gwyn asked curiously.

"The wings usually act as a counterweight," he grunted as he helped Emerie up. "They're full of delicate muscles that constantly adjust and steady without us so much as thinking about it. Many of the key muscles can be impacted when someone's wings are clipped."

Emerie dusted the dirt off of her leathers, and Cassian's gaze softened as he took her in. "

"Which of the healers clipped you?" Cassian asked.

"My father did it himself," Emerie admitted. Cassian swore. "I fought him, so his work became even sloppier."

Emerie stretched out her right wing nearly all the way before it bunched and shuddered. "I can't extend this one past here." She stretched out the left wing—to barely half its length. "This is all I can get on this side."

I stared, eyes widening a bit. My wings couldn't extend as well as they used to, but they weren't as bad as hers. I couldn't even imagine the pain. My clipping had been botched not because I fought, but on purpose. A punishment for what my brothers had done to his own wings.

"He deserved to die in that battle," Cassian muttered. "Deserved to die a long time before that, Emerie."

"He deserved to die for far more than what he did to my wings," Emerie said quietly.

"If you're going to come to here every day, Madja could help you," I suggested. "She's the court's private healer. She's done a lot to help me with regaining movement in my wings."

"I appreciate the offer, but it's unnecessary," she said to me.

"Enough chitchat," Nesta interrupted. "If we only get Emerie for an hour today, then walk us through the punching, Cassian. Let her see what she'll need to catch up to."

"Do you have libraries in Illyria?" Gwyn asked Emerie.

"No. I've never been in one," she admitted.

I couldn't remember a single library in Illyria, either. Education wasn't a priority, there. Females were raised to be wives and mothers, and males were raised to be mindless soldiers.

"Do you like to read?" I asked Emerie.

"I live alone, up in the mountains. I have nothing to do with my spare time except work in my garden and read whatever books I order through the mail service," Emerie smiled. "And in the winter, I don't even have the distraction of my gardening. So, yes. I like to read. I cannot survive without reading."

"What manner of books?" Gwyn asked.

"Romances," Emerie said. Nesta smiled, and Emerie's eyes lit up. "You too? Which ones?"

Nesta rattled off her top five, and Emerie grinned, so broadly it was like seeing another person.

"Have you read Sellyn Drake's novels?" Emerie asked. Nesta shook her head. Emerie gasped. "You must read her books. You must. I'll bring the first one tomorrow. You'll stay up all night reading it, I swear."

"Smut?" Gwyn clarified. The hesitation in her voice made Nesta tense a bit, as though just realizing why Gwyn and I hadn't quite joined the conversation.

"What do you read?" Emerie asked.

"Adventure, sometimes mysteries. But mostly I have to read whatever Merrill, the priestess I work with, has written that day. Not as exciting as romance, not by a long shot," Gwyn replied.

"I can bring one of Drake's books for you, too—one of her milder ones. An introduction to the wonders of romance," Emerie offered, winking.

"I'd like that," Gwyn said.

Rhys appeared in the ring after an hour, exactly on time, just as always. We were all covered in sweat, and Emerie and I were coated in dirt from the falls we kept taking.

Gwyn stared in awe at Rhysand, and he turned to her with a smile.

"Hello, Gwyn," Rhys said warmly. "Good to see you again." Gwyn blushed and bowed low.

"My lord," Gwyn stuttered. I chuckled, and Nesta rolled her eyes.

"Nesta," Rhysand greeted coldly.

"Rhysand," she replied, tensing as their eyes met.

"These ladies are going to hand your ass to you in combat soon enough," Cassian grinned, breaking the tension.

Gwyn removed herself from the conversation, going off alone to the water station. I followed her, deciding not to leave her alone when she was uncomfortable.

"Is everything okay?" I asked her as gently as I could. She nodded, crossing her arms.

"How . . . how do you stand being around them all of the time?" she asked quietly, glancing over at the males warily.

"They're my brothers," I shrugged. "I've known them since they were children. But if I had met them when we were all older--I probably would've feared them, too."

"I know they wouldn't hurt me, I feel ridiculous," she scoffed. "The High Lord gave me a safe place to live. And the General is teaching me to defend myself. Why can't I relax?"

"Just because a fear is irrational does not make it any less real to you," I assured her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

I found myself pinned under Nesta again, her lips on mine. It seemed to have become a routine for us when she was done with her work. And I didn't mind it at all.

Her tongue twisted over my own, her hands exploring every part of my body except where I needed her the most. But I wasn't ready for that--not quite yet.

She swallowed my moans greedily, the sounds only spurring her on. And whenever I tapped her hip, my way of letting her know I needed a break, she would stop immediately and sit up.

She straddled my hips, her hand reaching out to play with my hair as I laid under her, staring up at her beatiful face.

"I'm sorry if the conversation today was . . . insensitive," Nesta said to me, regret in those grey eyes.

"Nes, you can talk about sex in front of me," I mused, smiling at her. "You don't have to censor yourself for the sake of Gwyn and me."

"Do you read at all?" she asked me, raising a brow.

I had always loved to read--even if I hadn't learned until I was sixteen. Living in Windhaven, there wasn't much for me to do. When the boys were at training, Evelina was doing her lessons, and Iridessa was working, I was left alone. Iridessa had a whole collection of mystery and thriller novels that I would read through, over and over again.

"I mostly enjoy mysteries," I shrugged. "Thrillers, anything a bit scary."

"I wouldn't have guessed that," she scoffed. I smiled, chuckling at her. It didn't seem like the type I would enjoy, but it was those books that had made me fall in love with reading.

"Most people don't," I sighed. "Though, I will read a romance every now and then. But the type of romance--it's different."

"How so?"

"I can only enjoy sapphic romances," I explained, cheeks heating a bit under her gaze. "And I enjoy the romance more than the smut aspects. Sex has never appealed to me very much, at least until--" I trailed off. Until I got to know you.

A smirk told me that she knew exactly what I was going to say before I cut myself off. But she didn't tease me for it.

"Mor's the only one that knows that about me," I admitted. "And she buys them for me when I'm too embarrassed to buy them myself." Nesta snorted.

"So that's what she bought you for Solstice," Nesta recalled. I nodded, remembering how Mor had winked at me when she'd given me the book. "I never did thank you for the Symphonia. It . . . it got me through a lot."

"Of course," I said softly, delicately tracing patterns on her arm. "I saw it, and I thought of you." Her lip twitched up at the side, but she didn't smile.

