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Chapter Text

I needed a bow.

Tamlin said to stay in my room and keep the door locked until morning, but I needed a bow. The drums outside were pounding, the bonfires roaring to life, and the woods held my quarry. I needed a bow.

As I crept through the empty manor, I could only think of the need to get to the woods, to find a stag, to kill it. Years of hunting to avoid starvation made me used to thinking of nothing but game—perhaps it's no surprise I didn't realize something had come over me on Calanmai.

The stables were empty, too. The servants were off with everyone else doing whatever the Rite involved, so it was simple enough to slip a bow off its peg on the wall and a full quiver over my shoulder, then strap a hunting knife to my thigh. I headed out into the night.

I wasn't sure exactly where I was going, just let the pounding drums and the smell of smoke pull me forward. There was something out here waiting for me.

The sun had set a while ago, clouds obscuring most of the light from the half-moon. Even in the darkness, I could navigate fine. In hindsight, that alone should have made a few things obvious.

I pushed back the hood of my cloak, more concerned with spotting movement in the corner of my vision than hiding my telltale human features. My quarry was closer.

I stalked through the forest on instinct, moving the same way I always did in the woods—quickly and silently. A single snap of a twig underfoot might be enough to send animals scurrying and doom me to another day of hunger pangs and lightheadedness. Tonight, though, the air was thick with magic. I could smell it like the calm before a thunderstorm.

Leaves rustled a few hundred yards away. Something white streaked through the forest, away from whoever made the noise. I let out a low growl, a sound I didn't know I was capable of making. Someone else was after the stag. At least, though, they were doing a poor job of hunting it.

It was familiar, the scrabble for limited resources that had defined so much of my life before I crossed the wall. I was still standing because I'd won that competition more often than I'd lost.

I nocked an arrow and stopped to take in my surroundings. There was no time to scramble up a tree and wait—the pounding of the drums was pushing me to finish this fast.

Thank the Mother milkweed was within reach, the fluff already hanging out of some of the pods. I used to dry it to use all winter when the plants died, but there's no need in a land of eternal spring. I flicked some into the air and watched for the direction the wind carried it. With nothing to conceal my scent, I had to stay upwind of the stag.

I moved slowly, with a rhythm that had become intimately familiar. Take a step. Freeze. Watch. Listen. Wait. Take another step.

A glimpse of blond hair through the trees told me the other hunter was Tamlin. On another night, I might have approached him and tried to work together, but something buried deep in my chest railed against the idea. The stag was mine and mine alone.

The brief flashes of white fur through the trees became more frequent. Faintly glowing with magic, the stag was laughably easy to spot compared to a normal brown deer. I would have bagged it already if Tamlin's scent and loud footsteps didn't keep sending it running.

Foolish of him. Even novice hunters know to conceal their scent, to approach quarry on a diagonal, to keep checking the wind because it changes fast in hills like this.

A normal deer would have been exhausted by now, panting and slow. But the glowing white stag seemed to have an endless well of something —energy, magic, the-Mother-knows-what.

I wasn't sure how long it lasted, and if the Fire Night magic had stretched out time, I wouldn't have been surprised. Focused on nothing but the stag, I didn't look up at the stars to mark the passage of time.

After minutes or hours or something else entirely, it stopped in a clearing and bent its head to eat. I'd gotten close enough for a perfect shot to its lungs, one that wouldn't ruin the meat. I nocked the arrow again, drew it to my cheek, closed one eye, and aimed.

No.

The sight of the stag, peaceful and harmless, unaware of me, made me drop the bow. The magic filling my mind disappeared, and it felt like being jerked from sleep by a bucket of ice water.

I hated hunting. There was no reason for me to take a life now—my belly was full, and I wasn't doing this to survive. I would never be a trophy hunter, killing just to show off.

The white stag raised its head, looking directly at me, and I was sure it had known I was there the whole time. With my head clear, I could feel the magic radiating from it—petal-soft new beginnings, life pushing its way to the sky through half-frozen soil by sheer force of will, a land that's shifting and changing as the sun returns, beautiful roses and razor-sharp thorns.

The magic of the Spring Court.

The stag looked at me with eyes that saw through everything, right down to the core of who I was. And when it spoke without opening its mouth, I didn't hear the words in my head, I just felt them.

Well met, High Lady.

"I'm human, certainly no High Lady," I said. Perhaps after centuries of being hunted by Tamlin it was confused, but I doubted a being that radiated such power could be confused by anything.

You have not yet taken your throne, but it is yours nonetheless.

I stood there, dumbfounded, trying to puzzle out what that could mean. The idea that a human could rule a faerie court was patently ridiculous. And besides, I was a half-starved girl from a backwoods village; there would be no throne for me. Unless…

"Are you saying I'll marry Tamlin?" I blurted out.

The stag's laughter was gentle, and it felt like a breeze sending petals floating gracefully down from a tree, soft and benevolent.

But I still wasn't sure if that was a yes or no.

You mastered your base instinct and chose mercy tonight. It's not my place to tell fortunes, but for your compassion, I will grant you another sort of boon.

I blinked, taking that in. "Thank you." There was nothing else to say, and an image formed in my mind's eye, as if placed there by the stag.

It showed me the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. Short black hair that gleamed, eyes so deep blue they were violet, the sort of pallor you only saw in someone with dark skin who had been out of the sun for a long time. Darkness swirled around him, and I could have sworn it formed the image of wings behind him until everything faded.

He is here tonight. Find him and give him this to claim what's yours.

I opened my hand and found pomegranate seeds, placed there by the stag's magic, the red flesh bright in the moonlight. I started to ask another question, but the stag spoke again.

Do this, and I will not have to die for tonight's Rite to be complete.

I nodded, still not sure I understood, and closed my hand around the seeds again. This was a gift—that much I was sure of. Before I could thank it or say anything else, the white stag bounded off through the trees, faster than I'd ever thought possible.

The drums had gotten louder, the smoke thicker, and the magic in the air a second haze, like a mist that had descended on the land. There was something tugging in my chest again, urging me forward. And I didn't know how, but I was sure there was something at the other end of that string.

I followed it, somehow sensing it and moving on instinct alone, as the tugging only got sharper, more impatient. I broke into a run, my heart pounding.

The same instinct had me skidding to a stop near the mouth of a cave, where a man stood with his back to me. Even without seeing his face, I knew it was him.

His immaculate black jacket and pants seemed all wrong for the forest around us, but perfectly at home with the way the night itself seemed to cling to him. Even if I hadn't noticed the pointed ears, the way he stood with absolute stillness made it obvious he couldn't be anything but High Fae.

"There you are," I whispered.

He spun around at that, the movement catlike and graceful even if I'd startled him. The full force of his violet gaze stole my breath.

For a long moment, we said nothing, just drank each other in. A half-smile formed on his face, as if he liked what he saw.

And for some reason, even though he moved like a predator and my human instincts should be screaming at me to run from danger, I wanted him to like what he saw.

We broke the silence, moving in perfect synchrony as we both said, "I've been looking for you."

From me, it sounded like an accusation, but from him, it was a lover's purr that skittered down my spine, a caress I felt all the way down to the very center of my being. He might carry himself like a panther, but there was a polished quality to his voice and clothes that I could never hope to achieve, not as a scrawny, half-feral thing that had been plucked out of the mortal woods.

The drumming got louder and faster, as if it was building towards something. I didn't understand it, but the sound had my hackles up all the same. My heart couldn't beat any harder.

And then something in the male's face changed as he stepped towards me. His eyes went wide and wild, his nostrils flaring like he'd just picked up a new scent.

He looked like he'd just started to unravel.

I should have wanted to run. No human had ever had a faerie look at them like that and had it end well, at least not before that night. But I couldn't bring myself to be afraid of him. If anything, it was excitement that was curling in my gut.

Something tugged at my chest again, and I reached my hand out, opening my palm, and offering the pomegranate seeds.

He grabbed my hand and ate the seeds right out of it, the movement bestial and entirely fae. The tip of his tongue lapped at the soft skin at the center of my palm, and his teeth scraped against it gently.

It sent my thoughts spiraling towards all the other places he could put his mouth and what it would feel like when he did. When he lifted his face, the juice staining his lips, there was a wicked grin that almost made me believe he'd heard what I'd been thinking.

"That's because I did hear all of it," he said.

If nothing else, that should have finally sent me running, or at least jerking my hand out his grip. But I only wanted him closer.

"Rhysand," he said, stepping towards me again, so close I had to tip my head back to see his face, and the heat of him drew me in. His voice had gone rough, no more elegance to be found. "But Rhys for you."

It was an answer to a question I hadn't spoken aloud, but maybe I'd been asking my whole life without even realizing it. There was an intimacy to the nickname, a small show of vulnerability. Names had power in Prythian, and he'd given me his.

I didn't hesitate to say, "Feyre Archeron."

I surged forward, taking his face in both of my hands and pressing my lips to his. Magic surged with me, the Spring Court's power urging a new beginning, for something to grow. His hands found my hips and pulled them closer so I was flush against him. The hard length of him pressed against my stomach, and suddenly all I could think about was how there were far too many layers between us.

I ground against him, trying to get as much friction as I could manage. I wanted our clothes off, but I didn't want to let go of him to make that happen. I couldn't think of anything else. 

He let out a low, satisfied growl that had heat pooling in my lower abdomen. When he finally pulled away, I couldn't hold back a cry of disappointment at the sudden distance.

"Privacy," was all he managed to ground out, taking my hand again and leading me into the cave.

Magic swirled around us—Calanmai, the Spring Court, and shining brighter and clearer than anything else, the golden thread connecting us.

And that bond was all our own.

Before my eyes could adjust to the dark, the cave wall pressed into my back and Rhys to my front, one of his legs between mine. I ground my hips against his hard, muscular thigh as he kissed and nipped at my neck. Perhaps with my mouth free, I should have taken the opportunity to ask what the hell was going on, but I needed to touch more of his skin.

I thought I knew hunger—far more intimately than anyone ever should—but I'd never experienced such a need to devour like this.

I wasn't sure if it was magic or his preternatural speed that had our clothes off so fast, but I was glad for it, too intoxicated to care about the rough cave wall scraping against my back or the trail of wetness I was leaving as I writhed against his leg. We were chest-to-chest, every inch of skin impossibly sensitive.

His hands squeezed my ass, and I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist as he lifted me up. I locked my arms around his shoulders, my fingers curling in his hair. Even though somehow I knew Rhys would never let me fall, I held on tight.

The first time he slid into me, his moan let me know he was just as far gone, beyond words, too. Being joined like this was overwhelmingly right. The bond between us shone brighter.

His thrusts became relentlessly faster, and I held his lips to mine through all of it. I swept my tongue into his mouth, delighted when it wrung another moan from him, and tightened my grip on his hair.

The bond solidified with every thrust, pieces falling into place until it was unbreakable, the strongest thing I'd ever known.

Release found us both fast, and before long he was spilling into me as I shattered around him and saw nothing but starlight. I relaxed my hands and let my head drop to his shoulder. Together, our breath and our heartbeats settled back into a normal rhythm, even as magic still danced along our skin.

He ran his nose along my neck and murmured, mostly to himself, "Feyre. FeyreFeyreFeyre. My mate."

Mate. Mate. Rhysand was my mate.

It should have come as a shock, but now that I'd heard him say it, the idea that he could possibly be anything else just seemed positively absurd. Never mind the fact that I was human and wasn't supposed to have one—we were linked.

"You're mine," I whispered. He pressed a kiss right below my ear, and I took that to mean he agreed.

I finally trusted my legs not to buckle under me, and he set me down gently. He took a half-step back, still keeping his hands splayed on my ass, even with my feet firmly back on the ground.

I raked my gaze over him and didn't try to hide it—he was doing the same, and fair was fair. Tattoos swirled across his muscled chest and shoulders, begging me to trace them with a finger. His eyes were clear and bright, twinkling like stars in the darkness now that the haze had lifted for us both, at least somewhat.

He gave me a lazy, arrogant smile that sent a new wave of arousal through me. I prepared to pounce on him, but he dropped to his knees before I could. His hands slid around to my front, and the way he dragged his fingertips down my thighs had my toes curling.

I thought he'd make some sort of smug comment, but his expression had melted into something reverent. "Please?" he said. There was no need to explain what he was offering.

I sank to my knees too, wanting to be closer to him—and because I'd follow him anywhere, even just to the cave floor. "Only if I do, too," I said.

An emotion flickered across his face, something I couldn't read, as much as I wanted to. Then he kissed me again, gentle and unhurried, and I leaned back as he kissed his way down my body until he settled between my legs.

I lost count of the number of rounds that night, but we went until we were both spent. At the end of it, the magic flowed through me again, returning to the earth. I was too tired to notice much about it. But even so, the Spring Court magic continued its work of shifting and changing, making me different.

Dawn hadn't yet broken as the last of the magic faded and Rhys carded his fingers through my hair. I dozed off with my head on his chest.

Chapter Text

Rhys nudging my arm and saying my name woke me well before dawn. The urgency in his voice had me jumping to my feet, instantly alert. Still naked, I reached for the pile of clothes on the ground. With a wave of Rhys's hand, they were back on both of us, my hair tied neatly behind my head and the quiver strapped over my shoulder. There had been a slight stinging along my back—scrapes from the cave wall and floor—but that disappeared, too. He must have healed them.

"I let you rest for as long as I could, but we need to get you to safety," he said.

"Has something happened?" I said, reaching for an arrow instinctively. I hadn't known what to expect after the magic returned to the earth, but certainly not danger.

"I have to get back Under the Mountain by dawn or she'll have my head. And you can't return to the Spring Court smelling like me."

That sent so many alarm bells ringing in my head that I almost didn't register another mention of that mysterious she. "I have to get back. The Suriel said to stay with the High Lord."

"You are aware there are seven of us, correct?" he said, lips quirking up despite my rising panic.

A High Lord. I didn't just have a fae mate, I had a High Lord for a mate. It just made an already impossible situation even more impossible. This should never have happened to a human. "Which court?" I whispered.

Rhys advanced on me with a look of predatory intensity, but I just stared back and didn't move. Even now that I was clear-headed again, having him close to me didn't feel like a bad thing. I didn't flinch at the way tendrils of darkness rippled around him.

"You are the human mate of the High Lord of the Night Court. If nothing else, you need to understand that puts a target on your back."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Then explain."

"I would if there was time," he hissed back.

Before I could react, he grabbed my hand and the world disappeared into smoke and shadow. Wind roared around us, and I squeezed his hand tighter. I wasn't sure what was happening—all I could do was cling to him like a lifeline.

It was all over as quickly as it started, and we were in another cave. I blinked, taking in my surroundings, and Rhys didn't drop my hand.

"Feyre. Listen to me. Please," he said, the desperation in his voice making me go quiet. I nodded, looking him in the eye and prompting him to go on. "Find my family in the Night Court. Tell them who you are to me—they'll smell it on you anyway—and they'll keep you safe."

I stilled. Rhys was sending me away. The Suriel told me that all would be righted if I stayed with the High Lord, but he sending me away to somewhere he couldn't follow. The utter wrongness of whatever was separating me from my mate felt like it was going to cleave my soul in two. The anguish on his face told me he felt it, too.

I couldn't let this go, so I said, "Then let's make a bargain." It was the only sort of magic I could use.

"What do you want?" he said slowly, as if I'd caught him off-guard.

I wanted answers, but those were clearly going to take more time than we had. And if Rhys didn't actually know much, demanding them was useless. I had to be realistic. "For this not to be the last time we see each other."

His face twisted with another emotion, and I wished I knew him well enough to read him, especially when he could apparently hear my thoughts. But he just said, "Follow my directions and don't do anything else until you find my family, and in return I'll promise to see you again."

No time to negotiate. "I agree."

Another ripple of magic, and a thin indigo line appeared around the third finger of my left hand, circling it exactly like a wedding ring. I raised my brows.

"In the Night Court, bargains are marked on the skin," he said.

"Is it always here?" I said, indicating my finger and sure the answer was no. He just smiled. Definitely not, then. If he was able to choose the tattoo's appearance and location, this was certainly a bit bold of him. The widening of his grin just told me that he'd heard the thought and that it was exactly the case.

Mother above, he didn't have to look so gods-damned smug about it.

With a graceful shrug, he said, "It's not my fault you didn't ask before you bargained with me."

"Just tell me how to get wherever it is I'm supposed to go," I said.

His face instantly went serious again, and talons caressed me in my mind. I recognized them as him, but the sensation was still so foreign that I nearly jumped out of my skin. Our fingers were still interlaced, and he rubbed his thumb along the back of my non-tattooed hand soothingly.

Faces, names, and images flickered through my mind, placed there by him. Amren, Morrigan, Cassian, and Azriel—his family. The layout of the most beautiful city I'd ever seen, and the way to a townhouse—his home—that was warded.

But not the name of the city. Or where it was located.

"I can't tell you that, not while your mind is unshielded," Rhys said. "I'm not the only one who can pluck information directly from you like that. This is already a massive risk."

My blood ran cold, though at this point, perhaps I should have been used to unseen dangers. Prythian was full of them. I took a breath to steady myself and focused on my next steps. "Then how am I supposed to get there?"

"This cave is an ancient shortcut. Follow it that way," he said, indicating a direction with a jerk of his head, "and you'll emerge in the Night Court."

"And the city?"

"Do you know your constellations?"

"Yes." I relaxed, relieved he'd asked instead of just rooting around in my head for the answer. Although I tried to make it back from the woods by nightfall when I was hunting, I didn't always manage it. I'd learned to navigate by the stars years ago so I didn't end up lost after dark.

"Then you'll understand the meaning of the Night Court saying about these caves," he said, eyes drifting to the bow resting on my shoulder. "The hunter's arrow points home."

Due north, that's all it meant. A group of stars looked a bit like a hunter with a bow, and one star, the Arrowhead, was close to the point the others all revolved around. You could use it to find your way north any time of night.

It couldn't have any more meaning than that, but Rhys must have thought differently. That much was obvious from the way he stared at the arrows peeking out from behind my shoulder and the hunting knife on my thigh. And maybe it did mean something that I was a hunter mated to the High Lord of Night and that his people followed a hunter made of stars to find their way home.

I just wish I knew what.

"I'll find it," I said. It was hardly enough to go on—I still had no idea how far north I was to travel. It could be a few minutes or it could be days. I'd figure it out.

Rhys shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to me. I must have looked confused because he said, "Don't think I haven't noticed you're underweight. The Night Court is still cold this time of year. Keep warm."

I wasn't quite the bag of skin and bones I'd been when I'd first come to Spring, but after last night, Rhys certainly knew my body better than anyone but me. He'd been paying close attention, and I wasn't sure how to feel about that. And maybe it was unfair of me when I was positive that if I'd been given a pencil and paper, I'd be able to recreate him with a perfect sketch, down to the last swirl of the tattoos on his arms. 

Regardless, he was right that I was still skinny enough to get cold easily; it had been the cruelest part of getting low on food each winter.

"You don't need it?" I said, not putting the jacket on.

His face went dark. Haunted, almost. "It was going to get ruined anyway. I have things to handle that won't leave me clean."

Tamlin had come back to the manor covered in blood dealing with threats to his borders often enough. Whatever Rhys was doing had to be worse. It should have scared me, but if anything, it was comforting to know that killing took something out of him.

I'd spent my time around hunters, butchers, trappers, and tanners, people who traded in animal death. It taught me that when ending a life, even the life of a beast, became too trivial—or worse, pleasurable—you became irreparably broken in a way that was dangerous to everyone around you.

Rhys wasn't like that.

I pulled the jacket on under my cloak, feeling a little bit of newfound respect that wasn't put in place by magic or a mating bond, just my own judgements and experience. "I hope you have a knife sharp enough to make it quick," I said, the only sort of well-wish there was for dirty work. I had half a mind to offer him the one on my thigh, but I doubted he'd take it.

"Thank you," Rhys said, his voice sounding a bit strangled. "You should go."

He moved closer as if to kiss me goodbye. I stepped back before he could. Something like hurt flashed across his face.

"If you want to do that, make good on your promise."

I thought he might balk at that, but if I wasn't mistaken, his eyes were now glittering with the excitement of a challenge. When he spoke again, he dropped his voice back down to that low purr that he must have known made me shiver every time I heard it. "There are so many things I could make good for you, Feyre darling."

There was a caress that I felt down that bond in my chest, and I'd be lying if I said he wasn't having an effect on me.

This was dangerous if he really had so little time before he had to go back Under the Mountain, wherever that was. With the way he drew me in and the string that always seemed to be pulling me towards him, I wanted to stay. He must have felt the same.

I trusted that Rhys really did want to see me safe—or else I would have gone straight back to Tamlin, smell or no—but I didn't know if I could depend on him yet. The bargain bound him to make a promise, not to keep it, I realized, because I hadn't chosen my words carefully. So I just said, "Until next time. Stay safe."

"Safe travels, Feyre," he said softly.

Starting down the tunnel felt like leaving my heart in the safekeeping of a stranger. A stranger with the hollow look of a man headed to the frontlines of a war. I resisted the urge to turn around for one last glimpse of him, but I felt those violet eyes on my back for a long time afterward.

I don't know how long it took to make my way through the tunnel. It narrowed, nearly forcing me to leave my bow and quiver behind just to get through, and even after my eyes adjusted, I could barely see my hand if I held it in front of my face.

Last night's magic had faded, but now that I was alone with my thoughts, I could feel something buzzing under my skin. It was faint, almost an echo, but it was there. I didn't know what to make of it, so I just kept pressing forward.

Eventually, a breeze kissed my cheek.

It was cold, and the air had the telltale crispness of the hours before a snowfall. That made sense—the far north Night Court was supposed to be freezing and barren. I hoped that was true. I'd take it over the blight that was plaguing the Spring Court, even if it was bitterly cold.

Dawn was just about to break when I reached the mouth of the cave. I stopped to put on the hood of my cloak, partly to keep warm and partly to hide my rounded ears. The pine forest seemed quiet around me as I stared up at the sky and found the Arrowhead. Once I got my bearings, I started to move again.

Something changed the first time I set foot in the Night Court.

I felt it speak to me, and if I hadn't felt the white stag's words wash over me in the same way, I would have been sure I was going mad.

Welcome home.

That was all it said, but the night pressed tighter to me, the same way it seemed to cling to Rhysand. It was an embrace.

A tendril of night curled around my left hand. I would have been sure it was smoke or a shadow if it weren't for the flecks of starlight. It came from the Night Court itself—the magic felt like darkness protecting me from prying eyes, the glimmer of a comet that only comes around every few centuries, secrets tucked away safely, the steady predictability of the stars used to navigate home, peace and quiet and rest after a long day.

Where it touched me, it left indigo marks on my skin, a flowing design of flowers and curves that reached from my elbow to my fingertips. Another tattoo, and for some reason, I knew that the design was only half-finished, that there were gaps to be filled in.

The magic faded, and though I didn't hear Rhys in my head, the bond went so taut that I pressed a hand to my chest.

It was far too cold to stand here and stare at my tattoo, even with extra layers. I pulled my cloak tighter around me and continued north. Snow began to fall as soon as I started walking. I told myself it was just a coincidence, but as it covered my tracks, a small part of me wondered if the Night Court was doing it, more of that magic that protected through concealment, making sure I couldn't be pursued.

I'm not sure how long I spent walking north, the forest preternaturally quiet except for the crunch of snow under my boots. Something about it seemed familiar, as if I'd maybe seen it in a dream, but there was nothing about the landscape that was distinctive enough to be sure, only pines and mountains.

The eastern sky was lightening when I felt a ripple of power in the air. Rhys's power, I realized, as the mating bond seemed to tighten in my chest. He wasn't here, but he'd done something here. I would have guessed this was the city, but all I saw was empty forest.

But if Tamlin could cast glamours, then so could Rhys.

Although it might have been ridiculous, I approached that ripple of power on a diagonal, just the way I'd been taught to signal to an animal that I wasn't a threat. It's just me. I'm not here to hurt you.

The wards let me through.

The forest became a city street, and even though I had images of it from Rhys, I let out a soft gasp at the sight. I hadn't been in a city since I was small.

This early, the cobblestone streets were mostly deserted, but I kept my hood up to avoid sticking out as a human. I passed rows and rows of attached houses, restaurants, cafés, clothing shops, all looking clean, cared for, and prosperous.

No evidence of a blight.

Pushed between buildings, the wind was fiercer here. I walked with my hands stuck into my armpits and shivered my way to the townhouse Rhys had shown me. I wanted to look around more, but I just hurried so I could get inside and warm up.

I sighed with relief at the sight of the ornately carved wooden door to the townhouse. When I turned the knob, it opened—the spells warding it made a physical lock and key pointless, and Rhys's magic must have recognized me again. I went inside and stomped the snow off my boots in the antechamber.

I slipped them off, then walked into the foyer, pushing my hood back. I'd made it, and I gave a gentle tug on the bond, hoping Rhys understood it meant I'd arrived.

It was strange, having seen this place in my head before coming here for the first time. And it was silent, which I hadn't expected. I still needed to find his family, so I kept going farther into the house, hoping for a sign of life.

"Rhys?" a female called. I didn't recognize her voice—Rhys had just given me names and faces. "You disappear for fifty years, and then come home smelling like a brothel?"

Whoever it was, she sounded happy to see him, lovingly bemused if anything. I followed her voice back to the foyer, where I found the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, the blonde from Rhys's memories.

The joy in her face vanished at the sight of me, and she dropped into a fighting stance. "How the hell did you get in here?" she growled.

I held both my hands up, hoping it showed I wasn't a threat despite carrying both a bow and a knife. Not that I thought I stood much of a chance if she did decide to attack me, anyway. She was a faerie who'd clearly trained as a warrior.

"Rhys sent me here," I said quickly, "because I'm his mate. I'm Feyre, and you must be Morrigan."

"Mate?" There was a tiny sliver of hope there. The way she said it made me want to babble that yes it was strange but no I didn't understand why I was a human with a fae mate either.

She approached me, her nostrils flaring as she scented me, then wrinkled her face in disgust. "You smell like you rolled right out of his bed after going at it all night. And you've got….er….love bites," Morrigan said, pointing at the base of her neck and cringing.

That absolute bastard had healed the scrapes on my back but not the marks left over from where he'd kissed and sucked at the sensitive skin on my neck. He'd known exactly what he was doing.

I wished the floor would open up and swallow me whole. My human senses couldn't detect anything different, but the fact that the fae could guess so much about last night from just a single inhale of the air around me was utterly mortifying. I didn't know what to say. Telling Morrigan it had been a cave floor and not a bed seemed like it would only make things worse.

She sighed and added, "I need Amren for this."

Before I could protest, she grabbed my arm, and everything went dark just as it had when Rhys did this. When the world re-materialized, we were in a spacious apartment, where golden early morning light streamed in through the enormous windows covering one wall.

The petite, dark-haired female must be Amren. I recognized her, but the images Rhys had put in my head hadn't prepared me for the way just being near her had my instincts screaming at me to run and hide. I'd assumed she was High Fae, but she was something else entirely. The silver depths of her eyes swirled as she approached me, the interest obvious on her face.

Morrigan dropped my arm and said, "I'm getting the boys. Keep an eye on her until I'm back." She disappeared again, and I really, really wished she hadn't left me alone with Amren.

I stood, rooted to the spot, as Amren circled me. She sniffed me, but unlike when Morrigan did it, I felt like prey.

"Interesting," Amren said, which didn't make me feel any better. "Only once before has a human been Made into an immortal. You've been gifted long life, just as Miryam was."

A different sort of boon, the stag had said. I'd assumed it had just meant Rhys or the mating bond, but maybe this was the magic I still felt humming in me, that echo that hadn't quite faded. I suspected Amren was speaking the truth.

"What does it mean?" I managed to say.

"We'll see." Amren completed her circle and stopped in front of me. I forced myself to meet her eyes, even though the way the silver of her irises moved like smoke unsettled me. She smiled, tilting her head to the side. "And if I'm not mistaken, congratulations are in order for you and Rhysand."

I struggled for words again, not sure how to tell her that Rhys and I might have a mating bond, but it had only been one very strange night and I had no idea where we stood. That was hardly anything to congratulate.

But still, it was better than being told I smelled like a whorehouse.

I was saved from responding when Mor appeared again, this time flanked by two massive, winged men. They could only be Cassian and Azriel—Rhys's entire family was here.

Hopefully we were all about to get some answers.

Chapter Text

From the early hour and their mussed hair, I suspected that Morrigan had pulled Cassian and Azriel from their beds. But weapons hung from both their belts, so if that was true, they either slept armed or with daggers nearby. Warriors too, then.

The shock was obvious on both their faces the second my scent hit their noses. Morrigan dropped their hands.

"This is Feyre," she said. "I found her in the townhouse this morning when the wards alarmed. She claims she's Rhys's mate."

"She's telling the truth. I can sense the bond," Amren said with an authoritative finality.

Amren still terrified me, especially when her tone brooked no argument, but I relaxed a bit at that. At least the terrifying creature was on my side.

Cassian snickered and said, "And I'm sure that's not the only thing you can sense on her."

Cauldron, I would have killed for a bath, just to stop these comments. My cheeks heated, and Morrigan smacked Cassian in the center of the chest. Perhaps it shouldn't have caught me off-guard—Rhys had specifically told me to find his family, after all—but I hadn't expected them to act so much like siblings as they interrogated me.

"We're—" Azriel started to say, but I cut him off.

"Cassian and Azriel. Rhys told me to find all of you," I said.

"What else did he tell you?" Azriel said.

I hesitated. "It's a long story."

"We've got time," Morrigan said with a smile that I think was meant to be reassuring.

All I could do was start from the very beginning. I didn't want to tell them about killing Andras, especially after Lucien had hated me so much for it at first, but there was no way around it. I expected disgust that their High Lord's mate was a murderer, not the looks of understanding I got instead.

In fact, it wasn't until I described the way Tamlin had burst into our cottage and taken me to Prythian instead of killing me that I got much of a reaction at all. The four of them shared significant looks, and Mor in particular tensed up with anger.

"That was never in the Treaty," she said, interrupting me. "I'd know, I helped negotiate it. There are no special consequences for a human killing a faerie."

A lie. Tamlin had ripped me from my family and brought me to Prythian and lied to me to do it. And everyone I'd spoken to in the Spring Court had gone along with it.

"But why?" I said.

"He might have known you're Rhys's mate," Azriel said quietly, tucking his wings in tight. I wasn't sure what the gesture meant.

"That's not Tamlin's style. He would have just killed her outright," Cassian said.

"If Tamlin just needed a human girl for whatever he's planning, then it seems terribly coincidental that the one he found is Rhys's mate."

I felt the blood drain from my face at that, even though Rhys had warned me that there would be a target on my back. I just hadn't thought the threat could be from Tamlin.

By the Cauldron, I'd been falling for him.

"You're scaring her," Mor hissed at them.

"We can't keep her safe from enemies if she doesn't know who they are," Amren said coolly. Mor glowered back at her.

"She is right here, you know," I said, crossing my arms across my chest.

Mor's face softened as she turned back to me and said more gently, "There's bad blood between Rhys and Tamlin, from centuries ago. We can tell you all of it later, but please keep going."

I told them everything—Tamlin's promise my family was taken care of, the Bogge, painting again—and left nothing out. They just let me talk, occasionally sharing more significant looks among the four of them that I didn't understand. At some point, I took my cloak and Rhys's jacket off, and we moved to Amren's sitting area. It seemed we'd be talking for a while.

When I laid it out like this, I felt like such a fool for having let my guard down in the Spring Court. Years of keeping my wits about me in the woods, only for all my defenses to crumble the first time someone was a bit kind to me. It was just so stupid.

The Mother only knew what would have become of me if I'd stayed in there any longer.

It wasn't until I started to tell them about the Suriel that I was interrupted again. Cassian blurted out, "How the hell did a scrawny little thing like you manage to catch a Suriel?"

Maybe I was just exhausted, but hearing another arrogant faerie question my ability to build a snare eroded the last of my patience. Even the ones who seemed to like me equated being human with being useless. "I was even scrawnier when I did it," I snapped. "I think the real question is how the hell did you manage to survive this long without anyone killing you?"

I wasn't sure what I expected, but it wasn't for Cassian to tip his head back and laugh. Or for Azriel's brows to flick up in what I thought might be approval.

Mor smiled, but her eyes still looked sad. "You wouldn't be Rhys's mate if you weren't a little mean," she said, as if it were a good thing.

Before I could continue, the mating bond roared to life as a wave of Rhys's emotion slammed into me. Rage, pain, disgust, a million other awful feelings, but above them all—an overwhelming sense of violation.

I let out an inhuman-sounding cry and vomited on Amren's feet.

Wiping at my mouth with the back of my hand, I looked up at their concerned faces. "Someone's hurting Rhys," I said, my voice trembling.

Not just hurting, raping him, but I couldn't bring myself to say that aloud.

My breath came in gasps, and I dug my nails into the tops of my thighs, willing the pain to stop. I hardly registered it as Mor made the vomit disappear, then guided me over to the sink and handed me a cup of liquid to rinse my mouth out with. At some point, I ended up sitting down again as she rubbed my back. I don't remember when I picked up Rhys's jacket, but I clutched it to my chest as I cried.

Mor's help calmed me enough to reach down the bond for Rhys, as if I was holding out a hand to someone in distress. There were a few scattered images I saw through his eyes—red hair spilling across a naked breast, the ceiling of a room that looked like it was carved into a mountain, a ring with a spinning eyeball.

It lasted barely a second before he shoved me out, a mental wall slamming down between us. His pain still leaked down the bond, but it had a strange, muffled quality.

My breathing returned to normal, and my hands stopped shaking. Rhys was distant enough that I took in my surroundings again and gently pushed Mor's hand off my back. Cassian, Azriel, and Amren were across the room, talking in urgent voices too low for me to hear.

And then it hit me with a cold certainty—I might have known Rhys for less than a day, but I'd kill whoever did this to my mate. Slowly, and I'd enjoy it.

I'd never thought I'd ever have it in me to take pleasure in killing anything, but everything had changed last night, changed in a bone-deep, fundamental way. It was the first sense I had of the way a mating bond reorients the way you see the world.

"The redhead who wears an eye as a ring. Who is she?" I said.

"Amarantha," Amren said. "She stole Rhysand's power along with the rest of the High Lords', and she's been ruling from Under the Mountain for the last fifty years."

That certainly explained why no one wanted to say her name—and why she'd been able to put her hands on a High Lord and not be killed for it.

For the first time since Tamlin told me my family was taken care of, I had a goal. I needed to get Rhys back. It didn't matter that he was little more than a stranger or that I was a human who didn't stand a chance against a faerie holding the power of all seven High Lords.

A mating bond overruled logic.

As long as she was hurting Rhys, a sense of wrongness wouldn't leave me, rippling under my skin like the echo of the stag's magic. But unlike a gift, this would eat me alive from the inside out. I had to end her.

Cassian broke away from his conversation with Azriel and Amren and came to sit next to me. "No. Absolutely not," he said, his voice sharp and full of authority. I jumped, thinking he could read my thoughts like Rhys could, but he continued, a bit more softly, "I've fought enough battles to know what that look means. We're not letting you do something rash and get yourself killed."

"I can feel what she's doing to him," I whispered. "I can't just sit here. It hurts."

"I get it. Even when it's the right move, waiting still feels like shit. It helps to remind yourself that Rhys deserves our best effort, and that means getting your head on straight before doing anything," he said, looking at me with the deepest well of empathy I'd ever known. He was speaking from experience, the way only an immortal could.

I reminded myself that this was Rhys's family. It was hurting them, too.

Even if this had been going on for more than the length of my life twice over.

"Tell us what you learned from the Suriel," Amren said.

I didn't miss the disgusted look Mor shot Amren, as if to tell her to back off. As tired as I was, I didn't mind pressing forward. I wanted to get this done.

Amren frowned as I described what the Suriel had told me, and I supposed she was disappointed that there wasn't any new information for her. But for me, it was good to hear the four of them confirm everything I'd learned, then fill in a bit more about Amarantha.

I kept going, telling them about the naga, the faerie who'd returned with his wings ripped off and bled out in the manor, the pool of starlight and then…Calanmai.

I almost didn't tell them that the stag had called me High Lady. Even then, it had struck me as ridiculous, but now in broad daylight and surrounded by three powerful fae—plus whatever Amren was—it seemed even more absurd. But in the end, my worry about what they might do to me if they found out I withheld information won out.

As soon as I said it, Amren grabbed my left hand and held it out so she could see the tattoo. The glint in her silver eyes was unsettling enough that I didn't snatch my hand back.

"I should have seen it sooner," she said. "Rhysand didn't give you this, did he?"

"No," I said. "I…I think the Night Court itself did."

Amren studied me, tilting her head again and making me feel as if I were some sort of interesting bug she was trying to identify. I willed myself not to squirm under her gaze.

"You're Made, but there's more than that. It's fainter than when I sensed it on Rhysand back when he was just his father's heir, but I can feel it on you regardless," Amren said.

She turned my hand over to examine the tattoo from the other side. The hairs on my arm stood up. "Feel what?" I said.

"Potential."

I had no idea what she meant by that. I didn't want to know.

"If the rest of the design were filled in…" Mor said softly, trailing off. Her eyes were on my hand, too. So were Cassian's and Azriel's.

"It would mark her as High Lady of the Night Court," Amren said, dropping my hand.

"What about that line on your third finger, Feyre?" Mor said.

"That was just my mate being a prick," I said, earning a chuckle from Azriel.

Amren scowled and said, "Just tell us the rest, girl."

I shoved my tattooed hand under Rhys's jacket, not wanting to look at it again, then continued on and told them about the stag's boon, finding Rhys, and giving him the pomegranate seeds.

At that, Cassian cut me off again and said, "Shit Feyre, you really just accepted the bond without even knowing his name?"

I had no idea what that meant, but just from his tone, the bottom dropped out of my stomach. "Accepted the bond?" I said, a little weakly.

Mor was looking at me with what looked like a mixture of horror and pity, and I couldn't face it. I twisted the fabric of Rhys's jacket in my lap and stared down at it.

"When a female offers her mate food for the first time, it means she accepts the bond," Mor said gently. "It's rare for a mating bond to be rejected, but most pairs get to know each other first and make an occasion out of it. It's an…important moment."

I didn't say anything at first, just let that sink in. With the magic in the air and the stag's instructions pushing me towards Rhys, I wasn't sure if I would have even had the willpower to reject the bond, or even just wait, if I'd known. And Gods, this was something the fae made into an event, but he'd eaten straight out of my hand outside a random cave in the forest.

Maybe there'd been a reason beyond my safety that he'd been so quick to send me away.

"Is it…permanent?" I said, even though I knew the answer. I could feel the strength of the bond for myself, how nothing could possibly be the same again.

"A mating bond runs deeper and more permanent than anything else," Amren said.

I nodded and tried not to think about what a burden it must be for Rhys, an eternal bond to a human. With no magic or means to protect myself, I was a weak point, a dead weight.

And now I always would be.

"It's been a few centuries since there's been a Lady of the Night Court," Azriel said. His face was blank, and his tone didn't give much away, either.

But it didn't escape my notice that he'd said Lady, not High Lady. Mother above, I had a title. I wasn't sure I wanted to know why it had been so long since anyone else held it or what had happened to the last Lady of Night. This was Prythian—whoever she was, she'd likely met a bad end.

"It has," Amren said, "but we can discuss that later. Finish your story, girl."

There wasn't much more to tell. I certainly wasn't going to give anyone else a detailed account of what had happened in that cave. I skipped ahead to this morning and kept talking until I described arriving at the townhouse.

It felt like getting a weight off my chest, albeit a small one. It was all out in the open, and no one seemed inclined to attack me. "What next?" I said.

"You look dead on your feet. You should sleep," Mor said.

She wasn't wrong—I'd barely gotten any rest, and I was beginning to feel it. But that wasn't what I'd meant.

"After that, I think I should trap the Suriel. I could see what it knows about what Tamlin wanted with me and how to get Rhys back," I said.

Cassian's face darkened. "I don't like the idea of sending you back through the wards alone," he said. Mor seemed to agree with him, but Azriel's face was still blank.

I balled my hands into fists and looked Cassian straight in the eye. "And does Night treat its guests the same way Spring does?" I spat. If they meant to keep me here, I wanted them to at least be honest about it.

Cassian just shrugged. "It wasn't an order. I don't have to like everything you do."

I couldn't tell if he truly meant that, or if this was another false choice like when Tamlin had told me I was free to live anywhere in Prythian. Technically true, but I never would have made it more than a half mile from his manor before one monster or another killed me.

"It's a risk, but a reasonable one. Feyre can clearly navigate a forest alone, and if Tamlin is planning something, we'll all sleep better knowing what it is," Amren said.

Again, she spoke with a finality in her voice that made me think she had some sort of authority over all the others. Or perhaps she just terrified them all into going with whatever it was she wanted.

"I'm with Amren," Azriel added, tucking in his wings again. "I don't see another option, not while my shadows can't leave the city, either."

That seemed to settle it—Mor would glamour me to hide my scent on the off chance I did run into anyone. But from what they said, it sounded like the pine forests were mostly empty, and I'd likely only encounter animals.

Whatever Rhys had been doing for the past fifty years, it had been keeping the blight well away from the Night Court.

Mor brought me back to the townhouse not long after that. I'd assumed she'd show me where to find a bed, but she just stayed in the living room and said, "Feyre, I hate to ask you a personal question right now, but it's time sensitive. Have you been taking a contraceptive brew?"

I froze. I hadn't even thought about the possibility of a pregnancy, and I would have just gone right to sleep if Mor hadn't asked. Gods, that could have been disastrous.

"No, but I need one. Can you…?" I said.

Mor smiled. "Of course. There's no food in the house, either, just Rhys's things. I'll pick some up for you."

She squeezed my shoulder before winnowing away, and she was back shortly after I'd tucked the bow, quiver, and knife in the antechamber. There was probably a closet or something else to store them in, but it felt rude to poke around a house that didn't belong to me. Exploring Tamlin's manor, which had been full of servants, had been different. The townhouse felt lived-in, cozy, and intimate.

When she got back, Mor inclined her head towards the kitchen and handed me a small box. "I'll show you where the kettle is if you'd feel safer boiling the water yourself. I'll have a cup of non-medicinal tea if you don't mind me staying," she said.

I did feel safer boiling the water myself, and I was relieved she'd brought me a sealed, unopened package, even if it contained more than I'd probably need. As I filled the kettle, it hit me that Mor was experienced at this kind of thing. Maybe it had been magic, but she'd been back quickly, as if she'd known exactly where to go. And when she'd rubbed my back as I'd cried, she'd given me just the right amount of space to make it feel comforting but not smothering.

I wasn't sure exactly why Mor had spent so much time supporting distraught women in need of emergency contraception, but I was glad to have her here.

She could have used magic to get everything out of the cabinets, but Mor grabbed it all herself, probably for my benefit. And even though I'd been around the fae for months now, it set me at ease, too. A few minutes later, she was giving me a sympathetic look above her own teacup as I sipped the bitter brew.

"I think you should know," she said slowly, "that even though things between you and Rhys might be…up in the air, you're part of our family now. We're duty-bound to protect you and all that, but I want to be your friend, too. You have guts, and I like that."

I didn't believe her. I was grateful for the help, but the last faerie I'd thought I could call a friend was Lucien, and he'd been assisting my kidnapper. Even if Mor and the others didn't have an ulterior motive, at best I was a horribly fragile human who'd been dumped on their doorstep to be babysat.

But I wasn't stupid enough to tell any of that to Mor. I just took another sip of the contraceptive brew and said, "Thanks."

"And all of us might be a little overprotective—don't be surprised if you find Cass or Az perched on the roof later. You can tell any of us to get fucked if it's too much," she said.

That sounded like those fae instincts that always had them growling, snarling, and scenting. I wasn't sure I'd ever completely get used to it. "Overprotective because I'm human?" I said.

"Yes," Mor said, and I appreciated the honesty, "and because you're young and you've already been through a lot."

There was no pity or condescension there. It was still a bit strange to hear this sort of plain honesty from a faerie, especially after so much I'd been told in Spring had turned out to be half-truths.

And I hadn't thought about it earlier, but if Mor had helped negotiate the Treaty, she must be at least five hundred. It wasn't the time to ask, but I wondered if she or the others had fought in the War.

If they had, something told me it wasn't on the same side as Spring and Hybern.

I couldn't think of anything to say to that, so I just forced down a few more sips of the awful, bitter tea. Mor didn't seem bothered at all that I was so quiet, just continued in that chipper way of hers, "But anyway, I just didn't want to let it go unsaid, even though I think you'd tell us off if you needed to. I can't wait until this is all over and I get to watch you nail Rhys's balls to the wall."

That got me to crack a smile, as impossible as it felt after everything that had happened in the past day. I didn't share her optimism, but I wanted to like Mor and hoped I could trust her eventually.

I finished my tea, and Mor showed me where to find everything upstairs. I took a guest room instead of Rhys's—I already felt like enough of an invader just staying in the house. Mor left me with a set of soft nightclothes and surprised me by pulling me into a hug before winnowing away.

I wanted a bath, but just changing and crawling into bed sapped the last of my energy. As I drifted off, Rhys's talons brushed the very edge of my mind. They didn't invade any further, just reached out as if to reassure him I was still there.

With a mental hand, I curled my fingers around a talon and clutched it until I was asleep.

Chapter Text

I slept fitfully, but I slept. My dreams were full of screams and necks snapping and rivulets of blood on stone floors. The pain wasn't Rhys's, which was likely the only reason I managed to get some rest, even if I did suspect the dreams were glimpses out of his eyes. It was dark when I finally got out of bed—I'd been out for most of the day. I'd needed it, though.

There was a note from Mor stuck to the bedroom door. I struggled through reading most of it, but I got the gist: there were food and clothes here for me. It included directions to somewhere called the House of Wind, but I couldn't quite understand all the steps. I pushed the paper aside, dreading admitting I could only read about half the words.

I'd slept long enough to miss a meal, and my stomach grumbled accordingly. I ignored it—partially just because I was unable to shake the habit—and ran a bath, scrubbing hard at my skin and hoping it was enough to wash away the scent from Calanmai. I wasn't ashamed of what Rhys and I had done, but all the conclusions the fae could draw from the lingering smell made me feel uncomfortably exposed. The marks on my neck were already fading.

I wasn't sure if I'd miss them when they were gone.

The echo of the stag's magic was still there, no fainter than it was before I'd fallen asleep. If I hadn't already believed Amren, then this was just more evidence that might have convinced me she was correct about the stag Making me immortal.

But there were things to do, so I pushed that thought aside.

I'd expected the clothes Mor left to be dresses, not the practical pieces I found in the closet. I pulled on a pair of pants that tapered at the ankle, clearly made to be tucked into boots, and shrugged on a sweater with an elaborate pattern of swirling cables. Both were soft, warm, and made from fine fabric of the deepest black.

Functional, easy to move in, and very, very obviously of the Night Court.

I found food in the kitchen, just as Mor had said. She'd mentioned there were chairs on the flat portion of the house's roof, so I found a coat and brought some bread, cheese, and an apple up there. After months of eternal spring, I wanted to feel cold air on my face again, and I'd always felt better out in the open. Back home, being outside was a reprieve from fights with Nesta, Elain's sad, hungry eyes, and my father's indifference. I hated being cooped up.

What I didn't expect, however, was to find Cassian already there, perched like a gargoyle. Cauldron, I thought Mor had been joking when she said this might happen.

"Is there a reason you're sitting like an overgrown bat instead of in a chair?" I called up to him.

Cassian stretched his wings wide, gliding down to the flat portion of the roof where I was standing. "Is there a reason you're eating in the cold?" he said.

"The snow from yesterday already melted. I can tolerate anything above freezing," I said with a shrug. The air was turning the tip of my nose pink, but I didn't mind. I'd faced much worse hunting outside for hours on end every winter. Seeing the stars from here was worth the chill—somehow the night sky in the mortal lands and Spring paled in comparison to the one in Night. I hadn't known it was possible to see so many stars at once.

Cassian gave me a look that might have been approving and sank into a chair as I did the same. "How are you doing?" he said.

"Fine," I said, and it was mostly the truth. I had no desire to talk about my feelings with Cassian anyway. I gestured to the food and added, "Want some?"

He grinned. "Are you always in the habit of offering food to males you've just met?"

I glared and flung the apple at his head, which he plucked out of the air handily, then took a bite. Still scowling, I tore apart the bread and muttered, "I suppose I walked right into that one."

I hadn't meant for him to hear that, but Cassian had the same preternatural hearing as the rest of the fae. His grin went wider. "Walking right into it is pretty disappointing behavior from a professional, if you ask me."

I paused devouring the bread just long enough to raise my brows. "A professional?"

"A professional trapper. Bowhunting too, but you mentioned snares earlier."

It was nearly as ridiculous as the stag calling me High Lady. Most days in the woods, I still felt like a novice. But Cassian's grin was gone, and I realized that he hadn't meant it as a joke. "I'm not a professional. I just did it to feed my family and sold the pelts sometimes."

"For how long?" Cassian said around bites of apple.

"Eight years."

Cassian's gaze turned assessing, as if he was trying to guess my age and work backwards from there. If he asked, I wasn't sure he'd believe that I'd set my first trap at eleven years old. It was a few more years before I could shoot a bow properly, but by my twelfth birthday, I'd been snaring rabbits regularly.

"If you spend eight years doing something to put food on the table, I think you're well within your rights to call yourself a professional."

I finished the bread and started on the cheese, not sure what to say. Lucien's jibes about the mighty mortal huntress rang in my ears. Like Mor, though, Cassian was content to fill the silence, telling me about how his people in Illyria hunted for their meat just as often as they farmed it. When he asked for my thoughts on the merits of still-hunting instead of setting up a tree stand, I didn't think it was just politeness. There was respect there, a kind I'd hadn't been shown in Spring.

It had been a long time since I'd scarfed food down as if it might be stolen, but I still ate relatively quickly. The bread and cheese were gone in a few minutes. I stood to go, and Cassian said, "I have something for you, by the way."

He indicated a small bag that I hadn't noticed was sitting tucked in a corner on the roof. I eyed it suspiciously before picking it up and peering inside.

Bendable wire, a small hatchet, a cloak, and some sort of black leather clothes I couldn't identify. "What is it?" I said.

"Supplies to make a snare, bait for the Suriel, and Illyrian leathers," Cassian said.

I ran my hands over the strange, scaled black leather, then unfolded it to get a better look. There were slits at the back, presumably for wings, and there were a myriad of places to strap knives all over. These were clearly made for fighting.

When I didn't say anything, Cassian continued, "It didn't seem right to send you after a Suriel without something protective, and these are warmer than they look—nothing blocks the wind better. I guessed your size, and let me know if you need help fastening them in the back."

"Thank you," I said, then brought everything downstairs and changed. I didn't particularly care that it was dark out—I was awake and anxious to get moving. And it didn't seem particularly Night Court to wait until daybreak.

It took a few tries to button the leathers in the back, but I managed. I moved around experimentally and decided that I probably would have killed to have these while I was hunting in the woods. The tight-fitting leather wouldn't get caught on anything when I scrambled up a tree, but it was still remarkably easy to move in. It held in my body heat without the bulk of a coat and didn't rustle like fabric might.

These were more than just practical—wearing them, I was lethal.

I planned to pack food along with the supplies for the snare, but when I returned to the living room, Cassian had already done that for me. I assumed he'd take us to the edge of the city with the same vanishing-and-reappearing magic that Rhys and Mor had used, but he just laughed and said there was no need to winnow when he could fly. So I pulled on the hood of my cloak to avoid attention and walked with him there instead.

The bond went taut as soon as I crossed the wards again.

"Rhys, I'm fine, " I muttered, not sure if he could hear me. I expected to feel those talons brush my mind any minute now.

And sure enough, his voice floated into my mind again, his tone carefully neutral. Where are you going?

He clearly didn't like that I'd left the city. My thoughts sounded testy even to myself as I said, Trapping a Suriel. And before you ask, I've done it before.

At first, he didn't say anything back, but through the bond, I felt him perk up with interest. His eyes were probably glittering just as they did when I hadn't let him kiss me goodbye. I wasn't sure what to make of it, but I'd take it over doubt or disbelief. When you finish, please let me know what it tells you.

His mind started to retreat, and I couldn't let him go, at least not yet. I flung out a mental hand and grabbed onto him again. Are you…alright? It seemed like such a stupid thing to ask after what I felt from him earlier, but I couldn't think of anything better.

His response came quickly. No. I said nothing, just waited for him to elaborate. It was strange, feeling the distinct impression that we were having a staring contest despite not being face-to-face. I leaned back against a tree and crossed my arms. Eventually, he added, I'm not any worse off than I was before. I'm not fine, but tell the others I am.

I understood. It would only make it worse to tell them he was hurting, but with the bond, it was impossible to hide from me. I doubted they'd believe it, though.

Stay safe.

You, too.

Cauldron boil and fry me but he was just so hard to let go of. I wanted to tell him he wasn't alone, but after he'd shut me out when I tried to reach for him, that didn't seem wise. Instead, before he could pull away again, I added, And Rhys…If you're going to leave marks, pick somewhere less obvious than my neck next time.

The bond between us snapped taut again, nearly vibrating with all the potential held in those last two words. Next time. Cauldron, I hadn't spoken to him long enough to even be sure he wanted a next time, but there it was.

His mental voice dropped down to that purr of his again. Tell me exactly where you want it, and I'll do whatever you ask.

I couldn't hold back a snort, even if he wasn't there to hear it. Rhys might be alluring—incredibly, heartbreakingly so—but he was also just as transparent. And I couldn't forget he was still a faerie or the lesson now inked on my ring finger. I'm not stupid enough to agree to another bargain with you.

There was a laugh from him, a soft, intimate thing that had me instinctively looking around for the source of the sound, even though it was coming from my own head. His mind retreated after that, and it was just me and the forest as always.

I pressed forward, falling back into old habits as I scouted out a location for the snare. The pines weren't much like the leafy trees back in the mortal lands, but if I closed my eyes, I could almost believe I was back home and that being kidnapped and whisked away to Prythian was nothing more than a nightmare.

Once I found a place for it, I made quick work of setting the trap, just as I always had. I scrambled up a nearby tree, hoping that none of the pine needles ended up embedding themselves between the scales of the leathers.

I hadn't missed the monotony of being alone with my thoughts and trying not to move or breathe too loudly. The woods were quiet beyond the occasional hoot of an owl in the distance, and the most interesting thing to happen for a while was a pair of squirrels scurrying by—apparently their fur in Night was darker than their southern counterparts. Ever a merchant's daughter, I couldn't help but wonder if that meant I could charge a furrier more for their pelts.

But still, boredom was still the worst part of setting a trap.

I don't know how long I sat in that tree, but it was enough to be glad I'd honed my sense of patience. Eventually, though, the Suriel shrieked, and the sound of it nearly knocked me from my perch. I climbed down to meet it.

Even knowing what to expect, my instincts screamed at me to run. I willed myself to stay calm as the Suriel watched me, clutching the new cloak in those awful, clicking fingers of bone.

"I told you not to seek me out again, human," it said.

I'd thought it might say as much, so I said evenly, "I have more questions."

"Release me, and I'll answer your questions. I'll help you as you helped me, but those are my terms."

The Suriel could still run off, but what it was asking seemed fair enough to me. And beyond that, I had no desire to make an enemy of it. As I crouched down and loosened the wire, I braced myself for an attack. It never came.

"Ask your questions. There are many," it said as I straightened up.

There was only so much time before its patience ran out, so I began with my most important question. "How can I release Rhysand from Under the Mountain?"

The Suriel cocked its head at me, the most human gesture I'd seen it make. It failed to set me at ease. "You wish to kill the Deceiver. Interesting."

"That's all I have to do? Kill her?"

That seemed far too simple, even if she did have the power of all seven High Lords in her possession. She could have been overwhelmed by sheer numbers alone by now.

"Do not attempt it. You will not succeed, and if she dies, the High Lords' magic dies with her. The King of Hybern will not hesitate to invade a land without magic."

I wanted Rhys back more than anything, but he'd never forgive me if I did it at the cost of the Night Court's sovereignty. But still, there had to be a way. "Then how?"

"She can still be coerced or convinced to return the power that she stole," the Suriel said. I considered that, and it clicked its fingers impatiently, the bone seeming to glow faintly in the moonlight. "Ask your next question, human. Hurry."

"What did the stag do to me on Calanmai?"

That echo of magic was still there and hadn't faded, still thrumming through me. I was beginning to doubt it would ever disappear.

"You were Made an immortal human, gifted an unobstructed path to your mate and the long lifespan of a faerie."

Just as Amren had said, but it was good to hear the Suriel confirm it. My hand drifted up to the edge of my ear, as if to remind myself that it was still rounded, that I was still me.

"How?" I whispered, not even sure what I was asking. I didn't understand any of it—how a human could possibly have a High Lord for a mate, how the stag had Made me, how any of this had happened.

"The Great Rite is faerie, intended to be performed by a High Lord of Prythian. The magic cannot flow through a human without aftereffects."

It made sense, even if I still didn't understand the reason behind it all. Everything that had led me here had felt purposeful. And I hated being a pawn.

Which brought me to my next question. "What did Tamlin want with me? Why take me over the Wall?"

"To break the Deceiver's curse, he needed the love of a mortal who'd killed one of his men in an unprovoked attack. One with hatred for his kind, with ice in her heart. There are six more weeks for the curse to be broken."

I wanted to vomit. And perhaps I nearly had, because the Suriel took a step back. I hardly noticed—my mind was reeling.

It was bad enough that a few kindnesses had been all it took for me to drop my guard. But knowing that they weren't even kindnesses at all, merely means to an end, was a thousand times worse. Killing Andras had been awful when I'd thought it was in self-defense. And now, knowing that I'd been set up and that he wouldn't have hurt me if I'd just run made it all worse.

Never before had I felt so used.

The sound of the Suriel's voice, suddenly sharp, jerked me from my thoughts. "I'm growing impatient, human. One more question."

"What does this mean?" I said, holding up my tattooed hand.

The Suriel grinned, revealing rows of those awful, brown teeth. "You are already familiar with bargain tattoos."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

It tipped its head back and laughed, teeth clicking together. I frowned and waited for it to answer.

"The Night Court itself chose you to make an offer to. You may complete the bargain by offering something in return. The details of the terms are between you and your court—there are some things that even my kind do not know."

Your court. It was so strange to hear the Suriel refer to the Night Court as mine that I was nearly distracted enough not to notice it clutch its new cloak and run off. I leaned back against the tree, thinking it over.

Because Rhys had asked, I gave a tug on the bond again. As soon as I felt his mind brush mine, I said, Go ahead and see my conversation with the Suriel for yourself. It would be easier than telling him everything, and I didn't mind letting him in like this.

I wasn't sure if anyone ever got used to the sensation of talons digging around in their mind, no matter how gentle they were. It wasn't painful, just strange.

After a moment, the talons retreated and he said, Thank you. I started to say something else, but another sharp wave of his pain and fear down the bond stole the words away. I bit back a cry. Rhys spoke again, urgently this time. I have to go. She's— She's not letting me rest. Ask Amren to teach you to shield your mind.

And just like that, he was gone. The walls were up again, shutting me out completely, and maybe it was worse this way, wondering exactly what was going on instead of feeling it for myself. All the mental shields in the world wouldn't stop me from worrying.

There was nothing left to do but head back to the city. I still wasn't completely sure how the wards worked, so I approached it on a diagonal again, crouching to make myself as small as possible.

When the city appeared around me, I walked right into Azriel. "How did you know where I was?" I said, stepping back to give him some space.

"The wards don't block our view, and my shadows told me you were coming," he said.

I'd been too consumed by everything else that had happened in the last day to pay much attention to the shadows that swirled around him, and now I felt foolish for it. "They…talk?"

He smiled at me for the first time. "Only to me. I'm a shadowsinger."

He said it as if I'd know what that meant, and it just seemed too human to admit that I didn't. I changed the subject. "I trapped it, by the way. The Suriel answered most of my questions."

"Good. Amren wants to discuss what you heard with the rest of the Inner Circle. We're meeting at the House of Wind."

"Now?"

Azriel nodded. "I'll fly you there, if that's alright with you." Mor's note had said something about ten thousand steps. I'd thought it was a figure of speech, but perhaps I'd been wrong about that, too. I must have looked hesitant because Azriel added, "I promise my landings are soft, but I'll warn you now that Cassian can't say the same."

Azriel was respectful, gentlemanly even, as he hooked his arms around my shoulders and knees. We shot into the sky without another word.

I could feel him watching me carefully, but I wasn't afraid. When I'd hunted, I'd sat high up on more than enough shaky branches to last a lifetime. Heights didn't bother me. Instead, I watched the city spread out beneath us and tried to wrap my mind around the size of its sprawl. It had been such a long time since I'd been anywhere with more people than my village on the other side of the Wall.

It wasn't long until we gained speed and descended towards a palace above the city carved from the red stone mountain. I forced myself to keep my eyes open as we glided towards the largest balcony, the wind rushing around us.

The landing was shockingly gentle; Azriel spread his wings wide so we glided down to the balcony, and I barely felt it as his feet hit the floor. He'd made good on the promise, so I decided I trusted him a bit more than I had before takeoff. Amren, Mor, and Cassian were already standing there, waiting for us.

"Well?" Amren said, raising a brow.

"I caught it," I said. My tone was a clear challenge, daring any of them to tell me they doubted that I would. None of them did.

"Then let's talk."

I followed the rest of them inside, towards a meeting room. Unlike the townhouse, this was a true palace—large and official, the sort of place I'd expect to find a High Lord and courtiers. As we took our places around the table, I had the distinct feeling a war council was about to begin.

I told them everything. As I spoke, I half-expected to feel Rhys's mind brush mine or for him to cut in with his own opinions, but the bond was silent. That scared me more than anything. 

When I finished, before any of them could attempt to convince me otherwise, I said, "This hasn't changed my mind. I'm going Under the Mountain, and I'll bargain with her if I have to."

"You can't," Mor said, and there was real fear in her voice. "She'll kill you, Feyre."

Cassian's face was grave as he added, "Mor's right. This is Amarantha we're talking about. She slaughtered her human slaves instead of freeing them during the war. She'll do the same to you."

"And we already lost Rhys to her because he insisted on being a self-sacrificing idiot," Azriel said.

I'd considered all of it already, but my mind was made up. I couldn't live like this, safe under the wards while Rhys's pain lanced through the bond like a knife. And Amarantha was from Hybern—if she held the High Lords' power long enough, what was stopping her homeland from invading mine?

I looked to Amren, expecting her to chime in and agree with them, but she just said coolly, "I wasn't aware we'd abandoned the Nephelle Philosophy in the Night Court." I started to ask what that was, but she added, "Perhaps all of you need reminding that what we think is our biggest weakness may be our biggest strength. And that the most unlikely person can alter the course of history."

Mor got up from her chair, falling into a fighting stance again. Cauldron—this might actually come to blows. 

"It's different. Feyre's not a soldier," Cassian growled. Azriel's eyes flashed, and he appeared to be sizing up Amren as his hand drifted to the dagger sheathed at his hip.

They'd known me less than a day. I didn't understand why they were so prepared to fight a brawl over me.

But if anything, Amren just seemed faintly amused by all of it. She rolled her eyes. "I'm the High Lord's Second, and he isn't here. Don't make me order you not to interfere. Sit down," she said. Mor did as Amren said, glowering at her the entire time.

The High Lord's Second. For an awful moment, I wondered if Amren was so eager to send me Under the Mountain because she viewed me as a threat of some kind. But that seemed laughable—it was clear that if she wanted to be rid of me, I'd already be dead.

I forced myself to meet the swirling smoke of Amren's gaze as she turned her attention back to me. "I've known many High Lords over the centuries, but none like Rhysand. As his mate, you're his match. That makes you a force to be reckoned with alone, but together…you two should be unstoppable. Figure it out and get us out of this mess," she said.

It seemed impossible, but if I wasn't mistaken, Amren actually believed in me. I'd never felt more human, wholly unlike a faerie, let alone a High Lord. At best, I was just a decent shot with a bow.

But maybe the mating bond could drive me to be more than that. Amren seemed to think so.

"Then I'll leave tomorrow," I said.

"No. I doubt she'll bargain with you while the curse is still in effect. You'll wait until it runs out."

I considered that. As much as I hated to wait, she was right—it wouldn't be to my advantage to leave while the magic still clearly proved I wasn't in love with Tamlin. I took a breath as Cassian's words about Rhys deserving our best effort came back to me.

"And what will I do until then?" I said.

Amren smiled, her gaze sweeping over all of us as she said, "You didn't think we'd send you Under the Mountain unprepared, did you?"

Chapter Text

The next six weeks were the longest of my life—I didn't hear from Rhys again. Even with my own shields up, his feelings leaked through occasionally, none of them positive. Despair, guilt, rage, violation, pain, disgust.

At night, my dreams were glimpses through his eyes of Amarantha's cruel court Under the Mountain. When it was nothing more than heads on spikes or lashes across a back, I slept through the night. Sometimes, though, it was his hands and mouth all over Amarantha in her bedroom, and on those nights, the urge to vomit ripped me from sleep and sent me running towards the toilet. The dreams were so vivid, I could still taste her on my tongue when I woke up. I'd never thought the sick, burning taste of bile could be a mercy until it erased the evidence of what she'd been doing to Rhys.

I took to skipping dinner, just so there would be less to hurl up.

I could only hope that if it worked the opposite way for him, the sight of the city—Velaris, as I learned it was called—helped him through it. But he clearly didn't want to talk, so I couldn't be sure.

When Amarantha didn't feature in the nightmares, it was the Spring Court. Sometimes I dreamed about Andras killing me in revenge, sometimes it was Tamlin dragging me back and forcing me to kill and kill and kill. Those dreams never made me vomit, just left me with a sense of guilt that felt like a physical thing weighing me down and pinning me to the bed.

On those nights, I'd stare at the ceiling and wonder if the blame truly lay at Tamlin's feet for sending Andras to die, Amarantha's for cursing Tamlin in the first place, or mine for being so quick to shoot. I couldn't have known Andras wouldn't hurt me—and had every reason to believe he would—but maybe if I had something other than ice and hatred in my heart, I could have figured it out. The uncertainty meant I'd never be able to scrub that particular stain from my soul.

During the day, I trained. I had no hope of besting a faerie in combat, but that didn't mean it was useless to learn. Cassian ran me through drills intended to make me more nimble, harder to grab onto and winnow to another location. And after I'd mentioned chucking my hunting knife at Tamlin when he'd taken me away, Azriel found me a properly balanced set of throwing knives and taught me to use them. Even if I never landed a hit, the distraction of blades sailing through the air might buy me time to run and hide. Mor wrestled me to the ground as I practiced bargaining, making sure I could close loopholes even as she twisted my arm behind my back. Amren taught me to shield my mind, though it was slow going without an actual daemati to practice with. I didn't dare ask Rhys.

When we weren't in the training ring, I poured over maps of passageways Under the Mountain. There was always the chance that Amarantha had rearranged things in the last fifty years, but I memorized it all anyway. The four of them quizzed me on the key players in Amarantha's court and their allegiances, or at least, what we knew of it from the rumors that drifted back to Velaris. Information could also be its own sort of armor.

Amren was researching exactly what my unfinished bargain tattoo with the Night Court could mean. Every so often, she brought the books to the training ring and sat in the sun to read as we practiced and sparred. Cassian sometimes tried to goad her into joining us, but she never did. 

From what I could gather, Amren and Mor had their hands full keeping the Night Court running in Rhys's absence, and their inability to leave Velaris only complicated matters. Cassian and Azriel were often pulled away to attend to their own duties, too.

Even with so much work to distract us, we were all anxious and restless.

After a few days, I moved my things to the House of Wind, tired of feeling like an invader in someone else's house and a burden for needing to be flown to the training ring. Mor, Cassian, and Azriel were staying there too, and we had an unspoken agreement not to discuss how little we were all sleeping. I wasn't the only one who overtrained to the point of exhaustion—sometimes it was easier to be too worn out to feel or think.

Perhaps it was just because at this point, I might have been able to get used to anything, but after a week at the House of Wind, I realized I was comfortable here. There was less formality than in Spring, and even as she sipped blood, Amren was less frightening when she dropped by just to sit at the dinner table and bicker. Mor and Cassian both offered to pick up paints for me, but I declined every time. It felt selfish to sit and paint while Rhys was suffering.

And I wasn't sure I was ready to face whatever would be staring back at me from the canvas when I was done.

The four of them took to playing cards, something Cassian told me they'd done with other soldiers during the War, when everything either had been short bursts of danger or long, dull periods of waiting and dread between battles. Killing time before Tamlin's curse ran out felt like the latter. Azriel offered to teach me the rules—and some of the strategies that won him more games than the others combined—but I was content to just watch, sitting on the sofa with a blanket around my shoulders and listening to them talk. At times, I was still acutely aware that everyone there but me had centuries of shared history, but I could live with that.

In Night, I was just Feyre, not Feyre-the-human, and that made all the difference.

The night before I left, we didn't talk about what I was going to do. I didn't want to be fussed over, even if I was preparing to run straight into danger. And now I knew that they'd seen enough comrades off to war that all four of them knew how to navigate the situation. Fretting too much might just make me panic and lose my nerve.

That morning, I changed back into the clothes I'd come here wearing—it wouldn't do to let anyone conclude where I'd been. I took my bow and a few knives, ones that wouldn't have a maker's mark that could be traced back to the Night Court. Mor winnowed me to the very edge of the wards, glamoured me to hide my scent and tattoos, and gave me one last wordless hug.

I headed south for the caves.

Something akin to relief washed over me as I walked. Part of it was almost certainly the mating bond—I'd always feel a bit better when I was getting closer to Rhys. But beyond that, it felt good to be actually doing something for once. Nothing rankled me more than inaction in the face of a problem, whether that was my family's money troubles or Amarantha.

When I crossed the Night Court's border, back into the cave, my stomach flipped. I stood stock-still in the entrance for a while, just letting my eyes adjust before I pressed forward. I took a few deep breaths, willing the instinct to turn and run back to safety to subside.

I followed the path back the way I'd come after Calanmai, not sure where I was going beyond a general direction. Save the occasional drip of water in the distance, the cave was silent. This wasn't like hunting in the woods, where there was still distant birdsong or rustling leaves. This was a place devoid of life.

I lost all sense of time, but at some point, the cave walls became something unnatural, deliberately hewn out of the rock. A hall. I was close, then. A part of me wanted to tug on the bond, to send out I'm here I'm here I'm here, but that would likely prove deadly. I needed to get my bearings.

I turned another corner and found myself in a passageway lit by torches. The firelight wasn't strong, but after so much darkness, the light hurt my eyes. I pressed against a wall, trying to conceal myself in a shadow while I let them adjust again.

As I waited for the pain to fade, long, bony fingers wrapped around my arm. I bit the inside of my cheek to hold back a scream.

"Hello," a voice said, and at least it was a voice I recognized, even as I suppressed a shudder. The Attor. "What's something like you doing here?"

I let it drag me and realized we were heading towards the throne room. Or at least, that's where it was on the maps. The thought of getting closer to Amarantha ignited my anger, burning away the last of my fear. Faeries we passed leered at me, not a single familiar face among them.

As the Attor pulled me through the enormous carved stone doors, I felt the bond light up in my chest. Music played in the distance, and the throne room was crowded with fae—a party of sorts, and Rhys was among them somewhere.

The Attor hurled me forward, and I stumbled but didn't fall to my knees. I raised my head and looked at Amarantha through my own eyes for the first time. She lounged on an ebony throne, picking at her nails, the nails I'd seen scratching Rhys's skin too many times to count.

But the sound of my name pulled my attention away from her.

"Feyre?" Tamlin said from his place next to her. "You're alive?"

Even with the golden mask still covering his face, he looked rattled, almost as if he'd seen a ghost. I hadn't known how he'd react, but I hadn't expected him to go so pale.

Amarantha looked right at me and smiled like an adder. "Don't tell me this is the one and only Feyre Archeron," she said.

My blood ran cold. She was not supposed to know my name.

But I couldn't let her see the fear that was clawing at my insides—if my time in the Night Court had taught me anything, it was how to put up a front. I held my chin high and said, "So my reputation precedes me, then?"

Amarantha actually clapped at that, as if I were nothing more than a trained animal who'd just done a trick for her amusement. The crowd tittered behind me. Good. They'd hold off on killing me if I was more fun for them alive.

"Tamlin, you didn't tell me she was so mouthy. It must have made all your attempts to get her to fall in love with you so much more aggravating," Amarantha purred. Tamlin just sat in stony silence, though even from a distance I could see his jaw tighten. He must have recovered from the shock enough to realize that saying anything would just be giving her the satisfaction. Undeterred, Amarantha continued, "But that does beg the question: if Feyre is alive and well, whose corpse did you leave in Tamlin's garden, Rhysand?"

I followed her gaze over to where Rhys was sauntering through the crowd. By now, I'd thought I'd gotten used to the mating bond, but it took every ounce of self-control I had not to run and fling myself at him. And though I really should have been more concerned with who he might have murdered, all I could think about was how unfair it was for anyone to have that refined perfection of his, even when he looked at me as if I were something unpleasant he'd stepped in.

"She wasn't the only mortal out near the Wall on Calanmai, and humans all look the same. I must have mistaken the other one for her," he said.

A lie, of course. Rhys could never mistake someone else for me. I wasn't sure what he was up to, but if it made everyone else believe he'd kill me without a second thought, then we were both safer for it.

Perhaps this had been the dirty work he'd taken care of after sending me away.

Amarantha's voice went sharp as she said, "You're getting sloppy, Rhysand. Don't."

Rhys inclined his head at her, moving with the fluid grace of someone who'd been raised as courtier. "Apologies, my queen," he said, all polish.

I almost lunged for her right then. The hatred must have shown on my face, but I didn't let it go beyond that. Even if I could have killed her with my bare hands, Rhys deserved to be the one to pry her apart, not me.

Amarantha turned her attention back to me, and I stared back, waiting for her to look away first. She didn't scare me, even if she should have. "And the other question," she said, her voice now dangerously soft, "is what brought you here and why I shouldn't just kill you now."

A test, but one I was fully prepared for. Without hesitation, I said, "I'm here to claim my High Lord."

"Your High Lord?" Amarantha grinned and turned to Tamlin. A fatal mistake. I'd chosen my words carefully, practiced just so she'd wrongly assume instead of asking exactly who my High Lord was. "Oh, this is just marvelous. You actually got a human worm to love you after all. But she's here just a little too late, and isn't that a tragedy? I don't think I could come up with something more deliciously ironic if I tried."

Tamlin just continued to sit in silence, which was probably for the best.

"You tricked him and bound him unfairly," I said, all righteous anger. Never mind the fact that I was also tricking her at that very moment.

"And you think you're going to do something about it?" Amarantha said with a laugh that revealed her too-sharp teeth.

Perhaps it was reckless, but I said, "Yes."

Her laughter died, and she snarled at me like the beast she truly was. "I should kill you just for that, human. But since the curse has ended, I've been desperate for some new amusement. I'll make a bargain with you."

A familiar, sick sort of satisfaction washed over me, the same feeling I got as I watched the loop of a snare tighten around a rabbit's leg. I hadn't even had to suggest a bargain myself—she was walking into my trap all on her own.

"Complete three tasks of my choosing, and he's yours. Three little tasks. How hard could it be?" she crooned.

"If I complete all three of your tasks, you'll return his magic immediately," I said.

Perhaps it was a leap of faith, but if Rhys's power was returned to him, that was all we needed. He wouldn't let her kill me. Maybe it was the mating bond clouding my judgment, but that was the one thing I'd bet on every time. I decided to take the risk of leaving some loopholes open—if I seemed too adept at bargaining, she might suspect something.

Even that was enough for Amarantha to narrow her eyes at me. I was tempted to glance at Rhys for reassurance, but I couldn't give in to that. Instead, I did my best to look poised—not defiant enough that she'd change her mind and snap my spine, but not cowed, either.

"Lest anyone here think I'm anything but a generous queen—and just to see how smart you really are—I'll give you a faster way out. Before the third task is complete, you just have to solve a riddle to return his magic. You can answer at any time, but if you're incorrect, I'll have your dear Tamlin kill you in whatever way strikes my fancy. How does that sound?"

I turned that over in my mind and didn't find any loopholes to close, at least not with the riddle. The tasks, however, were a different story. "Tell me more about the nature of the tasks."

"One each month, at the full moon."

"And in the meantime?"

The words had left my mouth a little too quickly, and I held back a wince. Amarantha's eyes flashed, and I might have pushed too hard.

"You'll remain in your cell," she said pointedly, "or earn your keep doing whatever work I require."

I hesitated, thinking of the work Rhys had to handle that wouldn't leave him clean. She might make me a murderer again.

For Rhys, I'd do it.

It still left too many other ways for her to rig the tasks, so I said, "Running me ragged would put me at a disadvantage."

"Nothing beyond basic housework. Human filth earns its keep in my court. Are we agreed?"

As she waited for my answer, she tapped her nails on the throne impatiently. The hall had gone silent, the entire court seeming to wait with bated breath for my answer. There would be no more negotiating.

And that was fine with me because I'd gotten exactly what I needed from her, a viable path forward to return Rhys's magic. I suppressed a triumphant smile as I said, "We are agreed."

I'd won the first round, and I'd done it in true Night Court style—concealing everything so well that she didn't even know she'd been bested.

I let her sit back on her throne looking like a cat that had just caught a canary. Magic swept through the room. It left a faint trace in the air, the way the smell of lighting lingered after it struck.

To someone behind me, Amarantha said, "Give her a greeting worthy of my hall."

On instinct, I braced myself to take a hit just how Cassian had taught me—jaw clenched so it wouldn't shatter, knees bent, elbows and forearms protecting my liver and spleen. The Attor hissed. Something hard collided with the side of my face. I rolled my torso to minimize the damage, planting my feet so I wouldn't fall. I tracked the movement of leathery wings and dodged the next punch.

I took two more hits before I finally fell. My bones cracked. By then, I was in too much pain to count how many of them were beating me. All I could do was make a feeble attempt to protect soft places—my eyes, my stomach—until I passed out.

I woke in a cell, laying on my side as if someone had placed me there to ensure I didn't choke on my own vomit. My head swam, but I forced myself to my feet anyway, bracing a hand against the stone wall for balance, even as my legs trembled.

Each breath hurt, which probably meant bruised or broken ribs. I swirled my tongue along my teeth and sighed in relief when I confirmed for myself that all of them were intact despite the taste of blood in my mouth. That must have come from my swollen, split lip. The worst of it all was the throbbing pain in my nose, compounded by what were surely two black eyes. I didn't dare touch my face, but I suspected my nose was broken.

I took deep breaths and willed myself to stay calm enough to think clearly. The injuries hurt, but there was nothing that seemed to need immediate attention or threatened my life. That seemed like a deliberate choice on someone's part.

Fine. I would be fine. It was just pain, and I could white-knuckle my way through that, the way I had endured hunger for years.

Just as I felt confident enough to step away from the wall and bear my own weight, the light from the torches beyond the cell door winked out. I wasn't afraid. There was only one person here whose arrival would be heralded by darkness.

As if on cue, Rhysand appeared. It was the first—though certainly not the last—time that I saw my mate looking absolutely furious with me.

Chapter Text

"What the hell are you doing here, Feyre?" Rhys hissed, lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl.

I'd expected this. It wasn't as if I'd thought he'd fall to his knees in gratitude, not after weeks of shutting me out. That didn't make it any less aggravating. If I could have growled like a faerie, I would have.

At least, though, he'd said it aloud instead of in my head. He must have put a shield up so we could speak freely. "I wasn't going to leave you down here to rot," I said. My voice had a congested quality that definitely confirmed my nose was broken. I winced, and even just that slight motion in my face hurt, too.

"You were supposed to be safe. If nothing else, that was the one thing—"

I cut him off. After spending six weeks with the family he'd bound to Velaris for their own safety, I didn't need to hear this. "Who did you kill, Rhys?"

His eyes flashed, and for a moment, I thought he might ignore the question and keep ranting at me, but he said, "A human woman about your size. I mangled her corpse so it was unrecognizable, glamoured it to smell like you, and left it for Tamlin to find. Amarantha was delighted I'd sent him a clear message to think twice about breaking the curse, and I didn't want anyone to come looking for you."

I'd thought he'd done something on her orders, not planned it all himself. That cold, calculating nature should have scared me, made me question exactly what sort of person I'd come Under the Mountain for. There was truth to the stories about the brutal, wicked Night Court. And I didn't really know Rhys, either.

But what I did know was that if it were me, I would have done the same thing. I wouldn't have come here if I weren't prepared to kill for him, too.

"What you're telling me," I said slowly, half-thinking aloud as I tried to understand, "is that you felt strongly enough about me to kill on my behalf after one night, but you didn't think I'd come back for you?"

The darkness rippled around him, and it nearly blocked out the last of the light. Something about it made his ragged breathing seem louder. "You have no idea how relieved I was when you got to Ve— When you got home. All of this was worth it if you were safe. But now you're not." His voice broke on the last word.

I didn't regret coming here, but I understood. Taking a life wasn't easy, even if it was necessary, and the guilt of learning it turned out to be in vain was a heavy thing. I knew that firsthand because of Andras. Rhys was carrying around fifty years' worth of that sort of baggage, on top of being violated in every conceivable way and terrified for me and his family.

That fury was fine by me, as long he didn't let it drag him down into inaction.

"You clearly think you're worthless, so If it makes you feel better, tell yourself I'm doing this for all of Prythian instead." He went quiet and utterly still, the way only a faerie could. Perhaps it had been too harsh, throwing his sense of self-worth out there like that, but I needed him to get it together enough to do something. When he didn't respond, I continued, "I can't go back now, so help instead of lecturing me."

If he didn't, I realized, it would break me. After years of shouldering too much responsibility in that cabin because no one else could get over their feelings enough to help, I wouldn't survive coming Under the Mountain just to discover it was more of the same.

But it would be just my luck to end up with a mate who'd do that to me.

"Did you think I haven't been helping this whole time?" he said, and if I wasn't mistaken, there was hurt there. "Tamlin gave her your name, not me. While those faeries were beating you, I broke into their minds and ensured they didn't leave any permanent damage. It was the best I could do without them realizing I was in their heads. There were too many of them for me to also get into yours and take away your pain. I'm…sorry it wasn't enough."

I let out a long sigh and leaned back against the wall, careful not to press on any bruises. Rhys was staring at a spot on the floor, not looking at me, and seeing the defeated slump in his shoulders hurt worse than all my injuries.

"Thank you," I said softly, "for all of it. I didn't— It's not that— I just…needed to know that you're in my corner. That's enough. You're enough."

I could have sworn his throat bobbed, but in the dim light I couldn't be sure. He reached a hand towards my face and paused. "May I?"

I nodded, and Rhys ran his thumb along my cheek, brushing the sliver of skin between my black eye and swollen upper lip. In the half-second his fingertips skimmed my skin, something electric crossed the bond. Our eyes locked—we'd both felt it.

His gaze turned predatory again, and some knot of tension deep within me unraveled, just a little. I liked it better when he was looking at me like that.

Even if my body was currently a swollen, bruised mess.

"I can't heal everything without arousing suspicion, but I won't let a crooked nose mar the most beautiful face in Prythian," he said.

I blinked, sure that a blow to my head must have addled my brain, too. No, he couldn't possibly… "Are you flirting with me? Now? "

"If not now, when?" he said with another graceful shrug. I couldn't argue with that. As unafraid as I was, especially with him so close again, there was still the very distinct possibility we'd both die here, sooner rather than later. He must have thought the same because his expression went grave. "I have to set it in place first. It will hurt."

I didn't hesitate. "Just do it. I won't scream."

"So stoic," he drawled, lips curling into a half-smile. I couldn't tell if he was mocking me or not. "Are you sure I'm not the only Illyrian here?"

Until that mention of Illyria, I hadn't thought much about his wings. I hadn't known they existed until Azriel mentioned it offhand, but now I wondered if there was a reason I hadn't seen them. Amarantha certainly seemed fond of ripping wings off.

But now wasn't the time. I just looked at him expectantly until he brought his fingers to the bridge of my nose and pushed.

I dug my nails into my palms through the crunch of bone on bone and sharp stab of pain. I just looked into his violet eyes and let them keep me steady. It was over in a heartbeat.

I inhaled sharply, and pain lanced through my ribs where they were still bruised. But at least the throbbing in my face had stopped. "Thanks," I said.

He kissed the tip of my newly-healed nose, then carefully leaned his forehead against the patch of mine that was uninjured. I heard him breathe in deeply and realized he must have been scenting me. Or at least, scenting Mor's glamour that made me smell like I did before I'd accepted the mating bond.

With my dull human senses, I couldn't smell much on him, as much as I wished I could, just so I'd know for myself what the fae were all talking about. He'd probably glamoured himself, too.

Though I couldn't smell anything, I still closed my eyes and let it wash over me that he was here, touching me, and in one piece. The bond was less taut than it had been in weeks.

All too soon, he straightened up and said, "We need to plan while I have time with you."

"How did you manage to get down here for so long anyway?" I said, then regretted it as soon as the words were out of my mouth. I was probably better off not knowing the answer.

"I tired her out," Rhys said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. I nearly retched, but he just waved his hand to indicate it was no big deal, an elegant gesture completely at odds with the dank cell around us.

He was putting up a front, but there was no use pushing for the truth when I felt what it cost him.

Instead, I stepped around him and started to pace. It felt better to be up and moving, even if it was just a loop of the cell. He leaned against the wall, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

"There's nothing stopping them from attacking me again, is there?" I said.

If that beating had been a greeting worthy of Amarantha's hall, it could only mean there was more to come. And if Rhys could winnow down here and put up a shield, anyone else could follow suit and do whatever they wanted with me. I doubted the guards would intervene.

"Whatever I'd have to subject you to in order to get you out of this cell might be worse," Rhys said. "I may be able to spare you pain, but not humiliation."

I considered that for a moment, unsure if I'd take a loss of dignity over broken bones. It sounded as if he was already considering something, though. "What are you thinking?"

"I can keep you with me if I treat you as a toy to taunt Tamlin with. Dress you up, degrade you in front of your so-called beloved, and make it clear to everyone else that I don't share."

It hardly sounded pleasant, but I'd endure it if it meant getting out of this cell. And beyond that, the mating bond kept pulling me to him, no matter the consequences. Perhaps the sensible choice would be to stay out of sight—and potentially out of mind—but I just wanted to be as close to Rhys as I possibly could.

There was also a small, vindictive part of me that hoped it might actually make Tamlin feel some guilt.

"There are worse fates," I said.

Rhys sighed, running a hand through his blue-black hair. The motion drew my attention to the way his hair shone in the torchlight, and I tried not to let thoughts about running my hand through it distract me. "The trouble is, it may cause complications when we all get out of here."

He said "when" and not "if"—his hope wasn't gone. But that wasn't the point, and I wasn't sure what he was getting at. "Complications?"

"A human will have enough trouble being respected as Lady of the Night Court, if…you want that," he said, and I didn't miss the note of uncertainty in his voice, that slight hesitation. Before I could say something about it, he added, "Parading you like that in front of everyone here will make it worse, even after revealing it's a ruse."

Rhys was right, as impossible as it seemed that we'd have a future where I'd be attending state dinners on his arm. That sort of thing was too ridiculous to even consider whether or not I wanted it, and I'd almost forgotten I'd inadvertently ended up with a title.

I made a frustrated noise and paced faster. It was still tempting to take him up on it and say we'd handle the long-term consequences when it came to that. But there had to be more options.

An idea came to me. I stopped in my tracks and turned on my heel to face him. "What about my maidenhead?"

Perhaps it was just a trick of the light in the dark cell, but Rhys's face seemed to go paler. "Your maidenhead?" he said, the first time I'd heard him sound anything close to horrified. "Cauldron Feyre, on Calanmai, did I—"

The logical part of me doubted he'd care I wasn't a virgin, not after what Mor had told me about how he'd reacted when she'd lost hers. But still, as unfair as it was, plenty of males and men did care, and my gut twisted with something unpleasant at the prospect of Rhys finding me lacking in some way.

"You didn't. And before you ask, Tamlin didn't, either." He visibly relaxed at that and started to say something, but I cut him off because I had no desire to swap our sexual histories here Under the Mountain. "But no one else needs to know that if you can ensure Tamlin and Lucien won't expose the lie. Tell everyone you intend to make an event of taking my virginity. It would give you a reason to make sure no one touches me and still leave me down here."

His eyes glittered again, his expression melting into something I'd seen on his face at least once before. It wasn't quite interest or fascination or wonder, but it was close. Rhysand looked…bewitched.

It was probably just another strange effect of the mating bond.

"Now there's an idea," he said, pressing his long, elegant fingers together under his chin. "It would work, if only for a short while. They'll question why I haven't just done it if it drags on too long, but I'll take whatever time we can get. I'll ward the cell and have someone trusted bring a change of clothes and body paint for when Amarantha drags you out for housework."

I smiled, understanding exactly where he was going with this. "And of course you'll have to come down here frequently to ensure the paint is still intact."

"It would be far too important a task to delegate," he purred.

I still wasn't quite sure what Rhys was to me or what I wanted—and I doubted I'd figure it out Under the Mountain—but at the very least, he was a teammate and co-conspirator now. And he seemed like an excellent one.

I resumed my pacing and pretended not to notice how closely his violet eyes tracked my movement. "And the riddle? Has she given it any consideration?"

"Not yet, and before you ask, we've all been barred from helping you solve it or telling you the first task. I have her ear, and I'll keep pushing her to make plans that play to your strengths."

I'd figured that would be the case, but it was good to hear Rhys confirm it. Prythian was not a place you could run on assumptions alone.

He shared as much information as he could—the locations of every room he knew Under the Mountain, the names and faces of the trusted shadow wraiths here with him, the schedules of when the dungeon guards changed shifts. The talons brushing my mind were familiar now, even a bit comforting, but I'd never get used to the way he could just deposit information directly with his daemati abilities.

Rhys cocked his head, and his eyes went a bit distant for a moment, as if he were listening for something a long way off. I wasn't sure if it was someone's mind or just a sound too faint for human ears.

"I don't have to go right this moment, but soon," he said.

I nodded. It would hurt to see him disappear again, but getting this much time alone together was a gift. I wished I knew when it would happen again.

If it would happen again.

He seemed to be thinking the same thing because when he spoke again, he stumbled over his words, something that even after a short time together, I knew rarely happened. Actually, it might never have happened before. "Feyre, do you mind if I…Could— Could you please come here and take a seat?" he said.

I didn't understand the request, but I trusted him, so I sat down on the pallet of hay in the far corner of my cell. Looking back over my shoulder, I watched him sink to his knees behind me. "That bruise towards the top of your ribs is going to make it uncomfortable to lift your arm, at least for another day or two," he added, as if that explained it.

I still wasn't sure what that had to do with anything until I felt him slide the tie off the end of what was left of my braid. He untangled my hair with his fingers, smoothing it out without pulling too hard or yanking my scalp backwards.

With more deftness than I'd assumed he was capable of, Rhys began braiding at my hairline, securely weaving in the sections around my face so they wouldn't fall out. The braid would probably last a few days, long enough for the bruise to fade by the time I needed to fix my hair—he'd clearly done this before. I almost asked about it, but Mor had mentioned a sister when she'd explained the bad blood between Rhys and Tamlin. It seemed better not to risk bringing her up now, if that was who he'd last done this for.

I suspected it might have been easier to talk about this when I wasn't looking at him; after a moment, he said softly, "I won't be there if you wake up and vomit tonight, so consider this my way of holding your hair back for you."

I willed myself not to cry.

Instead, once he finished, I turned to face him and thought back to Calanmai—perhaps we were destined to always end up on our knees together somewhere underground. "Thank you," I said, resisting the urge to pull the braid over my shoulder and fiddle with the end. "And you have a lifeline, too, you know. Use it." For emphasis, I tugged on the bond.

Rhys gave me a single nod, and I took that to mean he had every intention of continuing to shut me out as much as he could. I wouldn't push.

"Don't think I'm not still upset with you, but while we can speak face-to-face, I should say that you were brilliant in that throne room. It was a clever bit of bargaining. And I know you were training before, but that much tenacity can't be taught. It's an innate gift."

A smile tugged at my lips. "That's the nicest way anyone's ever called me stubborn."

And impossibly, Rhys smiled back, perhaps his first genuine smile in fifty years Under the Mountain. I wanted to make it happen again.

I stood, taking note of which parts of my body groaned in protest as I rose to my feet. I held a hand out to help him up, and he took it, not that he needed it. Somehow, even just the simple act of getting up from the floor was imbued with feline grace when Rhys did it. If he'd never done a single clumsy thing in his life, I wouldn't be surprised.

He didn't drop my hand, and somehow I could tell this was goodbye. "Stay safe," I whispered.

"You, too."

He studied my face for a moment, and from the way his gaze dropped to my lips, I suspected he was debating whether the swelling in my face had subsided enough to kiss me. Unfortunately, it hadn't.

Instead, he bent at the waist and kissed my knuckles in a gesture that struck me as strangely aristocratic, as if he were courting me in a ballroom and not stealing a few moments in a dungeon. Before I could say anything else, he disappeared into shadow.

I sighed and decided to take in my surroundings to get my mind off the empty hole that formed in my chest the second he'd left. My weapons were gone, of course, and other than the pallet, the only other object in the room was a bucket, probably for me to relieve myself in. I picked it up, debating whether it was worth trying to tear off the handle to use as a makeshift weapon.

At some point, a miserable meal of stale bread and water appeared for me. I scarfed it down, thinking to myself I'd survived on less before. Given the choice, I'd take deer tripe over the bread, but this still wasn't nearly as bad as the days I'd resorted to chewing on tree bark. I suspected no one here but me had ever known poverty.

If Amarantha wanted to break me, she'd have to try harder.

Chapter Text

They left me alone for what I thought might have been two days. At least, that was my best guess based on how I was healing and how many more meals appeared in my cell. I slept as much as I could, hoping it helped the injuries fade.

During that time, the bond was mostly quiet. Despite the endless boredom, I didn't dare tug on it or bother Rhys. From the few glimpses I got out of his eyes, I could tell he was walking a thin line, trying to help without seeming suspiciously interested in me, and he was more on guard than ever. I wouldn't risk distracting him.

The nightmares didn't stop, either.

But when I was awake, his talons brushed against my mind occasionally. I skimmed them with my mental fingers, as if we were passing by each other in a tight hallway. It kept us both steady.

I had no idea what time it was when two female wraiths appeared in the shadows of the cell. Though we'd never met, I recognized Nuala and Cerridwen from the information Rhys had deposited in my head. I nearly blurted out their names at the sight of them, but I just let them wordlessly pull me through the closed door, as if we were a trio of ghosts.

I knew they wouldn't hurt me, but the sensation was strangely itchy, like a thousand spiders crawling over my skin. Rhys's shields were up so he didn't hear it, but I found myself calling him a prick in my head for not warning me about that.

They brought me to a bathing chamber in a long-forgotten corner Under the Mountain and stripped me down. I would have panicked if I hadn't caught sight of the paints and brushes sitting out near the tub and understood what was happening. Besides, even with my limited human senses, I knew I smelled, so I just let them shove me unceremoniously into the water. At least it was warm.

Once it was finished and I was dry, they held me down and painted me. It took effort not to give in to my instinct to struggle, and I wished they'd just say something. Perhaps they'd been ordered not to.

It was my first chance to survey my injuries somewhere with enough light to see decently. I caught a glimpse of my face in the mirror, and I looked horrible. The swelling had gone down, but my split lip had begun to scab over and the healing bruises were mottling into sickly shades of purple and yellow.

It wasn't until they'd painted one of my legs that I realized I recognized that particular pattern of swirls—I'd seen it on Rhys's chest. For some reason, they were painting me to match Rhys, though I wasn't sure if anyone here but me and Amarantha had ever seen him shirtless and would know.

When it was done, they tossed a bundle of fabric at me that was so tattered that it took me a moment to recognize that it was a dress. It was stained and full of threadbare patches, but it was clean. I slipped it on and realized it covered most of the paint; some magic was keeping the dress and my own movements from smearing it. The cut was modest, the paint nothing more than an inner layer of protection, and the fabric hung off me loosely, not quite fitting right. Combined with the injuries, everything about my appearance was utterly pathetic.

But I recognized the costume for what it was.

Nuala and Cerridwen led me into a marble hall, one I remembered was closer to the middle of the passages Under the Mountain, a much higher-traffic area. Two of the dungeon guards were waiting there with a bucket and brush, and it was obvious enough that this was the beginning of my household chores.

As the wraiths melted into shadows, one of the guards threw the brush at me, clearly aimed for my head and intended to hurt. I caught it with one hand.

“If it’s not washed and shining by supper,” the other one said, its teeth clicking as it grinned, “we’re to tie you to the spit and give you a few good turns over the fire."

I doubted it was an empty threat, and with that, they left. I sighed, wondering exactly how much time I had. For a place with no sun or stars to mark the passage of time, the court Under the Mountain was awfully bereft of clocks.

I took one moment to breathe, willing myself not to panic at the potential short deadline. Then I sank to the floor and dipped the brush in the water.

It was filthy, and I quickly realized the task was impossible—all I did was turn the dirt to mud and push it around with the brush. I tried the door to the passage and found it locked, so asking for a clean bucket of water or finding it myself wouldn't be an option, either.

If Amarantha really wanted to torture me, I almost wished she'd just go ahead and do it, not set me up with a flimsy excuse about failed housework first. I tossed the brush to the ground in frustration, hard enough to crack the handle against the marble. Then I sat back down and considered my options.

Calling Rhys for help was the obvious choice, but I decided that would be a last resort. I didn't want to risk making it look like he'd come running for me the minute I was out of the cell.

From my mental maps of passageways Under the Mountain, I knew this was a central area, a hall that plenty of fae passed through daily. I suspected that this place was chosen for a reason, that I was supposed to be seen battered, wearing rags, and frantically scrubbing on my knees to send a message about a human's place in Amarantha's court. I decided to wait a while and see if anyone passed by.

When the door finally opened and I spotted long, auburn hair, I nearly cried with relief. Lucien.

"Feyre!" he said, breaking into a run at the sight of me. I jumped to my feet and let him pull me into a hug. For a moment, I forgot about everything—Andras, the curse, the lies—and just let myself be glad to see him again. When he finally pulled away, he looked me up and down, metal eye clicking as he took in my sorry state. "By the Cauldron, what happened to you?"

I had no idea how to answer that, so I didn't. There were more pressing issues anyway. "I need your help," I said, not even really needing to fake the urgency in my voice. "They'll roast me over the spit if I can't get this whole hall clean by supper. And all I have is dirty water."

He pointed at the bucket, and I watched the cloudy water turn clear. Another wave of relief washed over me, and I hugged him again. "It's barely noon, so you have plenty of time," he said, squeezing me tight again. After a moment, Lucien let go, taking in the sight of me. Even with the mask covering half his face, I could tell he was cringing. "Gods, what possessed you to think coming here was a good idea?"

Shit. I should have known someone was going to ask me where I'd been for six weeks, and I certainly couldn't tell him the truth. As much as I wanted Lucien on my side, he was still loyal to Tamlin.

And I definitely didn't trust Tamlin.

"I— Being gone made me realize a few things," I said. It was vague, but I needed time to wrack my brain for a suitable cover story.

"I knew something was growing between you and Tam but…" Lucien trailed off, shaking his head. I hoped that meant he believed that one night in the rose garden with Tamlin had awakened something strong enough in me to come Under the Mountain.

A horrible part of me pointed out that I'd done it for Rhys after knowing him for less time, but I pushed that thought aside and gripped the bond for support.

"I missed you while I was gone," I lied.

"The manor was serene without you running wild on the grounds," Lucien said with a smirk. I opened my mouth to reply, but his expression softened into something fond. "But I missed you too, Feyre."

I wanted to believe him. I needed as many friends as I could manage Under the Mountain, but perhaps my skin would always crawl at the thought of all the insults Lucien had flung at me for killing Andras when he'd known that I'd been set up to do it. And that was on top of the kidnapping he'd apparently been just fine with.

Maybe that didn't matter now that I was keeping secrets, too, though.

I put on my best brave face and said, "I'll be back and causing new kinds of chaos in Spring before long."

I could've sworn his mechanical eye pointed at my left hand, just for a moment. My chest tightened.

Lucien's face darkened. "Where did you go on Calanmai? Did Rhys take you?"

"He didn't," I said, just a little too quickly. Hopefully Lucien chalked it up to a healthy fear of the Lord of Nightmares. "I tried to get back across the Wall. I thought maybe since you were all busy with Fire Night, it would be easy to slip away."

"For six weeks?"

My heart was hammering so hard I worried he must have heard it. This was dangerous territory.

"I traveled along the Wall and hoped I could find a gap to squeeze through. I know Tamlin took care of them, but I missed my family."

I really, really didn't like the way Lucien was eyeing me, and I could've sworn his gaze landed on my left hand again as I tugged my sleeve down. Mor's glamour was strong, though. Lucien couldn't possibly see the tattoo.

Could he?

"Cauldron, you look terrible, but not like you were roughing it for six weeks before you came here," he said, sounding too much like he was putting pieces together.

But that was my opening, my last chance to run him off. I raised my chin and let my hands curl to fists at my sides. "I'm a huntress, in case you forgot," I snapped, letting myself feel a little indignation. I recalled Cassian's words about being a professional and reminded myself that Lucien had never afforded me that particular respect. "A damn good one. I know my way around the woods, and I didn't have any trouble at all looking after myself."

I took a step towards Lucien, and he raised both hands in a conciliatory gesture. "It's not that I don't think you're capable. You've never seen what Rhysand can do to a person—"

I only half-listened to the rest as Lucien warned me that if Rhys had done something to me on Calanmai, I might not remember. I yanked on the bond, harder than I ever had before.

RHYS. Help me scare Lucien off. He suspects something. Now. Please.

He said nothing, but a gentle tug back told me he'd heard the message and understood. I schooled my features into what I hoped was an appropriately horrified reaction to all the twisted things Lucien was telling me Rhys could do with his abilities.

Though it wasn't long, it felt like forever before the torchlight dimmed. I did my best not to visibly relax at the sight of Rhys making an obvious entrance. The sound of his boots seemed to echo through the hall as he strode towards us, a cruel smirk plastered across his face. Lucien stepped in front of me.

Rhys came closer, slipping his hands into his pockets. "I heard my name. Don't tell me you two were gossiping about me," he drawled.

"I was making sure Feyre knows exactly how much of a bastard you are," Lucien said with more ferocity than I'd ever heard from him.

I dug my nails into my palms and fought the urge to knock him aside for getting between me and my mate and for daring to speak to Rhys like that. Instead, I attempted to peer around him, opening a crack in my shields for Rhys.

"Were you now?" Rhys said, his voice dangerously soft and low. A threat, the kind you hear from someone too powerful to need to raise their voice. He looked from Lucien to me, a slow, cold smile spreading across his face. It was strange to see when my hands already itched to draw Rhys's real smile, the one I'd committed to memory in the dungeon. "Then allow me to be kind enough to give her a demonstration."

What happened next was too fast for my human eyes to follow. Lucien moved first. With one hand, he swept me behind him, putting his body more completely between me and Rhys. All at once, Rhys was snapping his teeth and growling in Lucien's face.

The second Lucien touched me, Rhys's hands turned to talons. Something in his eyes went a bit feral, and for the first time, I understood why the fae were so wary of mated males.