"You'll have to let me borrow one of those sapphic novels," she said to me. "I've only found a few around here."

"You've read some?" I asked her, quirking a brow. She nodded.

"We didn't have anything like that in the human lands," she explained to me. "So when I came across one in the library, I was intrigued. And I found that I very much enjoyed it."

I hummed as she ran her sharp nails along my scalp. We had settled into this very quickly, and it only made me realize that she wasn't nearly as cold and closed off as everyone made her out to be. She just needed someone that was willing to listen to her--to understand her.

"I'm sorry if Rhys was being a prick today," I muttered. "I saw how you tensed up."

"He went into my mind, and accused me of mistreating you and Gwyn," she scoffed. "He told me to treat the two of you with kindness and respect."

"You have," I assured her. "Even before you and I got to know each other, you did."

"There were times when I was unkind to you," she recalled, shame laced in her voice.

"And you have grown since then," I said, taking her hands in mine. "You were going through so much at the time. People change. And I think you've truly proven yourself. Is Rhys can't see that, he's an idiot and a prick."

"Thank you . . . for listening to my complaints about him," she said quietly. "Everyone else just jumps to his defense and berates me for speaking badly of him."

"I love him, but he is flawed," I acknowledged. "And after the way he has treated you, you deserve to complain. I'll speak to him if you wish."

"It's alright," she shrugged, scoffing. "I don't want him to know that . . . "

That it had gotten to her. She cut herself off, as if she didn't want me to know, either. That pride was one thing about her that hadn't changed.

I squeezed her hands, pulling me down so he was laying on top of me. And it seemed she was grateful for the distraction, as her lips met my neck again.

Chapter Text

     Cassian had come to the library early that morning, just as I was getting ready to leave for training. The grim expression on his face made me freeze at the doorway to the stairwell that led up to the House. 

"What's going on?" I asked, meeting his anxious hazel eyes. 

"It's Nesta," he answered. 

     Nerves pooled in my chest, nausea settling in the pit of my stomach and making me take a step back. 

"Is she alright?" 

"She's fine," he promised. "But last night, she . . . she had a nightmare. It was bad enough that Azriel and I could sense it from our rooms. And when we got there, she was asleep, but she was burning." 

"Burning?" I whispered, my eyes wide in horror. 

"She was covered in silver flames," he explained. "They were engulfing her. It took Rhys, Azriel, and I to wake her. And Rhys went into her head. It was . . . it was bad, Raea." 

"Gods," I uttered, taking it all in. 

"She won't talk to any of us about it," he went on. "But she likes you. I think she might open up to you." 

"I won't push her to," I declined, shaking my head. "But if she talks willingly, I will listen." 

"Fine," he agreed, nodding. 

"Will she be at training today?" I asked with a huff. 

"Yes," he confirmed. "She's already up there. So we should be joining her." 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

     I knew something was wrong the moment I set my eyes upon Nesta. She was pale, too pale, and she wouldn't meet anyone's eyes. Not even mine. 

     Three more Priestesses had chosen to join us the day before. Roslin, Deirdre, and Ananke. Of all the Priestesses I'd expected to join us, Deirdre was the only surprise. 

     Deirdre even took her hood off to train, which she rarely did. She was very insecure about the scar that stretched from her hairline to her jaw. She had more under her robes, that I only knew about because I counseled her.

     Roslin, I expected to join us eventually. I was close with Roslin, since she counseled me. And I'd been working with her to counsel others for centuries.

     Ananke had always been polite and even a bit talkative when you got to know her. She was determined to leave her past behind, and to overcome her trauma. So it didn't surprise me when she showed up.    

“What happened to you?” Emerie asked Nesta as we panted through our abdominal exercises. “You look white as death.”

“Bad dreams,” Nesta said. 

“Do you have them often?” Gwyn asked her. 

“Yes," Nesta admitted. 

“Me too,” Gwyn said quietly. “Some nights, I need a sleeping potion from our healer to knock me out.”

"The potions work for you?" I asked Gwyn curiously. She nodded. "They make my nightmares worse." 

"You may be taking too much, or not enough," Gwyn shrugged. "I had to play around with the dosage for a while before it worked for me." 

     I frowned, considering that. The last time I'd taken one, the nightmares had been so horrific and vivid, I never wanted to risk it again. 

“What did you dream about?” Emerie asked Nesta.

     Nesta tensed, but seemed to shake off whatever hesitation the words had triggered. “I dreamed of the Cauldron. What it did to me.”

“I dream of my past, too," Gwyn chimed, playing with her hair. 

"Me too," I murmured, and had to admit it felt good to voice it. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

     Nesta sought me out after she had finished her work for the day, finding me in the little room we often spent our time together in. 

     I glanced up from my book, placing it to the side as I took her in. She was in a grey dress today, one that brought out her eyes. Her hair was in its usual braid, and her eyes were fixed on mine. 

     She didn't say a word to me as she crossed the room and sat herself on my lap, her sweet lips pressing against mine before I could process what was happening. 

     I hummed into her open mouth, pleasure taking over me as she cupped my breast in her hand, squeezing gently. 

"Nes," I murmured as she kissed down my neck. "Nes, are you okay?" 

     She didn't answer. She kept sucking and kissing at my neck and jawline passionately, as thought she hadn't heard me at all.

     I sighed, my hand intertwining with her hair, and pulling her soft lips off of me. Her eyes snapped up to meet mine, wide with surprise. 

"Are you okay, Nes?" I repeated. 

"I'm fine," she insisted, going back in to kiss me once again. But I pulled away from her. 

"Do you need to talk about it?" I asked gently. Her eyes flashed with irritation. 

"No," she snapped. "I don't want to talk about it. I need a distraction." 

"This isn't a healthy way to distract yourself," I objected. 

"Just kiss me, Rae," she pleaded, her voice laced with annoyance. 

"No," I said firmly. "Come with me." 

     She seemed as though she was about to object, but I carefully nudged her off of my lap and got to my feet. 

     I took her hand in mine and led her down the hallways, until we were in another small sitting area.

"Chess," I announced, smiling at the chess table in the corner of the room.

"Chess?" she repeated, skeptically and unimpressed.   

"It's a good distraction," I explained. "I requires enough thinking to get your mind off of things. I taught Saphira. And when either of us are being dragged down by our past, we come and play." 