Rhys, be careful, I said down the bond, and my voice in his head seemed to bring him back to himself. The rage cooled into a lethal calm as Rhys scraped a talon along Lucien's face, drawing blood as the pointed tip approached Lucien's remaining eye.

"I've made it perfectly clear that no one here touches her but me. If you so much as look at her the wrong way, I'll make sure you don't see anything again," Rhys said.

The talons disappeared as Rhys stepped back, stuffing his hands into his pockets again as if nothing had happened. I wasn't sure if Lucien was breathing.

I couldn't tell what Lucien was thinking, but Rhys was walking a fine line between possessive and protective. Right now, it was too close to the latter for my comfort—I couldn't seem important to him. Down the bond, I said, Be as awful to me as you need to get your point across. I can handle it.

Tendrils of darkness surged towards me, then seemed to just…stop. They didn't touch me. For a heartbeat, shock flashed across Rhys's face and lanced across the bond. He must not have understood what happened, either.

I needed to act before Lucien noticed. To draw his attention towards me, I cried out and slammed my knees down onto the marble, as if Rhys had broken into my mind and forced me down. The hard landing hurt enough to make my eyes water, but at least it made the performance more believable.

Thank the Mother, Rhys followed my lead. The smirk was firmly back in place as he said, "Human minds are so easy to shatter, it's almost not worth the effort."

"Let her go," Lucien said. His hand twitched at his side, as if reaching for a sword that wasn't there.

Rhys chuckled to himself. "Always sticking up for the rabble, aren't you? First your commoner lover, and now the help."

The door opened again, and a few faeries I didn't recognize filtered in. They seemed to be headed somewhere but stopped to watch the three of us. I couldn't make out what they said to each other, but I caught a tone of gleeful, delighted interest.

Good. If Rhys and I were going to put on a show, we might as well do it with a bigger audience.

"Stop. Please stop," I said, letting out a whimper—or at least, what I hope sounded like one.

"Listen to how beautifully she begs without me even having to ask. What a waste it would have been for Tamlin to be the one to deflower her."

I said nothing, just looked up at Rhys with sad, pleading eyes. Lucien growled. If it weren't so frustrating, I'd be touched he was so willing to go toe-to-toe with Rhys for me.

"Leave her alone, Rhys," Lucien said.

I almost groaned in frustration. My mate was the only person under this gods-damned mountain that I didn't want to leave me alone. If I weren't so worried, I might have laughed.

And perhaps if Lucien hadn't said that, Rhys could have chased him and the rest of the faeries off. Now it would only look suspicious if Rhys didn't twist the knife a bit more.

He must have realized the same thing; his voice floated into my head. I cannot apologize enough for what I'm about to do.

"Not when household chores are part of her bargain, and I have shoes that need shining," Rhys said. I reached tentatively for the brush, not sure where he was going with this. There was no soft cloth or shoe polish. His grin just went wider and colder. "Not with that, you'll leave scuff marks. Use your tongue."

Bastard. Brilliant, horrifically clever bastard.

I lowered myself down to the floor, making sure to tuck my left arm under me to block Lucien's view. My cheeks burned, and I hardly listened to whatever amused things the faeries behind Rhys were saying and Lucien's muttering about how unnecessary all of this was. I licked the top of Rhys's boot and made a face at the taste of dirt and leather.

His mind wrapped around mine, the closest thing to an embrace we could manage. He sent a pulse of remorse down the bond. I gripped a mental talon and pulled it closer.

I wanted to spare you this.

It's not your fault.

I licked the other boot, then sat back on my heels. The hall had gone quiet. I twisted my face into a hateful expression and tipped my head back to look at Rhys. "Is that enough for you?" I spat.

I'd let them think he hated me, but there was a long way to go before I'd let them think I was broken.

"More than sufficient," Rhys purred. "Good girl."

I nearly called him names, but I didn't want to give him a reason to escalate this further in response to disrespect. Instead, I just glared.

Rhys turned away from me, all bored dismissal. "The queen gave her a task to do. Run along and don't interrupt her again," he said, a subtle reminder that only he had enough of Amarantha's favor to do this.

The hall cleared out, and Rhys didn't look at me again.

His mind retreated from mine, and his shields went up. I went back to scrubbing the floor, waiting for a tug on the bond.

No one else came through the hall until I finished cleaning, and I wasn't sure if that was Rhys's doing or not. Left alone, I kept thinking back to the sight of his darkness freezing up and the naked shock on his face, trying to understand it.

Eventually the guards returned to find me looking satisfied in the spotless marble hall. It was a struggle not to look too triumphant as they grumbled about taking me back to the cell instead of wherever Amarantha preferred to torture her prisoners.

I wasn't sure how long I'd been laying on the straw pallet, staring up at the vent on the ceiling, when Rhys appeared, looking completely exhausted. I sat up and motioned for him to sit next to me. He didn't move.

Before I could get a word out, he said, "Why does Lucien scare you? Did he hurt you?"

"No," I said, and Rhys relaxed enough to sit down next to me, "but I don't trust him. Not after what he and Tamlin put me through."

We were quiet for a moment as Rhys seemed to consider that, and I wondered what he would have done if I'd said yes. It wouldn't be difficult to kill Under the Mountain and escape consequences, but I wasn't sure where Rhys stood on revenge.

Eventually, he said softly, "I'm sorry for what I did to you earlier."

"I would have lost all respect for you if you didn't do it."

He studied my face as if he'd find answers written there. "I don't see why you would."

It seemed obvious enough to me, but there was still so much we didn't understand about each other. I considered what to say next, not sure if this was the time or place for that discussion. Rhys might not have much time with me.

"If you get squeamish, you hesitate. If you hesitate, you miss. If you miss, you starve and die," I said, recalling the words of another hunter who'd given me advice years ago. I'd recited them to myself countless times I'd been up a tree and dreading watching the light leave another doe's eyes. "Maybe there could have been a better way, but you did the necessary, unpleasant thing."

There were no words for how much it meant that he'd come through for me. I knew his family, knew how they all would do anything for each other without a second thought. But Rhys hadn't seen me beg Nesta just to chop wood.

"That's an overly charitable interpretation of events."

I disagreed, but there was no point in arguing about it. "What happened with your magic?"

"I draw from the Night Court's power when I use my abilities. When I tried to use it to force you down, it…refused."

I'd never heard of magic just refusing the person wielding it, but I certainly wasn't an expert. He sounded just as bewildered–we'd never needed Amren and her knowledge more. "Refused?"

"It's never happened before, but it said, 'I will not hurt her.' It's only ever spoken to me once, when I became High Lord." The chill I felt had nothing to do with the cold dungeon air. A centuries-long silence broken just to welcome me home, and now this. "I'm not sure I understand it, but if I'm not mistaken, the Night Court itself is defensive of you, Feyre."

Another entry to the growing list of things I wanted to understand but doubted I'd figure out Under the Mountain. Despite the glamour, I moved my left hand out of sight.

Then it occurred to me that there was no reason we had to have this conversation face-to-face. I wondered if Rhys had come down here because he felt the same pull from the mating bond, or if he really did just want to be near me. Maybe there was another reason. Maybe it didn't matter.

We were sitting with a careful few inches of distance between us, so I said, "Can I touch you?"

"You don't have to ask," he said, as if it were a stupid question.

But I did and we both knew why and there was no point in saying that. I curled up against his side, his warmth drawing me in. As he wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer, the mating bond seemed to uncoil in my chest. I closed my eyes, and for a moment, I could almost convince myself that our too-many problems were far away.

I'd just started to relax when Rhys added, "I'm not looking forward to betraying Lucien."

I sat up. "You're betraying Lucien?"

"Those other faeries saw that the water in your bucket was clear when they walked in, and the three of us were the only ones there. It's gotten back to Amarantha. If I tried to cover for him, I'd have to take responsibility for helping you."

I felt sick. Rhys was right—someone would have to answer for helping me, and he couldn't step into the line of fire without risking everything. Not that I would ever expect him to do that for someone who clearly hated him and I wasn't even sure I considered a friend.

But still, Lucien had helped me because I'd asked, and now he was going to suffer for it. I couldn't silence the voice in the back of my head saying this was my fault my fault my fault.

I buried my face in Rhys's shoulder, not caring if I pressed on my still-healing bruises. This was the news he'd come to deliver in person, I realized. "I hate it here," I whispered.

"So do I."

We sat in silence for a long time, guilt surrounding us like a shared blanket draped around both our shoulders.

Chapter Text

Rhys didn't stay long—we needed him upstairs, observing reactions to Lucien helping me and swaying Amarantha if it came to that. A quick clasping of hands and a whispered "stay safe," and he was gone.

I devoured another meal of stale bread and water and estimated a few hours passed before a pair of guards appeared to drag me to the throne room. I let them, not bothering to waste energy on struggling. Instead, I reached down the bond for Rhys.

She's making a point, and she wants you here to witness it. Stay as unassuming as possible.

That's all he said before his mind retreated again. I kept a crack open in my shields for him, and he didn't close his off completely, either.

When a guard threw open the doors to the throne room, I resisted the urge to look around for Rhys, even though I could sense that he was nearby. The room was crowded, but no strange music was playing. A gathering, then, but not whatever passed for a party Under the Mountain.

The guards threw me down at the foot of the dais, right in front of Amarantha. So much for remaining unassuming.

The rubies on her gown glittered in the torchlight, a perfect contrast to the rags I was still wearing. Even the servants here wore fine clothes. I'd looked pitiful scrubbing the floor, but here in this room, it was more than that. I'd never been more obviously a lone human surrounded by faeries, not even in the Spring Court.

"Rhysand was right. You do look dreadful," Amarantha said.

I ignored her. Tamlin was seated next to her, and I watched him for a reaction. It only occurred to me then that I hadn't even thought to ask Rhys what Tamlin had made of me disappearing for weeks, only to appear again and declare myself his champion.

Beyond not wanting him near me again, I hadn't thought of Tamlin at all.

From his vacant expression, I supposed he hadn't thought much of me, either. Other than the initial shock of seeing me alive, he'd barely even looked at me. Perhaps I was nothing more than a tool for him, to be used and discarded when the curse was broken.

"It's come to my attention," Amarantha said, crossing her legs and leaning against the arm of her throne, "that you had some assistance with the first of the chores you were assigned."

Maybe Rhys had been wrong and she meant to punish me, too. I pushed that thought aside before it spiraled into panic. "No one said I couldn't. Unless you're looking to re-negotiate our bargain?" I said with much more confidence than I felt. But still, I'd succeeded in bargaining with her once, and if she was inclined to do it again, I might win another advantage.

Down the bond, Rhys said, Be careful.

I am.

He went quiet again, probably to avoid distracting me. His mind hovered at the periphery of mine.

Amarantha laughed and turned to Tamlin. "Mouthy and difficult. She must have been such a headache for you," she crooned, clearly trying to get a reaction. Tamlin said nothing. I didn't, either. It's not as if I hadn't been called worse. "But no, I'm perfectly satisfied with our terms. The bargain didn't include a deadline to share the riddle I promised you, so in light of your recent behavior, I've decided to keep it to myself. We'll see if my mind changes before your first task."

She was letting me off with a warning—Rhys must have convinced her to. I wouldn't grovel, but I inclined my head slightly in recognition of what she'd done. "I understand," I said evenly.

Some of my fear drained away. There was still a path forward without the riddle, and it seemed I'd escape torture again today.

"There are still members of my court who have to answer for their behavior," Amarantha said, pointing at someone behind me and snapping her fingers.

I whirled around to see Lucien thrashing against the Attor as it tugged him forward by the collar of his tunic. I expected this, but my heart still sank as the Attor forced Lucien to his knees next to me. It smiled as it released him, and I felt sick.

Four red-haired males pushed their way to the front of the crowd. Lucien's fox mask made it impossible to know if they had similar features, but it was obvious enough that these were his brothers. Unlike him, they were all clad in the red and gold of the Autumn Court. They moved as a unit, a pack of wolves out for blood.

"Rhysand," Amarantha said, an obvious summons. Rhys strolled through the crowd, and I tried not to look at him as came to stand beside me and bowed at the waist for Amarantha. It was harder to be afraid with him so close, even as Amarantha flicked a finger in Lucien's direction and commanded, "Hold his mind, but don't crush it. I don't want to end this too quickly."

Mother above—there was a very good chance I was about to stand inches from Rhys as he shattered someone's mind. I understood he could do it, but that wasn't the same as watching it happen.

He didn't seal off the crack in his shields, which was a relief. I wouldn't let him do this alone. The blood will be on her hands. Whatever she makes you do isn't your fault.

There was nothing in response beyond a faint tug back. I dug my nails into my palms to curb the instinct to take his hand. The wild, irrational part of me ruled by the mating bond railed at any distance between us, even just a few inches.

"Yes, my queen," Rhys said, somehow sounding smug and deferential at the same time. A courtier through and through.

Lucien squared his shoulders and closed his eyes, clearly bracing for something. I let the dread show on my face.

Rhys cocked his head and narrowed his eyes, the only indication that he'd done anything. Having felt his talons in my mind, I suspected the movement was just showmanship, that all it would take was a half-hearted swipe and Lucien would be nothing more than an empty shell, even with only a scrap of Rhys's power available to him.

But the performance was clearly working. The crowd quieted as Lucien's entire body went stiff.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. He let out a groan. His brothers' smiles widened.

And then Tamlin—Tamlin—cried out, "Spare him. Please."

It was massively unfair of me, all things considered, but I couldn't help but feel a stab of betrayal at the sight of Tamlin pleading for Lucien's life when my running into danger for him hadn't gotten a thank you. Ruse or not, it was just a reminder that my growing feelings for him had been a one-sided means to an end. Thank the Cauldron I'd found Rhys when I did.

Through the bond, I felt the tiniest flicker of a distinctly fae, territorial satisfaction that could only have come from a mated male. Right. The crack in my shields. Rhys had heard my thoughts, and of course once they'd turned to him, he'd have an opinion.

I half-listened to Tamlin beg and used the opportunity to observe the reactions from the rest of the room. There were fewer horrified looks than I'd initially expected—Rhys crushing minds on Amarantha's orders must be routine here. If anything, the crowd looked bored, save Lucien's four bloodthirsty brothers.

The begging escalated to Tamlin kneeling at Amarantha's feet, and I caught a glimmer of lust in her eyes. If I'd noticed it from a distance, Tamlin must have picked up on it. But he didn't seem to see it for the opportunity it was.

I don't understand. Why doesn't he just hold his nose and fuck her, Rhys? His court might be safer that way.

Tamlin still has an intact sense of self-worth.

I understood the implications of that—Rhys had spent the last fifty years doing what Tamlin refused to because Rhys considered himself worthless enough to sacrifice. Ultimately, the Night Court was safer because of it. A sense of pragmatism does more good than a sense of self-worth. And you're a pragmatist.

Rhys didn't answer with words, just a pulse down the bond of something bittersweet I didn't quite understand.

The sound of Amarantha's voice dragged my attention back to her. "Because you asked so nicely," she said, every word dripping with a sadistic sort of delight, "I'll spare him as long as you're the one dealing his punishment."

"I'll do anything," Tamlin said. With his back to me, I couldn't be sure, but he sounded like he might be crying, or at least fighting off tears.

"Twenty lashes should do," Amarantha said with a shrug, so casual she might as well have been discussing the weather over tea.

That could be enough to kill a human; I wasn't sure if it would do the same to a faerie. Perhaps that was her plan all along—promise to spare Lucien, then have Tamlin mete out a punishment severe enough to kill him anyway. Then she could twist the knife and tell Tamlin that if he'd just controlled his strength better, it wouldn't have happened.

And worse, if I hadn't asked for help, this wouldn't have happened.

As Amarantha used her magic to produce a whip from thin air, Rhys's talons brushed my mind softly. This isn't your fault.

It was so much easier to believe that when I was the one saying it to him. The shame was deep enough to drown me. If only I'd seen this coming, figured something else out…

Tamlin took the whip and stepped down from the dais. Lucien dropped to his knees so abruptly that I suspected Rhys had forced him down. With a gentle hand, Tamlin brushed Lucien's hair over one shoulder and exposed his back. He murmured something to Lucien, probably an apology.

Before I was even sure what I was doing, I blurted out, "I'll do it instead. Don't force Tamlin."

Amarantha looked at me like I'd just given her a gift. And maybe I had.

The bond snapped taut, crackling with Rhys's fear as the crowd's attention shifted back to me. His worry was no surprise after he'd told me to stay unassuming when I'd first walked in. But as a human, my arms were weaker than Tamlin's—I'd injure Lucien less.

I think I owed Lucien that much.

"It's adorable how devoted she is to you, Tamlin," Amarantha said. "It's a shame there won't be anything left when I'm done with her. She'd make an excellent pet after a bit of breaking in."

At that, the anger I felt on Rhys's side of the bond was enough to bring down a mountain, but I couldn't turn and look at him. All I could do was trust his mask wouldn't slip.

Tamlin didn't come to my defense or even look me in the eye, just wordlessly handed the whip to me. Now that I was closer, I noticed shards of something white poking out from the rope, embedded right in the fibers.

Bone.

Amarantha had once served a king who sat on a throne of human bones—of course she'd use the same material to make lashings more painful. Taking a deep breath, I prayed my hands wouldn't shake.

I accepted the whip with my left hand instead of my right. With any luck, no one would have paid enough attention to know it was my weaker side. Using it might spare Lucien further pain.

Then there was nothing to do but grit my teeth and get to it.

Lucien didn't scream or cry out once, even as I made enough welts to crisscross his entire back. Instead, the only sound was Amarantha's gleeful laughter in between the numbers she made Tamlin count out. Somewhere in the distance, a woman sobbed.

I did my best to move my arm as weakly as I could without Amarantha deciding she was dissatisfied and adding more lashes. By the end, I wasn't sure it mattered—there was no exposed, unblemished skin left. Lucien's back was nothing but ribbons of torn skin running with blood. And all by my hand.

I was too numb for tears when I brought the whip down one final time. As I let it fall to the floor, I stared Amarantha down. Amarantha stared back.

"A human with ice in her heart indeed," she said, almost pensive but still loud enough for the whole room to hear. "You've already killed one of our kind, so perhaps this wasn't a difficult task for you."

That was when I truly understood there was no winning Under the Mountain. If she broke me, I was uninteresting enough to discard; if anything came too easily to me, she'd find some new, worse horror for me to endure. The riddle had been my best bet, and I doubted she'd offer it now.

With a wave of her hand, Amarantha dismissed me. I hardly registered it as the guards brought me back to my cell, and when the door slammed behind me, I expected tears to come. My eyes stayed dry.

I sat on the floor, not even bothering to move over to the pallet of hay, and stared at a spot on the wall. I hardly noticed the cold seeping into me from the stone floor. I barely felt anything at all.

Rhys arrived at some point, minutes or hours later. He held a bowl of soup, and it had been long enough since I'd smelled anything appetizing that for a moment, I thought I might be hallucinating it.

"Eat," he said, crouching to place it on the floor next to me.

"I'm not hungry," I said, though it wasn't quite true. I was hungry, but there was no food that seemed the least bit appealing. I had no desire to force myself to eat.

The darkness rippled around him, something I was learning was a sign he was angry. His voice went sharp as he said, "You do realize I can feel your pain through the bond, don't you? That includes your hunger pangs. Eat."

I narrowed my eyes at him and didn't touch the food. If he was here to give me a dressing-down for not keeping quiet in the throne room, I wished he'd just get to the point. "Why are you here?"

Rhys sighed and attempted to make himself comfortable on the pallet of hay. Dressed as immaculately as ever, he looked completely out of place as he crossed and uncrossed his legs. I waited for an answer.

"Because when you stared Amarantha down, your eyes looked hollow. Forgive me for being concerned."

My own irritation rose to meet his. It was hardly pleasant, but in a perverse way, I was glad to feel something. "And soup is supposed to fix that?" I snapped.

I was fully prepared for this to escalate into a full-blown fight, but the wind seemed to go out of Rhys's sails. The darkness around him faded. "I'd bring you hot food more consistently if it wouldn't make the kitchen staff wonder why I was suddenly eating double portions. I can manage this once without arousing suspicion, and you clearly need it tonight."

My own aggravation faded quickly, too. Perhaps it was another effect of the mating bond, but it was just as difficult to keep snapping at him as it was to let him go. I picked up the spoon, stirring the soup but not bringing a mouthful to my lips. I wanted to eat, but the thought of it also made me feel faintly sick. If I took a bite, I suspected it would just taste like ash.

When I didn't say anything, Rhys continued, "One of the more insidious things about this place is how we're all wasting away down here. I haven't wondered where my next meal would come from for the last fifty years, but my wings are so deconditioned from lack of use that I'm not sure I can fly anymore. Don't make the process any faster than it has to be. Eat. I'd rather not make you."

It was obvious he'd feed me himself if that's what it took, and I certainly didn't relish the thought of him jamming the spoon into my mouth. I forced down a few mouthfuls. Although it was well-spiced, the best I could say was that it was warm. I should have been delighted to finally taste a vegetable after days of nothing but bread and water, but I was still feeling too empty to enjoy anything.

Rhys watched me with a single-minded intensity that made the silence become oppressive. "You can give me your speech about how reckless I was," I said, just to break it. "I know you're dying to."

"There is no speech."

"No?" I said, raising my brows.

"I heard your thoughts and understand why you did it. Your choices are your own."

I double-checked that my shields were up and considered that as I ate. The ferocity in Rhys's voice told me he'd meant what he said. I just didn't know what that looked like in practice, not with the way the mating bond had shifted our worlds to revolve around each other.

One more thing to discuss later, then.

Perhaps it wasn't the time, but curiosity was getting the better of me. I changed the subject. "Do you normally take your meals with Amarantha?"

"Sometimes," he said nonchalantly. I still couldn't read him well enough to tell if he was putting up a front or if sharing meals was just such a small thing in light of torture and murder. Both could be true. "Just often enough to convince her that I enjoy her company. Tonight she's dining with Tamlin, and I'll be there to warm her bed when he inevitably rejects her advances."

It really shouldn't have surprised me anymore, but I nearly choked on the piece of carrot in my mouth. It made sense he'd go back to her tonight, though. "Don't run yourself ragged taking care of me when you have a long night ahead of you."

"Bringing you food is hardly a strenuous activity," he said, idly picking at a piece of hay sticking out of the pallet. His voice went softer as he added, "And it makes being her whore easier to bear."

I blinked. "It does?" I didn't see why it would—I'd felt his revulsion for myself. The mating bond made the act feel like a betrayal to me on top of being a violation. If anything, I'd thought it would be more difficult now.

"Knowing I've done something for you…it almost makes me believe I don't deserve what she does to me."

It might have been the most honest he'd ever been with me. I reached for him, but Rhys moved away faster than I could follow. He cast a significant look at the half-finished bowl of soup, a clear wordless order for me to finish before it got cold. I shot him a glare but didn't push, just continued eating.

We went quiet again, and I tried not to think about what it meant that we were communicating silently without even needing the bond.

Instead, I focused on finishing the soup as quickly as possible, so that Rhys would stop watching me as if there were nothing more important in the world. I didn't know how to handle it.

Not when it was a reflection of what I felt, too.

When I finished, I pushed the bowl aside but didn't approach him, as much as I wanted to. I wasn't sure it would be welcome. And more importantly, we might not have much time before he had to leave again. I spoke slowly and tried to choose my words carefully as I said, "If she doesn't expect you to stay long after it's over, come back down here. Wake me up if you need to. Or use the bond. You shouldn't be alone."

That was the worst part of being confined down here—Rhys could winnow in and help me on occasion, but I was trapped. More than ever, I understood just how his family felt about being unable to leave Velaris. I held onto that rage and frustration and hoped it would be enough to keep me from feeling empty again.

"I'll try," Rhys said, and it was the best I could hope for.

He waved a hand, making the empty bowl disappear, and stood. I got to my feet, understanding this was goodbye again. He couldn't linger when the role he played demanded that he'd be ready, waiting, and eager for Amarantha. I got to my feet.

Before I could say anything, he pulled me to him. Crushed against his chest, I felt his breath hitch. Being this close was like untangling a knot in the string connecting us. I hugged him back tightly.

But it couldn't last forever, and he stepped away all too soon. There was nothing to say, just an understanding that passed between us before he winnowed away. I managed to hold back my tears until he was gone.

And then I finally cried, and Rhys was the reason I was able to feel enough to do it.

I drifted off at some point, an attempt to get some rest before the inevitable nightmare ripped me from sleep. But it was a frantic pull on the bond that had me jerking awake and clutching my chest. Rhys's voice was in my head before I could ask what was wrong.

Change of plans. I'll explain later. In the meantime, do not drink anything unless it's been handed to you by me personally. And Feyre…I am so, so sorry.

Chapter Text

There was a note of anxiety mixed in with everything else that leaked through Rhys's shields this time. My own heart hammering seemingly in time with his and my stomach churning, I paced the cell and counted my steps in a vain attempt to occupy myself. I nearly ripped apart the pallet of hay just to have something to do with my hands. Wisely, the guards hadn't left me anything sharp, but I longed for a rock or something I could use to scrape artwork onto the wall and settle my mind.

Eventually, Rhys's side of the bond quieted, and I suspected he'd fallen asleep. It seemed cruel to wake him if Amarantha had wrung him out so thoroughly. I left him alone.

When the dungeon was this silent, I felt the echo of the stag's magic inside me more strongly. It hadn't faded the slightest bit since Calanmai. The few times I managed to stop worrying about Rhys, my thoughts drifted back to the new immortality I'd been left with. If I ever got out from Under the Mountain, I'd watch my family get old and die while I stayed looking exactly the same. The few decades I had left with them seemed impossibly long to me now, but in a few centuries, it would feel like the blink of an eye. Wrapping my mind around it was nearly enough to give me a headache.

When Nuala and Cerridwen appeared an hour later, I nearly wept with relief that I was finally getting a change of scenery. I might have gone mad otherwise.

Completely silent again, they brought me to the same bathing chamber and repeated the process of stripping me down and painting me, this time extending the paint all the way down to my fingertips. The twins couldn't possibly know it, but the paint would obscure the tattoo if the glamour failed. And again, I let them work.

But this time, the bundle of fabric they held out for me could barely be called a dress for completely new reasons. And I really, really wished Rhys had warned me better.

Thin panels of gauzy white fabric barely covered my breasts. They flowed into a single panel at the front and back of my legs, secured by a gold belt that didn't give me much confidence I'd stay covered if I moved the wrong way.

Nuala brushed makeup over my face as Cerridwen did my hair, coiling it around a gold diadem she placed on my head. I took deep breaths and tried to curb my rising panic as they worked. By the time they finished, I was nearly unrecognizable. Rhys had mentioned potentially dressing me up during our first conversation in my cell, so this didn't come as a complete surprise—it was not knowing the full details of what was happening that was eating at me.

"You look horrible in white."

The twins faded into the shadows as I turned to see Rhys leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets and his face twisted in disgust. He was so still and silent that I suspected he'd been watching me for a while.

I expected to see hunger as his eyes swept down my body and he took in all the exposed skin, but there was nothing but revulsion. I didn't mind; it was better than being leered at. And then I realized I'd only ever seen him slide his hands into his pockets when he was making a show of something.

I saw through the act—Rhys was nervous.

I just raised my brows, resisting the urge to cross my arms and attempt to cover myself. He'd seen all of it before anyway. "Should I take that to mean you weren't the one who picked this out?" I said, my voice sharp.

"I was. You looking horrible and making a mockery of your so-called virginity was the point." I bit back a retort that I could have figured that much out for myself and just waited for him to explain. He didn't seem the least bit frantic, which could only mean we weren't in a rush. He continued, "We're exploiting the loophole that you never had to be sober when you heard the riddle."

That explained the instruction not to drink anything that he didn't hand to me personally—I understood where he was going with this. "But you're not actually giving me anything stronger than water?" Somehow, the words came out calm and not like the desperate plea for reassurance they were.

"Precisely," Rhys said, and I let his apparent confidence steady me. It might have been an act, but it was a good one. "The evening's entertainment will be humiliating the drunk human. Amarantha will taunt you, saying it's such a shame you can't handle faerie wine because the riddle was so simple. I couldn't see another way she'd give you something easy."

The revealing dress made it obvious enough what sort of humiliation was in store for me. I'd force myself through it if it meant another shot at the riddle—I could guess what it had cost Rhys to change Amarantha's mind so quickly, and I wouldn't let that go to waste.

There was just one problem. "Rhys, I— I've never actually been drunk before," I said, cheeks burning.

His eyes went wide with shock, and he swore under his breath. Perhaps I'd said the one thing that could shred his cool demeanor to ribbons. "How old are you, Feyre?"

"Nineteen." I still didn't quite know him well enough to read all the emotions that crossed his face in quick succession, but now really wasn't the time to discuss this in detail. We had work to do. "But that doesn't matter, I'll be able to pretend. I just might need a bit of help."

He took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly gathering himself before looking at me again. "I won't let you fail."

I considered that for a moment, wondering if it was just reassurance or there was something else he was getting at. "If the performance isn't convincing will you…step in?" It was vague, but I wasn't sure how exactly to ask.

"Step in?"

"Take over with your daemati abilities. Unless…the Night Court won't let you do that to me?"

Rhys stilled. Voice soft, he said, "You would trust me enough to do that?"

"Yes. Without hesitation." I thought it was obvious—if I didn't trust him, I wouldn't have been nearly so composed after being forced with no explanation into a dress that left me so bare and exposed.

His throat bobbed. He reached for me, then glanced at the paint on my body and dropped his hand, as if thinking better of smearing it. "I thought you might hate me for planning this without asking. I wanted to explain, but she was….demanding last night. I managed to steer the conversation back to the riddle, and I took the opportunity while it was there."

If he'd done the opposite—given up a potential advantage to spare my feelings—I might actually have hated him. Flinching away from hard choices would damn us all.

"I can handle anything as long as you're on my side."

"You shouldn't have to."

I felt myself tense up—that was a dangerous line of thinking, and one I was too familiar with. For a moment, it was as if I was back in the cabin, slinging a quiver over my shoulder even though I shouldn't have to be the one to feed my family. My hands seemed to curl into fists of their own accord.

We would not fall into that particular trap today.

"You didn't answer my question. Will you be able to take over if I need you to?"

Something in my voice made Rhys stand a little straighter, and I caught the briefest flash of the soldier he'd been centuries ago, before becoming High Lord. I'd never seen it before, but it seemed to be exactly what we needed from him to get through this.

"I will. Daemati abilities aren't connected to the Night Court."

It was exactly the answer I'd been hoping for, and a bit more of my nervousness faded. I even managed a smile. "Then let's solve a riddle and get home tonight."

I watched the smirk bloom on his face as he ceased to be the male I knew and became the Lord of Nightmares. The mask was firmly on as he purred, "The festivities await. Allow me the honor of escorting you."

I followed Rhys through the halls, walking close behind him but not touching. With him near, the mating bond seemed to uncoil again. Despite being about to enter a lion's den wearing nothing but scraps of too-sheer fabric, I hardly felt any fear.

It didn't keep me from shivering in the cold, though.

My feet were half-frozen from the stone floor, but I gritted my teeth and waited for them to go numb. It was better this way—no one would think I could possibly be a threat if I couldn't run. I just kept my hands at my sides and attempted to look as unbothered as I could. As we passed through the doors, I opened a crack in my shields for Rhys.

The same music from when I'd first arrived Under the Mountain was playing in the throne room again. It was as crowded as I'd ever seen it, though everyone gave Rhys—and by extension, me—a wide berth.

There was something satisfying about being the only one in Rhys's orbit, in a strange, instinctual way. It was probably just due to the mating bond, but I liked being the only one close enough to touch him in a crowded room. At the very least, it made all the gawking easier to ignore.

I followed him to the dais where Amarantha sat, Tamlin at her side as always. I half-listened as Rhys bowed and wished her a good evening, just watched Tamlin for a reaction again. He continued staring straight ahead as if he'd been turned to stone. Coward.

I schooled my features to look faintly bored as Amarantha took in the sight of me. She broke into a cold grin. "Rhysand, you must get your eye for fashion from your lowborn whore of a mother," she said.

I didn't fully understand the insult to his mother, but Rhys just inclined his head and said, "I'm flattered you think so." Polished as ever, he sounded as if it didn't bother him in the slightest. But I felt the truth of his rage through the bond.

"Feyre dear, turn around so we can appreciate the view from the back as well," Amarantha said, making a show of holding her hand out so the ring with Jurian's eye pointed at me. I bit back a retort about how kind it was of her to ensure that everyone here had an unobstructed view.

I stepped out from behind Rhys and did as she asked. He took advantage of the brief pause in the conversation to slip into my mind and answer the question he must have heard. She was an extraordinary seamstress.

When it became clear she wasn't getting much of a reaction from anyone, Amarantha dismissed us with a flick of her hand and an irritated, "Enjoy my party."

Rhys walked over to a table laden with food and drink, and I followed at his heels like a dog. The faeries that had been standing around it cleared out quickly. He reached for a bottle, seemingly at random, and filled a goblet.

"Wine?" he said, offering it to me. In my head, he added, It's safe. I shook my head anyway, trusting he understood I was just doing it for show. He pressed the goblet closer to me. When he spoke again, Rhys dropped his voice low in that way that had heat pooling in my lower abdomen, even though it was very much not the time for that. "Try it. I think you'll like it."

I gave him one wary look before snatching the goblet from him and chugging it. The liquid inside tasted of nothing but water. As I swallowed every last drop, I tried to ignore the chuckles of the faeries who were watching us. When I lowered the goblet, I wiped at my lips with the back of my hand. The smear of liquid from the goblet was dark red.

But my head was still perfectly clear.

I forced out a giggle that sounded nothing like me at all. It must have been convincing because there was a flicker of Rhys's approval down the bond as he poured another glass. But instead of passing it to me, he placed his free hand on my lower back.

I let him herd me towards a chair and perch me in his lap. It was a relief to finally get my feet off the cold floor, and more than anything I wanted to press every inch of skin to him I could, even if it was just to leech some warmth. I kept my back straight, shrinking from his touch, but it was so damned difficult not to give into the urge to do the opposite.

As much as I appreciate hearing those thoughts from you, please refrain from shouting them at me when we both need to concentrate.

Even in my head, his voice sounded a bit strained. I was seated too close to his knee to feel if he was hard or not, and before I could dwell too much on that particular line of thought, he was pressing the goblet to my lips again. I let him pour water down my throat until I'd drained all of it.

When he lowered the goblet, I took in the stares and the giggles from the partygoers. Amarantha was leaning over and whispering something to Tamlin, whose blank expression hadn't changed. I didn't want Tamlin to want me, but it enraged me to see no signs of remorse for starting the chain of events that led me being a plaything in his worst enemy's lap.

I held onto that anger as Rhys wrapped a possessive arm around my waist, let it help me look indignant instead of comfortable. I went stiff, and he chuckled in a way that sounded so utterly unlike him that I shivered.

But the discomfort I felt from his side of the bond was the farthest thing from amused.

Feyre. Amarantha wants to make you dance while you hear the riddle. Will you be able to? The music will pick up soon.

Rhys didn't need to specify what kind of dancing it was. I didn't hesitate to say, Yes.

His mind wrapped around mine again, just as it had when he'd forced me to lick his shoes. The apology didn't come in words, just another wave of feeling down the bond, wrapped up in his own sense of self-hatred for not preventing this and territorial anger at everyone leering at me.

I didn't blame him in the slightest.

The strange, otherworldly music got louder, and that was my cue. Rhys said something smug that was more for the benefit of the crowd than me, but I was so focused on keeping up appearances that I barely heard it.

I stood up, trying to look unsteady on my feet. Another spark of approval down the bond told me it was working. The increased stares made me flush deeper, which could only help make this convincing.

I turned to face Rhys as he spread his legs wide and leaned back in the chair. He tucked a hand behind his head, and the lazy smile on his face might have been the most obnoxious thing I'd ever seen in my life.

I pretended to stumble, reaching out and grabbing the top of the chair to steady myself in a way that pushed my breasts towards his face like an embarrassing accident. Rhys laughed, and others followed.

My focus narrowed to just his violet eyes, and everything else fell away. I canted my hips towards his and started to move, letting myself believe we were the only two people in the world. The mask on his face didn't slip, but I saw the truth of him under it.

His mind curled more tightly around mine. I didn't have words for what passed through the bond in that moment, but I could sense the way his entire being was poised to catch me if I fell. I might be the one dancing, but we were in this together.

Feyre, you look too coordinated. Move less in time with the music before they suspect something.

I adjusted as he said, and another flicker of relief down the bond let me know it was enough. The music was already off-kilter, distinctly faerie in a way that set me on edge. I wasn't sure how much longer I'd have to keep this up.

Do they expect me to vomit, Rhys?

Possibly.

Then use your abilities to make me. It will be suspicious if I don't.

Thank the Mother, Rhys didn't hesitate. His talons plunged deeper into me, taking complete control. I couldn't move of my own volition—breathing, blinking, and even the beating of my heart only happened exactly as he willed it.

I was an observer in my own body as he moved my legs in shaking steps around to the side of the chair. There was no nausea as invisible hands bent me over, just the burn of bile Rhys forced up from my stomach. I threw up on the floor.

Amarantha was saying something, but it was a struggle to focus on her words and not the sour taste left in my mouth. But as soon as the thought crossed my mind, the taste disappeared—also Rhys's doing. A few more wobbly footsteps, and I was standing between his legs again, facing the crowd.

She's getting ready to give you the riddle. I'll keep hold of your body so you can focus on what she's saying. Is that alright?

Yes. Thank you.

My ass jerked backwards towards his groin as I writhed again, clearly on display. A few faeries here and there looked faintly sick, but most seemed amused. Amarantha smiled right at me and said, "Don't let it be said I don't hold up my end of a bargain, Feyre. Here's the riddle I promised you." Her grin went wider than I'd ever seen it as she added, "It's a shame faerie wine is too strong for you to remember it tomorrow."

I cleared my mind, focusing and memorizing every word as she spoke, even as Rhys made my hips move in slow, inelegant circles.

There are those who seek me a lifetime but never we meet,

And those I kiss but who trample me beneath ungrateful feet.

At times I seem to favor the clever and the fair,

But I bless all those who are brave enough to dare.

By large, my ministrations are soft-handed and sweet,

But scorned, I become a difficult beast to defeat.

For though each of my strikes lands a powerful blow,

When I kill, I do it slow…

As she sat back and laughed, I'd never felt more useless. Rhys had said this was supposed to be simple, yet I couldn't think of anything that resembled what she'd described, not in the slightest. Mother above, if this was supposed to be easy, I shuddered to think what else she'd had in mind.

Rhys's hands were on my waist again as he pulled me back onto his lap. I let his touch ground me. His talons pulled out of my mind gently, returning the control back to me without it being so sudden I'd react involuntarily and give the ruse away.

Despite having no idea what the answer could be, I let myself bask in the victory for a moment. Just having the riddle in my head meant that Rhys and I had won, and we'd done it right under Amarantha's nose.

Perhaps Amren had been right when she said my mate and I should be unstoppable together.

This time, the brush of Rhys's mind against mine felt like a friendly cat rubbing affectionately against my legs. I took that to mean he'd heard my thoughts and agreed. Now it was just a matter of enduring the rest of the party. All things considered, it didn't seem like too much of an ordeal if it meant I could stay this close to Rhys for a few more hours.

I turned the riddle over in my head as Amarantha went back to taunting Tamlin instead of me. Rhys continued to smirk and poured a few more glasses of "wine" down my throat. I did my best to look like I was struggling not to fall over.

I'd truly thought the worst was over until the throne room doors slammed open. The crowd murmured as the Attor dragged in a sobbing faerie and dropped him right in front of the dais. The faerie didn't even get up off the ground.

"I caught the summer lordling attempting to escape through the caves to the Spring Court lands," the Attor said. It sounded positively gleeful, its tail twitching with excitement like a dog's. "What would you like done with him, my queen?"

Amarantha's eyes snapped to Rhys as she commanded, "Find out why, so I can decide."

I'd been a fool to think the night was anywhere close to over.

Chapter Text

Rhys shoved me off his lap, roughly enough that I wasn't entirely pretending to stumble towards an empty spot at the very edge of the room.

Don't draw attention to yourself, he said, closing his shields until the smallest chink of an opening remained. Just enough to communicate, but he was clearly trying to shut me out as best as he could for this.

He sauntered towards the dais, hands sliding into his pockets again. Though his body language was casual, he couldn't hide that lithe, predatory grace as he moved, that way about him that sent even powerful faeries scurrying. Beautiful, in a terrible sort of way.

I took the opportunity to scan the crowd for reactions. A blue-eyed faerie with dark skin and white hair stepped forward, his mouth pressed into a thin line. Though it was muted, I sensed enough of an aura of power around him that I recognized him as the High Lord of the Summer Court. His appearance didn't match the description Mor had given me before I'd left the Night Court. The last one had died, then. This was a new, untested High Lord.

Rhys circled the faerie on the ground. I felt his mounting dread through the bond—it matched my own—but despite that, he was still smirking and making this interrogation into as dramatic a show as he could.

And it was working, the whole throne room waiting with baited breath.

The only sound was the faerie's sobbing and half-coherent pleas for mercy. There was real pain shining in the Summer Lord's eyes. Even fae from other courts looked sympathetic, not just afraid. That made sense—from Mor's brief introduction to inter-court politics, I knew that the Summer Court was neutral, well-liked even.

"He wanted to escape," Rhys said to Amarantha. "To get to the Spring Court, cross the wall, and flee south into human territory. He had no accomplices, no motive beyond his own pathetic cowardice."

The Summer Court faerie pissed himself—perhaps Rhys adding a cruel touch to the show, perhaps real fear—then abruptly stopped shaking. I half-paid attention, more interested in the way the Summer Lord relaxed just the slightest bit despite the puddle on the floor.

It was enough for me to be sure that Rhys hadn't told Amarantha everything. In some small way, he'd shielded the Summer Court.

Amarantha rolled her eyes, pouted like a child, and said, “Shatter him, Rhysand.” She flicked a hand at the High Lord of the Summer Court. “You may do what you want with the body afterward."

The Lord of Summer bowed; he might be untested, but he was clearly savvy enough to recognize this small gift for what it was. The grief on his face was almost too much to look at.

Rhys slipped a hand out of his pocket, and I reached down the bond for him. For once, he didn't shove me out. In an awful way, I was glad of it—I recognized the sick sort of sadness on his side of the bond. I'd felt the same way in between shots when it had taken more than one arrow to kill an animal.

The Summer Court faerie was marked for death as soon as the Attor found him—Rhys was merely putting him out of his misery. I'd done it for countless deer and birds I'd killed with imprecise initial shots, but it wasn't until that moment that I realized that I hadn't afforded Andras the same courtesy, just watched him twitch and bleed as his breathing slowed. A part of me even thought he'd deserved it.

Perhaps that made me a monster, too.

Rhys clenched his hand into a fist, and the faerie slumped to the ground, blood leaking from his nose. At least it had been quick. I squeezed one of the talons in my mind; there were no words for this. All I could do was remind him that he wasn't alone.

Amarantha said something sharp and irritated that carried over the murmuring of the crowd. I didn't catch it—with the attention on the dais, another faerie had come to stand next to the place where I was leaning against the wall.

Like the High Lord of Summer, this male had dark skin and radiated power. The crisp, white bolt of fabric that formed his clothes was a distinctive style that Mor had trained me to recognize. Rhys had called him an ally once.

This was Helion Spell-Cleaver, the High Lord of the Day Court.

He watched Amarantha, but I suspected he was paying attention to me. I was tempted to move away, my sense of self-preservation wisely telling me that High Lords were to be avoided. The protection the body paint afforded me was the only reason I was brave enough to stay.

"The Night Court plays dangerous games," he said, soft enough that I was the only one to hear it. "It's unfortunate that you've become involved."

I had no idea what to say to that. Helion continued to stare straight ahead, as if he hadn't even noticed me. He'd clearly meant to send a message, but I wasn't sure what.

Before I could string together enough words for a reply, he walked away. Just as he disappeared into the crowd, he clenched his left hand and uncurled it. Very deliberately.

Helion Spell-Cleaver knew I'd been glamoured. And maybe he could even see through it.

If he knew about my bargain tattoo, then he'd probably scented the mating bond, too. The smart thing to do would be to pass that information onto Amarantha—I wouldn't blame him for it if he did. There was no winning Under the Mountain, only difficult choices, and he'd be right to shield his court at my expense.

Worse, he could cleave the glamour and expose us any time he wanted.

I was temped to tug on the bond and tell Rhys, but there was still too much attention on him. With the turmoil I was feeling from him, I worried he might not be able to focus enough to keep from visibly reacting to me trying to get his attention. I tamped down my rising panic before it could cross the bond.

Instead, I pushed my way through the crowd, back to the table full of food and drink where Rhys was standing. He poured himself a glass of wine and downed it in a single gulp, the only outward sign he was anything less than perfectly composed. But I could feel his horrible mix of guilt, anger, and self-hatred churning like the sea in a storm.

Amarantha was too angry for the party to last much longer. Faeries made their excuses and left; Rhys said something degrading about returning me to my cell before I threw up again and spoiled the mood, then walked me out of the throne room with a hand on my lower back. Once we were alone in a deserted hallway, he winnowed us to the dungeon.

"I'm sorry," he said, voice thick once we could speak freely. He stopped bothering to hide the anguish on his face. I reached for him, but he shrank back from my touch. "I don't deserve that, not right now."

He wouldn't have tolerated this from me when he'd brought me that soup. I wouldn't accept it from him, either.

"Rhysand," I hissed. He stiffened in shock, eyes going wide at the sound of his full name. It was the first time I'd ever used it. "What you want matters to me, not what you think you deserve. Either come here or tell me you don't want me to touch you."

He said nothing, just took a step towards me. It was all the permission I needed. Completely heedless of the paint I'd smear all over his clothes, I pulled him into an embrace and felt him bury his face in my hair.

"I'll never understand why you didn't run from me on Calanmai," he whispered. "You'd be better off if you had."

This ran too deep to talk him out of, especially after I'd been humiliated in front of a room full of faeries and he'd carried out an execution. But the only direction I wanted to run was towards him. It didn't matter that only a drop of his power was enough to shred minds, that the blood of innocents stained his hands, or that everything about him was dark, dangerous, and deadly.

"I'm not afraid of you," I said, pressing my face to the hollow between his neck and shoulder. "None of this is your fault. All you've done is your best with the hand you've been dealt. Over and over. Read my mind if you don't believe I admire you for it."

He said nothing back, but we were pressed so close it was impossible not to feel him cry. Perhaps it was his turn after what I'd done to Lucien, worse this time because he hadn't been able to prevent a death. I ran my hands up and down his back, just as Mor had for me on my first day in the Night Court.

Eventually he pulled away from me, completely calm again. There was no sign of tears—he'd made sure of that with his magic—but I certainly wasn't cruel enough to point that out. With a flick of his hand, he cleared the paint from his tunic. "You should change before you freeze," he said.

I hadn't noticed my clothes folded into a neat pile in the corner. When I picked them up, I caught a whiff of laundry soap—Nuala and Cerridwen's doing, I suspected. And next to the pile, there was a folded blanket of soft black fabric. Rhys was staring at it, and I shot him a questioning look.

"I didn't ask the twins to do that," he said softly. "That's the bedding in the Night Court servants' quarters—they brought you one of their spares."

News of what had happened to Lucien must have filtered down to them, and yet they'd still done this to help me in a small way. First Rhys, then his family, and now his handmaidens—I'd never had so many people in my corner.

I wouldn't let them down.

But for the moment, Rhys was right about changing into something warmer. I started to slip the dress off, then paused at a shuffling sound behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that he'd turned his back to give me privacy.

I snorted. "It's a bit late for that, don't you think? And if I really minded, I would have waited until you left."

"I would have thought you'd be tired of being stared at," he said quietly.

"Not when you're the one doing it. You're mine."

Maybe it was wrong considering the fresh blood on his hands, but another shiver—this time not from the cold—ran through me as he turned back around. The bond went so taut my heart skipped.

You're mine. Rhys had kissed me the first time I'd said it on Calanmai; something about those two words seemed to have an effect on him. If I wasn't mistaken, he liked hearing me say them. Quite a bit. I filed that observation away for the future.

The hunger that had been missing earlier was plain on his face now. I smiled and pushed the dress the rest of the way down my shoulders. Rhys didn't touch me, just watched. It felt right to peel the fabric off, the same way it had the first time he'd thrust into me on Calanmai. I let that thought cross the bond, and to my immense satisfaction, the violet of his eyes went darker.

When I was completely bare save the paint that only his hands had marked, I picked up my tunic and leggings but didn't put them on. A damp chill still permeated the air, and the stone floor had nearly numbed my feet. But I didn't want to break the moment.

Unfortunately, the involuntary chattering of my teeth did it for me.

I pulled on the clothes, then slipped on my boots, wiggling my toes to get the feeling back. With one wave of Rhys's hand, the pins disappeared from my hair, which returned to its usual braid. It was easier to think like this, in practical clothes instead of a costume. And we still had more to discuss.

But before I could get a word out, Rhys pushed me back against the wall, the movement somehow both gentle and too fast for my human eyes to follow. He'd been waiting, I realized, ensuring I was comfortable before he pounced on me, biding his time like the world's most considerate predator.

"And you're mine, too," he said, dropping his head to whisper it in my ear. The pads of his fingers pressed lightly into my hips.

I slid a hand between us, running it up his chest before looping my arm around the back of his neck. I wanted to keep him this close forever. Beyond that, after wearing next to nothing in front of Amarantha's court, I wanted his hands on me, a reminder that the rest of them might look but no one other than him would touch.

And well, if our time was limited, we could multitask—there was no reason we couldn't do this while we discussed strategy. "You should know," I said softly, "that while you were busy with that Summer Court faerie, Helion approached me. He knows something, but I'm not sure what."

Rhys tensed, pulling back just enough to watch my face as I explained what had happened. His face darkened, but thank the Cauldron, he didn't take a step back from me, just interlaced the fingers of my free hand with his.

"Unless there's something else at play, Helion's abilities won't tell him anything about the bond, just that there's Night Court magic glamouring you. I'll make sure he doesn't cleave it," he said.

That wasn't as bad as I'd feared, though it made me nervous to know Helion could reveal our secrets any time he wanted, even with just the small drop of power he'd been left with. It was too much leverage for another court to have over us. "How?"

"Helion is a good male, and I should be thanking him for trying to give you an out tonight. He probably thinks I've hurt you," Rhys said, face darkening. "I'll have to snarl a bit and insinuate it would end badly for you if he tries to interfere. That should be enough."

I bit back a frustrated noise. Rhys was already walking a thin enough line, chasing faeries away from me without arousing suspicion regarding exactly why he was so interested in me. Helion had just unknowingly added another complication.

"Will you be alright?"

He squeezed my hand. "I'll manage."

It was better than telling me yes—I would have known that was a lie. I still wished we had a better best-case scenario. Another pang of guilt washed over me; this whole mess was being prolonged because I still hadn't solved the riddle.

"She's going to be upset, isn't she?" I said, lifting the arm I'd looped around his shoulders so I could stroke his hair. Almost imperceptibly, Rhys leaned his head back into my hand.

"Nothing I can't handle."

I took that to mean the answer was yes—though privately, I was beginning to suspect there wasn't anything in the world Rhys couldn't handle when it came to protecting me or his court. Or at least, nothing he couldn't handle when I had his back. We'd get through it.

Rhys ran his nose along my jaw, and a for a moment, we were quiet, just breathing the same air while we still could. "I don't think I'll be able to see you until the night before your first task," he said eventually.

My stomach lurched. "The night before?"

"It was becoming difficult to find compelling reasons that I hadn't had my way with you yet," he said, lip curling in disgust, "but she liked the idea of you walking into your first task as 'damaged goods.' I'll bring you to my room and let everyone else draw their own conclusions about what we're doing."

We'd need to figure something out for afterwards, but it wasn't a half-bad plan. I'd have a better shot at actually getting some sleep before the first task, at the very least. And I wouldn't complain about anything that got me closer to him, even just for a night. There were still several days until then, and it might be enough time to solve the riddle.

I doubted he could stay for much longer—Amarantha wouldn't be pleased her party had ended so early. And I suspected she wasn't quite finished with the Summer Court, either, and there would be more minds she expected Rhys to dig through.

"Stay safe."

He huffed a single, humorless laugh. "Only because you insist."

I started to say something else, but he kissed my cheek, then disappeared into smoke and shadow.

After that, I was alone in my cell for several days straight. Rhys was mostly quiet, though there was a near constant thrum of anxiety and exhaustion from his side of the bond. I hardly slept, all-too-aware of his own constant sense of alertness, and when I did, my dreams were a blur of him torturing faeries for information about the Summer Court or obeying Amarantha's every whim in the bedroom. I barely kept my paltry meals down.

I turned the riddle over in my mind countless times without getting any closer to an answer. As the days dragged on with no progress, so did my gnawing sense of guilt for not solving it and ending this already. I considered every weapon, every object that could possibly land a powerful blow, but none of them would kill anything slowly, let alone have soft-handed and sweet ministrations.

And this was supposed to be easy.

After a few days, Nuala and Cerridwen arrived, wordlessly painting me and dressing me in another barely-there gown, red this time. I wasn't surprised—if Rhys was telling everyone he was dragging me back to his room to assault me, we'd have to make a show of it. I just hoped this party ended up with a lower body count.

Afterward, the twins brought me to the throne room. When I realized Rhys wasn't there to walk in with me, I felt a flare of panic. But a reassuring tug from his side of the bond let me know that was an intentional choice.

He was seated near Amarantha's dais, leaned back in the chair with an ankle crossed over his knee. I tried not to look too relieved, even though it felt like the world righted itself once our eyes locked. The mask was on—he looked me over as if he were trying to decide how best to pick me apart and leave nothing intact, just for sport. I stopped in front of him, glaring daggers.

"Thank you for bringing her to me," he purred, all dark promise. It was directed at the twins, but his eyes didn't leave me.

Despite myself, my cheeks heated. There was still an audience and a role to play, so I decided to spin the flush into one of indignation. "Tamlin will kill you for this," I spat.

Rhys inclined his head to where Tamlin was sitting, silent and useless as usual, while Amarantha leaned in and whispered something in his ear. "Will he? Doesn't seem like it to me," Rhys said.

"Then I'll kill you myself."

He grinned. "I'd like to see you try."

I kept glowering, letting my hands curl to fists at my sides as Rhys dismissed Nuala and Cerridwen with a single elegant, imperious gesture that spoke to years of ordering servants around. He crooked a finger, beckoning me closer. I crossed my arms. Something flashed in his eyes, and I made a show of jerking forward, as if he'd forced me.

There was a soft pulse of approval down the bond as he pulled me into his lap. I hated how good we were getting at this. He nudged my legs open with his, and I sat very still to avoid exposing myself further. Tamlin didn't blink.

"Come now, Feyre," Rhys crooned, wrapping an arm around my waist. "No need to be like that when we're going to be such good friends by the end of the night."

I would have make a show of struggling, but that have just given the entire crowd a glimpse of the parts of me I was desperately trying to keep covered. But still, I needed to avoid looking too comfortable, so I stared at Tamlin and let myself feel every last drop of my rage that the stone-hearted bastard couldn't muster the smallest sign of concern for me. Soothing talons stroked the edge of my mind.

Am I going to have to dance again? I said, opening my shields a bit wider.

No. And no wine, either. We're only staying long enough to get some food in you before tomorrow.

If you're feeding me yourself, I'm going to bite your hand. Not because I minded—there was quite a lot I'd endure if it meant there was food in it for me—but because it was part of the role I was playing. And it would be unfair not to warn him.

Please do.

Rhys flagged down a passing servant and plucked some food off the tray. With our shields down and minds pressed close, I caught a few of his worried thoughts about how little I'd been eating. But even as he fretted inwardly, his smile was full of nothing but malice.

"Eat, Feyre. You'll need to keep up your strength for everything I have planned for you later," he said, holding a piece of fruit out for me. I shook my head. "Open that pretty mouth of yours."

"I'll show you what my mouth can do," I hissed, then bit down hard on the soft spot between his thumb and forefinger. Something that wasn't quite laughter crossed the bond.

But I pretended he wore me down eventually, lulled into complacence like a dog who'll do anything for scraps. Amarantha, at least, seemed to enjoy the show, alternately laughing at me and whispering in Tamlin's ear. Rhys and I kept it up for as long as we dared—not enough for the food to be called a meal, but still a vast improvement over the bread and water I'd been given since I'd arrived.

Finally, he nudged me off his lap, and it was an effort not to look relieved. He led me out of the room. As we passed Tamlin, Rhys got in one last smirk, letting his hand drift down from my lower back to my ass.

Once we were far enough down the hall, we winnowed to his bedroom. I took in the neatly made bed, the utter lack of clutter or personal touches. I'd seen this room in my mind before, when Rhys had made sure I'd known how to find it if needed, but there was something about seeing it through my own eyes that reminded me exactly why he so rarely slept here. I shivered.

"If you'd like to wash off the paint, I ran a bath for you," Rhys said, taking his hand off me and stepping away.

I relaxed, relieved we could speak freely. Even though I'd just bathed a few hours ago, it had been ages since I'd gotten into a warm tub without someone else dunking me in the water. "Thank you," I said.

"I don't trust the servants who clean this room not go through my things, so there aren't clothes for you here. Take mine," he said, jerking his head towards the ebony dresser.

I pulled open a drawer to find a stack of neatly folded clothes, all black. In the townhouse, I'd refused to snoop through his things, so I wondered if the lack of color was normal for him, or an affectation he put on Under the Mountain, even if black was the color of the Night Court. Pushing those thoughts aside, I grabbed a set of sleep clothes that were almost certainly too big for me and headed to the bathroom.

Bathing with Rhys on the other side of the door and a pile of his clothes to change into felt like a strange mockery of the sort of domesticity we'd never been able to have. I hadn't ached more for Velaris since coming Under the Mountain. I didn't call the city home the way Rhys did—I didn't have a home anymore—but there wasn't anywhere else I'd rather be.

When I returned to the bedroom, Rhys was still standing in the same spot, and if he hadn't also changed, I would have suspected he hadn't moved at all. Something softened in his eyes as he took in the sight of me in sleep pants I'd had to roll up several times to avoid tripping on.

"The bed's yours," he said simply.

I sighed. "I'm not kicking you out of your bed, Rhys." Not when I'd spent years sharing a much smaller one with both of my sisters. It's not as if there was another option—I wasn't enough of a monster to make him take the floor.

I slid under the covers, and the bed was so large that if he'd done the same, I didn't feel the telltale dip in the mattress. Out of habit, I curled up near the edge, taking up as little space as possible. Not that it mattered when there was so much room.

I closed my eyes, and the candles in the room winked out. Rhys didn't come near me. I tried not to think about it—there were a million reasons that had nothing to do with me that he might want the space. This night was as much of a reprieve for him as it was for me.

But if I wasn't thinking about that, it was the riddle and how I still hadn't solved it. I worried about what I might face tomorrow, whether or not I'd live another day and everything that would be lost if I failed. My thoughts were so loud that even with my shields up, I suspected I was shouting them across the bond.

I'd never fall asleep like this.

I rolled over to face him just as he did the same, our movements inadvertently coordinated yet again. Even in the dark, his eyes glittered like stars. I wondered if it was Night Court magic or another aspect of his usual annoying perfection. His hair wasn't mussed despite rubbing against his pillow.

"I can't sleep," I whispered, my voice unexpectedly rough.

"Too much on your mind?"

His lips twisted into what was clearly meant to be a knowing smile, but I sensed his unease, too. No matter how perfect his mask might be, he couldn't hide it. Not from me.

"Can I come closer?"

"I was waiting for you to ask."

Before I could move, his arms were around me. I slid one of my legs between his—when I'd said closer, I'd meant closer. I tilted my head so it was pillowed on his bicep and resting just underneath his chin. He pressed a kiss to my wet hair, splaying both hands on my back to pull my chest flush with his. I don't think we could have been touching in any more places.

It still didn't feel like enough.

"That's better," I whispered once we were settled. He hummed in agreement.

This was the closest thing I'd felt to peace since I'd woken up after Calanmai, but the knowledge of what tomorrow would bring kept both of us from relaxing completely. But still, we deserved more nights like this. I'd solve the riddle and make it happen. I had to.

I closed my eyes and willed sleep to come, but it never did. From the rhythm of Rhys's breathing, I could tell he was also awake. But I kept quiet, afraid of disturbing him if he did manage to drift off. He did the same for me. Though I didn't sleep that night, I let myself dream for the first time in a long while. Curled up in his arms was the only way I felt safe enough to imagine what things might be like if—no, when—we escaped from Under the Mountain, a future worth fighting for.

We stayed like that for hours, though it wasn't nearly long enough. Rhys must have known it was morning from some internal clock he'd developed after decades Under the Mountain, or perhaps because as Lord of Night, he always knew the position of the moon. "You should be getting back soon," he murmured, breath warm against my cheek.

I sighed—he was right. It took all my willpower to pull away from him and stand up, a new wave of fear crashing over me. The full moon was rising. My first task was in a matter of hours.

Rhys shifted me back into my tunic from the Spring Court and himself into another immaculate black jacket and pants. I took a breath, then held my hand out so he could winnow us back to my cell.

Perhaps it was just the dim light of the dungeon, but when I dropped my hand, there was no sign of fear on Rhys's face. For once, it didn't feel like an act. Before I could ask, he said, "The task plays to your strengths. You're going to win."

I nodded, letting that steady me. Even if Rhys couldn't tell me about the task, he'd had her ear this entire time. He'd been fighting for me. "Of course I'm going to win," I said, forcing a smile.

Amarantha, I was sure, would want to hear all about how the night had gone—Rhys couldn't seem to eager to stay with me. As much as I wanted to keep him longer, I couldn't. I leaned forward to kiss him goodbye, but he stepped back and smirked. "I'll kiss you afterwards. Consider it extra motivation to beat the task."

And that's when I knew none of his confidence in me was an act—if Rhys thought there was any chance at all I'd die today, he would have kissed me goodbye. My smile went a bit wider. "If it's my reward for not dying, it had better be one hell of a kiss," I said.

He winked. "Only the best for you, Feyre darling." Then, more softly, he added, "I'll see you soon."

He winnowed away, and I was left alone again. I spent the rest of the time pacing my cell, hoping I'd come up with the answer to the riddle at the last minute, but I had no such luck.

The guards arrived to drag me upstairs for my first task.

Chapter Text

I heard the crowd before I saw it. The passageway reverberated with the roaring, which could only mean that everyone Under the Mountain was here to witness this. As long as Rhys was among them, I didn't mind.

As the guards hauled me closer, the floor became slick and muddy. That was strange—all of the rooms and passages down here had been hewn from dry stone. I suspected it had something to do with the task ahead of me, but I couldn't imagine what. There hadn't been any mention of mud when I'd gone over maps of Under the Mountain in Velaris, and Rhys hadn't mentioned anything about it, either.

The shouting grew louder as we approached, and the faces of the fae closest to me were twisted in feral, bloodthirsty delight. I kept my chin high. Amarantha sat on a wooden platform erected above the crowd, surrounded by all seven High Lords. I didn't bother to look at Rhys or Tamlin, as much as I was tempted to.

Instead, I turned my attention to the strange labyrinth of tunnels and trenches along the floor. I was to be thrown into it, I realized. Perhaps there was something for me to find without getting lost, traps to avoid…

Then Amarantha raised a hand, and the crowd went quiet.

I looked straight at her, doing my best to seem faintly bored. She wore that usual mocking smile that was becoming far too familiar. Rhys kept out of my head, so I just waited for her to speak.

"There's not a scratch on you, Feyre. Don't tell me Rhysand decided to be a gentleman last night and make your first time soft," she said.

"Daemati don't leave marks," I said coolly, "but I'm not surprised you'd forget, considering how utterly unremarkable your whore turned out to be in bed."

The words were out of my mouth before I thought to warn Rhys I was about to insult him. He knew perfectly well that I had to keep up appearances, but to use that word that had been spat at him for fifty years…it might have gone too far. I sent a pulse of regret down the bond.

He slipped into my mind just long enough to say, Unremarkable in bed? It's difficult to be offended when you're being such a liar.

Good—he saw through the mask I was wearing, too. Forcing myself not to let my relief show, I kept watching Amarantha. Even from a distance, I caught the way her eyes flashed and her lip curled in the beginning of a snarl. My words had been a touch too defiant—I braced myself, ready to bear the brunt of her anger.

She merely rested a possessive hand on Tamlin's knee, a clear display of dominance that flaunted the ring with Jurian's eye. It was a miracle I managed not to look irritated. Even with the power of all seven High Lords at her disposal, she clearly seemed to consider my apparent devotion to Tamlin a threat. Pathetic, really. She could have him for all I cared.

"Did you solve my riddle yet?" she said, voice dripping with false sweetness. I said nothing and kept my face blank. "Of course not, and what a shame. It was so simple, but I suppose humans just can't handle faerie wine. You don't even remember it, do you?"

"No. I don't remember it at all," I lied, cheeks burning.

That, at least, seemed to satisfy her. She sat back in her throne contentedly, and I did my best not to look too relaxed.

"Then you'll have to face my tasks, I'm afraid. Though I suspect you'll like this one—Rhysand tells me you're a huntress."

I held back a smile at the confirmation Rhys had come through for me. I might not have a bow or supplies to make a snare, but I was by far the the best hunter Under the Mountain. I'd all but proven that on Calanmai.

My sense of relief was short-lived as claws dug into my armpits and lifted me into the air. I let out a shriek. The crowd laughed. I twisted to see what had grabbed me—the Attor. I was dangling from its claws like a mouse caught by an owl.

Two more powerful wingbeats, and it dropped me into the trench.

I fell to my knees, mud soaking through my pants. The muck seemed to suck me down, and I prayed I'd tied the laces of my boots tight enough to keep them on. I struggled to my feet and tried not to gag at the smell.

The smell—if I was hunting, I'd need to cover my scent. The mud itself might not be overwhelming to a creature that lived here, and it seemed safe enough to assume whatever beast she'd have me fight would have an acute sense of smell.

The sound of Amarantha's voice pulled me from my thoughts about the possible direction of the airflow through the arena. "Hunt this, Feyre," she said, then called, "Release it."

I barely kept my balance as a grate rose, sending rumbling vibrations throughout the trenches. Heart pounding, I bent my knees, ready to push off and run in any direction. Amarantha was saying something else, but I ignored her.

My quarry appeared.

And it was a worm.

A giant worm, surprisingly fast, with a mouth full of rings of sharp teeth, but a worm nonetheless. I barreled down the trench to put space between us, to give me time to think and come up with a plan. I'd hunted plenty of game in the woods, but I hadn't the faintest idea how to hunt a worm.

Rhysand had to be out of his mind if he thought this was part of my skillset.

I kept running, veering around corners and hoping it was enough to give me space to breathe. There were no weapons down here, nothing but mud. Perhaps I'd be able to hide myself in it, but that wouldn't do any good if all I had to kill the worm with was my bare hands.

After turning enough corners, the worm was nowhere in sight. I risked stopping in the middle of a long straightaway. It seemed safe enough to pause here, somewhere I'd see it coming. Bent forward with my hands on my knees, I considered what I'd seen. Most of my attention had been on that terrible mouth and razor-sharp teeth, but then I realized—I hadn't seen a pair of eyes.

The worm was blind.

It had to rely on smell to navigate, and it was almost certainly used to the mud. And the first rule of hunting was to conceal your scent. I dropped into the mud and rolled. There was precious little time before the worm came slithering around a corner, but I made sure every inch of me was covered—my hair, my face, my neck—even as the damp seeped through my clothes and chilled me down to my bones.

The crowd tittered, clearly confused by this turn of events, but I tuned it out. I was invisible now, but I still didn't have a weapon or a plan. Until I did, I couldn't waste a single shred of my attention on anything else, though I couldn't help but notice Rhys saying my name and something vaguely smug.

Now that I'd caught my breath, I hurried through the labyrinth and looked for something that could be of use other than mud. I had no weapons on me, nothing to use as a projectile beyond the clothes on my back. And my shoe would hardly be enough to fell the worm, no matter how hard I threw it.

I skidded to at stop at the end of another long straightaway, nearly falling into the pit before me. The Mother only knew how deep it went. If I fell in, I'd be trapped. But there was nothing in this labyrinth for me but mud. And the worm was coming.

So I dove.

I dipped my chin, tucking in my head to avoid landing on it just as Cassian had trained me. The mud softened my landing as I rolled, then got smoothly to my feet. There was some scattered applause from the crowd. I ignored it, intent on finding a tool. Or at least a way back up.

My eyes hadn't adjusted yet—I couldn't see what it was, but I nearly wept for joy when something hard crunched under my foot. I crouched down and dug it out. Bone. Piles of bones came into view, the remains of whatever the worm had been eating. But more importantly, my way out of here.

I could retreat farther into the darkness—there had to be a second way out—but I wouldn't be able to see. To get out, I'd have to scale the the mud walls. There was nothing to grab but mud that fell away in my hands. The bones would have to do.

I found a long, thin bone and broke it in half over my thigh. It snapped in half, even as my own body protested at the effort. But the ends were sharp. Deadly. And I felt better with a weapon in hand.

I fastened one half to my belt, then got to work setting my trap. I cracked as many bones as I could, breaking them over my knee until my thigh was probably dotted with bruises under my mud-soaked pants. I stuck them into the ground, sharp side up. When the pain of snapping them over my thigh became too much to bear, I broke more with my foot.

The crowd was roaring above me—at some point I was vaguely aware of a taunt from Amarantha and something else smug from Rhys. But I was too intent on what I was doing to care.

By the time it was done, my hands ached and stung, covered in scrapes from bone shards. The trap was set, but I still had work to do. None of this would matter if I didn't have a way back out. I pressed the last few long bones into the sides of the pit, a makeshift stepladder to haul myself out. That is, if they didn't snap under my full weight and send me falling onto the spikes I'd set up below. I fastened as many more bone fragments to my belt as I dared, hoping they'd prove useful later.

It had to work, if only to spare me the embarrassment of being killed by my own trap in front of an audience.

The bones wobbled under my weight as I scrambled up the makeshift ladder. My stomach flipped, the feeling too familiar after climbing up trees with too-thin branches. Before I could fall, I heaved myself upwards. I flopped forward, landing inelegantly on my stomach. But I'd made it.

Pulling the bone-spears from my belt, I pressed them into the mud so they jutted out sideways. They'd force the worm to slow down as it rounded these corners. It would buy me some time, a few precious seconds.

Now it was just a matter of baiting the worm into the trap.

I unfastened the last bone, holding it out like a sword, and stalked down the trench. With the dull roar of the crowd and my own heartbeat pounding in my ears, I could barely pick out the slithering sound the worm made as it moved. My instincts were screaming at me to go faster, but years of hunting had trained me to ignore them, to look and listen before every single step.

As I rounded a corner, it slithered by, completely unaware of me. I'd change that in a moment. Gritting my teeth, I cut open a gash along the side of my arm. It was small, but if the worm's sense of smell was as acute as I suspected, a few drops would be enough.

Leaving blood behind me in a trail, I ran.

The mud sucked my feet down, and my legs were groaning with the effort to pull my feet out with every step. The squelching sound seemed to echo in my ears, drowning nearly everything else out. I'd kick off my boots and run barefoot if I had to. I prayed it wouldn't come to that.

The trench didn't seem to end, and I'd half-convinced myself I'd spent the rest of my immortal life running from the worm when the pit opened up wide before me. I dove again.

But this time, my energy was sapped. I put every last drop of strength into the leap, but I didn't travel quite far enough, landing too close to spikes. I barely managed to remember to tuck my head and avoid slamming it into the mud.

A bone shard dug into my arm as I flipped myself over, crisscrossing the first gash with another one, tearing open the flesh all the way from my shoulder to my elbow. I screamed. Tears pricked at my eyes.

I scrambled back, away from the mouth of the pit, not thinking, just seeking the darkness on instinct. Even with pain clouding my mind, I knew darkness was safe. Bone-spear in hand, I pushed myself deeper into the worm's den.

I turned around just in time to watch the worm plummet after me into the pit. The wet, crunching noise that followed would replay in my nightmares for the rest of my days, the worst thing I'd ever heard since that very first snap of a rabbit's neck.

But the worm didn't move.

Out of habit, I reached towards my thigh for a hunting knife, ready to fight through the exhaustion to skin and butcher a kill, the way I'd done at the end of countless long days in the woods. But for once, I didn't have to.

I staggered forward, still clutching the bone-sword in my uninjured hand. The crowd was cheering, but the only thing I could focus on other than the pain was the gentle brush of talons at the edge of my mind. I let my shields down—it was a wonder I'd even managed to keep them up this long.

The wave of relief down the bond was so strong I nearly lost my grip as I climbed back out of the pit. But Rhys wasted no time, pressing his talons deeper to take away the pain from the wound in my arm. It cleared my head, at least somewhat.

As I walked back through the labyrinth, Rhys said, I have never been more grateful to have the bravest mate in Prythian.

And I had never been more tired of being brave. Yet again, I'd found myself in danger, setting a trap and killing a beast just to keep myself and the people I cared about alive. Rhys had been right that the task had played to my strengths—at the end of it all, the worm's labyrinth of muddy trenches wasn't any different from the labyrinth of snow and ice I hunted in each winter. For a while in the Spring Court, I'd thought I'd finally put hunting behind me, but after finding out that had all been a lie, ending up right back where I'd started was so much more infuriating.

"Well," Amarantha said with a little smirk as I approached the platform, "I suppose anyone could have done that."

The words broke the dam that had been straining to hold back my overwhelming rage. My lips pulled back from my teeth, I snarled like a faerie, took a few running steps, and hurled the bone-spear at her.

It landed just in front of her, embedded in the mud, quivering and splattering filth onto her gown. I nearly screamed in frustration—I'd been aiming for her heart, but my strength was too depleted to throw the bone far enough.

But then Rhys dropped his shields completely, and from his side of the bond, a wave of the best feeling in the world washed over me. I didn't recognize it at first, but it was warm and golden and beautiful, something far too good to exist in this hellhole Under the Mountain. Even as I wanted to let myself melt into the feeling, I struggled to find a name for it.

A sob nearly escaped me when I realized what it was: love.

Amarantha was picking up a piece of parchment and saying something about it, but I paid her no attention, just focused on the way Rhys's mind curled around mine. I love you, too, I said back, wishing that as I did it, I could look at him and not the see the mask, just this once.

But before that he'd called me brave, and something about it had been familiar. As Amarantha continued on with some nonsense about wagers, I wracked my brain, trying to figure out what it was about the word "brave" that had stuck in my mind. I'd heard it before, somewhere significant.

I drew enough strength from the feeling of Rhys's mind against mine to remember. But I bless all those who are brave enough to dare. I had been brave enough to dare to come Under the Mountain, and there was only one thing that had truly felt like a blessing since I'd arrived, the feeling he'd just sent me through the bond.

And it was the answer to the riddle.

I turned my attention back to Amarantha, who was saying, "…and just one person said you would win." I knew exactly who that person was, and it was all the confirmation I needed that I was right.

"By the way," I said, my voice strong as it rang through the arena and carried over the crowd, my cocky tone making me sound just a bit like my mate, "the answer to the riddle is love. And Tamlin isn't my High Lord—that honor belongs to Rhysand."

The whole room was instantly plunged into darkness. There were screams of terror from the crowd, but I wasn't the least bit afraid. This was the darkness that sang in Rhys's veins, the same power that had greeted me like an old friend the first time I'd set foot in the Night Court.

On the platform where Rhys was standing, I could just barely make out the outline of membranous wings, razor-sharp talons, and raven feathers, as if the darkness was letting me see through it, allowing me a glimpse of the monster that lurked underneath it all.

I smiled at it.

I could feel the sense of victory, though I wasn't sure if it was entirely mine or Rhys's or something that belonged to the magic I'd just released. But regardless of where it originated, I knew exactly what it was.

This was Night Triumphant.

Chapter Text

The darkness lifted as quickly as it had appeared. Rhys's wings and talons were gone, a cruel smirk firmly in place. I wondered if anyone else had seen that flash of his true self in the darkness, but I suspected I'd been the only one.

Amarantha was sitting unnaturally stiffly, empty eyes staring straight ahead at nothing; Rhys must have already broken into her mind and held it. The crowd stared at him with naked fear. So did the other six High Lords.

I'd been so focused on getting Rhys back that I hadn't considered what dropping the ruse would mean for the rest of the faeries trapped Under the Mountain. They'd been hoping I'd free the Spring Court, and that might have changed the balance of power enough to release the other six courts one by one. Instead, I'd unleashed the lone daemati among the High Lords—and now there was nothing stopping the Lord of Nightmares from using that ability to force Amarantha to give him their magic.

I'd cleared a path for Rhys to crown himself High King.

He winnowed himself from the platform, coming to stand next to me in the trench. Even though I was covered in mud and shit and blood, Rhysand—the male I'd never seen with a single speck of lint on him, let alone dirt—draped an arm casually across my shoulders. This was an act, too. The bond was taut with anxiety, and his fingers dug into me, even as he carefully avoided my still-bleeding wound.

Rhys was ready to to shove me behind him and fight if it came to it. With so many potential enemies staring at me as I bled, instinct was riding him hard. He wasn't thinking about power at all, just my safety.

"Excellent work, Feyre darling," he drawled.

We were still playing a role, making a statement. It was obvious the physical closeness and the endearment were meant to send a message, and I was happy to play along. I let myself keep smiling as I said, "You know perfectly well that it's a joint effort. Finish this, Rhys."

His power was still rolling off him in waves, and I delighted in it. Not because of what he could do, but because it was a reminder that he was whole again. I let that show on my face; it was easy enough to allow everyone else to conclude I was basking in his praise. And the subtle command in my voice, the nickname—I'd made sure to send a message, too.

Rhys didn't need to be told twice. There was a blinding flash of light, and the air went thick with magic as the power of the six other High Lords returned to them. The spots had hardly cleared from my vision as another flick of Rhys's wrist turned Amarantha into nothing but blood-rain. It splattered on some of the other High Lords, the ones who'd been too stunned to put up a shield.

Rhys had been waiting for this moment since he'd been captured during the war. That need for vengeance had burned for centuries, even before she'd spent the last fifty years abusing him. But none of that came close to the power of a mating bond. He'd barely paid attention as he'd killed her, eyes on me—his injured mate—instead.

Through the bond, I could feel his control slipping. This close, I could even see it in the flare of his nostrils and the feral look in his eyes. Everyone else was too terrified and far away to notice, but if this lasted much longer, we'd have a bloodbath on our hands, starting with Tamlin and ending with whoever else looked at me the wrong way. I didn't want to see any more death today—we needed to leave, even if it meant letting too many questions go unanswered.

Just get us back to Velaris, I said, tugging on the bond gently.

Rhys wouldn't argue with that. I clung to him as the world fell away and wind roared, turning everything to smoke and shadow. It lasted a heartbeat, and then we were in the living room of his townhouse.

We'd made it out.

But Rhys hardly seemed to notice. He took a step back so he could examine me properly, no longer hiding the worry. The intensity of his focus on me and nothing else…it was so strong I could hardly bring myself to meet his gaze, even though I'd felt the same thing myself. That same overwhelming instinct had driven me Under the Mountain for him.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" he said.

"A few bruises, but nothing severe other than my arm," I said, turning my head to look at the wound properly for the first time. It didn't hurt, not since he'd taken away the pain, so I hadn't quite realized how bad it was. But once I took in the sight of the ripped tendons and exposed bone, I understood why he was barely holding it together.

"It will hurt for a moment. Same as it did with your nose."

"A small price to pay to keep my arm."

I thought that might get a smile from him, but it didn't. He just grabbed my arm with heartbreaking gentleness. I braced myself for the pain, trusting his touch to keep me steady. And it did; even through the burn of flesh knitting itself back together, I didn't cry out. The mud caked on us disappeared along with the injury, though I still felt a thin layer of oil on my skin. The glamour was lifted too, the swirling tattoo appearing on my left hand again.

And only then did Rhys relax. The tension melted from his posture as he finally took in our surroundings, blinking in disbelief. "You— You brought me home," he said, voice choked with the beginning of tears.

"We got you home," I said fiercely. We'd done it together.

My first time up close, I watched wings unfurl from his back. Rhys stretched them out wide, something he hadn't done in fifty years, and Cauldron—I hadn't realized how magnificent they were. Even without them, Rhys was the most beautiful person I'd ever seen, but something hadn't been quite right when his wings were hidden. He curved them around me as he reached forward with both hands to cup my face.

And then he finally kissed me.

At first it was soft—too soft, as if he were afraid of breaking me, lips barely ghosting against mine. I tugged on the bond, a clear request for more, and grabbed at the lapels of his jacket. His tongue swept into my mouth in answer, hands sliding from my face to my hair. He deepened the kiss, bending me backwards slightly as a sudden hunger swept through us both like wildfire.

It wasn't quite magic, but something close to it as our fear became exhilaration at what we'd just accomplished and a need to drink each other in.

Our breath was ragged when we finally pulled apart. We held each other tightly, my face against his shoulder and his nose against my temple. Shields down, I didn't know where my relief ended and his began, but if we hadn't been clutching each other, the strength of it might have brought us both to our knees.

I wasn't sure how long we stood there like that, both of us shaking. My tears soaked into the fabric of his shirt, and his left a wet spot in my hair. Nothing could have made us let go.

"I love you. I know you felt it, but you should hear it, too," he whispered, and I gripped him tighter, not trusting my voice.

At some point, another set of arms wrapped around us both. I turned my head and got a face full of blonde hair—Mor. Then everything became a tangle of wings and arms and tears as Cassian and Azriel and even Amren joined us next.

The next few minutes were a blur of crying and being embraced and "You fucking did it, Feyre" and "It's good to have you back, brother" and "Fifty years, never scare us like that again." The sound of everyone talking over each other, the slick feeling of oil coating my skin, and the bright faelights in the room all became too much. I felt like I might burst, fall asleep on my feet, or both at once.

It was a relief as everyone else's attention narrowed in focus to just Rhys, as it should have been. They hadn't seen him in decades, and while I was grateful for everything they'd done for me, I was still acutely aware that Cassian, Azriel, Mor, and Amren were Rhys's family. It might change one day, but a few weeks weren't enough time to make them mine, too.

I stood at the edge of the room, watching the five of them together, and couldn't help but feel a pang of unexpected loneliness.

I tugged on the bond gently. Azriel had been in the middle of saying something to Rhys, but Rhys's eyes immediately snapped to mine, his body going tense. A spike of anxiety lanced down the bond.

I understood—being in Velaris again didn't feel real to me, either. Not yet. We were both still bracing ourselves for threats.

"I need a bath. Even with the magic…that was a lot of mud. And I should sleep," I said.

Rhys nodded, shoulders slumping in relief that nothing was amiss. "Get some rest," he said softly.

I gave a brief nod back, then slipped out of the living room. It wasn't until I'd made it down the hallway and paused at the foot of the stairs that I realized there were no clothes here for me. It would be no trouble to use magic to bring my things at the House of Wind back here, but just the thought of having to ask made me feel painfully human.

Even Under the Mountain, I hadn't thought once about being the only human for miles.

Fears I'd forgotten about after leaving Velaris came rushing back in full force. I'd felt the depth of Rhys's power when it returned to him, and as a human without a scrap of magic I could use, it had never been more clear what a weak point I was. A burden.

I lingered at the foot of the stairs, unsure what to do. The sound of conversation drifted into the hall, warm and joyful, and I wondered what the rest of them had waited to say to Rhys until I'd left the room. It had been fifty years since they'd been together—far longer than my lifetime twice over. I couldn't bring myself to interrupt. But I wouldn't rifle through Rhys's things without permission, either.

So without a word, I left for the House of Wind.

The weather had warmed up since I'd left, and my tunic was enough to keep out the slight chill in the air. It wasn't a long walk, and the city was quiet. I'd half-expected to see celebrations in the streets at the end of Amarantha's reign, but perhaps news still hadn't spread quite yet. The Cauldron only knew what had happened Under the Mountain after Rhys and I left.

It had been too long since I'd felt a breeze on my face, and I'd forgotten that the air in Velaris smelled faintly of the sea. I breathed it in deep as I walked, savoring it. The full moon lit my way, and I tilted my head back to look at the stars as much as I dared. Velaris at rest settled something deep within me.

Before long, I reached the House. The bond had been quiet for the whole walk there, and at the base of the steps, I hesitated and wondered if I should tug on it again. But for once, there was no anxiety on Rhys's end, and ten thousand steps seemed better than even the smallest risk of disturbing that.

Despite the exhaustion settling over me like a heavy blanket, I began to climb.

I'd known that it would take a while, but reaching the top seemed to take an eternity. I stopped to lean against the wall and catch my breath at several points, wondering if my legs would give out under me. The burst of energy from running for my life was long gone.

To my relief, the room I'd stayed in appeared completely untouched since I'd left. The clothes Mor had gotten for me were in the closet where I'd left them, the bed still unmade. I nearly collapsed into it then and there, but after rolling in worm shit, my desire to get clean won out.

I ran a bath and peeled off my clothes. As I waited for the tub to fill, I thought about burning my tunic and leggings. I had no desire to touch anything from the Spring Court ever again. Once I slipped into the water, I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed at my skin, even with the exhaustion threatening to overtake me. It wasn't just about the mud—I could feel Amarantha's court Under the Mountain on me, memories of what she'd done to me and Rhys sticking to me and refusing to wash away.

When the water went cold, I got out and dried off. I stared down at my skin, not quite convinced that the lack of paint and injuries was real, everything smooth and unblemished again. I traced the swirls of the tattoo on my left hand with the fingers of my right. I'd missed it—I hadn't realized until then that I hadn't felt quite myself with the glamour covering it.

If keeping my eyes open hadn't become a losing battle, I would have drained the tub and ran a second bath or even as a third, as many as it took to free myself from the lingering sensation of rot coating me. But this would have to do for now. I needed sleep.

I found a set of nightclothes and barely managed to pull them on; my muscles had begun to ache, deeper than I'd thought possible, even after long days in the woods that ended with carrying a deer carcass for miles. I slid under the covers and fell asleep before my head hit the pillow.

For the first time since Calanmai, I didn't dream at all.

I woke to bright light streaming in from the window and let out an involuntary groan before I realized it was sunlight and almost wept, even as it stung my eyes. As I reached over to shield them with a hand, my fingers brushed a piece of paper.

That was strange—there hadn't been one there when I'd fallen asleep.

I sat up, forcing my eyes open and gave it a minute for them to adjust. Based on the height of the sun in the sky, it must have been nearly noon. That was no surprise, considering the night I'd had.

When the need to squint to protect my eyes finally passed, I glanced down at the paper I'd found on my pillow. A note, written in someone's curling, elegant script, too ornate for me to make out a single word, no matter how long I stared at the letters. I'd had enough trouble reading printed books, and this looping handwriting was impossible to decipher. I didn't recognize who it belonged to, either.

I stood up and stretched, trying to get a sense of how severe the soreness in my muscles had gotten. Almost immediately after my feet hit the floor, Rhys's talons scraped desperately against my mind, nearly ripping down my shields in panic. My hand flew to my chest, the bond going taut. My stomach lurched.

The second my shields dropped, he said, Please let me know that you're alright. I'll leave you alone after if that's what you wish.

I froze in place, blinking in confusion. What are you talking about? Did something happen?

I felt you wake up. I know you saw my note.

Saw it, yes. But Rhys…I— I can't read.

Through the bond, I felt him go absolutely still. I couldn't help but think of Tamlin trying to be kind but still calling my illiteracy a shortcoming and the poem he'd made from the list of words I hadn't been able to read. Shame washed over me—back then, I'd been so willing to settle for scraps that I'd laughed instead of being properly outraged at a joke like that.

I should kill him for that.

Right. My shields were still down. I let out a long breath and leaned back against the bed. If Rhys had been here with me, I would have rolled my eyes; kidnapping was by far a bigger offense than a few jokes at my expense, but none of that was the point right now. I still wasn't even sure I wanted to see Tamlin dead, and if I did, I'd wield the ash dagger myself.

Just tell me what the note said.

When Rhys spoke next, his voice sounded small, even in my mind. I just wanted to know you were safe. And to apologize for whatever I'd done to upset you.

Sighing again, I ran a hand down my face. I hadn't considered what running off last night would look like to him, which had been nothing but stupid of me. I reached a mental hand out, curling it around one of his talons. There's nothing to apologize for because you haven't done anything wrong. And I'm perfectly fine.

The force of the relief on his side of the bond made me glad I was already leaning against the bed. Cauldron boil and fry me—I hadn't meant to make him panic.

This conversation should be continued face-to-face, and you're in danger of fainting from hunger. Breakfast?

I couldn't agree fast enough. I'd last eaten on Rhys's lap in Amarantha's throne room, and that hadn't been anything close to a meal—and it seemed like a lifetime ago now. So much had happened since then that I'd been able to ignore my stomach churning, but that was becoming impossible.

Rhys pulled out of my mind with a promise he'd be at the House of Wind in a few minutes. I took the time to wash up and change. As I pulled clothes from the dresser, I found myself assessing how well I'd be able to run and fight in them. Not that it mattered—though Mor had known me less than a day when she'd brought them, she'd understood I wouldn't wear anything I couldn't move freely in.

I slipped on the matching set that was the most in line with Night Court fashion: loose, high-waisted pants and a top with billowing sleeves gathered at the wrist, all made from lightweight peach-colored cloth. Every brush of the fabric against my skin was a reminder that I was back in Velaris. The silk slippers on my feet felt heavenly after all that time in work boots or barefoot on the stone floors Under the Mountain.

I was in the Night Court, and I was safe.

The bond uncoiled in my chest as I headed for the dining room and the distance between Rhys and me shortened. It was a subtle thing—we weren't that far from each other—but I felt an instinctual confirmation that it was the right direction.

And at the very least, we were long overdue to sit at a table and eat a proper meal together.

Chapter Text

I stepped into the dining room just in time to see Rhys land on the balcony. Though he didn't stumble or fall, the motion wasn't nearly as graceful as I'd come to expect after weeks of watching Cassian and Azriel do the same thing. He was out of practice, and the wince on his face told me he'd had the same thought.

When he came closer, I realized Rhys looked disheveled. Or at least, as close to disheveled as he ever seemed to get, which is to say he looked only very slightly less than immaculate. He hadn't changed out of his clothes from yesterday, which were now faintly wrinkled, and a stray lock of hair fell against his forehead, making my fingers itch to brush it back into place. Mother above—he must not have slept at all.

At the sight of me, Rhys stopped in his tracks, as if he hadn't expected me to be there. I watched his gaze rake down my body, and I didn't need to hear his thoughts to know what he was thinking, seeing me through his own eyes in something other than a tunic from Spring or the clothes I'd been forced into Under the Mountain. "Night Court attire suits you," he said softly.

"All things considered, it would be strange if it didn't," I said, a small smile tugging at my lips, "but thank you, though."

He indicated for me to sit, and food appeared with a wave of his hand. I recognized the look on his face, the same one I'd seen when he'd pushed me to eat that soup in my cell Under the Mountain, as if he was prepared to feed me himself if it came down to it. Today, though, I didn't need to be told twice, just scarfed down what was in front of me without really tasting it. I was too focused on eating for the silence to feel oppressive or awkward. The whole time, Rhys watched me intently, even as he poured his own tea.

"Why did you leave?" he said eventually.

My hand tightened involuntarily around the handle of my teacup, though I was relieved we were getting straight to the point. I took a moment to choose my words carefully, then said, "It seemed presumptuous to stay."

"If it was something I—"

"You haven't done anything wrong. Really."

"You climbed ten thousand steps yesterday."

I stared down into my half-full cup of tea, unsure how to tell him that climbing those stairs had still been easier than asking someone else to do something small for me—my absolute terror at the thought of being a burden or seeming entitled ran too deep for words. "I just...thought you'd want space, now that you can finally have it," I said, hoping he'd understand.

Rhys ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Not from you."

We weren't sitting very far from each other, but I pushed my chair closer to his anyway—just those few inches between us had suddenly become unbearable. Food forgotten, I pressed my face to his shoulder and felt better when I did. "I think I needed to hear you say that," I whispered as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

"Feyre, you're under no obligation to stay here," he said, a change in his voice making me suspect this was a prepared speech, "and of course I'll take you back across the Wall if that's what you want. I know you didn't understand what was happening when you accepted the bond. That said, as far as I'm concerned, the townhouse is yours, too. And even if it wasn't, I thought after everything you were at least comfortable enough to stay in my guest room for a night."

It did seem ridiculous when he put it that way. If I could have buried my face any deeper in his shoulder, I would have. "I was just trying to do right by you."

"And I want to do the same for you. Apparently it's not nearly as simple as it sounds." He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of my head.

We were in this together too, I realized. The list of decisions to make and things to figure out that had to wait until we'd gotten out from Under the Mountain was miles long, but it belonged to both of us. And one of the few things I knew for sure was that Rhys had proven himself to be an excellent teammate.

We'd be alright. Eventually.

"Finish eating," he added, gently nudging me off him. "It's been weeks since you've had a proper meal."

I picked up the fork again and cast a significant look at the plate of eggs he'd only picked at. Once he took a bite, I said, "For what it's worth, I don't want to go back across the Wall, at least not permanently. I want to see for myself that my family is safe, but there's nothing left for me there."

I didn't trust that Tamlin had kept his word regarding my family. And even if he had, he might change his mind now that he knew I had a connection to Rhys. I needed to see with my own two eyes that they weren't starving—or fix it myself if they were.

"Then we'll go today," Rhys said, as if that settled it.

I blinked in surprise—I didn't want to wait very long to check on my family, but it wasn't that urgent. If Azriel's shadows confirmed that there was no bad news, I could give it a few days. And Rhys didn't have to come with me, either.

"We don't have to. I don't want to pull you from Velaris when you've only just gotten back."

"I wouldn't begrudge you a reunion with you family after having one with mine last night," he said. It sounded reasonable enough, but there was a slight note of hesitation in his voice that made me suspect there was more to it than that. I just gave him a look until he continued, "There's quite a lot of work to do after the balance of power shifted and our…performance yesterday. The rest of the Inner Circle is handling it to spare me having to work so soon after returning. And...I don't know how to be around them just yet."

I nodded, considering that. After fifty years trapped in the city, the Cauldron only knew how much business there was to handle in the rest of the Night Court—and the size of the pile of correspondence that had surely arrived from the rest of Prythian. But that last admission that he was avoiding something…I suspected Rhys was rarely that candid, even with me. I didn't take that show of trust lightly.

"Did something with them not go well last night?" I said, as gently as I could manage.

"Nothing like that," Rhys said slowly, clearly weighing his words, "but last night we were all so relieved we didn't really talk. We're all furious with each other, and I'm not looking forward to facing it."

If he wanted a buffer, I'd be that buffer. But I wouldn't let him run himself ragged, either.

"We'll go to the mortal lands another day, when you don't look dead on your feet," I said. In truth, I needed the time, too. I'd barely wrapped my head around everything that had happened since Tamlin had dragged me to Prythian, and I needed a better handle on it before I faced my father and sisters. And Cauldron—did Rhys expect me to introduce him? He started to say something, but I cut him off before he had the chance to. "We don't get along. It's…complicated."

"Contrary to popular belief, I do try to stay out of your head. I don't even know how many siblings you have."

So I told him. And he told me more about his own family, as if we were two normal people who hadn't just been through an ordeal. It was strange to finally be sitting together in the Night Court and just…talking. Until then, so many of our conversations had been strategizing. I liked this better.

When both our plates were clear, I stood up and stretched. Though everything had improved greatly with some sleep and food, I'd never been so sore in my entire life. Rhys didn't seem to be faring much better. "Let's get you back to the townhouse so you can sleep," I said.

His face darkened. "I'm not sure I can."

"You're going to collapse if you don't." A human would, at least. Perhaps there was some faerie healing magic that could fix sleep deprivation, but I doubted it. I could offer one thing to help, so I added, a bit more softly, "Try falling asleep on me. My scent helps, doesn't it?"

"You don't have to do that," he said quickly. Almost reflexively.

I stepped closer, taking both of his hands in mine. "Now that I've eaten, I'm taken care of. It's your turn. We'll get back to the townhouse, and I promise once you're asleep I'll stay so you don't wake up alone." He started to say something else, but I cut him off with a kiss. Brief, casual, almost chaste—the sort of thing that had been impossible Under the Mountain.

Rhys's hands tightened around mine. "My wings…I can't— I barely made it up here. I'm not strong enough to carry someone down, not anymore."

The memory of that faerie missing wings and bleeding out in Tamlin's manor flashed in my mind. That could have been Rhys if we'd made a single misstep. The thought was nearly enough to make me retch, but I forced myself to smile instead of making him feel worse. "Then another day we'll see if you have the smoothest landings to go with the biggest wingspan."

Rhys looked like he might have spat out his tea if he'd still been drinking it. I let my smile widen into a grin and tugged him towards the stairs.

Making my way back down to the street was infinitely more pleasant than climbing up, and if I was being honest, I'd attribute that to the company that I had this time around. As we walked, Rhys told me about the time he and his brothers had gotten dizzy and vomited on the way down, back when his father had been High Lord and they'd been something closer to carefree. And though I wouldn't admit it to him, knowing he'd once made a fool of himself on these very stairs made me feel better about being stupid enough to run off the night before.

In the townhouse, we collapsed onto the sofa in wordless agreement that it wasn't worth taking any more steps just to make it to a bedroom. I curled up against the arm of the sofa, and Rhys was too exhausted to protest when I nudged his head to my lap and covered him with the blanket I found draped over a nearby armchair. He hid his wings to keep them out of the way as he laid down.

I stroked Rhys's hair until he finally drifted off. It didn't take long—no surprise considering how little sleep he'd gotten in the past two days. I'd never seen him this at peace before, though. It made him look far younger than his five hundred years.

While Rhys slept, I tried to convince myself that I could trust the calm in Velaris was real. I didn't feel real, and maybe after I'd learned the sense of contentment I'd thought I'd found in Spring had all been a lie, I'd always meet tranquility with suspicion. But at least for now, there was truly nothing more important to do than ensure my mate finally rested.

The sound of familiar, shuffling footsteps down the hall told me that perhaps making sure Rhys slept undisturbed was easier said than done. After weeks in the House of Wind, I knew the sound of Azriel trying not to move so silently he inadvertently snuck up on me.

"He just got to sleep," I said, voice low but still loud enough that keen faerie hearing would pick it up, "so if you're here to talk to him, it had better be urgent. Come back later if it's not."

Perhaps it was a bit aggressive of me, but the mating bond was probably making me protective. At least I hadn't snarled. When Azriel appeared in the doorway, a thick stack of papers in hand, the ghost of a smile on his face told me he wasn't offended in the slightest.

"I was hoping I'd find both of you here. This report is for you, too," he said, dropping it on the side table.

My brows shot up, but I made no move to pick the papers up. "Why me too?" I said, hoping his answer would save me from having to explain for the second time that day that I couldn't read.

"Intelligence reports regarding your family," he said, and my heart nearly stopped. Cauldron, I knew Azriel was an excellent spymaster, but I hadn't realized he could work this quickly. The mixture of surprise and worry must have shown on my face because he added, "They're fine. Your father's business turned around miraculously, which was Tamlin's doing. They're safe, and we've put measures in place to ensure they remain that way."

"Thank you," I said, and he nodded.

Perhaps, though, I shouldn't have been surprised. After the show Rhys and I had put on Under the Mountain, it made sense that there would be interest in where I'd come from—and all seven High Lords knew my surname. I kept forgetting about my title, but Azriel and the others probably had a vested interest in keeping the family of the Lady of the Night Court safe as well.

"Did Nuala and Cerridwen make it out alright?" I said.

"Yes. Spending time with their family as we speak."

That was a relief—I'd been so focused on getting Rhys out before he killed anyone else that I hadn't considered that we'd left the twins to fend for themselves. It seemed like such an oversight now, and I felt a stab of guilt.

After a moment, I added, "And how bad are the rumors?"

I could've sworn Azriel's lips quirked up. "They're calling you Cursebreaker. And Faebiter, but that one doesn't seem to be catching on nearly as well."

It wasn't a real answer, but I wasn't sure I wanted to press for one if Azriel was being evasive for some reason. There would be time to deal with all of that when Rhys woke up, and I wasn't sure I wanted this fragile-seeming peace to be broken just yet. So I just said, "In my defense, I did warn Rhys, and I didn't break the skin."

That, at least, got a chuckle out of Azriel, even if he still looked grave. His gaze flicked from Rhys's sleeping form, then back to me. "Will I see you at dinner tonight, Feyre?"

The question seemed innocent enough, but it was an obvious attempt to wring information out of me. I suppose I shouldn't have expected any less from Azriel. The rest of Rhys's Inner Circle must have seen Rhys panic when I left, and even though they were busy, I was sure they were also wondering exactly where things stood between the two of us.

"Of course," I said, not really willing to reveal that I hadn't known anything about dinner plans at all.

"Good."

Another curt nod, and Azriel turned to go. There was probably still plenty he had to take care of, but I said, "Az?"

"Yes?" he said, turning back around.

"Are you going to be in the training ring tomorrow morning?"

"Of course."

"When I threw that bone-spear at Amarantha, I missed," I said, not bothering to explain. By now, I was sure he'd heard the whole story. "It looked dramatic, but the throw was short of where I was aiming. Will you help me make sure that doesn't happen again?"

The look Azriel gave me was the closest he ever got to fond, nothing more than a slight softening around the eyes. If I hadn't already spent time around him, I would have missed it. "We'll keep going until you never miss a throw again."

He meant it, and in some ways it was a relief to hear. On some level, I knew it was impossible, but there was a part of me that hoped if I just trained hard enough, I'd never be vulnerable again.

If the day came, I'd be ready to pull us out from Under the Mountain a second time.

"Then I'll see you bright and early. Thanks."

Before Azriel left, he cocked his head at me and added, "I missed Rhys, but I hope you know I missed you too, Feyre."

He was gone before I had a chance to respond. I turned my attention back to the steady rise and fall of Rhys's chest. It wasn't an exaggeration to say that I could spend hours just watching him breathe, another effect of the mating bond. Under the Mountain, I'd never gotten a chance to see him at ease this way; now, I realized that if entire world burned around us, I wouldn't mind in the slightest as long as he was this peaceful.

I still hadn't plumbed the depths of all this feeling.

I wouldn't dare risk him waking up alone, so I sat like until the sun started to sink towards the horizon, still turning this newfound sense of safety over in my mind. It felt like it might disappear if I didn't savor it. My heart raced, even though I was doing nothing more than sitting still.

It felt all too soon when Rhys began to stir. The sound he made in the back of his throat was soft and decidedly un-High-Lord-like. As he turned his head towards me, his nose grazed the strip of exposed skin between the bottom of my shirt and the top of my pants. The sharp intake of breath as he scented me made the hem of my top flutter.

"Feyre?" he said, voice rough. "You're still here."

"I'm not going anywhere," I said. While I'd been sitting there, I'd come to a decision almost without realizing it. There had never been a question in my mind about staying in the Night Court, but if Rhys didn't want space, I didn't either. The farthest I ever wanted him to be from me was down the hall. I'd stay in this house, even though it didn't feel like mine.

He sat up, and I ran my thumb along the mark the waistband of my pants had left on his cheek, then brushed his hair back into place. With a sigh, he leaned into my hand. "Your scent was in my dreams before I even met you. For a moment, I thought this might be a dream again."

My heart squeezed. If I had anything to say about it, it would be real the next time and all the rest.

"We made it out," I said, managing to sound reassuring when I was still letting that fact sink in, too.