    Nesta huffed, but plopped down in one of the chairs. I raised a brow at her, and she rolled he silver eyes. 

"Are you going to join me or not?" she demanded. I snorted, but sat across from her. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

     After meeting with Saphira for dinner and getting her tucked in, I went back out into the common area of the library to finish some work. 

     I got lost in my paperwork, which seemed better than having to go to sleep and face the nightmares. I was the only one left in the library, and I liked it that way. 

     After a half hour, the sound of footsteps pulled me out of my focus. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself from lashing out in irritation. 

     But the muffled sobs that carried through the room to me made me glance up, my irritation gone in an instant, and replaced with concern. 

     Evelina had tears streaming down her face, her arms wrapped around herself, and her entire body trembling. 

     I was on my feet in an instant, rushing to her side and wrapping her up in my arms. All I could see was the little nine year old girl I'd once known, coming to me after every nightmare. 

"What's wrong, Eve?" I cooed to her. 

     My concern only grew when she didn't answer. I sighed deeply, leading her over to a sofa. I sat her down carefully, standing in front of her. 

"Eve," I repeated. "Talk to me." 

"It's Feyre," she sobbed, staring up at me. "Her baby has wings." 

     My blood ran cold, my entire body tensing up at the four words. The four words that changed everything. 

"What?" was all I could manage.

"He has wings," she bawled, shoulders shaking from her sobs. "They found out this morning." 

"What are they going to do?" I whispered, eyes wide. 

"Madja only told Feyre there was an elevated risk," she explained through her tears. "Feyre doesn't know it's going to kill her." 

"What?" I snapped, that concern being replaced by confusion. "Why doesn't she know?" 

"Rhys doesn't want her to know." 

"Fuck that!" I scoffed. "She deserves to know. The fact that he'd even consider keeping something like that from her--" 

"I know, I've tried talking to him," Eve cried. "He won't change his mind, Raea." 

"She's the one that's going to die," I ranted. "She's the one that should know. And Madja lying to her like that--" 

"She's not the only one that will die," Eve whispered. "I'm . . . I'm not supposed to tell anyone this. I was the only one they told. But Rhys and Feyre tied their lives together." 

"They . . . they what?" I demanded. 

"After Rhys died in the war, they tied their lives together," she explained. "So if Feyre dies . . . so does Rhys." 

     Before she could say another word, before I could even process anything, I was storming down the corridor to the stairway. 

"Astraea, wait!" Eve exclaimed, running after me.  

     I couldn't even hear her. I was moving with pure fury, my body overtaken by it as I stormed right into Rhys's office, Eve on my heels. 

     Rhys was at his desk, in his own world as he filled out some papers. He glanced up at us, face twisting in confusion. 

"Raea, what are you doing here--" 

     I advanced on Rhys, and landed several smacks at him as he protested and tried to shield his face.

"Raea, what the f—"

"You tied your life to hers?" I snapped. "Are you insane?"

"You don't understand—"

"You tied your fucking life to hers!" I yelled. "And now, you're both going to die? And you won't even fucking tell her!" 

"Please, just let me explain--" 

"Rhysand, this family is all I have left," I reminded him. "Call me selfish, but I think I've suffered enough to be allowed one act of selfishness."

"You have," he admitted, his features softening.

"You will figure it out," I said quietly. "Because I am not losing you, and I am not losing her."

Chapter Text

     Dread was the only thing Astraea felt. 

     She had been working at her desk when the feeling had fallen upon her. She could feel it in her mind, her chest, her entire body. 

     She knew something was wrong. 

     Astraea got to her feet, mumbling an excuse to Clotho as she neared the exit of the library. Rhys would know what was happening--what felt off.

     She hurried up the stairs that would take her to the House of Wind, quickly slamming the doors open when she got to the top. 

     She was met by her family, who all froze as the doors swung open. They appeared to be in a hurry to get somewhere, concern etched on their faces. 

"What's wrong?" Astraea demanded, her heart racing. They all exchanged a glance, but Cassian was the one to give her an answer. 

"It's Nesta," Cassian said, not bothering to give a further explanation. 

"What's wrong?" Astraea repeated firmly. 

"Just come with us," Evelina sighed, reaching her hand out. 

      Astraea hesitated, but when she saw the expression on Feyre's face, she stepped forward, taking Evelina's hand. 

      They walked out of the lower levels of the House of Wind and up to Rhys's office, Cassian catching Astraea up as nerves ate at her stomach. 

     Nesta sat at Rhys's desk, staring at something covered in cloth. Astraea furrowed her brow, trying to make out the shape beneath it to no avail. 

     As her eyes settled on Nesta, a soft gasp left her lips. She moved forward--towards the girl who hadn't yet looked up. Her mouth was brutalized, her neck marked by claws. 

"Does the mask speak to you?" Feyre asked her sister, angling her head. 

     Astraea's eyes went wide as she caught on. The mask, the first item to complete the Dead Trove, lay under that cloth.

"Only a desperate fool would don that Mask," Amren said. "You're lucky to have been able to pry it from your face. Most of those who have worn it could never remove it. In order to sever it, they had to be beheaded. It's the cost of the power: you can raise an army of the dead to conquer the world, but you can never be free of the Mask."

"I wished it to let go, and it did," Nesta said simply.

"Like calls to like," Rhys said. "Others could not free themselves because the Mask did not recognize their power. The Mask rode them, not the other way around. Only one Made from the same dark source can wear the Mask and not be ruled by it."

"So Queen Briallyn could use it," Azriel said. "Perhaps that's why the Autumn Court soldiers were in Oorid: she can't yet risk setting foot here, but she found a unit to go in for her."

"It should be destroyed," Nesta murmured. 

"That's not possible," Amren said. "Perhaps if the Cauldron had been truly destroyed, the Mask might have been weakened enough for the High Lords and Feyre to join their power and do it."

"If the Cauldron had been destroyed," Feyre said, "then life would have ceased to exist."

"So the Mask remains," Amren said wryly. "It can only be dealt with. Not eliminated."

"We should dump it in the sea, then," Nesta said.

"No taste for the living dead, girl?" Amren asked.

"No good can come of its power."

"If we dump it in the sea," Azriel said, "some wicked creature might find it. It's safer to keep it locked up with us."

"Even if it can open doors and undo spells?" Evelina asked.

"Like calls to like," Feyre said. "Perhaps Nesta could ward it and lock the room. Contain it."