He nodded, throat bobbing, and caught my hand in his, brushing his thumb over the tattoo. Even though he'd known about it, a look of awe spread across his face at the sight of it close up. The bond went tight in my chest again.

The last time he'd given me that look had been when he'd dropped to his knees before me on Calanmai.

I wasn't sure either one of us was breathing. But the moment broke, and he gently slid my hand out of his and stood up, eyes darting around the room as he straightened his tunic. He unfurled his wings again, posture straightening. Not quite a mask, but the High Lord was back. "I have to debrief with the Inner Circle this evening, and you should be present for that," he said

"Is it at all related to the dinner plans Azriel mentioned while you were asleep?" I said, shooting him a look as I stood up, too.

"Ideally no, but it will be a working dinner if necessary."

That made sense, as much as I wasn't looking forward to dealing with the rest of the world—or watching Rhys dive headfirst back into his duties as High Lord. But we couldn't put it off forever. I nodded, bracing myself to ask my next question.

"If someone's coming here from the House of Wind, then would they be able to bring my things?"

"You'll find them in the room across the hall from mine," he said with a flick of his wrist. Magic, then. Rhys had said it just a hair too quickly and matter-of-factly, though. Not quite pointed, but he hadn't even given me the opportunity to broach the topic of sharing a bedroom. In some ways, it was a relief not to have that conversation, even if we already had shared a bed once. Another scar from Under the Mountain, most likely. I wouldn't push.

He headed upstairs to wash up and change, and I took a deep breath, hoping to steady myself for news of whatever chaos was happening in the rest of Prythian. I had a sinking feeling I was at the center of it.

Chapter Text

A pair of strong arms wrapped around my middle and lifted me up off the floor. "The Middengard fucking Wyrm!" Cassian was saying, but his voice suddenly seemed oddly distant. He was pulling me into a hug, but I let out a panicked cry. His hands, my feet leaving the floor—it felt too much like the the Attor scooping me me up by the armpits before it dropped me in that trench.

Just like with Andras, I realized, I hadn't known the Wyrm's name until after I killed it.

It wasn't the same; Andras hadn't been about to eat me. I took a breath and reminded myself that it was all over and that I was safe. We were in the dining room of the townhouse. The rest of the Inner Circle had arrived for dinner. I was fine.

Cassian set me down gently, looking horrorstruck, and said, "I'm sorry, Feyre. I thought you knew I was there."

A low growl escaped Rhys, and tendrils of darkness made the lights go dim. Cauldron boil and fry me, my momentary panic must have crossed the bond. That protective instinct was back—I could see it in the tense set of his shoulders. I gave him a pointed look, even as I said to Cassian, "It's fine."

For good measure, I added down the bond, Do not start a fight over an accident.

Despite the darkness fading, I could feel Mor, Azriel, and Amren watching us very carefully. Perhaps all bets were off when it came to mated males, even ones who were deconditioned and recovering.

Cassian just grinned and said, "Save it for the training ring tomorrow, Rhysie. I promise I won't beat you too badly in front of Feyre."

It took me a moment to process the fact that he'd just called the Lord of Nightmares Rhysie. That was the sort of thing you only called someone if you'd known them as a child, and it was easy to forget that Rhys had been a boy once. Sometimes it seemed he'd just appeared out of the ether fully formed, pristine black tunic and all.

Rhys turned to me, eyes bright as if he were pleasantly surprised. "You're training tomorrow?"

Cassian breezing by Rhys's grip on his power loosening had made the threat of a fight feel distant. It seemed best to follow his lead. Keeping my voice carefully light, I said, "I think after what we just went through, anyone would want to get outside and hit things for a bit."

"And you'll hit things later," Mor said as she pointedly took a seat. "I want to get this meeting over with so we can eat."

The rest of us followed suit, sitting down around the table. No more chatter, just business. I hadn't known a dining room could feel so much like a war room.

"Domestic affairs first," Rhys said with an air of authority I'd never heard from him.

"Illyria's a mess," Cassian said, face darkening. "We knew it would be bad, but it's backslid worse than we thought. Wing-clipping is rampant, the camp-lords have been ignoring laws Rhys put into place centuries ago, and they don't seem worried about the repercussions now that he's back. I hadn't thought so many of them would side with Amarantha."

And I hadn't thought any of them would side with Amarantha. After bearing the brunt of her cruelty, I couldn't imagine why anyone would. There had to be information I was missing because no one else at the table seemed surprised, just frustrated.

Rhys asked for specifics, and there were too many unfamiliar names for me to follow the conversation after that. I just listened, fascinated by this side of Rhys I hadn't seen yet. I'd watched him intimidate and frighten with just scraps of power Under the Mountain but then, he'd been subservient to Amarantha. Even exhausted and healing, Rhys wore the mantle of authority well, the way only someone who'd done it for centuries could.

For once, it wasn't a mask or a thin veneer of faked confidence. This was just what it meant to be a High Lord.

He turned his attention to Mor next and said, "And what of the Hewn City?"

When she spoke, Mor's voice was colder than I'd ever heard it. She must have had her own reunion with her family today, and though I didn't know much about their relationship, the vague mentions had been enough to tell me it was a painful topic. I knew better than to press for details.

"Keir spent the last fifty years with his tail between his legs. After that bloodbath of a party, he's been too afraid to cross anyone. I can bring them back in line myself," she said.

"Good," Rhys said, then looked to Amren. "And Velaris?"

"Economically, a bit worse for wear with the borders being closed for so long, but nothing we can't overcome. Otherwise, just the same as you left it," Amren said. The silver of her eyes swirled with something I couldn't quite name. "Whatever you did Under the Mountain kept this city safe, Rhysand."

Amren knew exactly what he'd sacrificed. They all did.

There was no change in Rhys's expression, but his throat bobbed. The relief I felt on his side the bond was enough to make my breath catch. "I got through it because I knew that Velaris was in good hands. Thank you, Amren," he said, voice thick.

Rhys's eyes flicked to me, then over to Azriel as he said, all smooth polish again, "And the rest of Prythian?"

Amren, Mor, Cassian, and Azriel shared a look, and I had the sneaking suspicion that the four of them had discussed this before coming here. I wasn't sure how I felt about being something to be handled.

"There's widespread curiosity about Feyre," Azriel said slowly, tucking his wings in tight, "and concern about what the Night Court might be doing to Prythian's savior. Rumors are flying that we've killed or kidnapped her. The other courts are in shambles, and they've been too distracted by that to push very hard for answers at the moment."

I hadn't thought much about the state of the other courts, but if they were dealing with anything like the blight on the Spring Court, then it made sense that they'd be more concerned with rebuilding. The magnitude of devastation Amarantha had left…Prythian had to be a shadow of its former self.

Mor added, a bit uncertain, "The longer we wait, the more suspicious it looks, but how much to share isn't our decision to make."

Rhys and I locked eyes for a moment as we considered that. I didn't want to give anyone answers just because they demanded them, especially when there was so much I was unsure of—my potential bargain with the Night Court, being Made immortal, and most of all, where Rhys and I stood with so much recovering left to do. I felt the strangest urge to snarl at invisible enemies and tell them to back off.

We kept our thoughts to ourselves for a long silence, then at the same time, we both blurted out, "Keep the bond a secret for now."

I couldn't help a small smile at the sound of us speaking in unison again, and a sidelong glance at Rhys told me his expression mirrored my own. We were co-conspirators again. Even with four other people at the table, I knew his smile was for me only. I let the warm feeling it gave me drift across the bond.

Cassian's eyes darted back and forth between me and Rhys. "Mother's tits, are you two always like this together?" he said.

"Like what?" I said, unsure what he was getting at.

"Like you're both in on a secret."

Perhaps it was because we were. And had been almost since the moment we met. Rhys looked smug and started to say something, but Amren cut him off, even as she said shot a glare at Cassian that would have sent almost anyone else running. "Focus, boy," she said, the sharpness in her voice making me flinch. Cassian didn't look bothered in the slightest. "There's still more to discuss."

I caught sight of Mor pressing her lips together to hide a smile before she said, "If we're not revealing the truth, what are we telling everyone instead?"

I had absolutely no idea, but Rhys's eyes glittered in that way that told me he had a plan in mind. "That Feyre is the Night Court's human emissary, which will be the truth. Spin a lie about the Suriel telling her about the curse and Night's strained relationship with Spring. We'll say she sought out her kidnapper's enemy for assistance on Calanmai, and I offered her a job. She went Under the Mountain on my orders. Thoughts?"

The question had been directed to the room as a whole, but five sets of eyes fell on me as I weighed that option. It was just as neat and tidy as I'd come to expect from Rhys, something that wrapped up loose ends while buying time to get our feet under us. I was almost inclined to agree to it. Almost.

"No one will believe you made an uneducated nineteen year-old huntress your emissary," I said. Beyond simply being human, I wasn't the sort of person who could represent a court and be taken seriously.

"The only common thread in the rumors is that every single person who reunited with loved ones last night knows that you made it happen, Feyre," Azriel said. "Having so many powerful faeries feeling indebted to you is an incredible amount of soft power. No High Lord in their right mind would let that slip away."

I'd gone Under the Mountain with such a single-minded focus on Rhys that I hadn't thought about it that way. But I saw the truth in Azriel's words. I still felt like a burden, but perhaps….I was an asset, too. The thought made me feel just a bit better.

But there was still another aspect of the plan that gave me pause. Afraid to voice it aloud, I glanced at Rhys and said down the bond, They'll all conclude I'm fucking my boss, won't they?

He went absolutely still again, in that way that only High Fae could. Even to me, his expression was unreadable. I don't see a way around it. If that bothers you, we can come up with something different. Your choice. Always.

I really didn't want to be having this conversation now of all times, but Mor had been right that we needed to address the rumors sooner rather than later. From the way everyone else seemed to be shifting uncomfortably and pointedly not looking at us, I could tell they knew we were discussing something mind-to-mind. I pushed ahead. Will it be the truth?

Do you want it to be?

With our shields down to speak to each other, I let him feel my irritation that he'd answered my question with a question. Perhaps it was unfair of me, but I did the same to him. Do you?

His response didn't come in words, just a wave of want and longing strong enough to steal my breath, lust threaded with hope and a sweet sort of surrender. By the Cauldron, I hadn't expected that when a simple yes or no would do.

I crossed and un-crossed my legs. Rhys looked pleased with himself. Glad we're in agreement, then, I said, my voice a bit weak even in my mind.

"Whatever you two are thinking at each other had better be relevant to the discussion at hand. We're trying to wrap this meeting up so we can eat," Mor complained, though there was no real rancor behind it. She was suppressing a smile again.

If I wasn't mistaken, she was happy for us. I didn't quite know what to make of it.

But I had all the answers I needed to make a decision, so I said, "It's the best plan we have. I'll take the emissary position." Cauldron, it wasn't until the words were out of my mouth that I realized I'd never had a proper job before. I'd brought in money hunting, but that wasn't quite the same. It was a strange thought.

"Perfect," Rhys purred. "A bank account will be opened for you, Feyre, and I'll ensure you get backpay dated to Calanmai. We won't be caught in a lie by a simple accounting error."

I understood what he was trying to do, even if he didn't say it—money of my own would give me a measure of independence. And I understood the other concern, too; there would be so much interest in me that a curious government official might go digging in the budget ledgers for information. I wasn't sure if it was likely to happen, or just Rhys being exceedingly thorough.

"Thank you," I said, voice even despite my worry. "Then I suppose the next step is making it clear that I'm alive?"

"It's not urgent now that we have a cover story. I'll answer the correspondence from other courts, and if Feyre's spotted in public once or twice, that should take care of the worst of it," Mor said.

That was something else I hadn't considered—I was recognizable now. One glance at my rounded ears, and anyone in Prythian would know exactly who I was. A knot of dread formed in my stomach at the thought of attracting attention.

And then that anxiety was replaced by a new, worse thought. "Have you heard from the Spring Court?" I said. Tamlin had kidnapped me once—perhaps he'd decide to drag me back again. Or worse, if he thought I'd made a fool of him after revealing the ruse, he might want to kill me for it. Wounded pride could be dangerous.

Amren snorted. "Tamlin's a fool, but not a big enough one to waste his time writing a letter that will just be thrown into the fire," she said. I wasn't quite sure what she meant, but there was something satisfying about the way she spit his name like a curse. Rhys must have caught my reaction either on my face or through the bond—the corner of his mouth quirked up as he glanced at me again.

"Diplomatic relations between Night and Spring haven't been normalized since Rhys became High Lord. They don't talk to us, and we don't talk to them," Mor said.

That made perfect sense. Before I could say anything else about it, Azriel added, "I have spies there gathering information now."

There wasn't much else to discuss after that. Rhys asked for more updates, but the four of them reassured him there was nothing that couldn't wait until tomorrow. I'd known, of course, that Rhys and his Inner Circle worked as a team—running the Night Court was far too complex a job for one person. But there was still something so foreign to me about watching them take on additional work to give Rhys a chance to recover, without him even having to ask.

No one had ever done that for me during those years of hunting in the woods. Rhys had done it Under the Mountain, but the mating bond made everything different for us. Even after the weeks I'd spent in the Night Court, I hadn't considered that this was just…how they treated each other.

There was another palpable change in the air once business was done, as if everything had gotten lighter. Mor smiled as she waved a hand and food appeared on the table. "We got your favorites from Sevenda's," she said to Rhys. Her smile dimmed for just a second as she looked to me next and added with a note of hesitation, "I would have gotten yours too, Feyre, if I knew what they were. But as far as I can tell, you'll eat anything."

A sympathetic look from Cassian told me he knew exactly why I'd eat whatever was put in front of me—we'd never spoken about it, but I suspected he was the only other one here who'd had the misfortune of eating deer tripe. And besides, faerie food was far more flavorful than anything in the mortal lands. I couldn't imagine disliking any of it.

"It's fine," I said, sincerely meaning it. Even in Spring, I hadn't given much thought to preferences like that. "There's soup, which is all I would have asked for anyway."

Under the table, Rhys's fingers brushed mine in silent understanding. The soup was one more thing that was just ours, even among friends.

At first, I was just focused on my food, but eventually I noticed that the uneasy atmosphere hadn't disappeared completely, even with work finished for the day. I was no stranger to the Inner Circle being less than harmonious—after all, Amren had come to dinners at the House of Wind merely to bicker because she didn't eat—but there was a brittle, forced quality to some smiles and laughter. Conversation normally flowed between them with an ease that had developed over centuries, but that night it was stilted as we avoided mention of the recent ordeal we'd just gone through. And I was all too aware of watchful, worried eyes on Rhys and me.

They all needed to clear the air. But no one wanted to do it in front of me.

At the very least, though, the food made the awkwardness worth it. Even for faerie food, it was uncommonly rich and well-spiced, yet it warmed me the way a simple home-cooked meal would. This morning, I'd been too ravenous to taste anything, just concerned with quelling the hunger gnawing at me. But now I was able to curb that instinct enough to take my time and enjoy the meal.

In truth, it wasn't all that different from dinners with them before I'd gone Under the Mountain, when we'd carefully talked around the shadow of Rhys's absence. I'd realized I was comfortable in the Night Court then. And now, I was glad to be here, as imperfect as things still were.

Though no one was tactless enough to say it aloud, tomorrow would be another long day with an early start, and they needed rest, too. No one lingered. As soon as Rhys and I were alone again, his wings drooped, muscles tired from the effort of just holding them up for the past couple of hours. I felt the same—not drowsy, but utterly lacking in energy. Dinner had taken something out of us both, and even with some sleep, we were still battling an exhaustion that had burrowed in deep and made itself at home now that we were no longer constantly looking over our shoulders for threats.

"I need air. Come to the roof with me?" Rhys said.

"Only if we winnow," I said. I didn't want to so much as look at a staircase for a while.

He took my hand without another word, and we were up there in seconds. I'd needed to see the sky, too, and hadn't realized it until I took a deep breath of salt-tinged night air. The townhouse dining room wasn't exactly small, but it was windowless.

Rhys sat without dropping my hand. I glanced at the other chair, the bond tightening in my chest at the thought of sitting next to him with several inches between us. Ridiculous as it was, the feral part of me ruled by the mating bond railed at anything less than touching in as many places as possible, consequences or current company be damned.

Even with my shields up, Rhys knew what I was thinking. His eyes might have been dull with fatigue, but his lips twisted into a smirk as he spread his legs in invitation. "What kind of mate would I be if I didn't offer you the most comfortable seat in the house?" he purred.

Under the Mountain, I'd thought the flirting was nothing more than a desperate attempt to claw back a sense of normalcy, a strategy to keep us both from breaking. Perhaps that wasn't exactly false, but I was beginning to suspect that Rhys really was just that shameless about it all the time.

"Comfortable because it's soft?" I said drily, even as I let him tug my hand and pull me into his lap. For once, I wasn't doing it because I was pretending to be a plaything, merely sitting on him because we both wanted to be close. He wrapped both arms around me, leaning forward so his chest rested against my back.

"Soft for you? Never," he whispered, breath warm on my ear.

I smiled and flicked his nose. He laughed—the first time I'd heard it since returning to the Night Court—and nuzzled his face against the place where my neck met my jaw. It was so quick I nearly missed it, but for a moment, a spark of happiness lit up the bond, new and unfamiliar. Until then, I hadn't believed we could ever be anything more than just fine.

Rhys's cheek brushed mine as he tipped his head back to look up at the sky. Even with the city lights shining brightly, I'd never seen more stars in the sky. More of the Night Court's magic, I supposed, making sure they weren't washed out.

After a moment, he said softly, "Part of why I bought this house in particular was the view. Out of all the constellations, I kept finding myself drawn to the hunter."

The townhouse faced due north, keeping the Arrowhead—the star I'd followed here—right in front of it every night. And along with it, the group of stars that looked like a hunter holding a bow.

A memory flashed in my mind, the image of the dresser I'd painted back in the cottage. Flowers on Elain's drawer, flames on Nesta's, and the night sky on mine. At the time, I hadn't thought much about the position of the stars I'd painted. But they'd formed that constellation, too.

"I painted it. Back in the cottage, on a dresser drawer to mark it as mine. We were looking for each other, weren't we?" I whispered, though the thread I felt tied to my ribs made the answer obvious.

"Five hundred years of feeling like I was searching for something but having no idea what, only for you to track me down on Calanmai with the efficiency of a bloodhound."

The comparison to a dog would have made me scowl if it weren't for the obvious admiration in his voice. Yet again, I found myself wondering just how bad things would have gotten if we hadn't found each other so quickly. But I pushed that thought aside, unwilling to dwell on it tonight.

"You're not exactly inconspicuous."

"And here I thought you were going to tell me it's because I'm irresistible."

I double-checked that my shields were up—he was incredibly alluring, but I'd never hear the end of it if I admitted it aloud. Besides, it was overwhelming to think about just how completely he drew me in. He pressed a kiss to my shoulder, and I wordlessly tipped my head to the side, sweeping my hair off my neck and baring it to him. I let my eyes flutter shut as he dragged his lips from my jaw to my collarbone.

If we hadn't both been so raw and exhausted, I would have begged for more. There would be time for that later. Rhys and I were all open gashes, and that night was the first stitch that began to close them enough to heal.

Chapter Text

I kissed Rhys goodnight and retreated back to my room in an attempt to get more sleep. But even warm, comfortable, and tired, I lay there with my heart racing for no real reason again. No matter how many times I told myself I was safe, a vague sense of dread at being chased down and killed hung over me.

I drifted off when the exhaustion finally won out.

Only to have Rhys's nightmare rip me from sleep before I had the chance to have any bad dreams of my own.

I bolted upright with the sudden knowledge that something was wrong on Rhys's side of the bond. The house shook as if we were in a storm, but one glance at the window told me the sky was clear. This was all the force of his power.

I turned on the faelights so I wouldn't trip as I made my way to his room, where tendrils of darkness were already leaking out from under the door. As I turned the handle, they curled around my ankles. Not keeping me in place, just clinging to me like a lifeline.

The darkness in his room was too heavy to see through. I stayed in the doorway at first, the wind blowing my hair back from my face as I said, "Rhys?" No answer, not that I expected one. The darkness didn't let up the way I'd hoped either. It was a moving, undulating thing that permeated the room, inky and liquid. "Rhys, it's just me."

I took a cautious step forward, afraid of tripping and falling in the dark. As I kept calling his name, I tugged on the bond, hoping that might help. I'd felt this same jumbled, roiling mixture of pain and rage and fear from him Under the Mountain—I knew exactly what he was dreaming about.

My shin hit the bed, and I lowered myself down onto the mattress carefully, the darkness winding around my arms and waist the whole way. I wasn't sure it recognized me or just spiraled around the closest other person. Perhaps it didn't want to be alone.

I sat on the bed and did my best not to brush Rhys accidentally. The bed was massive, but not that large—he couldn't be more than a foot or two away. But in the middle of a nightmare like this…I wasn't sure it would help to touch him if he didn't expect it.

Tucking my legs under me, I kept tugging on the bond and murmuring over and over that it was just me and we were safe in Velaris. The darkness began to fade just enough to let in some moonlight from the window. I could make out Rhys's thrashing form, wings out, toes turned to claws and his fingers shifted into the talons I'd felt against my mind so often.

He jerked awake, the darkness abruptly fading the rest of the way. "Feyre?" he said, sitting up.

"Just me," I said.

The claws and talons disappeared, and with inhuman speed, he darted into the bathroom. I stood and followed, wincing at the sound of him heaving.

I found a cup and filled it with water while he emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet. It wasn't until he sat back down after finishing that I noticed he'd been naked this entire time.

I crouched next to him, carefully avoiding his wings, which were drooping against the cold tile floor, and held the cup out. "I'm sorry," he croaked, and I just cast a significant glance towards the cup of water. His throat had to be burning. To my relief, he took the water and gulped it down without protesting. "Thank you. I didn't mean to wake you," he said, the words coming out more smoothly this time.

"It happens. I'm sure I'll be the one waking you up another night," I said.

"Not in the same way."

I wasn't sure it mattered—even if my dreams didn't make the house shake or the room go pitch dark, he'd feel my nightmares all the same. At least now I understood why he was so insistent on not sharing a bed. His power might never hurt me, but thrashing talons could.

Pain lined his face; for once, he was too worn out to hide it, and I suspected he was thinking all that power made him dangerous, too. I refused to add to it. Cassian had acted as if it were nothing when Rhys growled at him before dinner, and it had worked when I'd followed his lead. I wasn't quite sure if it would help, but it seemed worth trying again.

"You'd think the Lord of Nightmares of all people would be able to sleep through the night," I said, doing my best to sound casual. Unimpressed, even.

Rhys narrowed his eyes at me, and almost anyone else would consider it a withering look, even with him crouched naked on the floor next to the toilet. "That's not quite how it works."

"Then I suppose you'll just have to use a sleeping draught like the rest of us."

In truth, I probably needed one, too. Now that I was awake, I wasn't sure I'd be able to fall back to sleep again. Nightmares were nothing new, but before I'd gone Under the Mountain, just tiring myself out ensured I slept. But maybe now that wouldn't be enough.

"I'll be fine. Go back to bed," Rhys said, standing up and turning to the sink to rinse his mouth out. I caught the way he forced the pinched expression off his face, straightening his spine and tucking his wings in tight so they no longer dragged on the floor. He was putting a wall back up.

"I can stay." I got to my feet.

"I don't want to disturb you again." Rhys stepped closer and brushed back a lock of my hair that had come loose during my own tossing and turning. A bit more softly, he added, "Just knowing you're safe and nearby is enough."

It wasn't a dismissal, and I would have asked if he wanted to talk about it if everything weren't still so recent. Every single scrap of normalcy was still so precious, and perhaps we were both still hoarding them like firedrakes and their jewels. Until we weren't, I wouldn't push.

Rhys cupped my cheek, and I rested my hand on top of his, watching him carefully. After those dreams…I half-expected him to flinch at the contact or pull back. He didn't, just swept his thumb against my skin.

Tightening my fingers around his, I said, "Then get some rest."

"I'll try." Not a promise, but likely the best answer I could expect.

Rhys hadn't shrunk away from me, so I leaned forward and kissed him softly, just as I had when we'd parted ways in the hallway a few hours prior. He dropped my hand, and as I left the room, I felt his eyes on my back the entire way. The bond tightened in my chest uncomfortably with every step away from him.

By some miracle, I managed to fall back into a fitful sleep that lasted until the sky began to lighten. I'd gotten up with the sun nearly every day to ensure I had enough daylight to hunt, and apparently being underground for weeks Under the Mountain hadn't broken me of the habit. Fully awake, I found my Illyrian leathers in the closet and pulled them on.

Rhys and I stepped out into the hall at the same time, both dressed to train. Gods, I'd never seen him wearing pants that tight. Or with a sword strapped along his spine. I'd known he'd commanded a legion in the war, before he'd become High Lord, but until then, I'd never seen any real evidence of it myself.

"Morning," I said as I forced my eyes upward to his face and away from his muscular thighs. He certainly didn't look deconditioned.

Rhys cocked his head as he surveyed me, and I braced myself for some smug remark and hunger in his eyes. But if I wasn't mistaken, his expression was…thoughtful. "You look like you've worn those all your life," he said softly.

I shrugged. "They're comfortable."

The last thing I wanted was to hear Cassian complain we were late, so I headed downstairs and assumed Rhys would follow. I wanted to be ready and waiting—Cassian would fly me up to the top of the House of Wind for now. I wouldn't let us dwell on why Rhys wasn't flying me there instead. Or why he cast a glamour to hide the tattoo on my hand and the scent of our mating bond before we left.

A few minutes later, I was in Cassian's arms as we shot into the sky. If I hadn't already been awake, the rush of chill morning air would have chased away any remaining drowsiness. It was still too early to have warmed up at all.

In the weeks I'd trained before going Under the Mountain, Cassian had quickly learned I wasn't much of a morning person despite being an early riser, and we'd spent the brief flights in companionable silence. This morning, however, he glanced down at me and said, "I don't think Rhys would have agreed to come today if it weren't for you."

I didn't think that was true, even if Cassian had known Rhys far longer than I did. Catching the look on my face, Cassian snorted and added, "We would have gotten him out here eventually, but not until after he moped for a while. It's good he's more interested in following you than feeling sorry for himself."

Cassian's tone was all warmth and gentle humor, but I had no idea what to say to that. After fifty years of torture, calling it moping seemed harsh, even to me, and Mor's occasional angry muttering about Illyrian brutes made more sense.

"I think he's entitled to mope a little," I said. The words came out far more coldly than I intended, but that impulse to tell everyone else to back off had returned.

"Did he earn that right? Sure," Cassian said evenly. "But it's not what's best for him."

I didn't know what to say to that. As we landed in the training ring, I found myself wondering what exactly Rhys had come back to when he'd been rescued from Amarantha the first time during the war. They'd all seen him with shredded wings. Perhaps they knew something I didn't.

But once I was out of Cassian's arms, I pushed those thoughts aside. Rhys and Azriel were already waiting for us, and there was work to do.

"Take your time warming up. It's been a while, and that's an injury risk," Cassian said. He'd directed it at me, but the words were pointed enough that he'd probably meant it for Rhys, too.

I did as he said, and we were silent as we worked our way through the same warmup we'd always started with when I trained here. In a way, it was comforting—It had been a while since I'd been able to fall into a routine. And I still couldn't get enough sun and wind on my face again.

Azriel pulled me aside to work with throwing knives, just as he'd promised, but we both couldn't help but turn and watch as Rhys unsheathed the sword at his back. The movement was fluid and easy, that catlike grace of his on full display. Cassian grinned and did the same, saying something too quiet for me to hear. It sounded like a taunt.

Rhys and Cassian became nothing more than a blur of wings and tan skin and the silver glint of their swords. In some ways, it wasn't all that different from when I'd watched Cassian and Azriel do the same, before I'd gone Under the Mountain. But even to my human eyes, there was a sluggishness to their movements that hadn't been there before. My insides tightened uncomfortably when I realized why.

Rhys was slow. Cassian was going easy on him.

I ripped my attention from them and turned to Azriel before he had a chance to tell me to stop gawking and get to work. But a slight downturn of his mouth told me that he'd noticed it, too.

Shields firmly in place to concentrate, I ignored them as best as I could and focused on Azriel's instructions. Apparently, I hadn't done half-badly for someone who'd never thrown a javelin, especially when the weapon in question was something as uneven as a makeshift bone-spear. Az offered to teach me to throw a spear properly if I really wanted to learn, but in truth, the better use of my time would be learning to compensate for the shape of whatever I had in hand, in case I ever needed to improvise a weapon. Even with his duties as spymaster taking up his time, he'd found some poorly constructed, unbalanced knives for me to practice with.

With each thud of a knife burying itself in the target, I felt better. It was easy to lose myself in the single-minded focus on getting closer to a bullseye. I wasn't fine, but I could shut everything else out and fool myself into believing that if I could just hit the center every time, then maybe I would be.

Honing this skill made me harder to hurt. The grim satisfaction at each improved throw didn't quite feel good, but it was a hell of a lot better than fear.

I'm not sure how long I'd been at it when Azriel stopped correcting my form and told me to take a break before the repetitive motion became too much for my elbow or shoulder. We both grabbed a glass of water and watched Rhys and Cassian as we drank.

I didn't completely drop my shields, but now that I wasn't trying to concentrate, I didn't work quite as hard to shut Rhys out. His side of the bond was all mounting frustration and simmering anger.

Then all at once their frenzied movement stopped. Rhys was on his back, Cassian's sword pointed at his chest. It was practice—I knew it was practice—but I bristled anyway, a feral instinct pushing me to charge Cassian and rip his throat out for pointing a weapon at my mate. My grip on the cup tightened.

Cauldron boil and fry me—how did anyone think straight with a mating bond?

Cassian sheathed his sword, holding out a hand to help Rhys up. Cassian hadn't broken a sweat, but even from a distance, I could see that Rhys was breathing hard. As Cassian poured Rhys a glass of water, I watched him share a concerned look with Azriel. No light-hearted quips about winning or even useful observations about weak points.

I suspected Rhys was in worse shape than they'd originally thought.

The anger on Rhys's side of the bond hadn't abated, even as he wordlessly gulped down the water and refused to look at any of us. When he came closer, I noticed broken skin on his hands, the palms cracking open after he hadn't held a sword in so long. His healing magic was already closing it back up.

Azriel gave me a nod and said something about meeting with his spies before taking off. I wasn't surprised he needed to cut training short—there was still so much work to do—but he didn't say goodbye to Rhys. Something still needed to be resolved between them, something they wouldn't talk about in front of me.

I'd pester Rhys about it later.

For now, Cassian was putting down his cup of water and saying, "While you were gone, I found some more books on human fighting techniques from the war, Feyre."

I blinked in surprise that he'd been confident enough I'd come back from Under the Mountain to bother researching this. "What did you find?" I said.

"Not as much as I'd like. The mortal slaves that rebelled were the best experts on human-faerie combat. Most of them were illiterate, so not much was written down." A muscle ticked in Rhys's jaw, probably at the reminder that I couldn't read, either. Cassian either didn't notice or ignored it, flashing me a grin. "But there are a few techniques to avoid being winnowed away if you're grabbed. We can try them today."

I finished the last of my water in one gulp and set down my cup. "Let's go."

There was a flicker of pride down the bond, even as Cassian leveled Rhys with a hard stare and said, "I'll instruct. She'll practice on you."

His voice was firm, and Rhys inclined his head. If I hadn't felt that protective urge while they'd been practicing earlier, I might not have understood. But it was safer not to have Cassian repeatedly grabbing me while we were all still so on edge.

But Rhys's response seemed to be enough for Cassian, who jerked his head towards the mat and said, "Alright then, Feyre. Let's see if those bony elbows of yours can rattle Rhys's pea brain around in his skull."

After training to go Under the Mountain, the central concept Cassian walked me through was familiar—faeries might have far greater strength and speed than a human could ever hope to achieve, but not better reaction times. And winnowing was impossible if their concentration was broken. I might never be able to fight a fae attacker off, but I could make enough of a nuisance of myself to slow them down.

There were no sparring pads this time. Cassian wanted to train muscle memory, to embed the reflex to throw an elbow in response to being grabbed by the shoulders. If someone put their hands on me like that, then we were already in too close quarters to twist my torso to throw a proper punch. So I flung the tip of my elbow at Rhys's head over and over as Cassian corrected my form.

And as usual, the bastard made me start with my left side.

Years of pulling a bowstring with my right arm had left me with an obvious strength imbalance—it hadn't taken long to receive good-natured taunts from Cassian about being such an archer. This was no different. I swallowed my frustration as we ran through the movement slowly and I struggled to pivot my foot in tandem with the sweep of my arm.

Even though Cassian had trained me not to do it in a fight, I found myself clenching my jaw and digging my nails into my palms anyway. Last time I'd trained, I hadn't had this newfound visceral awareness that a single missed blow gave an attacker an opening to kill me. I'd felt the same need to get it right, if only for Rhys's sake Under the Mountain, but I hadn't felt the target on my back so acutely. And I hated it.

Back then, I'd been determined but not nearly this angry.

By the time we finished with my left side, I was breathing hard, sweat dampening my brow even in the cool morning air. I felt as if every part of me was burning. Rhys and Cassian said nothing, which was for the best. I needed space, in more ways than one.

Once I had enough time to recover, Cassian just told me to move onto the other side. I willed myself to get it right this time, to ball up my rage at everything that had happened in the Spring Court and Under the Mountain, my rage at everything that had made me feel vulnerable and burdensome and useless and throw it behind the strike.

This time, I moved too fast for Rhys to dodge. The tip of my elbow slammed into his jaw. He hissed and rubbed at it, but the spark in his eyes told me there'd been no real harm. A wave of pride down the bond made my lips twitch up into a smile.

"Feel better?" Cassian said, surprisingly gentle. I nodded. "Good. Now give me ten more just like that."

We ran through several more drills until I was tired and Cassian needed to leave for business in Illyria. After pulling back on the jacket he'd shed at some point, he paused as if unsure who needed to be flown back down to the street. I could almost feel the air go thick with tension between them as they locked eyes and frowned, clearly speaking mind-to-mind.

I hadn't realized how irritating it was to be the one left out of the conversation.

Cassian squeezed my shoulder then launched himself into the air, which I assumed meant I was to stay here for something. I looked to Rhys expectantly, crossing my arms.

"You're coming with me to the library," he said. It was clearly not a question.

I couldn't help but bristle at that. "Is that an order?" I snapped.

But the fight went out of me at the fear in Rhys's eyes. He was looking at me the way he had the morning after Calanmai, when he'd begged me to listen to him and find his family. Whatever this was, he was insisting because it was important.

"I want you to learn how to read," he said. I blinked in surprise. It wasn't as if I didn't want to learn, but I'd survived this long without the ability. I didn't see what made it so urgent.

But then horror coiled in my gut as he described the second task Amarantha had been considering, a riddle printed on the wall for me to solve or be impaled on spikes. Unless he'd found a way to step in…I likely wouldn't have survived.

Darkness leaked from him again, the tendrils slipping through the spaces between my fingers as he said, voice thick, "And I encouraged her to choose it. You'd been so level-headed that I'd thought— I'd thought it played to your strengths because I'd been too stupid to consider the possibility that you might be illiterate."

Even out here in the sunlight and the open air, I felt the walls of my cell Under the Mountain closing in on me, heard the Wyrm slide through mud. I took a breath, reminding myself that we were out.

But being out wasn't the same as being invincible.

I pushed that thought aside, unwilling to let either one of us dwell on it. For a long moment, neither one of us said anything, even as the swirls of starless night brushed against my hands, then faded.

"Then I'll start learning today. We won't make the same mistake twice," I said. It was all we could do now. And maybe with Amarantha dead, it would be enough.

"Thank you," Rhys whispered, reaching for my hand as we started down the stairs.

I'd known about the library below the House of Wind since asking one night over dinner where exactly Amren had been doing her research, but I'd never ventured there. I hadn't relished the thought of being surrounded by rows and rows of books I couldn't read. In truth, I still didn't.

But as we passed through the main doors, Rhys's end of the bond seemed to lose a bit of its tension. Mor had mentioned he'd come here for peace and quiet, and perhaps there was something soothing about the cozy furniture and soft rustle of pages.

For me, though, being in another place carved into a mountain and full of information accessible to everyone but me was enough to set me on edge. If it had been anything but the same familiar red rock of the House of Wind—or worse, the same brown stone as Under the Mountain—I might have panicked and run. Rhys squeezed my hand, eyes sliding to me in concern.

I'm fine, I said down the bond, hoping he believed me. Or least, that he'd pretend to.

I'd half-expected Rhys to drop my hand once we were in full view of the priestesses, but he didn't. Either they weren't likely to gossip…or word would get out that we wanted to be seen as a pair. And the way that thought sated a strange, deep-seated territorial instinct was enough to chase away my lingering anxiety.

We approached the main desk, where Rhys introduced me to Clotho, the priestess who seemed to be in charge. She was silent, even as Rhys greeted her. It took me a moment to realize she was replying mind-to-mind because she couldn't respond any other way, and Rhys was only speaking aloud for my benefit. But there was genuine warmth in his voice as he introduced me and explained the assistance he needed. They must have known each other before, and I guessed it had been for a long while.

His eyes went soft as she clasped his hand, then gestured for me to follow her as Rhys said he'd see me later. We walked past several more priestesses carrying books or scrolls, all in the same blue robes. I'd half-expected stares at my rounded ears, but everyone else here seemed far too intent on their work to gawk at the lone human in Prythian.

One of the priestesses, a blue-skinned faerie with coal-black eyes and strange webbed hands, had been a teacher once, before…whatever had happened to make her seek refuge here. Clotho wrote something down for her, and she ushered me into her office with a kind smile, introducing herself as Evelyn.

My cheeks burned as I explained that I knew my letters but…not much at all beyond that. But apparently, that was more than enough to work with. She pulled a few books from her shelf and pointed to example sentences, unwaveringly patient as I attempted to string sounds together and read aloud.

Her eyebrows knit together as she grabbed a piece of scratch paper, wrote something down, and slid it over to me to read. My heart sank—like Rhys's, her handwriting was ornate, and the loops and swirls made my head spin and eyes cross as I tried to decipher them.

Then with a flick of her wrist, she cast a spell, changing them into the clear, block letters found in books. It was enough for me to stumble through the first few words again, something about a quick, brown fox.

"Well that is easy enough to deal with," she said, sounding oddly pleased. "You wouldn't be the first student of mine to need magic to make text more legible. The spell is simple enough."

And perhaps if I had any magic, it would have been a relief to learn that this issue was common—and not my fault. If I needed it, any of the library's priestesses could cast a spell on a book or scroll I checked out to make the letters appear in the simple font I did best with. Or any other document written in cursive, if I brought it to them and asked.

But it was just one more thing I had to ask for. I wanted to scream.

By the time she sent me on my way with words to copy over for penmanship practice, though, I had improved, if just incrementally. Some sorts of writing might always be slow going, but she assured me it wasn't impossible. We set a time for me to come back the next day.

As soon as I stepped back into the hall, there was a tug on the bond, a gentle but insistent come find me. Until then, I hadn't realized I could simply follow the golden thread connecting us if I ever needed to find Rhys. It was a comforting thought.

He was two levels up, and I spotted the talons atop his wings peeking over a bookshelf before anything else. I turned the corner to find him seated at a desk tucked in an alcove, pen in hand as he leafed through a stack of papers. He'd shifted out of his fighting leathers and into a tunic and pants, but what stopped me in my tracks was the sight of a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose.

The High Lord of the Night Court wore glasses.

"Have you always needed those?" I whispered, dropping into the chair next to him.

"Since I was a boy," he said, putting the pen down. "Don't ask me how many times Cassian broke them when we were younger."

I just considered that for a moment, the discovery another sliver of himself he'd hid Under the Mountain. I doubted Amarantha's whore had done much in the way of reading.

I jerked my head towards the paperwork. "What's that?"

"Reports on the status of the Night Court and documents Mor needed me to sign. There's…a lot I missed."

That was to be expected, I supposed. And I appreciated the candid answer instead of some jibe about just reading the paperwork for myself if I was so curious. I pulled out my handwriting practice and got to work as we lapsed into a comfortable silence.

Somehow, I found myself relaxing, even underground. Writing came easier than reading—it was almost like drawing, and there was something soothing about the repetition. And it was…nice, sitting together and not needing to talk.

I made quick work of copying the sentences, pushing the paper aside when it was done and stretching to relieve the soreness that hadn't entirely disappeared from my shoulders, even now that days had passed since I'd killed the Wyrm. Rhys's eyes flicked to me, then back down to the report in front of him.

"Do you need more sentences to practice?" he said. There was something carefully disinterested in his tone, as if he were trying to sound bored on purpose.

In truth, it had probably been more than enough for the day, but I found myself saying, "I might."

He jotted something down on a piece of scratch paper and slid it over to me. "Try reading this, then copy it over."

This time, he wrote in neat block letters. And perhaps it was a small mercy, but the words were short. And the first one was easy enough—the telltale "R" then "H" were enough.

"Rhysand is the most—" I started to say, then stopped when I realized what the rest of it said.

Rhysand is the most handsome High Lord.

There were two more sentences after that, identical except for whatever other words he'd chosen to describe himself. I wasn't sure I wanted to find out what they were. "Are you always this shameless?" I said.

A feline smile. "You seem to bring it out in me."

I balled up the paper and flung it at him, hard enough to knock the glasses from his face. The sound of his laughter as he picked them up off the floor was the best thing I'd heard in a long while.

The rest of the day passed calmly enough—we were more than overdue for an uneventful day. We spent most of it in the library, and dinner was something Illyrian that Cassian had left in the townhouse kitchen with a note that said Even assholes who trap their family in Velaris need to eat. Also, make sure Feyre gets enough protein.

It seemed like a peace offering. Rhys didn't seem inclined to elaborate any further, and by that evening, I was too tired to ask.

I went to bed early and still found myself awake and staring at the ceiling despite my exhaustion. The thoughts that training and reading lessons had kept at bay came rushing back, too-fresh memories from Under the Mountain. I didn't remember falling asleep, just waking from a nightmare with a churning gut and scrambling towards the toilet in the dark, something that had become a familiar routine.

But this time, Rhys's hands were in my hair as my knees hit the tile floor, holding it back as I emptied the contents of my stomach. The retching left me groggy and dizzy, even as my heart pounded uncomfortably in my chest.

At least I wasn't alone.

Chapter Text

Rhys's wings were redder than I'd originally thought. I hadn't noticed it until one morning a few days later, when sunlight streaming in from the window illuminated the membranes from the back, making them appear almost translucent. As I sipped my morning tea, my eyes kept drifting to the intricate network of veins, the outline of the delicate bones, and the gleaming, razor-sharp talons.

Cauldron, they were beautiful.

I hadn't had much time to admire them until then. The past few days had been full of training in the mornings and then reading lessons while Rhys caught up on the state of the Night Court and Prythian. For now, it was all we could handle. There was still so much we were both putting off, but neither one of us had slept through the night since our return.

But that morning, Cassian had insisted on a rest day, so I let myself stare over my mug of tea because we had the time for once. I wasn't quite ready to face a blank canvas just yet—and when I did, there were other things I needed to get out of my system first—but I'd paint this view one day.

Despite all the shameless flirting, I was still fairly certain Rhys didn't want to be ogled over breakfast, so I said, "How do you get a shirt over your wings?" I hadn't noticed telltale buttons on the back of the tunic he was wearing.

His eyes sparked as he cocked his head at me, his curiosity at my sudden question obvious. My cheeks heated. "I generally use magic to seal it shut," he said slowly.

"And how do you get them clean in the bath?"

"Sponges. Surely you're familiar with the concept?" Rhys said drily. I shot him an irritated look that just made him smirk. When he spoke again, I could have sworn his voice dropped a bit lower as he added, "So many questions this morning. Why?"

"I didn't have a chance to ask before." It wasn't really a lie—I hadn't shied away from asking the Inner Circle questions before I'd gone Under the Mountain, but once I'd realized exactly why Illyrian wings were so sensitive, I'd hesitated to ask much about them. Cassian and Azriel would have humored me, but there were some things that I didn't want to discuss with my mate's brothers.

"Come touch them if you're curious."

I stood up so quickly that I nearly knocked over my chair, then froze. "Are you sure?"

He certainly didn't look unsure, not with the way he was sitting with his legs spread, wings flared out wide behind him and one arm on the back of his chair. If anything, he looked arrogant. But it wasn't quite enough—I still wanted to hear him say it.

As I stepped around the table, I caught the slight movement of his throat bobbing. "Please touch my wings," he said.

I stopped just in front of him. To get my hands on his wings with him sitting down, I'd either need to put one hand on the back of the chair for balance as I leaned in…or I'd have to straddle his lap.

"You never had them out Under the Mountain."

His eyes didn't leave my face, even as I felt his fingers interlace with mine. "If something is precious to you, it's safest kept hidden."

Velaris. Our mating bond. And his wings, too. Away from prying eyes, there was security that came from being shrouded in darkness, and I'd felt that at the very core of the Night Court's magic. Stealth was key to hunting, and perhaps years of moving undetected through the woods had shaped me in the same way.

"No one else has ever…" I whispered, trailing off.

"I'd never let myself be vulnerable in that way. Not unless it's with you."

I didn't ask if it was because he loved me or because of the mating bond—I didn't care. Rhys trusted me, and that was the important part.

There was no point in hesitating or doing this by halves. I made myself comfortable on his lap, resting my thighs on either side of his hips. His hands settled on my waist.

I ran a finger down the membrane of his wing, careful to use the pad and not scrape it with my nail. It was smooth and surprisingly cool, almost like silk, but stretchier than I would have guessed. I kept dragging my finger down, moving it closer to where the wing met his back.

Rhys hissed and bucked his hips, jerking at the contact with a sensitive spot. I let out a squawk of surprise, and if he hadn't tightened his grip around my middle, he would have knocked me off his lap.

I started to ask if he was alright, but he just laughed and said, "I should have known you'd go straight for the most sensitive places."

Interesting. I skimmed my finger along his wing again, closer to the talon, where I guessed it wasn't quite as sensitive. If he'd let me, I'd map out every inch of his wings with my hands, learn everything until I knew them as intimately as I knew my own body.

Now that I was closer, I saw the scars. Or more accurately, I felt them—they were old and faint, but slightly stiff under the pressure from my finger. None of them were particularly large, but his wings were covered in them.

Rhys had the same healing magic as any other High Fae. Scars like this…they were the result of torture, intentional cruelty by someone with magic who knew what they were doing. And they'd already been there before he'd been trapped Under the Mountain.

"These are from the War, aren't they?" I said.

"Yes. They don't hurt as much as they used to."

I traced one with a finger, watching his face carefully for any sign of pain. He just shifted his hips under me. It gave me the confidence to splay my entire palm against his wing and slide it slowly down to that sensitive place from before. His answering groan heated my blood, and as I leaned down to kiss him, I ground against the rapidly-hardening length of him.

Rhys was still gripping my waist, as if now of all times he'd decided to be something of a gentleman, which was ridiculous when I was already straddling his lap. But maybe…I'd rushed him. It was still so soon after everything we'd just gone through.

I tipped my head back to look at him. "Do you want this?"

"Like I've never wanted anything else," he said, voice so rough it was nearly unrecognizable.

"Then move your hands down."

He slid both hands to my ass and squeezed, pressing me against him. I let my satisfaction at finding him harder than before cross the bond. As I leaned in again, I felt his growl reverberate in my chest just as strongly as I heard it.

I swept my hands across his wings in several directions, and no matter where I touched, Rhys couldn't keep still. Each caress made him shudder against me, the friction against my clit sweet and intoxicating, even through layers of fabric. His fingers dipped under my shirt, and I pulled my hands off his wings to shuck it off.

His face was between my breasts before my shirt hit the floor.

Rhys's tongue traced a line towards a nipple. I arched into him, and for a moment, I couldn't remember why his mouth had ever been anywhere but that very spot or how the endless well of need on both sides of the bond hadn't swallowed us both whole.

A plea floated into my head, through the bond so he didn't have to move his lips from my skin. If you never take your hands off me again, it will be too soon.

I skimmed my fingers down his wing, and territorial instinct had me wishing for paint or something to leave behind a mark on every bit of skin that I touched, to warn everyone else away from what was rightfully mine.

I hadn't meant for that thought to cross the bond, but it tore a keening, desperate noise from Rhys as his hips ground against mine again. I'm yours. Leave all the marks on me you wish.

"You're wearing too many clothes for that," I whispered.

Before I could scramble for buttons, I was on my back and on the floor, clothes gone and Rhys naked above me, cradling the back of my head in one broad hand. I thought we might have winnowed, but the world hadn't disappeared into smoke and shadow—no, he'd just pounced with that inhuman speed of his.

I could see the question in his face, the hesitation that this might have been too much and too fast for me, even with his eyes the darkest shade of violet I'd ever seen them. Despite how badly I could feel that he wanted to keep going, Rhys was giving me an opportunity to stop.

Not that I wanted to. Naked and under him was exactly where I wanted to be.

I pushed up onto an elbow and kissed him softly, cupping his face with my other hand. He leaned into the touch, then turned his head to kiss my palm. A shiver went through me at the memory of pomegranate seeds the last time his mouth had been there.

Rhys started to move down my body, and when I realized where exactly he was going, I locked my legs around his waist, keeping him in place. "Not now," I murmured. "Another time, but I want you inside me. Please."

His face darkened, and for a moment I thought I might have said something wrong—perhaps I'd pushed too hard or he merely did just want to bury his face between my thighs for now. He just said, "You don't beg. Not for anything, from anyone."

The words sounded like a vow. But before I could respond, his face broke into that cocky smile I'd come to love. With a teasing nudge at my entrance, he added, "But especially not for this—I'd never deny you."

True to his word, Rhys slid into me as I said, "I'm yours, too."

I let him set the pace as I kissed and nipped as his neck. Every mark I left drew another soft noise from him or a deeper thrust, and I wanted him covered in them.

He braced one hand against the tile floor to hold himself up, and the other seemed to be everywhere, squeezing my breasts, skimming down my stomach, circling my clit. The world narrowed to just the places our bodies touched and the golden thread connecting us. Before long, I was shattering around him as he spilled into me.

I'd hardly caught my breath when he winnowed us to his bed. And perhaps we should have ended up there sooner, instead of on the kitchen floor, but I was feeling too contented and comfortable to care. I lay back against the pillows as Rhys shifted, sprawling half on top of me with our legs tangling together. One wing draped over us both like a blanket, and he buried his face in the crook of my neck.

We were quiet for a long moment. His arm banded around my chest tightly, holding me to him as if he were afraid I'd disappear. With a stab of guilt, I wondered if he thought I might run off again. The bond was also quiet, but I suspected there might have been a reason he wasn't looking at me.

It was strange, I realized as I traced the swirl of a tattoo on his upper arm, to want to linger like this after sex. Everything before this had been in a barn or a cave—not somewhere I could just be held afterward. The lack of urgency driving me back to the woods to hunt or Rhys back Under the Mountain…I still couldn't bring myself to trust that it was real.

I double-checked that my shields were up; I didn't want that thought to interrupt any peace that Rhys had found.

"After the first decade Under the Mountain, I thought I'd never want another person to touch me again," he said eventually, so softly that I almost didn't hear it. The words were muffled against my skin, his breath warm. "I'd thought she'd stolen the ability to want like that, along with everything else. Calanmai was different, something that could only happen once. But then, after you told me you were trapping a Suriel, you said next time like it was inevitable, and I…started to believe it could happen. I wanted it to happen. I didn't know you well enough to love you yet. That's when I knew the mating bond had changed everything."

If I hadn't felt the way the bond in my chest had rearranged my the world for me, I wouldn't have understood. Love might not have been enough to fix what Amarantha had destroyed, but there was nothing more powerful than a mating bond. The cord didn't just tie us together—it held our shattered pieces in place to heal, like a cast around a broken bone. Nothing else could have done that.

"I love you," I said, because it still mattered. His hair was soft against my cheek as he turned his head to press a kiss to my collarbone. "And there's always going to be a next time, even if I have to tear the world apart to make it happen."

At that, Rhys finally looked at me; he smiled, eyes bright and without any sign of tears. "If it were anyone else, I would have thought those were just empty words," he said.

I shrugged. "I've been told I'm stubborn."

"'Perseverant' is a better word," he said, then leaned over to kiss me. "Or 'tenacious.'" He kissed me again. "Or 'undeterred.'" Another kiss. "And I love you for it."

"This sounds far too much like penmanship practice," I grumbled into his shoulder, though I suspected that ducking my head hadn't hid my smile.

"If you want more sentences about how handsome, delightful, and cunning I am, then I'm more than happy to oblige," he purred.

Cauldron boil and fry me—he knew the effect it had on me when he dropped his voice low like that. Heat pooled in my lower abdomen, and I didn't need the bond to sense the purely male smugness that oozed off of him.

With both of us naked atop his bed, perhaps it wasn't much of a surprise that we made sure next time happened a few minutes after that.

We would have stayed in bed all day if we'd been given the opportunity, but even a rest day wasn't completely free of obligations. Rhys had scheduled an appointment with a healer to discuss a regimen of exercises to regain strength in his wings and the utility of a sleeping draught, and that was too important to miss. I'd offered to go with, but there was no need.

For the first time in a while, I was alone. I didn't particularly want to be, and with the bond still on my mind from earlier, I realized I'd never asked Amren if her research on mating bonds had turned up anything promising. And if I was being honest with myself, I was also burning with curiosity about the lingering tension between Rhys and his Inner Circle. I dressed and headed for Amren's apartment.

The walk was short, but it was still enough to second-guess myself by the time I arrived. Amren and the others had their hands full, and she might not be home, let alone willing to entertain my questions. I took a breath and raised my hand to knock anyway.

Only for Amren to pull the door open before I made a sound.

"What brings you here, Feyre?" she said, slightly accusatory. By now, though, I knew that was as welcoming as she ever got.

"I came to speak to you," I said.

I didn't miss the way her nostrils flared and the grimace as she stepped aside to let me in. She must have scented what Rhys and I had been up to; I'd nearly forgotten that the fae could. I'd have to remember to bathe next time.

"Well?" she said, once I was inside.

"I wanted to thank you. For not trying to talk me out of going Under the Mountain."

It still took an effort not to squirm as she leveled her swirling silver eyes at me, even though I'd expected it. Coming here alone to say that, with the scent of Rhys and sex still lingering on me…she'd draw conclusions from it and probably share them with the Inner Circle. I'd thought about that and accepted it.

Jeweled bracelets on her wrists clinked together as Amren flicked a hand in a gesture that indicated it had been nothing. "Sending you was the only sound strategy we had," she said.

"What makes you say that?"

"There were no mated pairs with a fully accepted bond and one or both parties Under the Mountain. If there were, Amarantha would have been defeated well before you were even born."

I considered that. Mating bonds were rare, so perhaps it shouldn't have come as a surprise that Rhys and I were the only ones. And everyone trapped Under the Mountain had something or someone they loved—and after fifty years, that clearly hadn't been enough to save them.

It meant something. It didn't feel like a coincidence that Rhys and I were the only such pair, that I was human, that the Night Court's magic wanted something with me, that a hunter made of stars pointed to Velaris and I'd brought the High Lord of the Night Court back home.

I didn't understand everything, but I was supposed to be here in the Night Court.

Amren must have been able to tell I had more questions. She jerked her head towards the sitting area, then took a seat across from me. "Did you find anything on mating bonds between humans and faeries while I was gone?" I said. With Amren, it seemed best to get straight to the point.

"There might not be much to find. The most plausible theory is that the lifespans of a human and a faerie are too different for a mating bond to exist between them. Your being Made immortal supports that assertion," Amren said.

With everything that had happened lately, I'd nearly forgotten I was immortal. The lingering echo of magic still hadn't dimmed, but at some point, I'd grown used to it, like a background hum I could tune out. I'd have to face it eventually. One day, I wouldn't be able to ignore the fact that I'd stopped aging.

Before I could respond the sound of Mor's voice cut across the room. I nearly jumped out of my chair—I hadn't heard her winnow in. "If you were going to skip our meeting, the least you could have done was send a note," she was saying.

Her eyes landed on me as she stepped around a bookcase, and her scowl turned to a smile. "Or you could have said that Feyre was here," she added brightly.

Mor dropped into the seat between us and hugged me hello. It was still foreign to me, to be greeted this way, for someone to be pleased to see me and not just the game I was carrying out of the woods. I suspected I'd been hugged more often in my few weeks in the Night Court than all the rest of my life combined.

And it was definitely still strange to feel Mor's sharp inhale as she got closer to me and know what it meant.

"I was going to come speak to you later, but now works, too," Mor said. Her hair was pinned up into a bun, and her gown was a more subdued shade of red than what she typically favored—she must have been spending the morning attending to her duties as Rhys's Third. She'd been back to the Hewn City often lately.

"What about?" I said.

"How do you feel about a trip to the Day Court, emissary?"

"Now?"

Mor laughed and shook her head. "Gods, no. None of the courts are going to be up to hosting official visitors for a while yet, but if we're going to be first on the docket when the time comes, we need to start the conversation now."

Even with the glamour back in place, I hid my left hand instinctively at the memory of Helion approaching me Under the Mountain. "They're still our allies?" I said, though they must be if sending me there was under discussion at all.

"We have a shared border and need access to their libraries," Amren said.

"For what?" I asked. The library under the House of Wind was massive—it was difficult to imagine any information couldn't be found there.

"There are spells that don't require magic from the wielder," Amren said, watching me again as if she could see right through me. Not sizing me up, just interested in picking me apart and examining my component parts one by one. I tried not to shiver. "But that knowledge was destroyed during the War, by High Fae who were afraid it could fall into the hands of humans interested in using it against them. Day has the most extensive libraries in Prythian. If any scraps remain, they will be there."

I didn't need to ask why—I'd be safer with any magic at all at my disposal. And it would be best if we could manage it before my immortality became impossible to hide.

"It's a long shot," Mor said, "and it would have been, even before Amarantha burned most of Day's libraries. It's still worth a try."

When I'd learned a bit about the courts of Prythian before going Under the Mountain, there had been an offhand mention of a thousand libraries in Day. I sat in silence for a moment, just struggling to comprehend the scale of devastation.

It made the so-called blight on the Spring Court seem like nothing.

"Helion would share that information with us?" I said.

"The Day Court stands for widespread access to information, and their librarians keep information about who borrowed what confidential," Amren said. That seemed flimsy to me, and I started to ask about the possibility of spies when she grinned, showing her teeth. It didn't look friendly. "And I know how to make sure they stay quiet if it comes to that."

"With the shared border, there are plenty of reasons to send a Night delegation to Day that won't arouse any suspicion about what you are, Feyre. And sending just you, Amren, and me will help us get in front of any rumors that we're mistreating the Cursebreaker," Mor said.

It made perfect sense, but I still caught a slight hesitation. Perhaps because she thought I might not be ready or she anticipated an instinctive angry reaction to a plan that would separate me from my mate for a while. In truth, it was the potential of embarrassing myself as a poor reader that made me more nervous than anything. The Day Court could gawk at me if it kept the rest of Prythian off our backs.

If Feyre Cursebreaker was another role I'd have to play, then I'd do it.

"I'll go," I said. Mor and Amren shared a look as if they were communicating mind-to-mind—not daemati, just two people who knew each other well and had worked together for centuries. I shifted in my seat, uncomfortably aware they'd likely been discussing how to handle me again. After a moment, I added, "Have the rumors gotten worse?"

"Yes, but nothing we can't handle," Mor said, and I was struck again by the plain honesty, even though she knew it wasn't the answer I'd hoped for. "If you get out into Velaris more, that will help. You're well known, so word will spread if people see you, even if they can't say exactly where in the Night Court. I've been meaning to take you to dinner anyway. We could even find some blood for Amren and call it a girls' night."

Amren scowled. Mor tossed her head back and laughed.

I did want to see more of the city, though. So many other things had taken priority, but Velaris was the closest thing I had to a home anymore. Most of what I knew was the information Rhys had deposited in my head, and I wanted to find out more for myself.

"Just tell me when, and I'll be there," I said, and Mor beamed.

There wasn't much else to discuss, and Amren's irritation at two guests in her apartment was becoming palpable. Mor offered to winnow me back to the townhouse, but I was feeling restless from having spent so little time on my feet that day.

"And Feyre?" Mor said as we both stood to go. "I know my cousin knows how to treat a lady. If he doesn't get it together and take you on a proper date already, I'll kick his ass."

Amren made a disgusted noise behind me as Mor winked and then winnowed away. I took that as my cue to leave, saying a quick goodbye before hurrying down the stairs.

I felt lighter on the walk back to the townhouse. At first, I wasn't sure why, perhaps it was nothing more than just sunlight on my face and sea-scented air. But it ran deeper than that.

At some point, it clicked—I had plans to look forward to, for the first time in ages. Even in Spring, when I'd thought I'd found a bit of peace and a chance to rest and paint as much as I wished, I hadn't had that.

Happiness, the real, lasting kind, had never felt more tangible.

Chapter Text

The townhouse was empty when I got back. At the realization I was alone, I reached for my thigh instinctively, where my hunting knife would be if I still carried one. Perhaps I should have still carried one.

My heart leapt to my throat at the sight of a note sitting out for me, even though I recognized Rhys's handwriting now. I forced myself to breathe before my mind spiraled down a path of panic about kidnappers and attackers.

I was safe. No one could winnow in besides Rhys and Mor. No one would touch me here. I was safe.

Even so, my fingers shook as I picked up the note to read. It was still slow going, but at least this time, I recognized every word, though not always on the first try.

Feyre darling,

I'm at the library and will be back this evening.

The contraceptive tea is still where you left it, but if it gives you peace of mind, you should know that the tonic I was taking Under the Mountain won't wear off for another week.

With all my love,

Rhys

I stood there for a long moment and waited for the sensation of the bottom dropping out of my stomach to pass. Rhys could have told me all of this before he left or said it through the bond—but he'd written a note instead, even though he knew reading still wasn't easy for me.

Once my head cleared of panic, I understood. His side of the bond had been quiet, and I'd assumed there just hadn't been anything to say or any strong emotions he was feeling. But his shields were up and reinforced. Either Amarantha had forced him to take the tonic or he'd been doing it without her knowledge, and…that was something he was only telling me because it might give me some measure of reassurance. And even then, he'd only managed it because he'd insulated himself from my reaction first.

Rhys knew I wouldn't be upset and that none of this was his fault—or at least, I hoped he did—but apparently that didn't stop him from feeling ashamed anyway.

Something about the note made my fingers twitch for a pen. There wasn't one, probably because he didn't want a reply, and I assumed the paper wasn't enchanted to send one anyway. But still, I had the urge to flip the paper over and sketch something beautiful, as if that could beat back the ugliness that had necessitated the contraceptive tonic in the first place.

Even though I knew where the pens were, I didn't go find one. I wasn't entirely sure I could make something beautiful anymore.

I tugged a blanket off the sofa and pulled it around my shoulders instead. The townhouse was warm, but I'd never once felt too hot Under the Mountain. The extra layers and soft blanket against the exposed skin of my arms seemed to ground me, to remind me that I was in the Night Court and not there.

I hadn't meant to fall asleep, but I'd spent half the night on the bathroom floor, shaking like a leaf while Rhys held me. Even though it was barely mid-afternoon, once my heart stopped racing, I drifted off and didn't wake until Rhys winnowed in as the sun began to set. And somehow, even though I was worried and groggy, I found myself appreciating the way his blue-black hair shone in the golden hour light.

Cauldron, the mating bond was relentless.

Rhys didn't move from the the spot where he'd winnowed, right in the center of the living room. He was watching me carefully, and as I sat up, I glanced over him and was relieved he looked fine. Even if he wasn't getting closer to me.

After a moment, he said, "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," I said.

I wasn't quite sure what he wanted, so I moved to one side of the sofa and extended my arm in a wordless invitation to share the blanket. To my immense relief, he hid his wings and joined me, snaking an arm around my waist as I tucked my legs under me and curled up against him. We loosed a breath at the same time.

A talon rapped politely against my shields, and I dropped them for him. The beast he usually kept hidden, all wings and feathers and talons and elongated canines, entered the antechamber of my mind. Then it turned around once and lay down, like a dog that had come in from the cold to curl up in front of the hearth. I closed my eyes and let my head fall against his chest.

His breath tickled my ear, making me shiver as he scented me, even with the glamour still in place."You smell like safety," he murmured, "and your mind is a more peaceful place than mine has been lately."

If I hadn't felt the change in both of us just now, I would have pointed out that was a patently ridiculous thing to say when I was a human who could barely manage to sleep through the night, let alone protect myself. But maybe…I was safe to admit the worst to.

And maybe even if I had the heightened senses of a faerie, I couldn't distinguish safety from danger anyway, smell or otherwise. Tamlin had certainly exploited that.

I couldn't hold back a small noise of protest as Rhys pulled away for a moment, nearly taking the entire blanket with him, then relaxed again when I felt his fingers in my hair. My braid had come loose in my sleep. Once he'd slipped the tie off the end, Rhys started gingerly untangling the strands.

Perhaps it was reckless to dive straight into it, but we needed to talk, so I said, "Was this morning—"

"This morning was everything," he said, answering the question before I could finish asking, "but I didn't anticipate how it would feel to go straight from that to an in-depth discussion with the healer regarding how weak my wings were. I needed time. The library helped."

"And now?" I would have turned my head to look at him if that wouldn't have pulled roughly on my hair.

"I'll be fine." It wasn't harsh or unkind, but there was a distinct note of finality there. A bit more softly, he added, "And for you, was—"

"I want more mornings like that." It was all that needed to be said.

He let the lock of my hair fall from his hand, and I turned my head to kiss his cheek before he carded his fingers back through my hair again. This close, I caught sight of a bite mark I'd left, peeking out from under his collar. A mark like that, shaped like my mouth and visible to anyone who got close…it filled me with a sense of feral pride. Rhys looked good wearing it.

The beast that had been resting inside my mind stirred. And preened.

"There's no need to wait until morning if you want more," Rhys said, suddenly all dark promise.

But as much I ached to go down that road, there were questions I wouldn't get to if we did. "What did the healer say?" I asked, a little too quickly, even as I pressed myself closer.

Rhys explained—apparently, the process wouldn't be too different from when his wings had been injured during the War. The best method would be to winnow up high and drop back down slowly to the ground and do the same with repeated takeoffs, all while carrying increasingly heavy weights. Progress might be slow, but steady if he kept at it.

An idea stuck me. "How heavy of a weight would you use?"

"It depends," Rhys said slowly, suspicion creeping into his voice. He pulled away to study my face, and I clamped my hand back down on the blanket to keep it around my shoulders.

"I don't weigh very much. Might be more fun than using a sack of potatoes or whatever you were thinking of instead," I said, smiling.

He didn't smile back. "You could get hurt if I'm not careful."

"Hell will freeze over long before I ever get hurt while you're around."

I raised my brows, daring him to argue—I was right, and we both knew it. He shook his head and sighed. "You don't have to be so eager to test that theory."

"It's a certainty, not a theory," I said, pulling him close again. I took advantage of his wings being hidden, resting my chest against his broad, muscled back and my chin on his shoulder.

The wings, the flying…I knew what it meant to him. And maybe selfishly, I wanted him to hold me tight against him while we were high above the ground, just for the joy of being in the air. Cassian and Azriel might have flown me to the House of Wind, but that would never be the same.

Rhys told me about the sleeping draught next; the healer had said to halve the dose for a human if I took it, too. Apparently it was strong enough that we'd sleep through damn near anything—even each other's nightmares. It took some prodding, but we agreed to take it together or not at all, lest someone be left to face bad dreams and vomiting alone.

Over the next few days, things began to feel…a bit more settled. As much as I hated how fuzzy my head felt on mornings after taking the sleeping draught, I couldn't deny that the rest helped. And though I wasn't quite ready to see them yet, Azriel reported that my family was still safe and cared for. I went to dinner with Mor and managed to ignore the obvious stares in my direction and awed whispers behind my back. Even reading lessons had become less of a slog, full of chitchat about books as Evelyn found ones that would be an appropriate challenge—she'd even collected a few picture-filled volumes on art that I spent an afternoon flipping through.

Sex helped, too. There were far worse things I could have thrown myself into with singleminded focus than making Rhys climax, and I think he needed to hear someone tell him his pleasure mattered and insist he sit back and enjoy it. He responded in kind of course, and somehow his hands and mouth quieted the restlessness that plagued me, enough to stop feeling on the lookout for another threat, at least for a while.

We were coping. And it was strange, but not unpleasant, to find myself slipping into a life I'd ached for but hadn't really known I'd wanted until a few weeks ago.

Illyria, however, was becoming a problem. And so was the Hewn City. I hardly saw much of Cassian; Azriel took over training me so his brother could stay in Windhaven. Mor was more than capable of overseeing the Court of Nightmares herself, but it wasn't enough to completely stave off the question of why the High Lord hadn't shown his face since returning home.

And it all came to a head during the next meeting of the Inner Circle.

The six of us had gathered in a meeting room in the House of Wind. I'd trained with the Illyrians beforehand—Cassian had wanted to see my progress—and though I was still flushed and sweaty from exertion, the leathers and sword strapped to Rhys's back were the only signs he'd been sparring. Perfect and polished as always. If he weren't mine, I would have hated him for it.

But there was work to be done, so I forced myself not to stare. Cassian spoke first, and the picture he painted was bleak—not only rampant disregard of laws Rhys had put into place centuries ago, but rogue war-bands. The groups that had been loyal to Amarantha had splintered, and the situation was delicate and unpredictable.

"I won't have any opportunists in Hybern or the Continent catching us flat-footed," Rhys said, slipping into that clipped tone he only used when he was working. "Take whatever measures are necessary to bring the army back in line. You have my full support, whatever it takes."

To his credit, Cassian didn't hesitate as he said, "Does full support mean I can call you in to make an appearance if needed?" Not a challenge, but it put an unpleasant truth out in the open.

I knew what he meant, and though Azriel's grimace only lasted a moment, that was enough to tell me that he did, too. Rhys's wings were still an issue. If he arrived in Illyria unable to fly properly and word got out, he might only make more of a mess. It didn't matter why his wings were so weak—the Illyrians would see it as shameful regardless.

"It's vital to the security of the Night Court. When I said whatever it takes, I meant it," Rhys said, his voice going colder. Darkness made the faelights flicker for a moment.

The tension that had been simmering between them was back. There was a forced lightness to Mor's voice as she said, "You should make an appearance in the Hewn City first, anyway. They're under control, but it would do some good to flex your muscles before they start getting ideas."

It made sense—I'd heard Mor's updates to Rhys, her concern about Keir becoming too bold without Amarantha making him cower—and releasing the damper on Rhys's power to make a point was simple enough. Or it would be, if that didn't mean sending him straight to the place that Amarantha had modeled her court after. If it were me, I wouldn't be ready yet.

The least I could do was make sure he wouldn't be facing it alone.

"I'll go with you," I said, the words out of my mouth before I'd thought them through. "It might be easier on you with me there."

I hadn't been to the Hewn City, but I knew enough to understand what sort of role I'd have to play there. If it helped Rhys, I'd do it without hesitation. It might even feel good, just to have something to do that made me feel useful. Even though it was underground, I'd manage.

"No," Rhys said, and the word came out as something that wasn't quite an order but sounded uncomfortably close.

He'd never spoken to me like that before. I hated it.

His regret crossed the bond immediately, but that didn't matter. I knew it wasn't the same, not even close, but the harshness in his voice reminded me just a bit of how Tamlin had sounded when I'd overheard him speaking with Lucien, an inkling of how much was really being hidden to manipulate me in Spring. And that was enough to set my temper ablaze.

"What's in the Hewn City that you don't want me to see?" I snapped. Aloud, so everyone could hear.

Rhys's voice was softer, almost pained, when he spoke again. I half-expected darkness to ripple off him, but he kept the leash on his power. "There's nothing in the Hewn City that you didn't already see Under the Mountain."

"Then why not bring me?" I said, just as a horrible thought dawned on me. He'd been so angry that I'd gone Under the Mountain. Before I knew what I was doing, the words were tumbling out. "Is this about keeping me in Velaris, like you did to the rest of the Inner Circle?"

Rhys flinched. And the air in the room seemed to go very, very still.

"For what it's worth, I'm not proud of that," he said, not looking at any of us, "but I can't bring myself to regret it, either. You're alive."

Cassian ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I know it wasn't an easy call to make. You chose the least shit option out of a bunch of shit choices."

"That still doesn't mean we had to like it," Azriel muttered darkly, tucking his wings in tight.

"No, we didn't," Mor agreed, shooting a warning look at Azriel before turning to Rhys, "and it's hard not to be resentful. We were trapped. But…we all know it's not your fault for having to make that decision, and I hope you know that, too."

Rhys closed his eyes, and I watched his shoulders rise and fall as he took in a breath and let it out. He started to say something, but Amren cut him off. "And Velaris is by far the most pleasant of all the places I've been confined. Let's move on," she said briskly.

I didn't want to think about what other places she could possibly have been imprisoned. Or how many there had been. But somehow, Amren of all people had cut through the tension in the room. Mor caught my eye, hiding a smile behind the back of her hand.

"I'd put that on tourism brochures if Velaris had any," Rhys said drily, then turned his attention back to me. "After sending Mor in my stead for so long, I'll get the point across most clearly if I go alone, Feyre. It isn't dangerous. But with the attention the Cursebreaker will draw…you'll be most effective as an ace up our sleeve for now. Is that alright with you?"

I considered that. It seemed like an honest question, not just something intended to mollify me enough to move on. And the word effective clanged in my head like a bell. It took a certain measure of confidence in someone to make a calculation like that. I felt…a little less useless.

"That's fine," I said, giving a gentle tug on the bond to indicate all was well. Rhys answered with a feather-light brush of his fingers against mine under the table.

The rest of the meeting was long, if uneventful. I followed more of it than before—while he'd been catching up on the state of the Night Court, Rhys had answered every single one of my questions about it. There were decisions to be made about resuming trade agreements that had been in place before Amarantha and intelligence to be gathered about the extent of the damage in other courts. Our agenda that day was full.

I wasn't used to sitting still for so long, and it seemed like an eternity had passed by the time Cassian finally flew me down to the street. He took off for Illyria just as Rhys winnowed next to me, shifting out of his leathers and into his usual black jacket and pants.

"Take a walk with me?" he said, offering his arm. I hesitated, not quite sure if he merely did just want to walk with me, or if this was about what had happened earlier. Catching the look on my face, he added,"It's a beautiful day, and it would be a shame to let that go to waste."

That, at least, was the truth. Though it was the middle of summer, the Night Court was too far north to get uncomfortably hot. I suspected that wasn't everything—it might also have been one of those days he needed to feel the breeze on his face, but there was no use in pointing that out.

Instead, I just nodded my agreement and took his arm. My hand felt snug and comfortable in the crook of his elbow, but I was shameless about twisting it to the side so I could feel the hard muscle of his bicep through his shirt. Rhys smirked, curling a wing around me in a gesture I was beginning to suspect looked equally as possessive as my fingers around his arm.

"You know the city best. Lead the way," I said.

We walked in companionable silence towards the Sidra. If we'd wanted to, we probably could have stayed quiet the entire evening without it feeling awkward or uncomfortable. But…I wanted to clear the air anyway. After a little while, I added, "I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier."

"They were valid questions that you had every right to ask," he said evenly. I couldn't quite read his face—Rhys seemed unbothered, but I didn't know how to tell if he was pretending or not.

"I could have phrased them better."

Rhys shrugged. "It's better than if you hadn't said anything at all. You should question me, call me out. And if being comfortable doing that means you're a bit harsh about it on occasion….well, it's not as if I haven't survived worse."

He pulled gently on the bond again, and I took that to mean there truly had been no harm done. It made me feel oddly reassured, as if I'd pushed on something that looked delicate and found it to be much sturdier than I'd thought.

We followed a path along the Sidra, and on a day like this, we were far from the only ones out and about. It seemed silly not to have realized it, considering he'd been High Lord for centuries, but everyone in Velaris seemed to know Rhys. People smiled warmly and nodded at him, a few even greeting him by name and taking his hand to welcome him back. Even after fifty years away, he knew them too, sounding earnest when he asked about how their families were faring.

It still came as a shock that they knew who I was, too.

The first time a faerie, one with horns and horizontal pupils like a goat's, called me Cursebreaker and thanked me for challenging Amarantha, I'd nearly blurted out then and there that anyone with a mate would have done the same thing. Instead, I stammered my way through my reply about how it was good to see Rhys home, which wasn't even a lie.

The people of Velaris were respectful, genuinely warm but never attempting to drag him into a long conversation. For me, the attention was still strange. Rhys must have been handling it since birth, but I'd spent so much of my life alone in the woods, doing my best to blend in with the trees as I hunted.

We were arm in arm, but still in my fighting leathers at his side….I don't think I seemed much like an emissary. And certainly not like a lady, either.

If anything, I looked like Rhys's knight.

But it was…nice, to just walk and be together like this. Velaris was beautiful, rows and rows of pretty, well-kept townhouses in bright colors and the flowers along the river in full bloom for the summer. Peaceful and untouched—and protected with the utmost ruthlessness.

I was so caught up in drinking it in—and in truth, watching Rhys drink it in—that it was a while before I realized we were still walking away from the townhouse. Not that I minded, but I still asked, "Are we going anywhere in particular?"

"Yes. I have something to show you," he said, violet eyes bright.

"What is it?"

"My favorite view in the city."

I'd half-expected him to answer that it was a surprise or with some other teasing, flirting response. But maybe by then he knew it was important to me that my questions didn't go unanswered.

When the sun had nearly set, we stopped at one of the benches that lined the path, facing the river. It didn't seem different from any of the other places we'd passed, save a row of low buildings right on the riverbank across from us. Rhys sat, letting his wings hang over the back of the bench, and I followed suit.

We were in public, so I left a careful few inches of distance between us. I ached to be closer, but I wasn't sure it would be welcome out here. "Can I—"

"I was just going to tell you that you were too far away."

I couldn't press myself to his side fast enough. As Rhys wrapped an arm around my waist, the bond seemed to uncoil in my chest, and I was struck again by that sense of rightness, the feeling that I was exactly where I was supposed to be. I doubted I'd ever get used to it—not just the mating bond and all the instincts and urges that accompanied it, but being wanted like this.

But that was too much to talk about on what was proving to be something close to a normal evening. I just said, "Why is it your favorite?"

"You'll see in a few minutes, once night falls properly," he said softly, "but it's not just that. Before Amarantha, nearly everyone in Velaris came to watch the boat races down the Sidra on midsummer. It's been a tradition since my ancestors founded the city, and this is where the races always finished."

"Did you…row?" I wasn't entirely sure if faerie boat races were anything like human ones, though I was fairly certain the line of buildings across from us were boathouses.

"Cauldron, no. Training in Illyria was exhausting enough. This is where I came to drink and cheer on my sister."

I had no idea what to say to the mix of quiet sorrow and warm nostalgia in his voice. Telling him I was sorry seemed insufficient. But…I could practically feel the weight of whatever was on his mind pressing down on us both.

"I'll trade you a thought for a thought," I said after a long moment. "Tell me one thing on your mind, and I'll do the same for you."

I half-expected Rhys to balk, or at least, to be irritated with my prying. Perhaps I'd pushed too hard. But he played along.

"The boathouse on the end was green last time I saw it. But at some point in the last fifty years, it was repainted blue, and now I'm thinking about how strange it is to notice all the ways Velaris is different now. Everything is different now, really."

As I watched the last rays of the setting sun dance on the water, I felt Rhys's gaze slide towards me. I took a moment to consider my words. "I'm thinking about how every summer I used to hunt and hunt while the game was plentiful. If I didn't do enough then, we'd starve during the winter. And now it's summer again, and I feel like I need to find a way to hoard days like this because nothing ever stays easy."

"For what it's worth, I'm not stupid enough to think I can pacify you with pretty lies about how you have nothing to worry about ever again."

I snorted. "Have I mentioned how much I love your pragmatism?" It was true, though. His willingness to make difficult choices, no matter how unpleasant, was one reason I'd choose Rhys to be my partner in everything.

Rhys leaned in close, his nose brushing my temple. "Was that an attempt at pouring honey in my ear, Feyre darling?" he purred.

"With you? I don't need to bother."

He nipped at my earlobe, drawing a surprised laugh from me. "Cruel, beautiful thing."

The first few stars appeared in the sky, and suddenly I understood why this was Rhys's favorite view in city. Lines of lights flickered on outside the boathouses, so many that that the buildings themselves seemed to be fashioned out of stars. The sky and the city were reflected on the surface of the Sidra, and in the distance, the colorful buildings of the Rainbow glowed warm, bright, and inviting.

City of Starlight, indeed.

But the sight of it was more than just beautiful. Something about the stars and the city lights on the water brought a buried memory rushing back. I almost couldn't believe I'd forgotten.

"Rhys," I hissed, sitting up straight. My hand curled tightly around his arm.

"Feyre?" he said, suddenly all concern. "Are you—"

"I've seen this view before. In a dream. This exact view. The boathouse on the end was blue, just like it is now."

I wrenched my gaze away from the boathouses to find Rhys staring at me with naked shock. "You were dreaming of Velaris?"

"It happened the day I'd first killed a rabbit. I was eleven. We'd been starving, and the Mother knows where else we would have gotten dinner from if I hadn't done it. But I— I'd never killed something before, and even though it was an animal, I lost a piece of myself that day. I'd cried and cried, and whenever I closed my eyes, all I could see was the blood from its throat leaking onto my hands. It took a long time to fall asleep that night, but when I finally did…this is the view I saw in my dreams. And I felt at peace with what I'd done."

Rhys's eyes didn't leave my face, but something in his expression shifted. I could see the wheels turning in his head. "If you were eleven," he said slowly, "then I wouldn't have known about you yet. I didn't start having dreams of you until three years ago. And if you saw the boathouse as blue…then we can be certain I didn't send that image of Velaris down the bond, even unwittingly."

"Then where did it come from?"

"You have a connection to the Night Court's magic, and it's clearly protective of you. A dream like that, on what must have been the worst day of your life….perhaps Velaris kept you from breaking, too."

If Rhys hadn't needed to protect this city and the people it, he would have killed himself Under the Mountain, probably long before I was born. He'd never said as much, but I knew. And perhaps that was the real magic of Velaris—not the wards shielding it, but the magic of art and dreams and peace. If that had sustained my mate for decade after lonely, hopeless decade, then…perhaps after one of my darkest days, Velaris had reached for me as I slept.

After all, it was called the Court of Dreams for a reason.

We watched the lights on the water for a long time, together but both lost in thought. But eventually, my inability to sit still reared its head, and we found ourselves walking through the city again, talking quietly about the places we passed.

Rhys was trying to be subtle about it, but I could tell he was attempting to nudge me towards the Rainbow. I understood; he knew what painting meant to me, and he'd had probably looked forward to showing me the artists' quarter. Last time I'd been in a gallery, though, I'd been falling for Tamlin's manipulations, and now that I knew that…I wasn't sure how I'd react next time I entered one. If I panicked or ran like a coward, I didn't want Rhys to see.

I certainly wasn't brave enough to admit that, either. Instead, I murmured something about it being time to start heading back, and when the worry didn't quite leave Rhys's face, I changed the subject. "Why is your house on the other side of the river anyway?"

But it must have been the wrong thing to say because Rhys suddenly went still. "You don't feel at home here," he said, so softly I almost didn't hear it. Even if I hadn't caught the words, the hurt in his voice would have been unmistakable.

That was ridiculous—I'd never felt such a sense of belonging in my life. "Of course I feel at home here."

"You called the townhouse mine just now. Not ours."

"It's where I live, and I'm comfortable there, but…it's still yours. I don't feel unwelcome, but there's no point in pretending you wouldn't be upset if I just started redecorating or painting all over the walls." That first morning after we'd gotten back, he'd said it was mine too, but in truth, I'd assumed that was just an empty platitude.

Rhys took a step towards me, and the intensity of the way he was looking at me was so strong I wasn't sure I was breathing. "Everything that's mine is shared with you. Because you're my"—a tug on the bond to avoid saying the word aloud where there was a chance of being overheard—"and because I love you. Even if that weren't true, the first dream I had of you was your hand painting flowers on a table. It meant more than I can say, and as far as I'm concerned, you should paint any surface in this world you wish."

"I love you, too." The only words I could manage in the face of…everything.

Then before I knew it, Rhys was kissing me in the middle of the sidewalk. For a moment, all the thoughts flew from my mind, and I looped an arm around his waist to press him against me. But before he had a chance to sweep his tongue into my mouth in front of any passersby, I stepped back to catch my breath.

"What you said before, about the townhouse being mine, too…I thought you were just being nice to spare my feelings," I said.

Rhys huffed a bitter laugh. "I've been accused of a great many things over the centuries, but mincing words to be nice isn't one of them."

I'd take it over being lied to day in and day out, I supposed.

He slid his hands into his pockets and tipped his head to the side. The wind ruffled his hair, and for a moment, that instinctive irrational jealousy struck again—I didn't even want the wind touching his hair instead of me. It nearly distracted me enough to miss the too-casual way he was studying me.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You're planning something, aren't you?"

He flashed me another one of those feline smiles—the smirking, put-together High Lord was back. "I was just thinking that if I'm not mistaken, there's a set of half-opened paints in storage. Amren attempted to learn one summer, got bored, and gave up. No one will take an open can as a donation, and she's certainly not going to use them. It would be a shame to let them go to waste."

My mate knew me too well. Even though I could tell what he was doing, it was working—I'd struggle to accept a gift, but I hated waste. Just the thought of an empty canvas made my chest tighten uncomfortably, but if it meant something to Rhys, I could manage a simple, repetitive design of flowers on the edge of a table. I'd done far more dangerous, difficult things for him.

"What's your favorite flower?" I said with a sigh.

"Snowdrops," he said without having to think about it. "There isn't much else about winter in Illyria that's pretty, and the blue ones only grow in the Night Court. They're the same color as your eyes."

Elain had planted snowdrop bulbs one fall, and when I'm asked her about it, she'd said that in the language of flowers, they meant hope. I'd thought it seemed pointless then. Now, I wasn't quite sure.

Rhys said something about being back with the paints, kissed my cheek, and winnowed away. As I stood there for a moment alone, I realized…he'd called my eyes pretty. I willed myself to stop blushing so furiously by the time he got back.

Not long after that, we made it back home, and I sat on kitchen floor, mixing Amren's half-used paint while Rhys watched. He hadn't told me where he'd gone to get them, but he'd come back smelling faintly of pine.

It took a few tries to mix the blue to match the shade in the image Rhys sent down the bond, a blue flower pushing its way through a heavy snowbank, on a mountain that must have been somewhere in Illyria. And perhaps finding the right color would have gone faster if he hadn't been leaning in to kiss me so often.

When I began to form the first petal on the edge of the table, the feeling of a wound healing over was so acute that I nearly dropped the paintbrush.

I was safe in the Night Court. I was painting. A mate I loved was sitting beside me. We were clawing back, slowly but surely, the sense of security that had been ripped away when Rhys had been trapped Under the Mountain and I'd been dragged across the Wall.

I painted a few more petals and managed to finish the first flower before the tears pricking at my eyes made me stop. Rhys kissed them away gently. And that was all I needed to dip the brush back into the paint and keep going.

There was a line of flowers extending along one side of the table when something made Rhys stand up. The movement was too fast for me to follow—one moment, he'd been sitting, then the next he was halfway across the room. I turned to see what it was and found that Mor had just winnowed into the kitchen.

I'd never seen her look so grave.

"It's too late to save anyone now," she said, "but there was an attack on a temple in Cesere. Almost every priestess slain, the trove looted."

Chapter Text

Rhys halted, taking in Mor's news. "Who," he said, and I hadn't known such utter rage could be conveyed in a single word.

I set the paintbrush down and stepped closer, feeling sick. If the priestesses were anything like the ones I'd come to know at the library…

At that thought, both our anger surged down the mating bond, and it felt as if my chest had been set ablaze. There had already been too much senseless violence Under the Mountain.

"We don't know," Mor said. "Azriel is investigating now."

Rhys began to pace. He'd hidden his wings to avoid them dragging on the floor when he'd sat with me, but shadows rolled off his shoulders as they appeared again, almost involuntarily.

But his voice was still soft as he said, "Does he have any initial theories?"

"You know Azriel—he won't say until he has enough information in hand to be sure. Cassian is pissed, though. He’s convinced it must be one of the rogue Illyrian war-bands, intent on winning new territory."

The rest of the Inner Circle must have heard this news first, then. I watched Rhys carefully for a reaction, unsure if that was how things were typically done. He didn't seem any more agitated than before, and I took that as a positive sign.

"I'm worried he may be correct."

"What are your orders?"

"For tonight, there's nothing to be done in Illyria that we aren't already doing. I'll discuss everything with Cassian in the morning. Mor, you and Amren will assist Azriel with whatever information-gathering he needs done. Be ready to field questions from other courts as news spreads. I'll inform Clotho myself and handle incoming correspondence."

Mor's eyes slid to me, and I nearly jumped—she'd been so focused on Rhys that I'd assumed she'd forgotten I was there. "Cesere is within the Night Court's borders. It falls to us to handle this alongside the priestesses," she said, obviously for my benefit.

"How can I help?" I said, fully expecting to be told to stay out of the way.

"The priestesses at the library will need assistance. Our kind bury our dead as swiftly as possible and keep watch until funeral rites are complete. It will mean something to have you there, Feyre, even if you're only comfortable sitting through the service as a representative of my Inner Circle," Rhys said.

There had been no similar sense of urgency among the mortals. When my mother died, there had been a wake, and for several days before her burial, our house had been full of friends and family paying their last respects. I wasn't surprised to hear things the fae did things differently.

For a moment, my mind flashed back to the sight of Tamlin carrying the bloodied corpse of a Summer Court faerie out of the manor. Tonight would be more of the same. And Rhys was giving me an out to avoid the grisly work if I couldn't stomach it.

I didn't hesitate. "I'll do whatever's necessary," I said. If the priestesses needed me to spend the night digging graves, I would.

With one last promise to keep Rhys informed, Mor winnowed away, and there was nothing left to do but head to the library. Before long, Rhys had left to make arrangements for increased security at the other temples, and I made my way down to the spare rooms near the dormitories to help in whatever way I could.

Merrill, a silver-haired scholar I'd once overheard terrorizing a research assistant, was organizing the efforts and barked out orders at me. I rolled up the sleeves of my tunic and got to work.

The carnage turned out to be exactly as horrific as we'd feared. And in Prythian, a land of immortals, there were no morgues or funeral homes. The gore, the obvious evidence of violence…for many of the priestesses, it brought back too many dark memories for them to even approach the bodies.

I choked back bile as I wiped tear tracks from cold cheeks and scrubbed dried blood from every body part imaginable. Gently, I slid soiled nightgowns and torn robes from stiff limbs and replaced them with shrouds. It was difficult, with the extent of some of the injuries, to create any sort of illusion of peaceful repose; whoever had done this hadn't made these deaths quick or painless.

As we worked, the sisters took turns singing prayers. I didn't recognize the language, but I sensed that it was ancient, the tune slow and mournful and in a key I'd never heard before. Down here, surrounded by the red rock of the mountain and no windows, the repetition was the only thing marking the passage of time.

Eventually, all the bodies were laid out in neat rows—too many rows, the scale of the devastation laid painfully bare. Each was clean and covered in a white linen shroud, ready for burial. For a moment, I just sat with the heavy awareness that each one of the bundles was a life—a world, really—that had been snuffed out. So much loss, just to loot a trove.

Rhys hadn't exaggerated when he'd said the fae moved quickly—as soon as the work was finished, I followed the rest of the priestesses towards the sanctuary for the service. I hadn't expected it to be so soon; one of the sisters caught my look of surprise and gently explained that according to faerie traditions, the soul was in a state of confusion between death and burial, and it was cruel to let it linger like that any longer than absolutely necessary.

The sanctuary was a massive cavern, full of dark wood pews surrounding a plain dais at the center. Though about half of the mourners finding their seats were priestesses, all in their identical pale blue robes, faeries from Velaris were there as well. The news had spread, then.

There were more prayers and singing in that strange, ancient language. No instruments, only voices that echoed in the cavern, beautiful yet melancholy. A candle was lit for each slain priestess as their names we read out one by one.

Unable to follow it, I stood and sat in time with everyone else and allowed my mind to wander. The bond had been quiet—presumably, Rhys was busy but otherwise fine—so I took in the assortment of faeries who'd come to pay their respects.

Perhaps it shouldn't have been such a surprise, but I recognized a few of them. Evelyn, the priestess who'd been teaching me to read, had nodded hello, and I spotted faeries I'd seen a few times in the library or out in the city. I doubted every single one of them knew any of the victims; this was just the community coming together.

That thought made Velaris feel a bit more like…home.

And though Rhys hadn't said it outright—and seemed so intent on not pressuring me that I doubted he ever would—I wondered if attending a vigil like this was something expected of the Lady of the Night Court. Since we'd decided to keep it a secret, we hadn't spoken about my title at all. Or any obligations that came with it. My lack of understanding of the situation when I accepted the bond didn't make me any less of a High Lord's mate, though.

My family's money had run out when I'd turned eleven—my sisters had been the ones raised to be ladies. They'd been the ones expected to someday be the wife of a rich, powerful man, to run households and host balls and busy themselves with charity work that made their husbands look good. I was just the hopeless, half-wild heathen.

Rhys loved me, had confidence in me like no one else, and I doubted I could ever be a failure in his eyes. That wasn't true for the rest of Prythian. I didn't take representing him lightly, especially not for something like this.

Before my thoughts could spiral any further, the funeral ended. The bodies had been winnowed to the graveyard, and there was nothing left to do. It was the middle of the night when I headed towards the townhouse.

I reached down the bond for Rhys as I walked, careful not to startle him. The thread between us went taut anyway, and I could sense that he was instantly on alert.

I didn't even give him a chance to ask if something was wrong I'm fine, home soon. Do you need anything else from me?

Go rest while you can. I've sent Azriel, Mor, and Amren to do the same.

But you aren't? I wouldn't let him talk around it.

I am High Lord, and some things can't be delegated.

For once, he didn't sound arrogant, just matter-of-fact. There was no point in attempting to mother-hen him out of finishing whatever he was obligated to complete tonight, so I didn't bother. I sent a pulse of affection down the bond, assuming that was the end of the conversation.

But he added, None of us liked the thought of you in the townhouse alone. Mor is there.

I was so unused to being looked after that I almost asked why anyone would be concerned. But Mor had mentioned them all being duty-bound and overprotective on my first day here, so perhaps it shouldn't have been a surprise.

And at least it wasn't Amren babysitting me.

Something pleasantly warm crossed the bond, along with the strange sensation of a soft kiss pressed to the back of my mind. Then Rhys's shields went back up, and the rest of my walk home was uneventful.

Mor was in the living room when I arrived. At first, I'd thought she must have just been waiting to make sure I'd gotten home safely, but before she'd turned around at the sound of my footsteps, I'd noticed the empty wineglass and the way she'd absentmindedly pressed a hand to her lower abdomen. And then I understood—I wasn't the only one who was better off with company tonight.

I'd never asked about the scar I'd seen peeking out from the waistband of Mor's pants on days she wore something that bared her midriff. She would have covered it if she'd been ashamed, but…it seemed private. Some of the priestesses laid to rest that night had been ripped open in the same place, and I could guess what weighed on Mor.

But still, she brightened immediately at the sight of me, the light coming back into her red-rimmed eyes. I sank into the chair next to her.

"It was good to finally see you painting earlier," she said, voice warm.

I shrugged. "It was just a decoration, not something on canvas or paper. It doesn't really count." Flowers on a table were a start, but it wasn't quite the same as capturing an image that had plagued my mind or using paint to express a feeling that words couldn't.

She nudged me with an elbow. "It was also the happiest I've ever seen you. That counts for something too, you know."

For a while, Mor and I talked about nothing consequential. We both needed it. After everything we'd witnessed, it helped to pretend for a while that nothing was wrong. It made the violence feel more distant, enough that I was able to fall asleep when we both went upstairs, even without Rhys back.

My sleep was fitful, but each time I woke, a caress of talons against my mind—and once, loud purring and a wet scrape against my shields that would have made me think I was being groomed by a cat if it weren't for the forked tongue and rustle of feathers—relaxed me enough to drift off again.

It was nearly midmorning when I got out of bed, the latest I ever managed to sleep. I sensed that Rhys was nearby, and I followed the bond down to the kitchen, where I found him sitting at the table, head in his hands and wings drooping. He didn't look up at me.

"How bad is it?" I said, lingering in the doorway. It was late enough that he must have already spoken with Cassian.

He rubbed at his temples. "No definitive answers. I'd hoped there would be proof that this was nothing more than rogue war-bands that can be put down. Whoever it was knew what they were doing and covered their tracks. It could still very well just be Illyrians…or an act of war."

My blood ran cold. I knew it was foolish to think that killing Amarantha had ended the danger—she had been connected to Hybern, and Rhys and the rest of the Inner Circle had already discussed the possibility of opportunists taking advantage of a weakened Prythian after fifty years of Amarantha's rule. But something about Rhys putting it so plainly suddenly made it hard to breathe.

Before I could say anything, Rhys continued, "This needs to be dealt with swiftly, so I've moved up my visit to the Court of Nightmares. I'll go tonight, take tomorrow to plan. Cassian, Azriel, and I will hunt down the war-bands that are hiding out in the forests."

I knew Rhys—the security of the Night Court was at stake, so he'd find a way to push through it, even though I doubted he was ready to face the very court Amarantha had modeled hers after and his wings were still weakened. He'd tear open as many wounds as he needed to keep his people safe.

But perhaps…I could make sure he didn't have to.

I crossed the room, standing next to the chair and looping an arm around his shoulders to pull him close. He curled a wing around me and hid his face in my shoulder.

"If war comes, we'll face it. Together," I whispered against his hair as plans formed in my mind.

He said nothing, too overwhelmed to do anything but tug on the bond. I held him like that for a while, and with my shields firmly in place, I considered how exactly I'd lighten those burdens for him. Neither one of us was alone anymore.

"Have you slept at all?" I said eventually.

He sat back, tipping his head up to look at me. "No. It's—"

"Then go rest, Rhys."

"Is that an order?" Something sparked in his eyes, and I could have sworn amusement had crept into his voice.

"The point of this visit is to show your face in the Hewn City again. You need all the beauty sleep you can get."

His lips twitched—not quite a smile, but close to it. My hand had been resting on his shoulder, and as he stood, I let it trail down his arm. He interlaced our fingers, and for a moment, just from the way his eyes went soft as he looked at me, I was sure he was about to ask me to come to bed with him, risk of slashing talons during a nightmare be damned.

I would have said yes. And even if he never asked, I still had half a mind to follow him upstairs anyway, just to give into the feral, protective instinct to keep watch while my mate slept.

But Rhys didn't ask. Instead he pressed a kiss to my knuckles and said, "Make sure you eat something."

I knew what that meant. "I love you, too."

He squeezed my hand once, then winnowed upstairs. For the next few hours, I could feel through the bond that he'd at least managed to catnap before he had to leave. I had things to do as well, but I wouldn't let Rhys sleep in an empty house, either. And I did need to eat. So I paced the townhouse restlessly with food in hand.

Then once Rhys left, my first order of business was making my way to the House of Wind.

I could have asked him to bring me there—and probably saved myself the trouble of climbing ten thousand steps again—but for now, I didn't want to tell him exactly why I wanted to go. As I climbed and climbed, I hoped my assumptions about who might be in the training ring were correct.

And they were. "Is everything alright, Feyre?" Azriel said, without turning from the target he was sinking a dagger into.

"I'm fine," I said, and at the very least it was true that I wasn't in danger. "I wanted to speak to you."

"Now?"

"Yes. While Rhys is busy." That finally got Azriel to drag his attention away from target practice. The way his gaze swept over me was an obvious assessment, as if he was cataloging all the information he found at the sight of me. I didn't mind. When Azriel didn't say anything, I added, "I think I should come with when you go to Illyria."

I'd half-expected him to immediately tell me no, that it was too dangerous. But Azriel tipped his head to the side and asked, "What makes you say that?"

I sat down at the edge of the ring, more grateful than ever that Rhys surrounded himself with the type of people who'd hear me out. Azriel sheathed the dagger and sat down beside me.

"I know I can't take on an Illyrian, and I'm not stupid enough to try," I said, choosing my words carefully, "but I'm concerned it will be difficult for him if we're separated again so soon after….everything. You and Cassian will need him to focus, and he can't afford to make a mistake and appear weak."

Azriel was silent again, clearly mulling it over, but I couldn't read much of a reaction from him beyond that. It was unsettling to consider much that impassive face could be hiding. If I didn't trust already him, I would have nervously blurted out all of my thoughts right then and there.

"It's an angle to consider. Is there…something you had in mind to do while you're there?"

It was a valid question, though I hadn't expected Azriel to ask how I intended to ensure I wasn't a deadweight so tactfully. And at least I had an answer prepared.

"Let me hunt so the three of you can focus on the task at hand instead of trying to feed yourselves or carry rations. You'll get done faster."

Azriel raised an eyebrow. I was ready to remind him that I was still a competent enough tracker to avoid anyone in the woods I might not want to run into. My muscles tensed almost involuntarily, my body preparing for a fight.

But instead he said, more gently than I'd ever heard him, "Tell me why you really want to go."

I stared out at the mountains in the distance and thought about what to say. Even though I knew there was nothing to be ashamed of, it was still difficult to find the words. Azriel just waited, patient as ever.

"I need to be outside for a few days straight. After— After being stuck in that cell, I just want to be able to pick a direction and run, somewhere there's so much space that I'll tire myself out before I find a single building."

I almost told him that I didn't want to sit behind in Velaris and wait for Rhys to come back, but that seemed cruel, all things considered. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Az rub his thumb along the spot on his hand where the scarring was the most obvious.

"I know the feeling," he said quietly. I started to respond, but he added, "You can't scream in Velaris, at least not without scaring the neighbors. But if you ever need to…let it out, I'll show you the empty places in the Illyrian Steppes."

Azriel knew. Just like with Mor's scars, I'd never asked about his, but whatever had happened, he'd been confined in the dark once. I hadn't realized it—I'd come to him first because he'd supported me trapping the Suriel on my first day in the Night Court.

"Thank you."

"You haven't brought this up to your mate, have you?"

There was no accusation there. Azriel's voice was even, and I had the sense he was just…gathering more information.

"Not yet. I wanted to see what you and Cassian thought first."

A single nod. "Prudent."

"Do you think it's a good idea, then? For me to go?" I said, once the silence stretched on long enough that it was clear he wasn't going to elaborate.

"It's worth discussing. Even after the frenzy, mated males are…volatile."

Azriel shifted awkwardly, tucking his wings in tight. And I understood—I didn't particularly want to discuss the mating frenzy, either. Especially not with someone who was more or less family. But after the way Rhys had growled at Cassian over me, we were right to consider what those instincts might mean, whether being apart or potential danger in the woods was a bigger risk.

I thanked him again and got up to leave, but the sound of Azriel's voice, midnight-dark and more stern than I'd ever heard it, stopped me in my tracks. "Where do you think you're going?" I turned, and Azriel had already gotten up from where he was sitting and unsheathing another blade. "You climbed ten thousand steps to get up here, so make it worth your while and work on your knife skills."

Azriel had earned that reputation as a hard bastard. Even today, I wasn't going to get out of training.

And if war was coming, I'd need all the training I could get. I took the knife and got to work, if only for a short lesson.