"I don't know how to do those spells," Nesta said. "I failed at the most basic of them while training with Amren, remember?"

"Is that what you think, Nesta? That you failed?" Feyre asked her sister, her brows furrowed. 

"It doesn't matter," she said. "Tell me how to do the spells, and I'll try." 

"When Helion comes," Rhys said, "I'll have him show you. He knows spells for warding  that even I don't."

"Considering that Nesta brushed off Helion's smoldering advances during the war, he might not be so inclined to help her," Cassian joked.                                       

"He'll help," Rhys said. "If only for another shot at her."

     Nesta rolled her eyes, and Astraea shot her brothers a glance, letting them know this wasn't the time. 

"We should get Madja to tend to your wounds," Feyre fussed over her sister. 

"They're already healing," Nesta said.

"You look like a cat tried to eat your face off," Amren scoffed. "And you smell like a swamp."

"She just faced a fucking kelpie; have some compassion," Astraea snipped at Amren, crossing her arms. Amren raised her brow at the girl, at the tension on her face. 

"How did the kelpie snare you?" Cassian asked Nesta. Nesta's scratched-up throat bobbed. 

"I grew … nervous when you two didn't come back. I went to find you."

"You left her alone?" Astraea snapped at her brother, outrage in her voice. 

"We were gone thirty minutes," Cassian defended himself. "We wouldn't have left her."

"I wasn't afraid of being left. I was afraid you were dead. I was about to go into the water when the kelpie appeared. It crawled onto the bank, spoke to me, and then dragged me in."

"It spoke to you?" Rhys asked.

"Not in a language I knew."

"Can you show me?" Rhys asked carefully. 

     Nesta frowned, as if unwilling to relive the memory. Astraea didn't blame her. But eventually, she nodded. Both of their gazes went vacant, and then Rhys pulled back.

"That thing …" he surveyed Nesta with blatant shock that she had survived. Rhys turned to Amren. "Have a listen."

     Their eyes glazed over, and silence fell as Rhys revealed something to Amren. Even Amren's face turned pale at what Rhys showed her, prompting her to shake her head in disbelief. 

"That is a dialect of our tongue that has not been spoken in fifteen thousand years."

"I could only pick up every other word," Rhys said.

"You speak the language of the ancient Fae?" Feyre asked.

"My education was thorough," Rhys said. Evelina rolled her eyes at that, always jealous she hadn't gotten the same level of education. 

"What'd the kelpie say?" Azriel asked. 

"He said: Are you my sacrifice, sweet flesh? How pale and young you are. Tell me, are they resuming the sacrifices to the waters once more? And when she didn't respond, the kelpie said, No gods can save you. I shall take you, little beauty, and you shall be my bride before you are my supper."

     Astraea cringed at the words, a sympathetic glance at Nesta, whose hand drifted to the marks on her face, then recoiled.

"People used to sacrifice to kelpies?" Feyre asked, nose crinkling with disgust and dread.

"Yes," Amren said, scowling. "The most ancient Fae and humans believed kelpies to be river and lake gods, though I always wondered if the sacrifices started as a way to prevent the kelpies from hunting them. Keep them fed and happy, control the deaths, and they wouldn't crawl out of the water to snatch the children. For this one to still be speaking that ancient dialect … He must have retreated to Oorid a long time ago."

"Or been raised by parents who spoke that dialect," Azriel countered.

"No," Amren said. "The kelpies do not breed. They rape and torment, but they do not reproduce. They were made, legend says, by the hand of a cruel god—and deposited throughout the waters of this land. The kelpie you slew, girl, was perhaps one of the last."     

     Astraea stared at her scarred hands, trying not to think too hard about the kelpie. Nesta gazed at the Mask again.

"It flew to you. The Mask," Rhys said. 

"I was trying to reach for my power," Nesta murmured. "This answered instead."

"Like calls to like," Feyre repeated. "Your power and the Mask's are similar enough that to reach for one was to reach for the other."

"So you admit your powers remain, then," Amren said drily.

"You already knew that."

     Astraea shifted uncomfortably, stepping forward, towards Nesta. Nesta's eyes slid up to meet Astraea's, and she could see the pain in them. 

"Why don't you come back to the library for the night?" Astraea offered. "You've had a long day." 

      Nesta didn't break her gaze, but she nodded just once. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

     Astraea and Nesta didn't speak a word to each other the entire walk to the room. But halfway there, Nesta reached out for Astraea's hand, and she took it. No words needed to be shared.

      When they reached the older girl's room, Nesta glanced around, seeming surprised by how plain it was. Astraea knew the room was quite bare. She had a bed in the corner, a nightstand beside it, a small window above her bed, and a closet on the wall opposite her bed. She also had a dresser next to the door, which had some books and pictures scattered on it. That was all.  

"It's quite small," Nesta murmured, glancing around the room with pursed lips. 

"It's all I need," Astraea shrugged. "Are you hungry? I'll bring back something from the kitchen." Nesta nodded, sitting down on Astraea's bed, her gaze somewhere far away. "Then, I'll take you to the bathing chambers if you'd like." Nesta nodded again. 

     Astraea took a step towards her, taking her face in one hand, then leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head.

"I'll be back," she mumbled against the girl's hair. 

      Astraea went to the kitchen and got a bowl of lamb stew for the disheveled girl, as well as a piece of bread and an apple. 

     It was the middle of the day, so the bathing chambers would be empty, which she figured Nesta would be grateful for. Luna was still in her classes, but Astraea would need to go get her at the end of the day. 

     Nesta devoured the food quickly, clearly famished. Astraea didn't hold it against her, considering all she had endured in the past few hours.

     When Nesta finished her food, Astraea fulfilled her promise, leading her through the halls to the empty bathing chambers. Each bath had a private room, as many Priestesses, including Astraea, did not want to expose their bodies unless they were completely alone. 

     The Illyrian opened the door of a bathing room, helping Nesta in before closing and locking it behind her.

     Astraea sat Nesta on the side of the tub and began preparing the bath. She clogged the bathtub and started the water, finding a nice temperature. Then, she added bath salts, oils, and herbs to make the bath as relaxing as possible. 

     When it was filled, she noticed how Nesta was eyeing the water nervously, and Astraea's gut wrenched. She knew Nesta couldn't bear to take baths after being thrown in the Cauldron, but now with her trauma of the bog, as well. . . 