When we finished, Azriel flew me to the townhouse, and Rhys wasn't back yet. That was fine—there was still more I needed to do. The chances of a nightmare were too high that he'd share a bed with me that night. But he needed sleep, and he'd said that I smelled like safety.

I was used to hiding my scent, not spreading it. With the glamour on me, I wasn't even sure my idea would work, but it seemed worth a try, even if it did make me feel faintly ridiculous.

I dug my clothes out of the laundry and tucked them in the corners of Rhys's room. When I'd hunted, I'd kept a specific set of clothes for the woods and washed them as infrequently as possible, minimizing the scent of laundry soap. If it worked in the forest…maybe it might work here.

Then I hesitated, just for a moment, to touch the bed. Before, I'd only ever ventured into his bedroom when Rhys had a nightmare, and I couldn't quite shake the feeling that this was somehow a violation, ridiculous as that was when there was an unbreakable thread connecting our souls and my bite marks made him preen.

I pushed those thoughts aside and crawled under the covers. Trying my best to be thorough, I rolled around and rubbed my hair against both sides of the pillow. I repeated the process under both the sheet and the duvet for good measure, then made the bed and spent some time on top of it.

I hoped it was enough. I doubted we'd take a sleeping draught tonight; being difficult to rouse if there was another emergency was too much of a risk.

By the time I finished, it was getting late, and I wasn't sure now was the time for Rhys to come home and find me waiting in his bed, even if it was…tempting. I filed that thought away for another time.

I was still restless—too long without anything to do, and I found myself thinking of the slain priestesses again, the sight of mutilated bodies flashing across my mind again. In search of another distraction, I wandered back to the living room and looked at the bookshelves lining the walls. I'd never paid much attention to them before. But apparently Rhys considered them mine too, and perhaps there was something worth copying for handwriting practice.

I pulled the book with the most cracks in the spine off the shelf, idly wondering if it was his favorite. I'd ask, but…misplaced shame still made it difficult to talk about reading. Still curious, I flipped it open to a random page and struggled through what appeared to be poetry.

The woods decay, the woods decay and fall,

The vapours weep their burthen to the ground…

I scowled and put the book back. Years of hunting had been more than enough decaying woods for a lifetime, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know what a burthen was.

I tried another book and found more poetry—Cauldron, how much of it did Rhys read? But the words were shorter, which I felt better about, so I found a pen and paper and brought the book to the roof with me. The full moon and the light of the stars and Velaris were enough to read by.

I didn't pay much attention to what the poem was about, just focused on copying the letters as neatly as possible. Something about the work and sitting under the stars was strangely meditative.

But I didn't relax completely until I heard a soft rustle of wings and turned to see Rhys landing a few feet away. Something inside me settled. Perhaps some of my restlessness had just been the mating bond railing at him being away, even for only a few hours.

Rhys nearly always looked elegant, but for the Hewn City, there wasn't a single speck of color on him. There was no sheen to the fine black fabric of his suit, no embroidery like he often favored, just cloth so dark it seemed to gobble the light, buttoned up to hide his tattoos. The night itself clung to him more tightly than usual.

His grip on his power was still a bit looser than usual, and though it was faint, I felt familiar darkness reaching for me.

I watched his feet touch the ground, the movement far more graceful than the last time I'd seen it. For a moment, I just savored it—the wingspan, the promise of death in just the way he carried himself, my blood singing in answer to the darkness rippling from him.

I almost didn't notice the ebony crown. He'd never worn one in front of me before.

"Is there magic keeping that on your head," I said, "or did you have to learn to fly without it falling off?"

He snorted. "Hello, Feyre."

A flick of his wrist as he sank into the chair next to mine, and the crown disappeared and the top button of his jacket loosened itself. His gaze landed on the open book and notepad in my lap. Before he could ask about it, I said, "How did it go?"

"I didn't have to make an example of anyone, so as well as could reasonably be expected," he said, rolling his shoulders with a pinched expression on his face.

No violence, then. It felt like the first respite in a while.

We sat on the roof and talked for a while about nothing in particular, a silent understanding passing between us that we both didn't want to feel enclosed or alone. I summoned up the courage to ask about the books downstairs; my visible relief at the lack of dirty limericks Tamlin favored made Rhys snicker and tell me the awful verses were still a mercy compared to fiddle music.

Until he'd spat those last two words like a curse, I hadn't realized I'd put enough distance between myself and the Spring Court to joke about it. Despite everything that had happened in the last day, I felt…lighter.

Exhaustion still settled over both of us as we'd talked, and in just the set of his shoulders and wings, I could see the way being underground had taken something out of him. It was an early night.

As I slid into bed, I was tired enough that I'd nearly forgotten what I'd done in Rhys's room earlier. But his voice floated into my mind, as if a night-kissed wind carried it through the crack in my shields I'd left for him.

Feyre darling…

"Yes?" I said aloud. He'd hear it from across the hall.

Do I want to know what you were doing that involved rolling around in my sheets and leaving your socks for me to find?

My cheeks heated, and even though couldn't see it, I rolled over and hid my face in the pillow anyway. "Tonight might be another bad night. I thought my scent might help. Because I can't…"

For the length of a heartbeat, the bond lit up with gratitude. Then there was a dip in the bed next to me, and Rhys's arms were banding around my chest and pulling me to him. He'd winnowed right to me.

"You are impossible to stay away from when you're being brilliant," he murmured against my hair.

I nearly asked him to stay. But I knew it was hard enough for him to let me in enough to see the aftermath of a nightmare, and that was when there was no risk to me. He didn't say it, but…I suspected he was only holding me until I fell asleep.

I twisted in his arms so we were face-to-face, then kissed him gently. "It won't always be like this. The bad nights will be behind us eventually."

He sighed and let his head tip forward until our foreheads were touching. I closed my eyes and let my breathing slow, warm and comfortable. We stayed like that for a long time, until he finally winnowed back to his room.

I scooted over to the warm spot he'd left, already aching for him. It would still be a while before my thoughts stopped racing enough for me to finally drift off, but Rhys didn't need to know that. I'd pretend anything at all to give him peace of mind.

Sleep finally claimed me as his side of the bed went cold again.

Chapter Text

The next morning, I ate breakfast standing in the space between Rhys's back and his wing, peering over his shoulder as we both read the latest report from Azriel. The spymaster's words were short and to the point—I understood most of it, and Rhys answered my questions about what I didn't.

The conclusions were clear enough. Despite Azriel's extensive network of informants, there was no new evidence of the attackers' identity, and the Cesere trove had been completely looted. Nothing had turned up for sale on the black market. And strangely, a complete accounting of whatever had been inside of the temple was impossible to find. No survivors meant nothing but dead ends.

I was still finishing my tea when Amren arrived with a stack of books that was nearly half her height. Slips of paper with handwritten notes were shoved between the pages of all of them, and some of the titles were in languages I didn't recognize.

Amren dropped the stack unceremoniously onto the kitchen table. "Research. As requested before you leave for Illyria, Rhysand."

"Research on what?" I said.

"On you, girl. And whatever power has been thrumming in your veins since you were Made."

I downed the last of my tea—I wasn't sure I wanted to talk about whatever remnant of the Great Rite still lived within me. It was something I tried not to think about. In the past couple of months, I'd gotten used to ignoring it, though the echo was still constant.

"And I assume you found something, or we wouldn't be having this conversation," Rhys said.

"I have theories, but books aren't enough to prove anything—we'll have to run tests."

I set down my empty cup, and Rhys rested a hand on my lower back. If Amren hadn't been there, I would have leaned into his touch.

"We don't have time for dramatics today. Please explain," Rhys said, and it was the closest anyone, even a High Lord, ever got to barking an order at her. From the way Rhys stood a hair closer to me than usual, I could tell it stemmed from protective instinct.

"Feyre has been claimed by the Night Court, and she's mated to its High Lord. It stands to reason that she's a creature of Night. But at the same time, her Making was a boon from Spring Court magic after taking Tamlin's place in the Great Rite. She may be…something else entirely."

An oily knot of dread settled in the pit of my stomach. "If Tamlin thinks I stole power from him and swore fealty to Rhys on Calanmai…" I said.

Perhaps being the Cursebreaker wouldn't be enough to keep Tamlin from hunting me and seeking revenge if he thought I'd worked against him. Saving all of Prythian might not matter in the face of the feud between Night and Spring.

Rhys let out a low growl. He must have been thinking along the same lines.

"Agreed," Amren said with a curt nod in his direction, "and because treasure troves with objects from both Spring and Night are few and far between, it's time to stop stalling. You have a promise to keep."

"Find another method," Rhys said. Darkness began to leak from him, the inky whorls stretching in my direction. Tendrils wound around my arm but didn't squeeze.

"Feyre has to go claim it anyway."

"She's already proven more than enough."

"Spare me, Rhysand. We all know what you were thinking when you put that bargain tattoo on her finger."

A muscle feathered in Rhys's jaw. Amren rolled her eyes.

"Tell me what you're talking about this before this comes to blows," I snapped, shrugging Rhys's hand off my back.

When he glamoured me, Rhys kept the bargain tattoo visible on my ring finger now that we were back in the Night Court. He'd never actually promised me that the morning after Calanmai wouldn't be the last time we saw each other, so it had never faded. In truth, I'd grown a bit fond of it. But if there was something I hadn't been told about it…

Amren looked at Rhys, and there was something almost amused about the way the silver in her eyes swirled. He took a deep breath, clearly gathering himself. I crossed my arms and waited.

"There's a ring," Rhys said, and each word sounded as if it were ripped out of him. "An heirloom of my family, passed down from female to female. My sister wasn't born yet, so my mother gave it to me when I was a boy. A reminder that she was always with me, even during the worst of my training, and I safeguarded it with preserving spells, the way our kind do for anything valuable. When I reached my majority, she took the ring away and gave it to an ancient, wicked creature called the Weaver, who added it to the collection of treasures she amassed over millennia."

A hoard of spelled objects from all over Prythian, the perfect setting to test what magic matched the echo still within me. Assuming, of course, that I could avoid the monster guarding it.

There was one aspect of it I couldn't quite follow. "Why would your mother give it away?"

Amren's answering serpentine smile made my blood run cold, though I doubted the look that Rhys shot her in response could have been any more murderous.

"Another test. If I were to marry or mate, then the female would either have to be smart or strong enough to get the ring back. And if she wasn’t either of those things, then she wouldn’t survive the marriage. I promised my mother that any potential bride or mate would have to pass, but I think if she were still here…she'd agree that you've already done more than enough."

I froze. And nearly forgot to breathe until I blurted out, "A wedding ring?"

My wedding ring, really. It sounded so human. Rhys was my mate, my soul-bonded partner—husband didn't even begin to cover it.

"Yes, but you're under no obligation to—"

I cut him off; a horrible thought had just occurred to me, and I needed to ask, even though Amren was growing impatient. "You— You haven't…sent someone after it before me, have you?"

"Cauldron, no," he said, horrorstruck. I felt a bit better, though, knowing that there wasn't some poor female who'd died attempting to marry Rhys a few centuries before I was born.

"And this isn't— You're not…proposing?"

For a moment, Rhys just stared at me with the wide-eyed expression I'd last seen Under the Mountain when I'd told him I was nineteen. Amren rapped her nails against the table.

But a pounding against the front door saved him from having to answer my question. Cassian, Azriel, and Mor had arrived, and there were more urgent matters at hand. The door unlocked with a gesture from Rhys, and Amren muttered something about leashing his dogs as we made our way to the sitting room.

Cassian wasted no time reporting on everything he'd learned about the rogue war-bands—their numbers, their movements through the forest, who in Windhaven sympathized with them. I wasn't familiar enough with Illyria to follow all of it. But I still listened carefully, waiting for a chance to suggest I go with.

The conversation turned to exactly what to do with the ringleaders. It was obvious enough that they couldn't be allowed to live, not after they'd supported Amarantha. Killing them in woods would be most efficient. But it would be out of the public eye, a missed opportunity to send a message, albeit a bloody one.

Perhaps it was the question of how to claim my wedding ring still being fresh in my mind, but a thought struck me. It might have been ridiculous—I wasn't entirely sure what sort of creature the Weaver even was—but it seemed worth considering.

"If we need to make a statement to keep control of Illyria," I said, cutting in, "then we could give them to the Weaver and kill two birds with stone."

Five pairs of eyes landed on me, all with naked shock.

Rhys was the first to smile. "Are you suggesting that we allow a death-god to eat a few rogue Illyrians in exchange for the return of your wedding ring?"

I couldn't tell if he was mocking me—it did sound ridiculous when he put it like that. In truth, I didn't care enough about the ring that I was willing to kill for it, but the Illyrians who'd gleefully bowed to Amarantha would be put to death anyway. And years of hunting had taught me to wring every last ounce of utility from a kill.

I lifted my chin. "Amarantha refused to free her human slaves. I'm the Night Court's resident human. What better way to punish them for supporting her than turning them over to me?"

Azriel's brows flicked up in approval. After our conversation in the training ring yesterday, the sight of it made me feel a bit more sure of myself.

"If we're cracking a few wing bones, Feyre might as well get a turn," Cassian said. Breaking an Illyrian's wing bones—ideally leaving enough jagged edges to tear holes in the membrane—was one of their most severe punishments, I'd learned, a favored way of preventing prisoners from escaping to the skies.

"It's Illyria, not Velaris, so word will get out, which we can spin in our favor. Distaste for slavery instead of petty revenge against those who supported the bitch who made Rhys her—" Mor said, choking back that last word with a grimace. Her throat bobbed. "The bitch who hurt him."

"I'll never be offended by you telling the truth. Even about that," Rhys said softly.

On the other side of the sofa, Mor took his hand and squeezed it. "No one reasonable would fault you for slaughtering your rapist's supporters. But for the unreasonable ones…it's also true that involving Feyre could help dispel the rumors that Prythian's savior is a pawn you intend to discard."

"Assuming the Weaver is willing to bargain, it's not a bad plan," Azriel said.

"Hell of an assumption, though," Cassian added. He crossed his arms, the siphons on his hands glinting in the sunlight streaming in through the window.

My eyes slid to Rhys—I had their support, but as High Lord, this would be his call. If he wanted me to stay out of it and find another way to get the ring…I'd understand.

"All of it is your choice, Feyre. If you don't want to risk leaving Velaris, no one will force you," Rhys said.

I hadn't thought of it like that. I'd been so prepared to prove myself useful, ready to argue that a human wouldn't slow the rest of them down or get in the way. But Rhys's concern was the burden it placed on me.

Perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised—after Calanmai, he'd told me that if nothing else, I needed to understand there was a target on my back. I was safe behind Velaris's wards, hidden away in an untouched city like a gem in a vault.

No one would blame me for staying behind. I'd nearly lost my life countless times since Tamlin dragged me over the Wall, and continuing to push my luck might be a bit…insane.

But when Rhys's mother had left that ring with the Weaver, it had been a message. The test wasn't about whether I was worthy of her son—after all, the Cauldron itself had matched us—but rather a statement about what it meant to share your life with the High Lord of the Night Court, hard-won wisdom wrapped up in a challenge she'd designed to outlive her when the worst came to pass.

Lady of the Night Court wasn't just a title…it was a mantle to take on.

"I'm not shying away from any of it. I'll go," I said.

There was a flicker of pride down the bond, identical to the one I'd felt the first time I'd landed a hit to Rhys's jaw. And apparently he wasn't the only one who felt that way—from where he'd been leaning against the doorway, Cassian reached over and mussed my hair. I hissed, batting his hand away.

"Send your mate and your dogs out to the yard if they insist on playing, Rhysand. The adults still have matters to discuss," Amren said.

Cassian's smile turned predatory. "Amren, if you wanted to play—"

"Can we not?" Mor said with a groan. "We're supposed to be working."

To his credit, Cassian said nothing after that, just smoothed my bangs back into place apologetically. Rhys watched for a moment, expression soft, before turning his attention back to the task at hand.

Amren had a point; there was plenty to plan with Rhys being away from Velaris for a while, the priestesses still in need of support, and more information about the state of disarray in other courts filtering in daily. We were at it for a while, making plans and setting priorities.

It was another early night, followed by another early morning.

For the first time since Calanmai, I strapped a quiver to my back, a hunting knife to my thigh, and slung a bow over one shoulder. The familiar weight made my stomach churn. Even though I'd eaten breakfast, fear that the food would run out came roaring back, and for a moment, I felt as if I were still starving in the winter woods.

I forced myself to breathe. That part of my life was over. I wouldn't let it get the best of me now.

Dawn was breaking when I met Rhys in the foyer. His wings were still too weak to manage the long-haul flight from Velaris to Illyria—we'd winnow most of the way, then land. With the bow and quiver, it was a bit awkward, but Rhys scooped me up in his arms easily.

My unease disappeared, so quickly that for a moment I thought he might have pushed past my shields and slashed it with a talon. But no, I just…felt better with Rhys holding me. The scales of his leathers brushed my cheek as I pressed myself closer.

I felt a rumble in his chest as he chuckled, low and soft. "Good morning to you, too," he said.

"We have somewhere to be," I grumbled.

Rhys kissed my temple as the world disappeared into smoke and shadow. In an instant, we were high above the ground, falling fast. I yelped and held on tighter as his wings snapped open.

We pitched forward, and the wind died down as we settled into a smooth glide. The air smelled strongly of pine, and I breathed it in deeply as I lifted my head and beheld Illyria for the first time.

This high up, the tents and buildings were little more than dots on the mountain. And we were far from the only ones in the air—everywhere, winged males were soaring to and from Windhaven. Two of them drew closer, and flashes of cobalt and crimson in the morning sun were enough to identify them as Cassian and Azriel.

As curious as I was about Illyria, there wasn't much to see as the ground rushed up to meet us. Fire pits, the grey stone of the mountain, a few squat permanent buildings. Not much else.

Rhys's wings flapped occasionally, enough to keep our descent slow and controlled. With my arm hooked around his shoulders, I could feel the strain in his muscles. But he was managing—and making it look effortless.

Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel landed in perfect synchrony, with the ease of seasoned warriors who'd trained to fly in formations. Rhys set me down, and I found myself wishing there was a more graceful way to stand up after being carried.

Because people were staring.

The High Lord had returned after fifty years Under the Mountain, with a human girl cradled in his arms. I drew myself up to my full height and met their stares. There was no warmth here, no joy. But there hadn't been much of that in my ramshackle village below the Wall, either. I might have been the only person without wings for miles, but in a way, Illyria seemed familiar.

An older male approached, flanked by a small group of warriors with their hands near their weapons and their wings tucked in tight. As they took in my Illyrian leathers and the ash arrows peeking over my shoulder, I tried not to fidget.

"Your dog," the male said, indicating Cassian with a jerk of his head, "already completed camp inspections yesterday. Don't tell me you've brought a human to check for dust in the barracks, too."

He'd said human, but from the way he spat the word, he might as well have called me a cockroach instead.

"After fifty years away, it's good to see your sparkle hasn't dimmed, Devlon," Rhys drawled. "Feyre Cursebreaker is a member of my Inner Circle, and she wouldn't be here to clean up a mess if you'd kept a tighter leash on your men."

I didn't feel much like a threat, not surrounded by winged warriors twice my size. But I knew better than to let that show. With practiced ease, I pulled an ash arrow from my quiver and gave them a small smile as I tapped it on my thigh.

Devlon hated Rhys—I'd knew that much from all the planning we'd done the day before. I wasn't sure if he was bold enough to call his High Lord a whore to his face, though. From the way he'd narrowed his eyes, I could tell he wanted to. My grip on the ash arrow tightened.

"These last fifty years have been difficult for us all," he said through clenched teeth.

"I'm not interested in hearing your excuses. The current state of your camp is pathetic, and if I see one more misstep, you can consider yourself court-martialed."

Rhys turned and started walking towards the tree line, not bothering with a dismissal. Azriel, Cassian, and I followed without another word.

There were more stares as we crossed the camp, not just from the warriors, but from Illyrians who'd clearly been in the middle of chores or going about their business, too. If Windhaven was anything like my village below the Wall—and I suspected it was—word traveled fast. I focused on matching the quick pace Rhys was setting with his stupidly long legs, lest the gossip be about Prythian's savior jogging to catch up and falling on her face.

It wasn't until we'd stepped into the forest that Rhys's wicked amusement slid through the crack I kept open in my shields for him. Stupidly long legs? But you look so delicious framed between them.

"Save it for when we're back home, Rhys," I muttered, and I could've sworn I heard a snicker, either from Cassian or Azriel. We reached the edge of the camp not long after that.

There had been days those first steps into the woods had taken everything out of me. Days I'd been weak from hunger, exhausted from hours on my feet, but alive and determined to stay that way. To ensure my family stayed that way.

Enough food and rest made a difference, but the weight of memory was a heavy one, something that had lodged itself deep in my bones. It might still have dragged me under. But I had a lifeline, an unbreakable cord to grip, and for once, I was working as part of a team.

The work ahead of us might be grisly, but nocking the arrow in my hand had never been easier.

Chapter Text

Mud didn't seep through Illyrian leathers. A small mercy, perhaps, but after sitting in it for a few hours, the cold was infinitely more tolerable when I stayed dry. I couldn't move, not without scaring away the ducks that were finally beginning to forget that I was sitting on the edge of the pond.

And I'd been dispatched to find dinner.

We'd fanned out to cover more ground—someone in Windhaven must have tipped the rogue war-bands off, and they'd retreated deeper into the forest. Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel took turns flying circles overhead, looking for signs of movement.

We'd likely be out here several days, too long to carry enough food to last the whole time. Though I knew it was to put some distance between me and an initial confrontation with hotheaded warriors with a hatred for humans, I didn't mind. The work needed to get done anyway.

I still hated hunting, but being out in the woods alone cleared my head. There was a quiet and stillness that was impossible to find in a city, even one as lovely as Velaris. I let my mind wander, and I considered how to best capture the dappled sunlight on the water if I ever painted this view. Filling a full canvas still felt like a long way off, but…perhaps a landscape would be the way to ease back into it. Maybe I'd paint a mountain before I tackled everything that had happened under one.

But I could only think of painting for so long, and the ducks were still flitting about too nervously for my liking. I sat a bit longer, and my mind drifted to other things.

Rhys never told me if he was proposing or not. I hadn't asked again. In truth, I had no idea what I was supposed to do after recovering the ring—return it to him? I couldn't wear it openly, at least not without inviting questions we weren't ready to answer. But I hadn't seen a faerie wear a wedding band or use a surname or even known someone else with a mate.

And if faerie funerals were so different from mortal ones, then I supposed weddings would be, too. Especially when a High Lord was involved. Gods, the only person I'd talked to about the difference between marriage and mating had been Tamlin—there was no reason to believe anything he'd told me was accurate.

I was out of my depth. But the ducks had finally settled, so I did the one thing I was good for and let an arrow fly. It speared a bird through the neck, killing it instantly.

The rest of the flock alighted—I had to move quickly. Half on instinct, I aimed, accounting for their speed and direction as I shot down three more, one right after the other. Every arrow found its mark, and the unlucky ducks dropped to the ground as the rest soared away.

My hips and knees barked in protest as I stood; crouching in the mud for so long had left me stiff. At least nothing had gone numb this time.

I felt better, though, even with the tedious task of retrieving, cleaning, and cooking the game ahead of me. In the Spring Court, I'd gotten comfortable and let my guard down far too easily. I'd never felt safer or more taken care of in my life than I had in these last two weeks with Rhys in Velaris, but…I'd worried, on some level, that I'd gotten soft or lost my skills because of it. Bagging those ducks proved I hadn't.

Being loved didn't make me any less a wolf.

I gathered the birds and made my way to the place we'd agreed to meet up at sunset. Without wax or even a large pot of water, I'd either have to breast them out—which would waste some of the meat—or pluck the feathers one by one to roast them whole. And we needed to get a fire started.

I was still plucking the first bird when Azriel arrived. There was a smear of blood on his leathers, and that told me enough—whatever had happened resulted in no survivors. Wordlessly, he grabbed a carcass, sat down next to me, and began ripping the feathers off, too.

No one had ever done that for me. Not my sisters or my father, not even when I'd asked for help.

Cassian landed not long after that, grim-faced and slightly bloodied. He nodded a greeting, then crouched and began coaxing a fire to life. "We're lucky to have a professional around," he said, indicating the carcasses with a jerk of his head.

"Did I catch enough?" I said.

"More than enough to ensure we don't have to listen to Cassian's stomach growl all night," Azriel said.

Knowing that none of us would go hungry set me at ease. The duck in my hand felt like even more of a tangible contribution, proof that it hadn't been a mistake to bring me to Illyria. I smiled to myself and kept ripping out feathers.

I hadn't heard him winnow in, but I felt the familiar darkness of Rhys's power reaching for me again. I turned to see him walking towards us through the trees. As he got closer, my eyes drifted to a scratch on his cheek. Then all my attention locked onto it.

Hardly a scrape—whoever had done it hadn't even broken the skin, and his magic was already halfway done healing it. My blood boiled anyway. Someone had gotten close enough to get a talon or a weapon on him.

"Who," I said, though the word was more growl than speech.

"They're dead," Rhys said.

I was on my feet without even realizing it, closing the distance between us in long strides. "Good. Did you—"

"Yes. All by my hand."

The scratch had faded completely, but I reached for the place it had been. Rhys caught my wrist and tugged me to him. The momentum made my greeting more collision than kiss. I nearly knocked us both over, but Rhys was solid and steady as his other arm twined around my waist to crush me against him.

We'd only been apart a few hours, but someone had almost drawn blood from my mate; an utterly irrational wave of guilt that I hadn't been there to stop it and relief that he was fine had swept away my good sense. I was already pawing at him with my free hand.

The pointed clearing of a throat cut through the mating-bond-induced madness. Without looking up from the bird he was still plucking, Azriel said, "I'd like to remind everyone that we agreed no sharing bedrolls on this mission."

I didn't have it in me to feel embarrassed. Perhaps I couldn't feel ashamed of anything when Rhys had an arm around me. I interlaced our fingers and pulled him back towards the fire.

We sat down, and Cassian dug a rag out of his pack and tossed it in our direction. I reached up to catch it, but it snagged on one of Rhys's talons.

Cassian grinned. "That's for Feyre. I can tell she's dying to clean you off."

Rhys narrowed his eyes, flicking a finger towards the rag, and it dissolved into mist. "I'm not an invalid," he grumbled. On my other side, Azriel chuckled.

Cassian took over the rest of the cooking after that, and one knowing look we shared across the fire was enough to tell me he'd made do with unseasoned game and campfires plenty of times before. Roasted whole, the duck wasn't half-bad.

Before long, night fell, and we were divvying up shifts to keep watch. I took the first, then had no trouble falling asleep—not in the open air, underneath the stars. The next day was more of the same as we tracked the rogue war-bands deeper into the forest.

On the third day of hunting, I was crouched up a tree when a glint of something bright green tore my attention away from the forest floor. I'd assumed the shape circling above had been a bird, perhaps a hawk or a vulture, and hadn't thought much about it.

But birds didn't sparkle. That was an emerald-colored siphon.

The path the Illyrian was taking brought him closer, but I didn't think he'd spotted me. I froze. He flew closer, almost in range of my bow.

I didn't dare even breathe too loudly. Keen faerie senses were difficult to hide from, and even if I stayed hidden, his looping flight pattern would send him back in the opposite direction and I'd miss an opportunity.

He came closer. And closer. There was no time to run.

I grabbed an ash arrow and took the shot.

The arrow ripped a hole in one of his wings, and the Illyrian plummeted to the ground like a stone in water. I scrambled down from my perch and barreled through the trees. As I ran, I pulled another ash arrow from my quiver—a fall from that height could have been deadly, but if not, an injured Illyrian warrior could still find a way to bury a dagger in my belly.

I heard him moaning in pain before I stepped into the clearing where he'd fallen. He'd landed on his back, torso twisted and his legs bent at unnatural angles. A shattered pelvis at the least, maybe even a snapped spine. Healing magic was the only thing keeping him alive. The siphon on his chest flickered weakly, like a heart struggling to beat.

At the sound of my footsteps, his head turned. His eyes burned with hate as he reached for a knife strapped to his belt. I nocked the ash arrow, aiming directly for his face as I took a step closer. His hand stilled.

"Tell me where the others are hiding," I said. "Don't bother lying. The High Lord is on his way."

"I won't take orders from Rhysand's human whore," he spat.

"The best outcome you can hope for is a mercy kill before he arrives. Give up their locations, and I'll consider it."

For a long moment, he said nothing. My arm began to ache from keeping the bowstring pulled back, and I prayed my fingers wouldn't start shaking. I said nothing either, just tried to emulate Azriel's deadly, stone-faced resolve.

The Illyrian's hand twitched, but his fingers never closed around the hilt of the knife. Instead, through clenched teeth, he recited the litany of names and locations I was after. I believed him—I doubted he was in a state to lie convincingly.

As I listened, I gave one insistent tug on the bond and dropped my shields so Rhys could hear it all, too. The beast that had once rested in my mind became a furious thing growling and snapping its jaws.

The clearing plunged into darkness. I couldn't see where Rhys was, but I felt his power sliding along my skin all the same.

"Is that all?" I said, my voice so cold I hardly recognized it as my own.

The Illyrian whimpered something that might have been "yes." I loosed the arrow; even under the cover of Rhys's darkness, my aim stayed true. The point landed in the Illyrian's eye, buried deep enough in his skull to render him still and silent forever.

Just like Andras.

Even with the threat gone, the darkness didn't clear. I glanced up, and my vision had adjusted enough to make out Rhys's silhouette, his wings flared and hands shaking.

"You should have called me the moment you spotted him," Rhys said, voice ragged.

"I handled it," I said simply.

Rhys growled. At me. And the fact that I was too human to properly bare my teeth and return the favor—rage bubbled under my skin. If he'd been closer, I would have shoved him.

"Then why bring me here?" I hissed. "Just to humor me?"

I felt like such a fool for not having realized it sooner. Killing a few ducks was hardly a real contribution—they might as well have patted me on the head and told the High Lord's little human mate she'd done such a good job. Shame made my cheeks go hot.

"Don't be stupid, Feyre," Rhys snapped.

The darkness rippled and churned around us, like a storm at sea. The tendrils seemed to lap at me, pressing close then retreating, even as they skittered down my spine. Magic thrummed in the air.

I crossed my arms. "I'm not."

"You could have gotten yourself killed. Even Cassian won't run into a fight without backup if it's available. There were three of us who could have gone with you, but for reasons I can't even begin to fathom, you waited until the very last second."

I'd never seen Rhys this…undone. Not even when I'd first gone Under the Mountain. His breathing was ragged, and there was a note of panic in his voice I'd never heard before.

"I…I didn't think to ask. At least not at first. I called for you as soon as I remembered." As ridiculous as it sounded when I said it aloud, it was true. But the habit of doing everything on my own was a difficult one to break.

Rhys sighed, his shoulders slumping as the fight went out of him. The darkness seemed to lift, but before I could be sure, he'd winnowed closer and pulled me against his chest. I couldn't see much other than his wings cocooning me.

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "I love your fearlessness just as much as every other part of you, but please remember that you're not alone anymore. I can't lose you, Feyre."

"I love you too," I said, voice thick. I set my bow down and hugged him back.

Both ends of the bond seemed to settle as we held each other. I savored it—the heat of him against me, the sun shining through his wings, the soft scrape of the scales of his leathers against my cheek.

"You are your own person, and I will not dictate your choices. Ever." Rhys picked a twig out of my hair; it must have gotten lodged in my braid when I'd climbed down from the tree. "If you'd told me what you were doing, I would only have asked you to allow me to come with for my own peace of mind."

I'd never asked why he'd gone alone to that cursed party fifty years ago. Maybe he'd insisted on it; maybe he'd also forgotten to ask for backup, then paid a terrible price. It seemed better not to bring it up.

"You aren't alone either," was all I said.

There was a pulse of something down the bond that I couldn't quite identify, then he stepped back, tucking his wings in tight. His expression was unreadable—a wall had gone back up.

"I've passed all the information on to Azriel, and his shadows are scouting out the locations we were given. Will you be able to keep going? It's alright if you're rattled—you did just kill someone."

There was nothing but a howling void where my guilt should have been. Perhaps I'd lost that piece of myself when I'd killed Andras. If anything, I just felt…numb. "He deserved it."

"I don't disagree."

Rhys let me into his mind as he conferred with the others. I relaxed when Azriel's shadows confirmed that the information I'd gathered was correct—at the very least, I'd saved us time trekking through the woods. I wasn't useless, hadn't been brought here for nothing after all.

Once the first war-band had been hauled back to Windhaven, Rhys wanted me to stay there. I didn't mind. Another set of eyes and ears on the camp was prudent, and I was still technically his emissary.

It was barely even noon when we returned. On Rhys's orders, Devlon's men had set up a line of wooden poles at the center of the camp, the area used for public gatherings. A small crowd had already begun to form. Among them, I spotted Devlon and the warriors who'd been flanking him earlier.

Cassian had wanted those poles burned. And after this, they would be. For the last fifty years, females had been tied to them when their wings had been clipped. The sight of them alone turned my stomach.

Rhys loosened his grip on his power, and from my place next to him, I could feel the magic radiating off him like heat. A gust of night-kissed wind had every member of the rebel war-band silent and tied to the posts.

"There is no tolerance for treason in the Night Court," Rhys said. His voice cut like a knife through the murmuring of the crowd. Pure command—the voice of the High Lord of the Night Court. "And to bow before an invading general who would butcher and enslave humans is particularly heinous. It spits on the graves of the soldiers who died for the mortals' freedom during the War. I'll leave your fate up to the human in our midst, Feyre Cursebreaker."

Every single set of eyes slid to me. The attention had my heart hammering in my chest, but I forced myself to mimic the small, cold smile I'd seen on Amren's face from time to time. When I'd yanked the ash arrow out of the dead warrior's eye, I hadn't bothered to clean it off, just returned it to my quiver.

The gore peeking over my shoulder was message enough.

"I'll make a final decision when the rest are captured. Flaying their skin from their bones seems merciful, but perhaps there's some creature in the Middle that might enjoy hunting them for sport," I said, making myself sound bored and aloof.

The spark of Rhys's approval down the bond bolstered my confidence for what I'd planned to do next. I stepped closer to one of the bound Illyrians and circled my hand around the thin, delicate bone at the edge of his wing, then snapped it in two.

I'd know that cracking sound anywhere. The air reeked of Wyrm shit again, mud clung to my skin, and the slithering behind me was getting closer and closer.

I was running, and—

It's over, Feyre. We got out.

Rhys's voice in my head jolted me out of the memory. I gripped one of his talons and pulled myself back to the present.

I'd survived. And no matter how much of a monster it made me, I'd ensure that no one, not even the most powerful faerie, would hurt me or anyone I loved. Not again.

Before Rhys could fuss, I was breaking the bones in the next Illyrian's wings. I gritted my teeth and ignored their cries of pain until I'd rendered every single one of them incapable of flight.

We locked eyes when it was done, but Rhys's beautiful face was an impenetrable mask I still hadn't learned to see past. "I'll be waiting here for you to bring me the rest," I said. No title or honorific—I'd let them all wonder why he hadn't misted me for speaking to him like that.

Rhys nodded once. He said nothing, but there was a question in the hesitant brush against my shields.

I'm fine. Really. Just bring me the rest so we can finish this quickly.

For a moment, the bond thrummed with wicked delight. Try not to burn down Windhaven while I'm gone.

He took to the sky. Without carrying a passenger, the movement was all perfect, lethal grace, and sometimes I wondered how I could possibly forget that Rhys was anything but an absurdly beautiful predator. I watched until he was out of sight, marveling that he was mine.

The crowd dispersed, and for a moment, I just stood there, unsure what to do with myself. Perhaps I'd spend the rest of the day being ignored by Illyrians. I wouldn't blame them for that—as faeries went about their business, I caught a few wary glances in my direction.

But I supposed I should probably clean off the bloodied arrows in my quiver. And my hands were badly in need of washing.

I made my way to the water pump at the center of the camp. An Illyrian female—around my age, if I had to guess, though it was impossible to be sure with immortals—had just started using using it. Large, brutal scars ran down both of her wings.

"I'll be a while. You can go first," she said, sliding her empty bucket out of the way with her foot. Now that I was closer, I spotted a bruise darkening her cheek, too.

"There's no need. I wouldn't want to waste your time if there are chores to be done," I said.

"You'd be doing me a favor—I'll take any excuse to be out of the house for a little while longer."

I understood—there had been countless days I'd dragged my feet because I hadn't wanted to face Nesta's barbed insults, my father's sad eyes, or Elain's clueless whining. And none of them had even raised a hand to me.

I gave the female a nod, pulled the bloody arrow from my quiver, and rinsed it off under the stream. Silence fell. The female said nothing else, and perhaps it would have been best to let the quiet stay unbroken. The chances were high a trip to gather water was a rare respite for her.

But I could feel her assessing gaze, and I struggled not to squirm under it. "Illyria is very beautiful," I blurted out awkwardly.

"It's a shithole."

"My shithole across the Wall didn't have mountains. It's prettier here, at least," I shook the excess water off the newly-clean arrow and slid it back into the quiver.

She snorted, lips tugging upward at the corners. "I'm Emerie."

"Feyre."

"I know. You're the Cursebreaker." Not awed, just matter-of-fact, which was a bit of a relief.

I scrubbed away the last of the dirt, dried off as best I could, then offered a hand to shake. Emerie took it, and I wasn't surprised that her grip was like iron, not with that straight-backed posture and sharp stare of hers.

I stayed while Emerie filled up her bucket, just talking a bit about Windhaven. She didn't offer up much about herself, and I didn't pry. But by the time she returned home, I'd learned what spices were in the Illyrian dish Cassian had brought to the townhouse the day I'd first trained with Rhys. Emerie had barked a laugh when I told her not to bother with advice on preparing it because I was an utterly hopeless cook.

Maybe I'd made a friend. But I'd also thought Lucien was a friend and he'd turned out to be assisting my kidnapper—I wasn't sure I trusted my judgement on that front anymore.

By the end of the day, Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel, had rounded up the rest of the rogue war-bands, and I'd broken the wings of the survivors. And as much as I wanted to go straight to the Weaver's cottage, I knew it was foolish to go so close to dark. Cassian planned to stay in Illyria, and Devlon was loyal enough not to release the prisoners under his nose in the dead of night or allow anyone else to manage it.

Rhys and I returned to the townhouse in need of a bath, so we took one together. We were both utterly exhausted—his eyes roved over me as I shucked off my leathers, but for once, he was silent.

I'd still snatched the long-handled sponge out of his hands and washed his wings for him. Even drained of energy, I wasn't about to forgo an opportunity to get my hands all over them. I took my time, appreciating the way the powerful muscles in his back rippled with every brush of my fingertips.

And once we were clean, he laid me out on his bed and licked until he'd wrung so much pleasure from me that I drifted into an easy sleep in his arms.

It had been exactly what we both needed. I could guess how he was feeling about a trip to Illyria with still-healing wings, and my mind was unable to keep replaying the sound of bones cracking when Rhys's tongue was sliding inside me.

My dreams were still horrifying—a bone-spear lancing through Rhys's eye, my hands covered in his blood—but I slept through the night and kept my dinner down. I woke alone in Rhys's bed that morning, which meant he'd probably slipped out once I'd drifted off. I suspected he'd had nightmares of his own, too.

I was pulling the belt of knives from my dresser when he winnowed behind me. "Allow me," he purred, right into my ear.

"I can do it myself," I said. After I'd mentioned chucking that knife at Tamlin, Azriel had showed me how to strap it on as part of my training to go Under the Mountain.

"I'm aware. That doesn't mean you have to."

He had a point, so I let him take it from me. I turned, and for a moment, we were chest-to-chest. He inhaled, drinking in my scent, and I lifted a hand to touch him.

But he dropped to his knees before I could. Flashing me a roguish grin, he spread open the web of leather and steel. My toes curled in my boots.

"Remind me of what you've been briefed on," he said as I stepped through the loops.

I did my best to ignore the steady brush of his hands as he set about adjusting and buckling and tightening things. "Knives only—no sword or bow or arrows. Don't touch anything that doesn't belong to me. Take my time to think about loopholes before agreeing on a bargain. Call for help if I need it. And stay alive before everything else," I recited.

"Precisely." He braced those strong, capable hands on my thighs and looked up at me. "You are more valuable than any treasure the Weaver could ever posses. If you need to leave the ring behind to come home to me, then that's what you do."

"I won't let it come to that."

Rhys got to his feet and kissed my cheek. "I believe you."

He winnowed us into a wood that was older, more aware, than any place I’d been.

The gnarled beech trees were tightly woven together, splattered and draped so thoroughly with moss and lichen that it was nearly impossible to see the bark beneath. The trees groaned—though there was no breeze to shift them. No, the air here was tight and stale.

So this was the Middle.

I followed Rhys through the trees, and the only sound was our footsteps. No birdsong or the snapping of twigs, nothing I was used to hearing in a forest. Just unnatural, ancient stillness.

We stopped before a clearing. A small, whitewashed cottage with a thatched roof and half-crumbling chimney sat in the center. Ordinary—almost mortal. There was even a well, its bucket perched on the stone lip, and a wood pile beneath one of the round windows of the cottage. No sound or light within—not even smoke puffed from the chimney.

I could hear faint, pretty humming coming from the cottage. Soothing, almost mesmerizing—it would have set me at ease if I didn't already know it was coming from the monster within. The sort of thing that might lure quarry into a snare.

But I was not prey. No—I was a huntress. A wolf. It took much more than that to fool me.

I started down the mossy earth path that paved the way to the door and didn't look back once. When I reached the threshold, I could hear her voice through the door. The Weaver's voice was sweet, clear, and beautiful.

“There were two sisters, they went playing,
To see their father’s ships come sailing…
And when they came unto the sea-brim
The elder did push the younger in.”

I'd heard the song before, from humans. It was a favorite of the traveling musicians who sometimes passed through our village. And perhaps…she knew that, and the familiarity was intended to lull me, too.

I stayed perfectly still on the threshold for a long moment, the same freeze-watch-listen pattern I fell into as I hunted in the woods. Along with her voice, I could only hear the clatter of some device. So she was alone, then.

“Sometimes she sank, and sometimes she swam,
Til her corpse came to the miller’s dam.”

I raised a hand to knock, but the door swung open on silent hinges, as if she'd rolled out a welcome mat just for me. I didn't move, just peered inside. My chest went tight, and I forced myself to keep my breathing even.

A large main room, with a small, shut door in the back. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls, crammed with bric-a-brac: books, shells, dolls, herbs, pottery, shoes, crystals, more books, jewels…From the ceiling and wood rafters hung all manner of chains, dead birds, dresses, ribbons, gnarled bits of wood, strands of pearls…

A junk shop—of some immortal hoarder.

I waited to feel power calling out to me, but…nothing happened. Perhaps, as part of the bargain, I'd need to ask her to hand the ring to me directly. If she even remembered where it was.

The Weaver of the Wood herself sat with her back to me. In the gloom of the cottage, I could just make out the ancient, cracked spinning wheel I'd heard along with her singing. In the cottage, it was far too dim to make out the thin white thread she was spinning. Was she blind, like the Wyrm….or could she see in the dark?

My eyes drifted to the soft fiber she was feeding into the wheel. It looked like wool, but some deep-seated instinct in the back of my brain told me it was not. The question wasn't what she was spinning, but who.

The shelf above her head was filled with cones upon cones of thread, and large bolts of woven fabric filled up the space next to her. Mother above, she must have made it from entire cities, whole armies or even nations. A handful of rebel Illyrians suddenly seemed like a pitiful offering.

But I still, I had to try. And if there really were some power for me to detect, perhaps I needed to be a bit closer. Out here, nothing was pulling me towards one object in particular.

As silently as I could, I took a step into the cottage. I froze, waited, breathed. Nothing. I took another, and then the door slammed shut.

The Weaver turned her face toward me.

Above her young, supple body, beneath her black, beautiful hair, her skin was gray—wrinkled and sagging and dry. And where eyes should have gleamed instead lay rotting black pits. Her lips had withered to nothing but deep, dark lines around a hole full of jagged stumps of teeth—like she had gnawed on too many bones.

Her nose—perhaps once pert and pretty, now half-caved in—flared as she sniffed in my direction. "Well met, High Lady."

Chapter Text

Well met, High Lady.

The words clanged through me.

But there was hardly time to consider them. The Weaver's dress rustled as she stood and prowled towards me. Though her features were so rotted and warped that they could hardly be called a face anymore, I still recognized a look of hunger—I'd seen it enough back in that cabin.

I suspected, however, that her appetite was far more gruesome than mine.

"I'm here to make a bargain," I said quickly.

She took another step closer, the motion oddly graceful—the Weaver carried herself more like a lady than I could ever manage. Perhaps, millennia ago, she'd been one.

"What could you possibly have to offer me?" she said in that voice that sounded so youthful, so clear and lovely.

"Lives," I said. "A few dozen, enough for several meals and bolts of cloth. There isn't much meat on my bones, but they'll have more."

"Not even a thread from your own life, little wolf?" The Weaver reached out a sickly-looking bone-white hand, running a gnarled, spindly finger down my ribs. I trembled. Her touch was feather-light, but it seemed to leech the heat from me all the same. "The one I see right here is quite beautiful."

The mating bond. Nothing was worth giving that away. I took a step back, all-too-aware that I was dangerously close to being cornered.

"That is not on offer."

The Weaver's laugh was bright and and musical. "Are you sure about that? Powerful magic makes for fine cloth. I'd pay a pretty penny for a golden thread like that."

The Weaver of the Wood might have been a death-god, but she sounded no different than the businessmen I'd overheard meeting with my father before his downfall. I was too much of a merchant's daughter to fall for it.

"I"m here to retrieve the ring that's rightfully mine as Lady of the Night Court. Nothing more." I seldom voiced my title aloud, and perhaps for the first time, saying it didn't make me feel like a girl playing dress-up with clothes far too big for her.

The dark lines of the Weaver's mouth widened into what might have been a grin. "And I was told by the last one not to make it easy on you."

Of course his mother did—Rhys could be maddening, and I supposed he must have gotten it from somewhere.

"If you accept my offer, there may be more than one mating bond in it for you. I don't know how many of them have a mate, but the rogue Illyrian war-bands are yours if you return my ring and allow me to leave this place unharmed."

I'd practiced the words in my head, careful to close a loophole, but it still came as a surprise that my voice didn't shake. The Weaver circled me, occasionally reaching out a bony hand to inspect the knives strapped to my waist and thighs. I let her look, even as I shivered—if they were something she wanted, she could have them, too.

"You will touch nothing in this cottage save the ring. Bring me half of your prisoners as a show of good faith, and you will have until I'm finished with them to find what's yours. Then deliver the rest immediately and leave me be."

I doubted she'd take very long doing…whatever she did to her victims. But I still didn't feel a pull towards a single object in any of the crowded shelves or piles of junk filling the cottage. There wouldn't be time for a thorough search.

And the bloodthirsty delight sparking in pits that should have been her eyes told me she knew it, too.

"What happens if I don't find the ring?" I said, letting my hand drift towards the handle of the knife at my hip.

"My terms have been more than generous, High Lady. Don't push me any further."

There it was again…that title. "Why did you call me that?" I should have focused on bargaining, but the words were out of my mouth before I could think them through.

"Don't ask questions you already know the answer to."

More cryptic faerie bullshit, then. I flexed the fingers of my left hand self-consciously. A death-god could probably see through a glamour. Nothing more.

I squared my shoulders. "Fine. I accept the terms of your bargain."

The tang of magic filled the air as a small, curling tattoo formed just behind my ear. A crescent moon—its twin was now inked on the Weaver's forearm.

One tug on the bond, and Rhys delivered half of the rogue Illyrians to the cottage door.

I'd turned away just as the Weaver's mouth of stumped teeth went wide in anticipation. There were screams, sickly gurgles, wet noises as she ripped flesh into pieces, the crunch and crack of bones breaking.

Bones. Snapping, splintering bones, just like—

I forced myself to breathe, even as my heart raced and bile climbed up my throat. Borrowed time. I was on borrowed time, and there wouldn't be much of it.

I scanned the shelves, hoping to catch sight of a jewel glittering in the gloom. But all I saw was junk, even as I crouched and looked over the cluttered tables and overstuffed drawers…

Then I felt it.

A tug, a tap on the shoulder. A glimmer of something reaching for me, familiar as the whorls of night that had left me with my tattoo, laced with a constellation pointing the way. But even as it grasped me…there was something else.

The star-flecked power felt quintessentially Rhys, but…there was something of me in it, too. It was strange, like looking into a mirror and finding two sets of eyes—one violet and one blue-grey—staring back.

Take me home, it seemed to say. I've been away far too long.

Heedless of the horrible noises behind me, I barreled through the maze of tables and junk, letting the pulse guide the way. I stopped at the shelf on the wall next to the hearth. Close—it was close.

An old letter knife, books in leather that I did not want to touch or smell; a handful of acorns, a tarnished crown of ruby and jasper, and—

The ring.

It was made of twisted strands of gold and silver, flecked with pearl, and set with a stone of deepest, solid blue. Sapphire—but different. I’d never seen a sapphire like that, even at my father’s offices. This one…I could have sworn that in the pale light, the lines of a six-pointed star radiated across the round, opaque surface.

My ring.

"There you are," I couldn't help but whisper. "I've been looking for you."

Careful to keep my bargain, I plucked it from the shelf, pinching it between my forefinger and thumb to avoid touching anything else. Time to go. I turned towards the door.

And nearly retched on the spot. The Illyrians weren't dead yet—they were still shrieking like wounded animals—but their shredded entrails were…everywhere. And the Weaver had unhinged her jaw to sate that unholy hunger.

As I walked past them to leave the cottage, I did not look away. I had chosen this fate for them, horrible as it was. The least I could do was bear witness, even as my feet slid along the blood-soaked floor and crossed the threshold.

The rest of them were hers, too. The screams started again, and I felt the tattoo fade. As I stalked towards the trees, I clutched the ring so tightly that the prongs around the sapphire nearly split open my skin.

And perhaps it made me a monster, a murderous human with ice in her heart, but…I didn't feel guilty. If anything, I was relieved. The echo of magic that had wormed its way into my soul belonged solely to the Night Court, and there was nothing linking me back to Tamlin or Spring. I wasn't…tainted.

I found Rhys leaning casually against a tree, hands in his pockets—lounging practically. As I approached, his groomed brows flicked up in a silent question.

I held up the ring.

A smile—a real one, not a smirk, something boyish and decidedly un-High-Lord-like—bloomed on his face. Despite the agonized screams still ringing in my ears, my stomach flipped pleasantly. I grinned back.

With the horror growing even more distant, I let myself feel proud of what I'd done. And maybe it was just the way Rhys was smiling at me, but I felt…lighter. Giddy, almost.

I'd done it. The ring in my hand was tangible proof that I deserved my place in the Night Court, at his side, and I hadn't realized how much better it made me feel to have it.

Too eager to walk, Rhys winnowed the last few feet of distance between us. I pressed forward to kiss him, rising up on my toes, and he scooped me up in one smooth movement.

Not that I'd ever doubt you, he said in my head, but should I take this to mean it all went smoothly?

Of course it did—I only ever bargain fairly.

Rhys laughed against my lips, setting me back down. When he pulled away, his violet eyes were soft. "You're brilliant," he breathed, reaching up to run a thumb along my cheek. "I didn't think I'd ever see that ring again."

He took my free hand and winnowed us away. I'd assumed we were going to the townhouse, or at least, back to Velaris, and blinked in surprise when a clearing in a pine forest materialized instead. Illyria.

Before us were two stones—headstones. They were small but unworn, with no decoration or text other than two names I didn't recognize. And in front of them, the grass was covered in pebbles and small rocks.

Rhys must have understood my confusion. Voice thick, he said, "Our kind don't leave flowers on graves like humans do. As immortals…we prefer something more permanent and leave stones instead."