"Would you like me to stay here?" Astraea offered. Nesta could only nod. 

      Astraea glanced away respectfully as Nesta undressed and sank down into the water, her body tensing as she did so. 

"Relax, Nes," Astraea said softly. 

     Astraea pumped herbal oils onto her scarred hands and started to knead the tension from Nesta's shoulders. Nesta let out a soft sigh, her head falling back. 

     Astraea continued the motions, dragging them out. She wanted this bath to feel different from the Cauldron and the bog, and she wanted Nesta to feel safe and relaxed. 

     After a long while, Astraea asked, "May I wash your hair?"

"Yes," Nesta replied, her brows knit together from the massage. 

      Astraea gathered shampoo in her hands and began working it into Nesta's scalp. She scrubbed carefully but thoroughly, getting rid of the disgusting bits of the bog that were tangled in the girl's hair. 

     She allowed Nesta to wash the shampoo out of her own hair, dipping her head back. Then, Astraea went in with conditioner, smoothing her long hair. Astraea hadn't noticed how long it truly was. Nesta always had it up.

     Nesta spent the rest of the bath soaping herself off and washing her face. Astraea kept her gaze respectful, never lingering.

"You're really resilient, Nes," Astraea murmured. "I couldn't imagine facing a kelpie at all, let alone living to tell the tale." She shuddered with the words. 

"You fear them greatly, don't you?" Nesta said, her words an observation and not a question. 

"Yes," Astraea confessed, cheeks heating. "I always have." 

"Why?" Nesta asked. Astraea sighed, her shoulders dropping. 

"When I was young, Demetri told me all about kelpies," she admitted. "And when he was upset with me, he would threaten to throw me into a lake with a kelpie and leave me to die. I knew it was an empty threat, but the nightmares I got from it stuck with me. I still have them to this day."

     Nesta turned to study Astraea and her sad, blue eyes. She stood, carefully stepping out of the bathtub. Astraea got to her feet, grabbed a towel, and handed it to the girl, who immediately wrapped herself in it. 

"I'm sorry," Nesta finally said. "That's incredibly cruel."

     Astraea shrugged, her cheeks warming, feeling slightly embarrassed about sharing something like that. She had never opened up about it to anyone before.

     The two returned to Astraea's small bedroom, Nesta sitting on the edge of the bed. Astraea started sifting through the clothes in her closet, searching for something comfortable for Nesta to wear.

     She decided on a white cotton nightgown that would likely fit Nesta just fine. "This should work," Astraea announced, turning on her heel. 

     As Astraea approached, Nesta rose to her feet. She dropped her towel, exposing her toned body to Astraea. Then, she reached a hand out to cup Astraea's cheek. She leaned in, her lips ghosting along Astraea's jaw. 

"I want you, Rae," Nesta murmured. 

"Nes, this isn't a good time. You've been through a lot today," Astraea said softly, taking Nesta's face in her hands and gently pushing her back. Nesta's brows knit together from the rejection. 

"If you don't want to do this for your sake, I won't push you," Nesta promised. "But if it's for mine, it's fine. I want this."

"No," Astraea denied, shaking her head. "You use sex as an unhealthy coping mechanism. You use it as a way to hurt yourself. You did it after the war, and you're doing it now."

"I'm fine right now, Astraea," Nesta snapped. "I don't need your pity."

"Not pity. Sympathy," Astraea corrected. "And I won't take advantage of your suffering. Not when I know you'll regret it in the morning."

     Nesta blinked, glancing away from the Illyrian, her cheeks heating.

"I want to do this with you," Astraea assured her. "But only when we're both ready and comfortable. When neither of us are using it to distract ourselves from anything, and when neither of us will regret it."

 "Why do you care so much?" Nesta asked quietly, staring at the floor. "Nobody I've slept with cared why I was doing it."

"Over the years, I've found many, many unhealthy ways of coping with what's happened to me," Astraea said, sitting down beside her. "So I can recognize it in you quite easily. And I don't want to be a part of it. I care about you, and I don't want to see you hurt. Especially because of me." 

     Nesta didn't respond, but she did begin putting on the nightgown. "Is it comfortable?" Astraea asked. 

"Yes," Nesta answered softly. Astraea pursed her lips as she studied the girl. 

"Come here," Astraea sighed, laying back on the bed and getting under the covers. 

     Nesta raised a brow at her, but got into the bed, nonetheless. Astraea smiled softly, pulling Nesta closer. 

     To Astraea's surprise, Nesta rested her head on Astraea's shoulder, wrapping her arms around her. 

      The two held each other, their legs intertwining, and Nesta's head tucked under Astraea's chin. And Astraea realized she could've stayed that way forever. 

Chapter Text

     There were times when Astraea felt as though she could see Nesta's soul through her eyes.

     Even while holding the upright position of her curl, she couldn't stare at anything else.

     Those silver eyes were unfocused, yet firm in determination to complete the drill Cassian had forced upon them.

     They flitted towards Astraea, and a flush crept up Nesta's neck when she noticed her looking. Astraea smiled as their gazes locked, a soft laugh leaving her lips.

"What is going on with you two today?" Emerie's voice pulled their eyes away from one another.

      They were lured back to reality, Nesta keeping her features neutral as she lay back onto the ground.

"Nothing," Nesta replied.

"You two have been smiling at each other all morning," Gwyn pointed out, quirking a brow at them.

"We have not," Astraea defended as Nesta scowled at the girls.

"You have," Gwyn grinned, scrunching her nose.

     Nesta rolled her eyes, though Astraea had to bite her lip to keep from smiling yet again.

"Well, if you won't talk about that," Emerie said, "then at least tell us what happened yesterday—why there was no lesson, and where you two were in the afternoon."

"We were asked to keep it secret," Nesta said.

"It has something to do with the Trove," Gwyn said, narrowing her teal eyes.

     Astraea and Nesta exchanged a glance, but didn't reply. That was answer enough.

"It must be good if you two are smiling," Gwyn pointed out.

"We didn't say that," Astraea sighed.

"Emerie! Gwyn! If you can do those curls as well as you run your mouths, you'd be done by now," Cassian shouted at the two girls.

"Sorry!" they replied.

     Nesta and Astraea exchanged an exasperated glance. But the truth was, Astraea didn't know how to answer their initial question. What was going on between them?

"Astraea, get on with it!" Cassian ordered,

     Astraea scowled at her brother, but did as she was told. She had been building her endurance. She could go much longer with most exercises, and her balance was improving. She could even stretch her wings a bit farther than before. 

     Between curls, Gwyn said, "You know, if you're having trouble concentrating ..."

"Oh, please," Nesta muttered.

     Gwyn let out a breathy laugh. "I mean it. I learned about a new Valkyrie technique last night. It's called Mind-Stilling."

"What is it?" Astraea asked curiously as she exercised.

"They used it to steady their minds and emotions. Some of them did it three or four times a day. But it's basically the act of sitting and letting your mind go quiet. It might help with your ... concentration."

"Such a thing is possible? To train the mind?" Nesta wondered.

"Well, yes. It requires constant practice, but there's a whole chapter in this book I summarized for Merrill about how they did it. It involved deep breathing and becoming aware of one's body, then learning to let go. They used it to remain calm in the face of their fears, to settle themselves after a hard battle, and to fight whatever inner demons they possessed."

"Illyrian warriors do no such thing," Emerie murmured. "Their heads are full of rage and battle. It's only gotten worse since the last war. Now that they're rebuilding their ranks."

"The Valkyries found heightened emotions distracting in the face of an opponent," Gwyn said. "They trained their minds to be weapons as sharp as any blade. To be able to keep their composure, to know how to access that place of calm in the midst of battle, made them unshakable opponents."

"Can you get a scribe to make copies of the chapter?" Nesta wondered.

"I already did," Gwyn grinned.

"Do you four want to gossip or train?" Cassian barked.

"Don't tell him of this," Nesta warned, throwing him a scathing look. "It's our secret."

     The three girls nodded their agreement as Cassian sauntered over. Cassian paused before them, hands on his hips.

"Is there something more interesting today than your training?"

"Not at all," Astraea murmured.

"When do we get to do something of use? When do we start on archery or swords?" Nesta demanded.

"I really don't think you're ready to handle a sword," Cassian replied.

     Emerie let out a fizzing noise, but kept working.

"Only you can tell me that."

     His nostrils flared. "Get up."

"What?"

"You heard me. You think you're ready to handle a sword, then prove it."

     Cassian barked at the three females, "Finish your exercises now or do double."

     Astraea grumbled, but she and the other two girls began their curls again. She watched as Nesta went off with Cassian.

"'Raea!" a voice made her snap out of her thoughts.

     Evelina came over to them with a grin, plopping down right beside her sister-in-law.

"What're you doing up here?" Astraea asked.

"I came to see how training is going," she shrugged, tying her dark hair up. "Full disclosure: Rhys sent me."

"Of course he did," Astraea grumbled.

"I heard Nesta slept in the library last night," Evelina said nonchalantly, checking her nails.

"What?" Gwyn asked, perking up. "Why?"

"She needed company," Astraea said, a blush creeping up her neck. "How did you even know that?"

"Azzy never noticed her leave after she went off with you," Evelina shrugged, but there was a wicked smirk on her face.

     Azriel. Of course. Her brother never missed a thing.

"Evelina, if you are going to distract my girls, you can leave," Cassian shouted at the girl.

"Take it up with Rhys," she replied, getting to her feet. "He sent me to see how training is going."

     Cassian groaned slightly, but didn't object. Evelina shot him a look that said, 'That's what I thought.'

"At Nesta's insistence, we will begin with swords today," he announced, grabbing wooden training swords from a sword rack.

"You didn't teach me swordplay for nearly two years after we began training," Evelina snapped, outrage on her face.

"I took things slow with you for a reason, Eve," he retorted. "Now, stand back and observe, as your brother sent you to do. I don't want to hear any interruptions from you."

     She scowled, crossed her arms, but stepped back.

"These are weapons of death," Cassian said to them. "They need to be treated with a healthy dose of respect. I didn't even touch a real sword for the first seven years."

"Seven years?" Gwyn demanded.

"You think children should be swinging around a real sword?"

"No," Gwyn sputtered. "I just meant—do you plan for us to practice with wooden swords for seven years?"

"If you four keep giggling, then yes."

"Don't let him bully you," Evelina spoke up.

"Evelina, I will kick you out!" Cassian warned the female. She held her hands up in mock surrender.

"It's heavy," Nesta observed as she took the wooden sword from Cassian.

"The real sword weighs more."

"Really?"

"Yes." He nodded to her hands. "Double-handed grip on the hilt. Don't choke up too close to the shaft."

     Emerie began coughing, and Astraea rolled her eyes.

"Feet where I showed you," he said.

     Nesta corrected her footing, then lifted the blade before her.

     Cassian walked her through eight different cuts and blocks. Each was an individual move, he'd explained, and like the punches, they could be combined. The most difficult thing was to remember to lead with the hilt of the sword—and to use her entire body, not just her arms.

"Block one," he ordered, and she lifted the sword perpendicular to her body, raising upward against an invisible enemy. "Slice three."

     She rotated the blade, reminding herself to lead with the stupid hilt, and slashed downward at an angle. "Thrust one." Another pivot and she lunged forward, slamming the blade through the breastplate of an imaginary enemy.

     Everyone had stopped to watch.

"Block three," Cassian commanded.

     Nesta went through the movements, becoming more fierce as she did so. Tears stung her eyes as she slashed and blocked, pivoting and lunging. Astraea watched her in awe, wondering if she could ever have that much power. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

     Nesta and Astraea snuck back to the library together after training, holding hands and laughing with one another. Astraea had never felt more like herself than she did when she was with Nesta. 

     Astraea loved the feeling of their lips joining, the taste of Nesta's mouth. She liked talking with the girl, getting to know the little details about her.

     But when they arrived at Astraea's room, there was already a person in her bed. Astraea and Nesta both froze, closing the door behind them. 

     Saphira was under the covers of Astraea's bed, reading a book. Her little face was flushed, her hair sticking to her skin from the sweat on her face. Her blue eyes were bloodshot, and her eyelids were flitting open and closed as she looked at her book. 

"Saphie?" Astraea gushed, going to the girl's side. "What's wrong, dear? Why aren't you in your lessons? Are you feeling alright?" 

"I didn't feel well," Saphira whined, putting her book down.

"Why didn't you come to me?" Astraea fussed, pressing the back of her hand to Saphira's forehead. "I would've skipped training to take care of you."

     She was burning up. Astraea sighed, tugging the blanket off the little girl. Saphira sneezed, sniffling as she wiped her nose. Nerves settled in Astraea's stomach. Luna had gotten sick and never recovered when she was just a year older than Saphira. 

"I'm taking you to Madja," Astraea shook her head. "You have a fever." 

"I'm fine," Saphira slurred. 

"No, you're not," Nesta spoke up, frowning as she knelt beside Astraea and gazed down at Saphira. "Why don't I go get Madja and bring her here?"

"You don't have to do that--" Astraea insisted. 

"I don't mind, Rae," Nesta promised, placing a hand on the Illyrian's shoulder. "She doesn't seem well enough to move right now." 

     Nesta disappeared, and Astraea wanted nothing more than to gather Saphira into her arms and hold her tight. But she didn't want to make the girl any hotter than she already was. 

"You never have to hesitate to come to me when you aren't feeling well," Astraea said. 

"My mother always got upset when I was sick," Saphira sniffled. "She said she hated wasting her money on medicine and tonics, and she didn't have the time to take care of me." Astraea's face softened, and she reached out to stroke the girl's cheek. 

"I always have time for you, Saphie," Astraea promised. "You never have to be afraid to come to me for anything." 

     Saphira nodded, nuzzling her face against Astraea's hand. Astraea leaned forward and kissed her forehead. 

"What is Nesta doing here?" Saphira asked. "You've been with her a lot lately." Astraea blushed, drawing away from the little girl. 

"We're friends," Astraea explained. 

"I think you like her," Saphira murmured in her delirious state. "If you marry her, I can have two mothers." 

"Saphie!" Astraea exclaimed, eyes widening. "What makes you think--" But she trailed off, contemplating what Saphira had said. "You think of me as your mother?" 

"I said I couldn't call you Mother because it reminded me of mine," she said. Astraea nodded. "But I could call you Mama, even if it would make me feel guilty."

"Why, my love?" Astraea asked her.

"Because you had a daughter, and I don't want you to think I'm trying to replace her."

"Oh, sweetheart," Astraea sighed. "I would never think that. You are not a replacement for Luna. You are just as much my daughter as she was." 

"You don't have to pretend you love me as much as you loved her," Saphira said, her voice lilting from fever.

"I'm not pretending," Astraea insisted. "I love you the same way I loved her. And she would've loved you, too."

"Really?" Saphira uttered.

"Yes," Astraea hummed. "Luna always wanted a sister. Of course, I was so young, and her birth was so brutal, so I was unable to give her one. But you . . . she would've loved to be your older sister. The two of you would've been the best of friends." 

     When Nesta returned with Madja, Astraea carried the little girl to her own room. Madja confirmed that Saphira had a fever, but she assured Astraea it was not life-threatening. 

"Keep her in bed for the next three days," Madja said. "I'll come by every morning to check on her. I'll leave tonics for her to take. One every morning, one every night. Make sure she only bathes in lukewarm water, not hot or cold. Feed her food with lots of vitamins, and make sure she drinks a lot of water."

     The exact instructions Madja had given her when Luna had fallen sick. The instructions Astraea had followed for a year had not been enough to save her.

"But she'll be alright?" Astraea asked, her brows furrowed with concern. 

"She will be fine, Astraea," Madja assured. "No need to worry."

     Astraea let out a sigh of relief, nodding and thanking her. Madja left them, and Astraea plopped down on Saphira's bed. The blonde girl was fast asleep. 

"It'll be alright," Nesta reminded her, standing in front of her. 

     Astraea groaned, burying her face in the skirts of Nesta's dress, and wrapping her arms around her waist. Nesta stroked Astraea's hair, murmuring comforts. 

"Thank you, Nesta," Astraea whispered. "I really appreciate that you're here."

Chapter Text

     Over the next two days, Astraea kept a very close eye on Saphira. She only left her side to attend training, even though the girl slept most of the time. Madja said her recovery was coming along just fine, but Astraea still worried. 

     When she watched Saphira sleeping, her breath catching, tiny coughs leaving her lips, all she could see was Luna.

     It had been raining nonstop for the last few days, and Cassian had decided he would bring Azriel in to help them train. At first, some of the girls were hesitant around him. But he was quiet enough to make them relax quickly. 

     As Astraea shivered on the roof of the House, she wished they had an indoor training ring. She and her friends were soaked. 

     Nesta's leathers were hugging her so tightly from the rain, and Astraea could barely focus. Training had toned her slim body, perked up her curves, and given her an edge that Astraea found so attractive. Sexual attraction was something Astraea had never once experienced, not until Nesta. 

     Astraea couldn't stop her eyes from wandering--couldn't stop her staring. Cassian had snapped at her quite a few times, and Nesta had only smirked. 

     Astraea was doing her best to focus on the exercises they were doing—self-defense moves to get out of dangerous situations. But she could feel Nesta's eyes on her, as well. And it was so damn distracting. 

"So this can really take down a male in one move?" Gwyn asked.

"This move will knock anyone unconscious if you hit the right spot," Cassian said. "You want to go for this pressure point. Hit it hard enough, you'll make them drop like a stone."

     Astraea wished she had known these things centuries ago. Not that it would've helped. There was nothing she could've done to escape that male. Not until Iridessa had come to take her away. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

     Astraea went to check on her daughter once they had returned, and found her still sleeping. Astraea pressed a kiss to her forehead, then went back to her room to change.

     She slipped into a comfortable, warm dress and pulled her wet curls up in a ponytail. She studied herself in her mirror, caring for once in her life about how attractive she looked. 

     In the past, her beauty had only brought her pain. Now, she wanted to look beautiful. And she wanted Nesta to tell her how beautiful she was. 

     As Astraea walked through the library to find Nesta, she found her curled up in a comfortable nook by the window, cuddled in a blanket, with a content smile on her face as she read a book and sipped tea.

     Astraea rarely saw Nesta smiling like that. It made Astraea sad, because she thought Nesta's smile was the nicest thing in the world.

     A storm raged outside the window, rain pattering against the glass, and gentle bursts of thunder echoing every few minutes. Flashes of lightning lit the room, but they were both safe and warm inside.

     Astraea watched the girl for a while before making her presence known, savoring that expression of happiness on Nesta's perfect face. Nesta was more beautiful than she'd ever know, especially when she was happy.

     When Astraea was ready, she carefully stepped into the room, not wanting to disturb Nesta. 

     Nesta glanced up from her book, and to Astraea's surprise, continued smiling as their eyes met. Her silver gaze intimidated most, but never Astraea.

"Care to join me?" Nesta asked.

"Could I ever refuse such a lovely offer?" Astraea challenged, breezing over to the female.

     Astraea climbed into the chair beside her, and Nesta shared her blanket, wrapping it around Astraea's shoulders. Astraea wrapped her arms around Nesta, resting her head on her shoulder and closing her eyes.

"I saw you staring at me today," Nesta smirked. Astraea blushed. "Don't worry. I was staring, too." 

"I know you were," Astraea said. "You seem happy today, Nessie."

"Rain makes everything better," she replied simply.

     And as the sound of rain and thunder soothed and relaxed Astraea, she found she did not disagree.

"Gwyn took me through some of those mind exercises she was talking about," Nesta mused. 

"Oh?" Astraea raised a brow. "How was it?" Nesta was silent for a moment, as though contemplating it. 

"Peaceful," she answered honestly. 

"I'd like to learn," Astraea decided. 

"I'm sure Gwyn will teach you and Emerie, as well," Nesta said. "It was harder than I thought it would be.”

     Astraea hummed, burying her face in Nesta's warm neck. Nesta pressed a kiss to her forehead, holding her tight.

"How long are you going to live down here for?" Nesta asked her. Astraea raised her head, frowning as she thought about it. 

"Until Saphira feels comfortable enough to leave," Astraea answered. "Until I feel comfortable enough."   

"Why don't you become a priestess?" Nesta wondered.

     Astraea stopped herself from scoffing. She was not religious in the slightest. She had prayed as a teenager--prayed for her torture to end. However, as she grew older, she strayed from her faith. 

"If the Mother cared for me, she would not have let Saphira or me suffer the way we did," she stated. "And she would not have taken my little Luna so early. I'm glad that the other girls here have found comfort in religion after what they've been through. But I was just a child, and so were my daughters. I can't forgive a higher power that allowed that to happen."

"I understand that," Nesta said, stroking her arm. "Your daughter--how old was she when she died?" 

"She was twelve," Astraea confessed. "She got sick a year before. Her health began to deteriorate quickly, and within a year, she was dead." 

"That's why you've been so worried about Saphira," Nesta hummed. Astraea nodded. 

"It started like this," Astraea said, fidgeting with her hands. "And I felt so guilty. I was only sixteen when I got pregnant, and I didn't want to keep her. But terminating pregnancies wasn't permitted in the Night Court at the time, and Madja said to trip to the Dawn Court would be perilous in my state. The birth itself nearly killed me, but when I held Luna, I fell in love with her. So when I lost her, I felt as though it was the Mother punishing me for wanting to get rid of her in the first place." 

"That's not true, Rae," Nesta murmured. "You loved her. Even with her father being who he was, you still loved her. That's not easy." 

"I loved her, but I had my moments," Astraea answered honestly. "When she was ten, we got into a fight, and she had this expression on her face that was purely her father. It shook me up so badly, that I locked myself in my bedroom and cried for hours."

"That's to be expected," Nesta said. "That doesn't mean it was your fault that you lost her." 

     Astraea blinked tears from her blue eyes, resting her head on Nesta's shoulder once again. She'd never told anybody about how she blamed herself. She had kept it bottled up for centuries, with no one to assure her that it wasn't true. Hearing the words from Nesta's lips was overwhelming. 

     Nesta kissed her cheek and wiped the stray tears from Astraea's eyes. She reached out, taking Astraea's hand in hers. Astraea sniffled, glancing down at their joined hands, resting on Nesta's lap. 

"Oh!" a voice broke their focus. Their heads snapped towards the source of the voice. Gwyn stood before them, a smile on her face. "You two look comfortable." 

     Astraea and Nesta exchanged a glance, one of panic. They hadn't told anybody about the relationship between them. They hadn't even discussed if they were in a relationship at all. 

"Don't stop on account of me," Gwyn teased, sitting on the couch across from them, a book in her hand. "Emerie and I have suspected for a while, now." 

"Suspected what?" Nesta demanded. 

"That you two have been . . . " she trailed off. "Well, you know." 

"No, I don't know," Nesta said. "Enlighten me." 

"Nes," Astraea murmured. 

"You two are so cute!" Gwyn squealed. "Always giving each other looks during training, smiling and smirking. It's adorable."

"Gwyn," Nesta hissed, her face going red. 

"Alright, I can take a hint," Gwyn rolled her eyes. "I'll leave you be." 

     Gwyn left them, though she shot them another teasing smirk before she disappeared. Nesta sighed, but Astraea grinned, turning to look at Nesta. 

"Are you ashamed of me, Nessie?" Astraea asked, raising a brow.  

"No, never," Nesta promised, taking Astraea's face in her hands. "But our relationship is nobody's business but ours." 

"Relationship," Astraea repeated, smirking. "Are we in a relationship?" 

      Nesta's words faltered, her gaze settling on Astraea. She sighed, biting her lips nervously.

"I've only ever been in a relationship once," Nesta murmured. "And it didn't end well." 

     Astraea frowned, running a scarred finger down Nesta's arm. Nesta stared ahead, past Astraea, and at the wall. 

"I didn't love him," Nesta explained. "His name was Tomas. I was twenty-two, and it was just before Feyre was taken. I thought he could offer me security. I thought if I married him, I wouldn't be starving anymore. But Feyre told me his father beat his mother, and Tomas did nothing to stop it. So I went to end things with him." 

     Nesta's voice was quiet, monotone, as if she was trying not to relive what she was saying. She continued to stare ahead, to dissociate. 

"When I told him it was over, he . . . " she trailed off, swallowing a lump in her throat. "He pinned me to the wall of the barn, and his hands began to wander; he began ripping at my dress--" Her voice broke. "I bit him so hard he bled. And when he pulled away, I ran." 

     Astraea sat up straight, pulling Nesta into her. Nesta rested her head on Astraea's chest, wrapping her arms around her neck. 

"I'm sorry, Nessie," Astraea murmured, kissing the top of her head. "I won't let anything like that happen to you again." 

     Nesta nuzzled her face into Astraea's neck, and she could feel the girl's tears on her skin. She stroked Nesta's golden brown hair, murmuring soft comforts to her. 

"I'd like to be with you, Rae," Nesta said after a while. "Nobody makes me feel like you do."