Each stone a visit, and there were piles of them, small stacks like miniature fortresses. I wondered how many Rhys had left, if any had been added since he'd been imprisoned Under the Mountain. The grass around the graves was well-kept—someone had been taking care of this place, or at least cast a few preserving spells. Rhys slipped his hand from mine and stepped forward, folding his wings back so they didn't drag on the ground as he sat in an empty patch of grass.

"I'm sorry," he said, and I almost asked why he was apologizing before I realized he wasn't speaking to me, "for going so long without visiting both of you. I was— It's over now. I'm back. And I didn't come back alone. This is Feyre. She's my mate, and I kept my promise, mama. Feyre bargained and got the ring back."

Still feeling like a bit of an intruder, I took a few cautious steps forward and sat in the grass next to him. I reached a hand out, but Rhys didn't take it, just wiped at his eyes. For a long moment, everything was quiet except for the distant sound of birds and the wind blowing through the pines.

I'd never visited my own mother's grave. It had been years since I'd missed her, and if our situations had been reversed, I doubted she would have visited mine. I'd long since made my peace with it.

Perhaps my mother-in-law could have filed that void, been someone I could lean on. But all I had from her was a lesson on ruthlessness that had won me the ring in my hand.

"I wish I could have asked you for advice, on how to be Lady of Night when you're a nineteen-year-old outsider. I have the ring but…I don't know if it's enough," I said quietly. "More than anything, though, I'd like to thank you. For raising him."

A ragged noise escaped Rhys, and I reached my free hand out again. He interlaced our fingers, squeezing almost to the point of pain. I squeezed back, then turned to the other grave. "I grew up with two sisters, Nesta and Elain. But now…I suppose I have three," I said.

As one, Rhys and I got to our feet. We stood there, hand-in-hand, and for a moment, the hole where his family should have been seemed deep enough to swallow everything. It didn't matter that centuries had passed—so much was missing and irreparably broken.

But I wasn't finished, and I forced myself to keep going. I'd fulfilled a promise today, but I had a new oath to swear. "The male who got you killed ripped me from my family and manipulated me for his own ends. If Rhys and I hadn't found each other…my blood would have been on Tamlin's hands, too. I won't allow him to endanger a Night Court female again."

We lingered in silence a bit longer, then left two stones behind on each grave. Rhys winnowed us to the living room of the townhouse. There was more to do—Amren would no doubt want to be informed about what I'd sensed in the Weaver's cottage, and I wanted to change out of my leathers first.

But I couldn't keep holding onto the ring forever. I uncurled my fingers, holding it out to him. "Do you…want it back?"

"It's yours," he said, as if that settled it.

I didn't have the nerve to slip the ring on, even after shedding blood to get it. Not even here, in the privacy of our own home. I'd never questioned the mating bond—how could I when it was the strongest thing I'd ever known? But this was different.

The bond belonged to the two of us. Wearing a family ring was a public declaration.

Rhys cocked his head, studying me again. I was still too caught up in my own thoughts to move. For a moment, I expected a familiar caress of talons against my shields, but it never came.

No, Rhys just plucked the ring from my hand and dropped down to one knee. "Feyre—"

My heart hammered in my chest, and I nearly bolted upstairs. But I couldn't run from him without a word—not again and certainly not like this.

"Don't," I choked out. Rhys went utterly still, forcing his expression into something blank and composed. My eyes stung, but I kept going before I made this worse than it already was. "You wouldn't marry me if I were a faerie."

He blinked. "Of course I—"

"You wouldn't. Because marriage is a silly, pointless formality when there's already an unbreakable thread binding our souls together. But I…" My throat bobbed. "Please don't start treating me differently because I'm human."

In Spring, I'd been something to be gawked at, addressed as "human" instead of my name. I'd felt small and stupid and useless, and I would not let anyone do that to me again, not even if they meant well, like he did.

And especially not in the Night Court, where I belonged.

Rhys stood and wiped away the tears that were now streaming down my cheeks. I let the soft brush of his calloused hands settle me as his wings nudged me closer and encircled us both.

"I'm sorry. You looked so unsure just now, and I… I needed you to know I'd choose you in every way possible."

A surprised—if still a bit teary—laugh bubbled out of me. I leaned against him, resting my head on his shoulder. "I know you would. Sometimes what we feel for each other is the only thing I think I'm sure of."

I felt the tension melt from his body. With a stab of guilt, I wondered if running off to the House of Wind on our first night back had left him with doubts that ran deeper than I'd originally thought. But I let it go—it was hard to keep dwelling on the past when he was letting out a contented hum and kissing the top of my head.

I let myself savor the peace for a few heartbeats, but I couldn't ignore the way he'd only wrapped one arm around me. The other still held the ring.

"For what it's worth, I do want to wear it," I whispered. "I know I can't, at least for now, but if things were different, I would. Every day."

Rhys stepped back and smiled, taking my left hand in his, cradling it as if it were something delicate—not calloused in odd places from holding a bow, with crescents of dirt and blood under my ragged nails. The glamour fell away, revealing the swirling lines of the half-finished tattoo.

He slid the ring onto my finger. I'd thought it might look wrong there, but the ring was Illyrian and my hands were rough like a warrior's. The fit was perfect, and it sat in a gap that had been left between the whorls of my tattoo.

Like it was always meant to be there.

The intensity of emotions rippling across his face was so strong I nearly had to look away. Love, reverent adoration…and that purely male, possessive gleam in his star-flecked eyes. My toes curled in my boots.

"I'm yours, mate," I whispered.

His mouth crashed into mine just the way I'd hoped it would. I parted my lips eagerly, ready to lose myself in the sweep of his tongue.

Maybe I'd never get used to how quickly I could be ready and aching for him. But the pleasure he'd wrung from me last night hadn't been enough, not after several days keeping our hands off each other in Illyria. One scrape of his teeth against my bottom lip, and I was scrabbling at the fastenings of his leathers.

I reached for him through the bond, and his shields were down in an instant. Will you wear one too, Rhys? To let everyone know you're mine?

Those last two words dragged a groan from deep in his throat. He shucked the leathers and undershirt off in one smooth movement, and I ran my hands down, down the hard planes of his muscled chest. Lower and lower, until I brushed the trail of soft hair above the waistband of his pants.

Even in our minds, I sounded breathless. Fuck me while I wear the ring and nothing else.

A flash of pain sparked and lit up the mating bond, even as his tongue plunged deeper into my mouth. I leaped back, shocked as if a bucket of ice had been thrown over us both.

Rhys was breathing hard, eyes wide and wild. He pushed me out of his mind, and his shields were firmly in place again. The walls of adamant were higher and thicker than I'd ever felt them.

"What's wrong?" I said aloud.

"I'm sorry," he breathed. Darkness fell from his shoulders in pulsing, furious waves. A few tendrils wrapped around him like a cloak, and the rest dimmed the room.

He reached for me. I stepped back again. "Rhysand. Tell me what's wrong."

For a long moment, Rhys said nothing. He pressed his eyes shut, his breathing still uneven. I waited. The darkness kept leaking into the room, and when it was pitch-black, he finally spoke.

"The ring with Jurian's eye. She never took it off. Not even when we…" he managed to say.

My heart cracked in two.

"Cauldron, Rhys, I'm so sorry. I should have realized." That ring had featured in so many of our nightmares; I'd been utterly, monumentally stupid not to think of it.

I wanted to hold him, but that seemed….unwise. It might startle him if the dark was too thick for him to see me coming closer. With his shields up, I couldn't reach down the bond and drag him back to the present like I wanted to.

His wings. He still had his wings out. "Rhys," I said, as gently as I could manage. "Go fly. Circle Velaris as many times as you need to. I'll be here when you get back."

There was a rustling noise as his wings snapped outward. Something soft brushed my cheek, and then I was alone, squinting in the too-bright sunlight when the darkness disappeared with him.

I'd ruined everything, so there was nothing to be done but change out of my leathers and wait. My heart was heavy as I sank into one of the chairs on the roof and watched the sky, hoping for a glimpse of him.

I wished I'd been the sort of person who could have just smiled and happily accepted a proposal. Or at the very least, not someone who made it worse by dredging up his nightmares unexpectedly.

Maybe we'd never get completely free from Under the Mountain.

The other end of the bond was silent, and I twisted the ring around my finger so many times I nearly rubbed the skin raw. I could just make out his dark shape against the clouds, the powerful beat of his wings as he looped and looped over the city. One day, I hoped, he'd do the same and carry me with him.

It was a while before Rhys landed on the roof. The movement was easy and graceful, the draft of wind from that massive wingspan ruffling my hair as he touched down with silent feet. He regarded me, eyes dry, standing stiff-backed in a way that seemed unnatural for him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I said, though I knew he didn't.

He shook his head. "I just want you."

In an instant, I was on his lap on the other chair. His breath was warm against my ear as he sighed, draping both arms over my shoulders as he leaned his chest against my back. Exhaustion seemed to roll off him the way his power usually did. We said nothing, but Rhys laced our fingers together and pressed a kiss to the knuckle of my left hand, right next to the ring.

No hard feelings, then.

It was another day before we met with Amren, who made me describe everything I'd felt in the Weaver's cottage in excruciating detail. There was more research to be done, but she had a new working theory—that the Spring Court hadn't left me with any of its own magic, just reshaped the Night Court's existing claim on me.

The faint magic within me wasn't an echo—it had become a seed.

Whether it would bloom or bear fruit or something else entirely was anyone's guess. If given the opportunity, I had the sense Amren would pick me apart to find out. But it was better than going on no information at all.

A few weeks later, I landed a hit on Cassian with a wooden sword the same day I finished the first book I ever read from cover-to-cover. The days had passed as a steady rhythm of training and reading, mostly spent in the House of Wind.

Life was…quiet. Better, though not perfect. Rhys and I still depended on the sleeping draught, and the library was the only windowless place either of us could tolerate for more than an hour at a time. We chipped away at the work of catching up—me on literacy, him on the business of running the Night Court—in companionable silence on sunlit balconies or tucked away among the priestesses.

The rest days were the hardest to tolerate. Without exhaustion to settle my mind, I found myself wandering the city aimlessly, too restless to sit still. The streets of Velaris quickly became familiar.

All of it, except for the Rainbow. I hadn't gotten up the nerve to set foot in the artists' quarter. I'd skirted the edges carefully, and in truth, stared at it wistfully on more than one occasion.

I suspected that Tamlin had given me paints as a distraction, a ploy to quiet me down and soften my feelings towards him. And even if it had just been an attempt to break the curse and save his people…it hurt. Something I loved had been used against me, and I wasn't sure I could throw my whole self into painting so fearlessly ever again.

But I did finish the snowdrops lining the edges of the kitchen table. And it had felt…good. My heart squeezed at the way Rhys smiled every time he looked at them.

There were more leftover paints, so I took to hiding clever decorations in my room, just as I had in the cabin. Behind the curtains, under the dressing table, inside drawers…and nothing more than flowering vines, curls of flame, or intricate, abstract designs. Nothing with me in it.

It was all I could manage. Not a secret, but…I didn't want to be watched or talk about it.

Rhys spotted them eventually, of course. He'd been sprawled out on my bed one morning, staring at my ass as I slipped off my nightgown to get ready for the day. When I heard his sharp intake of breath behind me, I figured he'd noticed the ivy painted on the inside of the drawer I'd just opened.

I'd whirled around, ready to lob a pair of socks at his head in response to a teasing remark. Or worse, for him to be upset that I hadn't told him I'd painted.

But he'd just tilted his head, regarded me thoughtfully, and said, "That's one way to hide what's precious to you."

He'd once said something similar about his wings. And I'd supposed the same thing was true for keeping Velaris and our mating bond hidden. Those violet eyes met mine, and I felt…understood. Somehow, it wasn't terrifying.

It gave me the confidence to start leaving those little hidden designs around the rest of the townhouse. I'd started with his room, then expanded to the kitchen and the foyer. Claiming marks, if you knew where to look for them.

Similar to my mating band, which I took to wearing hidden on a chain under my shirt. Rhys did the same, after he'd offered to find a horrible creature to retrieve his from and call us even.

I wasn't quite sure what I'd do when the paints ran out, and I'd been deliberately not thinking much about it. But my walks took me past the city's outdoor sculptures and murals more often lately, and perhaps that was progress.

But it was only a matter of time before the peace was broken again. We were roused from our beds with news of another attack on a temple, this one at Sangravah.

The security measures Rhys had arranged for the priestesses left survivors this time, though not many. Once he left for the temple, I headed to the library, prepared to help with whatever the priestesses needed, just like before.

I'd expected to prepare more bodies for burial, but Mor walked in with an auburn-haired female wrapped in a blood-soaked cloak that was far too big for her.

"I healed her," Mor said, "but she needs someone to help her get settled."

I agreed to handle it, and the priestess turned at the sound of my voice. Her teal eyes were distant—haunted, really. More blood, hers or someone else's, had spattered on her face.

Clearing the mess away with magic wouldn't be enough for her to feel clean after whatever ordeal she'd just gone through—I knew that after everything Under the Mountain. I fetched a washcloth and basin and helped her clean off.

She didn't speak. And perhaps that was for the best—I had no idea what I would have said anyway. Later that night, I learned from another priestess that her name was Gwyneth Berdara and Hybern had slaughtered her twin sister during the attack.

As Catrin Berdara's name was read during the funeral service a few hours later, I decided it was finally time to stop avoiding my own sisters. Mortal lives were short, and in a hundred years, I'd regret not making the most of the time I had with them.

Even if I couldn't find the words to tell Nesta and Elain all the ways my life had changed since coming to Prythian, I'd go to the mortal lands tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Rhys wasn't back by the time I woke up the next morning. I'd expected it; we'd spoken through the bond throughout the long night handling the aftermath of the attack on Sangravah, and by the time I'd been unable to keep my eyes open, he'd still been working. I knew Rhys—if he'd slept at all, it had been in his office in the House of Wind, when he'd been too drained of energy to fly home.

The townhouse felt too empty.

It wasn't cold, but like a sentimental fool, I slipped on the dressing gown he'd left on the chair in my room the other day. The fabric was midnight-blue and the size far too big for me—the silver-embroidered cuffs extended several inches past my fingertips.

I padded downstairs, only to be hit by the smell of something baking. Bread, perhaps. And…cheese? Definitely not Rhys.

I crept towards the kitchen. Perhaps I should have been more worried about an intruder, but I trusted that Rhys's wards still kept out anyone who wasn't allowed inside. It was probably Cassian here with food.

Around the corner, I spotted a dark-haired female with her back to me—the first time I'd ever seen her fully corporeal. Nuala.

Cauldron boil me, the last time we'd seen each other, she'd been painting Illyrian markings for luck and glory all over my naked body. I had no idea what to say to her.

But before I could run back upstairs, she turned at the sound of my footsteps. I froze.

She smiled and said warmly, "You look well."

I caught the flicker of recognition in her eyes at the sight of me in a dressing gown that obviously belonged to the High Lord. If it had been someone else, the words might have sounded sarcastic or suggestive. But she really did sound pleased to see me.

My cheeks heated anyway, which was utterly ridiculous. The bond might have been a secret, but it wasn't as if Rhys and I made much of an effort to keep our hands off each other in public—his tongue had been down my throat on the banks of the Sidra more than once already. And yet I still felt…caught out.

"It's good to see you," I said after several moments of painful silence.

Nuala nodded towards a plate of chive-and-cheese scones that I hadn't noticed were sitting out on the table. "Those are still warm, if you're hungry."

Awkwardness aside, I still didn't have it in me to pass up food, so I sat and nibbled on a scone. It was warm, soft, and buttery—I was tempted to scarf it down like an animal but managed not to.

And it was a relief to have something to with my hands and a reason not to say anything. The oven was still on, and Nuala went back to stirring something in a bowl on the counter.

"My sister is gathering intelligence on the soldiers that attacked last night," she said, answering a question I hadn't known how to ask.

Azriel had said the twins were spending time with family after their return from Under the Mountain, and I'd assumed that meant they weren't working. I couldn't imagine what they'd endured during the last fifty years—I barely felt functional after only a few weeks in Amarantha's court. My appetite vanished.

"You don't have to be here. I can manage on my own." I'd run the household of our family of four with far fewer resources than I had now—it would be no trouble to take care of that for just Rhys and me, especially if it meant Nuala and Cerridwen could recover for the rest of their days if they wished.

Besides, Rhys would do his fair share of the work with far less complaining than Nesta ever had.

Nuala smiled. "Rhysand said the same thing. But after last night, Cerridwen and I both chose not to take his offer to retire from service."

"Why?"

"A court needs well-trained spies and trusted servants to remain secure. We're difficult to find on short notice."

The twins saw the storm clouds gathering on the horizon, too. And even after all they'd survived…they were here. Had chosen to be here.

I'd never forget the blanket they'd left for me in that cold cell, not if I lived a thousand years.

"Thank you. For everything."

She shrugged. "We were caught unawares and trapped there. You're the one who walked in eyes open."

We didn't speak of it again after that. I ate another scone while she baked some sort of egg dish with vegetables and a crust. When she put away the flour, I was relieved she didn't mention the raven I'd painted on the inside of the cabinet door. She must have known it was new and that Rhys certainly hadn't painted it.

When I insisted on washing the dishes before heading upstairs to get dressed, Nuala let me.

I dug the plainest gown out from the back of my closet. Not because I particularly wanted to wear it—I was most comfortable in Illyrian leathers or the silky, billowing pants and sheer sleeves of Night Court attire—but because I didn't want to cause a stir if I could avoid it or appear too faerie.

It was stifling to feel this covered up. I'd grown used to the caress of a breeze against my skin when I wasn't in leathers, and if I needed to run, I hated the thought of having to lift up my skirts to do it. Faeries—at least the ones in the Night Court—never made a fuss about bare legs or an exposed strip of skin around a navel.

I could endure this for a few hours, though. I'd been braiding my hair when Rhys winnowed in, directly onto my bed. He lay on his stomach, his head propped up on a fist and his feet in the air to keep his shoes off the duvet.

As usual, he looked aggravatingly put-together, no sign at all of the long night he'd had. Not a hair out of place, and he'd changed into a fresh tunic and pants.

Something like distaste flickered in his eyes even as he said, "You look beautiful." It was the first time he'd seen me wear a dress, I realized—or at least, the first time he'd seen me wear one of my own volition, if the scraps of fabric I'd worn Under the Mountain even counted.

"I don't," I said, voice flat, "and no one likes a liar, Rhys."

He stood and came closer, flicking my nose instead of kissing me hello. "You'd look beautiful in a potato sack."

"No one likes a cad, either."

He huffed a laugh as I tied off the end of the braid and rose from the chair. In a single absurdly graceful movement, he leaned down to kiss me properly while lifting me into his arms to fly. I let myself melt into the warmth of his solid body against mine, and for a moment, I considered getting the damn dress off and Rhys into bed for the rest of the day.

But I couldn't keep putting this off.

I held on tight as we vanished into dark wind and appeared again hundreds of feet over a vast, blue sea. Even though I'd expected it—we'd planned to slip through one of the holes that had formed in the Wall—I let out a shriek and clung tighter to Rhys. The wind roared; water rushed towards us—

Was that a scream from the fearless Cursebreaker? We're not even in free fall. The words seemed to glitter with wicked amusement as they crossed the bond.

Rhys was right, though. His wings strained against the wind but kept our descent controlled, snapping open at just the right angles so we stayed on course. I tipped my head back to take in the particular contented smile he only wore while flying.

It disappeared as we approached the Wall. I couldn't see it, but I felt the crackle of its power setting my teeth on edge all the same. Rhys gripped me tighter.

The feeling got worse as we approached. And as we swept through, there was a horrible moment where I felt ripped in half, as if it wanted to scatter incomplete pieces of me among the mortals and the fae.

But it passed in an instant.

I was back in the human lands. The home I thought I'd never see again.

There was barely time to process that before we were slipping into the space between worlds as Rhys winnowed us to the woods just outside my family's estate.

He'd offered to glamour himself to appear human and accompany me, but I'd said no. Perhaps another time, but…this felt like something I had to do on my own. So I kissed him goodbye and walked towards the manor alone.

The white marble walls and emerald roof were grand, but totally unfamiliar. I passed neat hedges as I walked up the flagstone path, and my heart squeezed at the sight of flowers and shrubs that had been planted there—Elain's doing, no doubt.

At the double doors, I rang the bell and waited, my stomach churning. Azriel's reports had assured me that all was well, but…perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps something had gotten overlooked.

A ruddy-faced housekeeper I didn't recognize opened the door. "May I help you?" she said, blandly polite.

"I'm Feyre Archeron. I'm here to see my family," I said.

Her eyes lit up with recognition at the sound of my name. That was a relief, at least; I wasn't forgotten. "Your father is away on business, but your sisters—"

"Feyre? Is that you?" Elain—Elain. Cheerful and lovely as always, untouched by the monsters and horrors I'd encountered in Prythian. Safe. Just as I'd remembered her.

I nearly sobbed with relief. But as far as she knew, I was merely back from taking care of an elderly relative, so I kept my voice light as I said, "It's me. I'm here while our cousin stays with Aunt Ripleigh to give me a short break."

The housekeeper stepped aside as Elain launched herself at me. I embraced my sister, relieved at how she'd filled out since I'd last seen her. Taken care of and eating right, then. "What a wonderful surprise!" she said.

There were footsteps on the stairs, and I looked over Elain's shoulder to see Nesta standing with a hand braced on the rail.

Staring as if I were a ghost.

I'd forgotten how cunning her eyes were, how cold. There was no reason to believe Nesta knew anything about what I'd been up to for the past few months, yet….she'd always been made of something different. Something harder and stronger.

"What are you doing here?" she said, face carefully blank.

"Visiting. It's…good to see how your fortunes have improved," I said.

Elain's brow furrowed. "I know Nesta's visit didn't work out, but didn't you get our letters?"

She didn’t remember—or maybe she’d never actually known, then, that I wouldn’t have been able to read them, anyway. But it still made my heart sink to imagine my sisters sending letters that were doomed to never reach me. If Nesta had tried to visit, though I doubted she'd actually wanted to see me, some magic must have turned her away.

I shook my head, and Elain ushered me inside, complaining about the uselessness of the post. Nesta continued to stare wordlessly, and I half-listened as Elain recounted the story of the mysterious stranger who'd appeared at their doorstep with a wildly lucrative investment opportunity and given them a trunk of gold just for agreeing.

Tamlin's doing, and it matched the reports that Azriel had given me. I'd expected this. And yet, it still didn't quite prepare me for how strange it would feel for Elain to hook her elbow through mine, apologize for not having a room ready for me, and offer to show me the rest of the house.

The manor was beautiful, if a bit…sterile. Beautiful and richly appointed, but everything was new and untouched, with none of the sense of the age that permeated the townhouse in Velaris. I couldn't help but marvel at it—Nesta and Elain were cared for, with enough money to ensure they'd never be hungry again.

Nesta fell into step beside us, a quiet, stalking presence. Her face was still impassive, and she seemed content to let Elain do all of the talking. But it was better than her flinging insults, so perhaps it was a blessing.

We had tea and sandwiches in the lush garden, which was in full bloom for the summer. After months in Prythian, human food tasted like ash in my mouth, but I didn't care. It had been so long since I'd eaten a meal with my family and had enough for all of us.

Never again would I brace myself for a fight if I dared take more than my carefully allotted quarter after hauling a carcass for miles.

It was simple enough to spin stories about reading to Aunt Ripleigh as she instructed me on deportment from her bedside. None of it was particularly interesting, and instead, I asked about the garden and the social season that I'd missed.

The purple-and-white tulips at our feet had once been bulbs brought all the way from the continent, Elain told me, beaming. She'd tended to them herself, planting and weeding in between the balls and parties and gossip of the social season.

"It sounds like you've been busy without me, then," I said, setting down my teacup carefully.

"It was a welcome respite," Elain said, a shadow darkening her lovely face for a moment. "I'm grateful our situation has changed for the better, but I'll admit this season was a bit…strange."

My blood went cold. Of course this had all been too good to be true. Something was wrong. "In what way?"

"People acted as if we’d all just been ill for eight years, or had gone away to some distant country—not that we’d been a few villages over in that cottage. You’d think we dreamed it all up, what happened to us over those years. No one said a word about it."

I relaxed again. In truth, it was a warmer reception than I thought my family would have gotten after so many years of poverty. It was better than being treated as if we were diseased.

Perhaps something had happened, though. It might explain why Nesta was so quiet. She'd barely touched her food and just stared with those piercing blue-grey eyes that were an unsettling mirror of my own.

"That does sound strange," I said. We went quiet again, and I set my tea down and turned back to my plate. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Elain staring, too. "What?"

Elain shook her head. "You just look so…different. Not in a bad way of course. It's just as if there's a…a glow about you."

I froze. The only sort of people who were ever described as glowing were ones who were happily pregnant. Gods, I hadn't inadvertently given them the impression I was with child, had I?

"Did something happen at Aunt Ripleigh's house?" Elain asked. "Did you…meet someone?"

The tilt of Nesta's head was pure predator as she added, "Did you, Feyre?"

I wanted to say yes. Perhaps I was too much of a coward to admit to my human family that I'd fallen in love with a faerie, but I could have told a few half-truths. I didn't want to subject myself to an interrogation, though.

"Just good food and rest," I said.

Nesta got to her feet, straight-backed and regal as she stared down her nose at me. "We're out of tea. Why don't you come with me to get another pot from the kitchen?" It wasn't a question.

I followed her before Elain had a chance to object or insist on coming with. As soon as we were inside, Nesta's hand clamped down on my arm, and she steered me towards an empty sitting room and shut the door behind us.

"There is no Aunt Ripleigh," Nesta said.

Cauldron boil and fry me. I could kill whoever told her. "Of course there—" I started to say.

"Don't. I saw that look on your face when Elain asked if you'd met someone. She and Father don't remember that beast taking you away, but I do. Tell me what the hell is going on, Feyre."

All these months…Nesta had known. And kept it to herself.

She'd seen through Tamlin's glamour somehow, probably just because her mind was so thoroughly her own that he couldn't have violated it. And if a High Lord hadn't been able to fool her, I shuddered to think what she made of the sentries Rhys had sent, who were supposed to have been unseen by human eyes.

There was no point in hiding the bond from her, too. I pulled the chain with my mating band out from where I'd tucked it under the bodice of my dress. "I did meet someone in Prythian."

"You're married," she breathed. The disbelief in her voice shouldn't have stung as much as it did. Nesta had never made a secret of how thoroughly she doubted any man would ever find me an acceptable bride.

"In a manner of speaking. The fae either marry or mate if the Cauldron blessed them with a soul-bound partner. I have a mate. Rhysand, the High Lord of the Night Court."

Nesta barked a harsh, bitter laugh. I didn't know what to make of it until she said, shaking her head in disbelief, "Mother expected me to marry a prince, but you're the one who's ensnared a faerie king and become his consort."

"I didn't ensnare—"

"Then what? He forced you?"

"No!" I had no idea how to look my sister in the eye and tell her a magical stag had done it. Nesta just crossed her arms and stared me down, waiting for an explanation. She said nothing because she didn't have to—there was pure command in just the way she held herself. I took a breath and continued, "Rhys loves me, and I love him. He isn't the one who took me. That was Tamlin, the High Lord of Spring. Rhys got me out and took me somewhere safe. It's a long story, but yes, I am Lady of the Night Court now."

"And this Lord Rhysand is the reason we're now…taken care of?"

I didn't want to give Tamlin the credit. His kindness rang hollow—uncomfortably transactional, in a way—when it was clearly recompense for kidnapping me. And in truth, Rhys was the reason I hadn't worried about Tamlin impoverishing my family a second time in retaliation for swearing fealty to Night. "Yes."

"Then give him my thanks and don't come back here again."

The words might as well have been a slap to the face. I hadn't expected a warm welcome from Nesta, but…I'd hoped, at least, that she'd be something closer to civil.

"What about Father?" I said. "I haven't seen him since I was taken away."

"What about the rest of us? If anyone learns our sister is a fae sympathizer, any standing, any influence we have—gone."

Nesta's hand was resting on the back of an armchair, and she gripped it so tightly that her knuckles had gone white. The set of her shoulders was stiff.

It was the closest to afraid she ever seemed to get.

She had reason to be, as much as it hurt. Our family had tumbled into ruin once, and we'd all nearly starved to death because of it. I could not blame my sister for wanting to cling to the good fortune as fiercely as possible. I knew, deep down, she only did it because she wanted to see Elain safe and happy.

"There's more I need to tell you before I go."

"Stay the night, then. We can speak privately for longer after the servants have left for the day, but you'll need to leave before breakfast."

We wouldn't be overheard in the garden either, but Nesta clearly didn't want Elain to know any of this. I had half a mind to blurt it out before Nesta could stop me as soon as we sat back down with Elain. But this was for the best.

I trusted the walls surrounding Nesta's mind; she'd keep my secrets. But anyone with daemati abilities could pluck information right out of Elain's, and the chances were too high that someone intent on hunting me down might do just that. Elain couldn't know.

"Thank you."

A single nod—downright affectionate from Nesta. "Elain bought paints for you. She'd appreciate it if you left something for her; I know she misses the decorations you left in the cabin."

"I'd like that," I said, meaning it.

There was nothing else to discuss; we returned to the garden after that and made our excuses to Elain for taking so long with the rest of the tea. The three of us spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in the sun, chatting and catching up. Nesta was still quiet, but…we didn't fight. No one insulted each other.

Even as a knot formed in my stomach at the thought of unburdening myself to Nesta later, I savored the peace as I painted foxgloves around the doorframe to Elain's bedroom.

This day had been a gift, and I was intent on appreciating it.

Chapter Text

It was nearly midnight when I made my way to Nesta's bedroom in a borrowed nightgown, late enough that the servants were gone and Elain was sound asleep. I knocked on the door once, and she ushered me inside without a word.

Like the rest of the manor, Nesta's bedroom was full of furniture fit for a palace and utterly devoid of personal touches. It might as well have been a guest room.

I hovered near the door and watched Nesta open a hidden compartment in the writing desk near the window. She pulled something out and placed it on a side table. I stepped closer to get a better look.

A chunk of wood. The edges were rough, as if it had been ripped from something. I started to ask her where it had come from, but when I spotted the tangle of vines I'd painted on it, I understood.

"I had to watch as Father and Elain went from sobbing hysterics into nothing. I had to listen to them talk about how lucky it was for you to be taken to some made-up aunt’s house, how some winter wind had shattered our door. And I thought I’d gone mad—but every time I did, I would look at that painted part of the table, then at the claw marks farther down, and know it wasn’t in my head. So tell me everything and leave none of it out," Nesta said quietly, sinking down into the chair by the desk.

My heart broke to think what she'd gone through—what Tamlin had put her through. His lies to me might have been in service of saving his people, but there was no reason for my sister's sanity to be collateral damage. Tamlin had paid my father off, then washed his hands of the matter without bothering to ensure that his glamour had worked.

It was sloppy and thoughtless, and not for the first time, I wondered how many people ultimately would have died if I'd stayed in the Spring Court a moment longer.

I sat on the bed, tucking my feet under me, and started at the beginning. The very beginning, fifty years ago when Rhys had gone to that damned party and Amarantha had taken over.

I'd barely gotten a few words out when Nesta was already interrupting. "Is your High Lord too stupid to employ poison-testers?"

"I…I don't think any of them do, actually."

"It seems Prythian is ruled by idiots, then. Perhaps that explains why this Rhysand married you."

"You know nothing about what Rhys has been though," I hissed, clenching my teeth so I didn't yell the words and wake up Elain.

Nesta waved a hand, an elegant, dismissive gesture. "Then continue."

So I did. And to Nesta's credit, she listened intently, her lips pressed together in a thin line, as I described the curse, my arrival in Prythian, and those early days in the Spring Court.

Somehow, it calmed something within me to tell the whole tale again now that I knew everything. I wasn't used to having a confidant, and I couldn't remember a time before this that speaking to Nesta had felt like a lightening a burden.

It was strange, but not unwelcome.

I braced myself when I started to describe my first meeting with Rhys on Calanmai. Nesta had once sneered at me for rutting in the barn with Isaac Hale—I was sure she'd have some choice words about a mating frenzy that had taken place in a cave.

But she merely furrowed her brow and said, "Your marriage was….arranged, then? By the stag?"

I nearly snapped and told her no—I'd specifically told Rhys not to marry me, after all. And Nesta knew he wasn't my husband. But…she'd never feel the pull of a mating bond for herself, and the concept was completely foreign to her. Perhaps this was the way to make her understand.

"By the Mother herself. The stag merely…cleared our path to each other. I'm not sure what would have happened if it didn't, but I think it probably saved us quite a lot of heartbreak, in the end."

"That's such an odd way to speak about a man you've been shackled to against your will," she said, shaking her head.

The Inner Circle had also been horrified when they'd realized I'd accepted the bond without knowing what I was doing. If even Nesta was worried about it…perhaps there was something wrong with me for not being more distressed. But even though I'd had to go Under the Mountain for Rhys, I still felt profoundly lucky that everything I could possibly want had just been dropped into my lap on Calanmai.

I shrugged. "There's no reason to be upset when I would have chosen him for myself anyway." That was the truth at the center of everything.

There was a flicker of understanding, and—if I wasn't mistaken—relief in Nesta's eyes. "And I take it he feels the same?"

"Yes."

"Good." There was an edge to her voice, and I wondered what she would have said if my answer had been no.

There was still so much to tell her, so I continued, describing my arrival at the Night Court—though I didn't mention Velaris, merely said that Rhys had directed me to a warded home. Nesta didn't ask about the tattoo the magic had given me, just scowled at my left hand. She said nothing about my immortality either, instead interrogating me about the Inner Circle and their ranks and roles and relations to Rhys.

They were, perhaps, the sort of questions I should have asked on that first day. But unlike me, Nesta knew how to get the lay of a land in a noble court and assess her place in it.

If my eldest sister were dropped in the Court of Nightmares, I had no doubt she'd be running it within a day.

I hadn't spoken about Under the Mountain at length with anyone but Rhys before that night, and getting the words out under Nesta's uncompromising steel glare was difficult. My sister and I weren't linked through mating bond and shared experience. My voice shook, and at points I felt faintly sick, but I managed to tell her everything.

Even with Rhys…I'd needed to hold back. My own few weeks Under the Mountain paled in comparison to his decades there alone, and I knew on some level, even though I'd never voiced it aloud, that he'd had it worse than me. Without even realizing it, I'd been carrying around a prickly sort of guilt over that.

Once, I would have spent several days with a paintbrush in hand until I'd gotten those feelings out, but since I could barely stand to look at a canvas anymore, it all had been festering inside of me.

So to my immense embarrassment, I cried in front of Nesta.

For once, she didn't say anything harsh, just wordlessly handed me a handkerchief. I didn't mind—it would be strange for her to coddle me. Instead, she pretended nothing was amiss as I wiped at my eyes and finished the rest of the story, all the way through my trip to Illyria and the Weaver's cottage and the attacks on the temples.

At the end of it, Nesta merely said, "This is all the more reason you shouldn't come back here again."

I could see her logic, but that didn't make it any less a kick in the teeth. "Elain and Father deserve proper goodbyes."

"It's too much of a risk," she said, eyes flashing dangerously. It would be ugly if I tried to fight her on this; Nesta, who had once put herself in front of Elain and left me to the beast that broke into our cabin, would always protect our middle sister, even if that meant casting me aside.

I should have been used to that by now, but it still hurt.

"Then at least allow the sentries around the manor to stay. There are far too many fae who would wish us harm, and their numbers will only increase if war breaks out like we fear."

"As long as the sentries keep their distance."

They would, but of course Nesta had no reason to be sure of that. A thought struck me. "They answer to Cassian, Rhys's general. I could send him to meet with you and discuss the specifics, if that would ease your mind."

I expected Nesta to balk at interacting with any more faeries, but she asked, "Does he listen to orders?"

"He will if you give them. My position as Lady of Night makes you and Elain something akin to princesses in Prythian." Mor had explained it to me once, though I wasn't interested enough to remember the details about ranks and noble titles. It would matter to Nesta, though.

She nodded once, then stared down at her hands, which were folded in her lap. "Thank you," she said, a bit more softly, "and for what it's worth, this is easier, knowing you've gotten everything you deserve. After that beast took you away, it's a relief, truly, to know that Rhysand loves you and is keeping you safe."

I stilled. It was beyond a doubt the kindest thing Nesta had ever said to me. I hadn't thought she'd cared at all what had become of me in Prythian.

"Elain said—said that you tried to visit me," I said, my throat so tight I barely got the words out.

"I got to the Wall. I couldn't find a way through."

“You trekked two days there and two days back—through the winter woods?”

“I hired that mercenary from town to bring me a week after you were taken. With the money from your pelt. She was the only one who seemed like she would believe me.”

“You did that—for me?” Rhys was the only person in the world that I'd truly believed would bother, and no matter how much he loved me, a mating bond made everything different. Mor had tried to soften the truth on my first day in the Night Court, but even she had admitted the Inner Circle was duty-bound to protect their High Lord's mate, and I'd only become their friend later.

"What Tamlin did to you—it wasn't right. None of it was right."

Nesta finally met my gaze, and for once, the fire in her blue-grey eyes wasn't intended to burn me. We weren't drowning anymore—the lifeline of her anger was unnecessary now, and she knew it. In her darkened bedroom in a too-clean manor, we'd found just enough safety that she'd let me know she cared.

Underneath it all, Nesta cared, more deeply and loyally than I'd been able to comprehend.

There were no words for that. I launched myself at her, and Nesta went stiff in my arms as I embraced her. She didn't hug me back, just…patted my upper back awkwardly after a moment. I didn't mind—that was downright affectionate from her.

I pulled away and said, "If I'm unable to return here, will— will I at least be able to write?"

"Is there a way to ensure your correspondence stays private?"

I caught the meaning behind that—Nesta was confident in her own ability to keep a secret, but she knew too little about my own situation to be sure I could do the same. It wouldn't have crossed my mind—after all, I hadn't even learned to read until Rhys ensured I was taught—but my sister had been expected to marry a prince one day. She'd been trained for a life where sensitive letters falling into the wrong hands could cause a reputation-ruining scandal.

She was right to ask, though, so I explained how paper spelled to vanish was used to pass messages across Prythian. And by some miracle…she agreed to let me leave some with her.

"Rhys can deliver it tonight, if that's alright," I said; I'd feel better knowing it was in her hands when I left. Nesta nodded her assent. "Give me a moment to ask him, then."

Ignoring the grimace Nesta made as my gaze went distant, I gave the gentlest tug on the bond I could. I was still met with a wave of blind protectbitemaimkill panic the moment Rhys's shields dropped. He hadn't expected to hear from me until morning.

All is well, I said, reaching for the beast. I could feel its hackles rising in the back of my mind.

With a mental hand, I scratched a sensitive spot on its chin, right under the maw with its rows and rows of razor-sharp teeth, the thing that threatened to gobble up sleeping fae in their nightmares. Its eyes closed at my touch, and it purred like an affectionate cat.

Nothing's amiss. I just have a favor to ask, I added.

Anything. You know that, he said. I was dimly aware of a spiral of anxiety—some sort of fear that I didn't know that. Stroking the beast's flank like it was a nervous horse, I kicked the worry away.

If it's not too much trouble, could you please bring us some of the enchanted paper you use for correspondence? I'd like to make sure Nesta has a way to contact me directly.

Talons shifted into fingers that gently tucked an errant strand of my hair behind my ear. There's no such thing as too much trouble where you're concerned. Call for me again when you want me there.

Thank you. Just as I'd kicked away his concern, I felt his claw shred my lingering discomfort at asking him to do something on my behalf.

His mind began to pull away from mine, but he stopped halfway. Are you sure you're alright? The emotions on your side of the bond seem to be…churning.

I hesitated. There was no point in lying, but I was tempted to say we'd talk about it later. I didn't want him to worry any further, either. For now, I could give Rhys the bare minimum. I learned that Nesta tried to go to the Wall and bring me back after I was taken. She wasn't able to get through, though.

An image flashed across the bond before Rhys could stop it—a female with his pointed ears, violet eyes, and massive wingspan. She was standing on one of the footbridges that spanned the Sidra, her head thrown back in raucous laughter and the lights of the Rainbow sparkling behind her. A happy memory, but at the same time, it felt like looking at a painful, howling void.

Another younger sister whose elder sibling hadn't been able to save her. But unlike me, she didn't have a mate who'd eventually swooped in and brought her to safety.

I'll see you soon, Rhys said, then dropped his shields before I had a chance to respond.

Nesta quickly pinned her hair up and changed into a gown, but I didn't bother. Regardless, it gave Rhys time to pass through the Wall again. When she assured me she was ready, I gave another light tug on the bond.

Rhys appeared with nothing more than a gust of night-kissed wind so gentle it barely made the curtains flutter. He held a small, black-and-silver box in one hand, identical to one I'd seen holding blank paper on his desk in the House of Wind. He'd had the good sense to hide his wings, and the leash on his power was tighter than I'd ever felt it.

Even when he subdued himself, Rhys still felt too enormous and otherworldly for this side of the Wall. Between the night still clinging to him and the width of his obnoxiously broad shoulders, he seemed to take up the whole room.

And yet, as if he were an entirely normal person and none of the current circumstances were bizarre, he pressed a chaste kiss to my cheek and said, "Hello, Feyre darling."

To her credit, Nesta didn't flinch. Or hiss at him. Which already meant this was going better than I'd anticipated.

Before either of them could make this worse, I said, "This is my sister, Nesta Archeron. Nesta, this is my mate, Rhysand."

To my shock Rhys bent at the waist and bowed—actually bowed—to my sister. Polite and graceful, his upbringing as a crown prince on full display and all signs of the Illyrian warrior hidden.

Nesta's face was frozen in a mask of cold indifference. "No surname?" she said, and those two words were enough to let a nasty implication hang in the air—that Rhys wasn't pedigreed, despite being a High Lord.

His mother had been a seamstress, after all. If I didn't know better, I would have thought Nesta could smell that on him.

Rhys didn't blink. "Archeron. Or at least, it will be when we're ready to make the mating bond public knowledge."

It was a small miracle I caught myself before my mouth gaped open in surprise; he hadn't told me he'd intended to take my name. A glimmer of wicked amusement and a twinge of pride floated down the bond towards me.

Nesta, however, just cocked her head like she was sizing up an opponent, almost exactly the way Cassian did in the training ring. "I won't be mocked in my own home. You can leave."

"I'd rather be known as Feyre's mate than my father's son," Rhys said, picking invisible lint off his tunic in a gesture that was clearly calculated to look as nonchalant as possible. "I'm not mocking you. Feyre is an infinitely better person than he ever was."

Nesta went quiet. I wondered if it was as strange for her as it was for me to hear someone call me good and mean it. Rhys glanced at me, his expression melting into something soft for a moment, and Nesta tracked his movement like a hawk.

Before the silence stretched long enough to become awkward, Rhys held the box of stationery out to her and added, "This is for you."

Nesta flicked her hand towards the writing desk, an imperiousness gesture of a queen directing a servant. "Top drawer on the left," she said. An order, not a request.

She was testing him, I realized. Or had thrown down a gauntlet. Maybe both. Whatever was happening between Nesta and Rhys was some sort of courtier bullshit I was too feral to understand. Rhys did as she said, and I wasn't sure if that meant he'd lost or conceded something.

Regardless, there was no reason for Rhys to linger—and I suspected my sister would bite his head off if he tried. He said something blandly polite to Nesta about it being a pleasure to finally meet her, kissed my cheek again, and winnowed away.

When he was gone, I looked at Nesta expectantly and braced myself for whatever cutting remark was coming. She was already grimacing as if he'd tracked mud all over the floor.

My chest squeezed. Not that I needed anyone's approval, but as mates, Rhys's and my coupling had been had been quite literally blessed by the Mother herself. And I'd spent years shrugging off Nesta's scornful comments about damn near every choice I made.

I shouldn't have cared what she thought. But…for whatever reason, in this matter, I did.

"You two are so besotted with each other, it's disgusting," Nesta spat. It was congratulations enough.

I smiled. "You aren't the first person to say that about us."

There wasn't much else to discuss after that. Nesta and I sat in silence together as we burned the chunk of wood from the table in the fireplace in her bedroom. I felt something settle between us as the last piece of the cabin that she'd been holding onto was reduced to ash.

I returned to my room and managed a few hours of sleep before slipping out of the manor before dawn without saying goodbye. Before bed, Elain had said to bring the paints that she'd bought for me back to Aunt Ripleigh's, so I took them with and left her the first thank you note I'd ever managed to write by myself.

It was easier to go without facing either of my sisters again.

When I met Rhys in the woods, I threw myself at him so forcefully that he stumbled back a few steps and nearly hit a tree. "I missed you too," he said, hooking an arm under my knees as he scooped me up to fly.

Something about being in the mortal lands again—or if I was truly honest, being around my family again—had reawakened that stupid, childish part of me that wanted to cry out until I was fussed over. A bit embarrassed, I pressed my face to his chest and wished I could scent him like a faerie. But instead, all I could smell was the laundry soap we both used. Maybe that was better than nothing.

"It was a long night," I said, and he pressed a kiss to my temple.

The world faded to smoke and shadow, and then I felt that peculiar sense of being torn in two for the space of a heartbeat as we passed through the Wall. Rhys could have winnowed us again, but he continued flying above the sea for a while, probably to get the practice in to strengthen his wings.

Being cradled, his warmth and nearness, the rhythm of wingbeats, the salt air…it soothed me. Dawn was breaking, turning the sky and the sea golden. Rhys, painfully beautiful as always, was positively glowing in the light; his skin was returning to a healthy brown, the unnatural paleness from years underground almost gone. I wanted to paint it.

"With Nesta, why were you so…" I said, then trailed off, unsure of the right word. Rhys's whole demeanor had been subdued, but there had been more to it than just that. Now that I thought about it… "You didn't smirk once. That's not like you."

His face was solemn. "If my sister had inadvertently accepted a mating bond, I'd expect her mate to have his tail between his legs when she brought him home to meet me."

Once, I would have scoffed at the idea Nesta cared at all about how a man or male treated me. But she'd tried to save me. If Rhys had seemed at all like a threat, then…Nesta would have faced down the Lord of Nightmares to get me back.

I still didn't quite know what to make of that.

"Would you have tried to get my father's blessing if he'd been there?"

"Cauldron, no. You're your own person and make your own choices." He sounded affronted I'd even suggest it.

"Then why be so restrained around Nesta?"

"I don't like being thought of as an ill-mannered brute."

I could imagine how often insults like that had been flung at him for being Illyrian, probably from people just as adept as sneering down their noses as Nesta was. And yet, even though I knew Rhys well, it was still a bit strange to hear from a faerie when so many of his kind considered humans to be half-wild beasts below their notice.

Strange, but…not unwelcome.

"For what it's worth, you're not all ill-mannered brute at all," I said, smiling, "but you are a prick, though."

Rhys's wicked grin was the only warning before he gripped me tighter and tilted us into a barrel roll so swift and dizzying that I would have emptied the contents of my stomach if I'd eaten. I screamed, but the wind tore the words away.

He laughed, and it was impossible to snap an irritated response when the joy was so plain on his face. We settled into a smooth glide.

"We need to winnow the rest of the way back soon," he said once the roaring wind died down. "Cassian wants to spar, and if you're late for training, Az will ensure you pay for it."

I wouldn't expect anything less. We faded into the morning mist, and when the Night Court materialized around us, I'd never been happier to be home again.

Chapter Text

Cassian found me while I was on another one of my aimless walks through Velaris. Though honestly, they weren't completely aimless anymore—the city was full of public art, and I'd taken to walking by as much of it as I could.

Statues were easier to face than paintings. The largest concert hall had several on its roof—lullabies given physical form in the stone, marble creatures from fae bedtime stories, and lithe bodies of hewn dancers. Several streets over, water sprayed from sculpted copper river nymphs at the center of a fountain where children swam during the summer. And in a quieter square, a black granite memorial honored the warriors Amarantha had killed in an attempt to break a then-captive Rhys during the War.

Murals covered so many buildings, even outside the Rainbow. The soaring, multi-story portraits were far beyond the scope of anything I ever imagined painting myself; they didn't remind me of the thorny emotions surrounding my own art. I could let myself just appreciate the colors and shapes.

The mountains and pine forests of the Night Court were all brutal, untamed beauty. But Velaris had been made beautiful by the artists who'd called it home for thousands of years. It was a waste not to appreciate it, even if I could only manage to paint half-hidden decorations in the townhouse myself.

I'd been crossing one of the footbridges that spanned the Sidra when the shadow of a massive wingspan fell over me. Stopping to lean against the railing, I watched as Cassian dropped smoothly into place at my side.

There was a slight gust of wind as he pulled his wings in tight. "Rhys said you have orders for me."

I stilled. There was a deferential note in Cassian's voice that I'd only ever heard when he was speaking with Rhys—not as brothers, but as High Lord and his general.

I was aware, of course, that courts had a hierarchy and that I existed somewhere in it. Amren ranked above Mor who ranked above Cassian and Azriel—that much had been explained to me early on. I'd never thought much about it beyond that.

But if Cassian was taking orders from me, then Rhys was making it clear that he would not interfere in matters involving my father and sisters. My choice—it was always my choice with him.

"He told you about Nesta?" I said.

An expression I couldn't read flashed across Cassian's face. His wings twitched. "Is that her name?"

"Cauldron, what the hell did he say about her?" Whatever had passed between Rhys and Nesta clearly hadn't been friendly, but…I hadn't thought it was bad enough that Cassian would look so stricken at the mere mention of my sister.

"Nothing, other than that he'd met her. It's your business to handle."

"Nesta can see through glamours."

Realization dawned on his face. "Ah, fuck."

I laughed, partly just because it was a relief to hear Cassian stop speaking to me like I was someone with authority. Being his brother's mate—and his friend—was much more comfortable, familiar territory.

"Would you be able to talk to her about the sentries and ease her mind? She knows they answer to you."

"Of course."

For someone known as the Lord of Bloodshed, Cassian was remarkably reassuring to be around. I'd experienced that firsthand when I'd found him perched on the roof of the townhouse on my first day in Velaris. And there was nothing I could imagine intimidating him.

Well, almost nothing.

"Thank you. Nesta is…." I stopped short as I tried to find the words, eventually settling on, "She's her own creature."

Cassian knocked a wing against my shoulder. "I'm sure. There's no way anyone could have grown up with you and not come out of it unscathed."

I scowled. He barked a laugh, then added, "You're headed to the House of Wind soon, right?"

"Yes."

The world turned on its head as Cassian hoisted me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. There was no chance to wiggle out of his arms before we shot into the sky. I went limp, afraid I'd end up plummeting to the ground if I moved the wrong way.

"What the hell was that for?" I grumbled, resigned to my fate for the next few minutes.

"React faster next time if you want me to hold you more comfortably."

Bastard. But he was right—I still had quite a lot of training to do before being grabbed and winnowed unexpectedly wasn't such a concern when I stepped outside Velaris's wards. The practice was good for me, even if he was being an ass about it.

"Fine. Don't drop me on my head when we get to the House of Wind, then."

"Tuck your chin and roll. If you crack your skull open on the floor, we'll do remedial drills once it heals."

Learning to fall safely had been one of the first things he taught me, so I contented myself with a glare at the back of Cassian's head. "You're worse than Az."

His long hair whipped in the wind, smacking my face as he tipped his head back and barked a laugh that echoed against the townhouses below. I gritted my teeth and wished he'd fly faster.

But before long, we did make it up there, and my training was good enough that I earned a pat on my thankfully uninjured head. Cassian left for some sort of business with a promise that he'd be in the mortal lands as soon as Nesta gave me a date and time.

Brushing my bangs back into place, I retrieved a book from where I'd left it in Mor's office the other day. Now that I could read, she'd given me an open invitation to see any diplomatic correspondence that mentioned me and give input on her responses. I'd forgotten to bring my book back home when we'd finished working through the latest round of letters.

There had been more talk of me than I would have thought. Helion himself—not an underling—had asked about what would be required to ensure a human was comfortable during our eventual visit. There had been blandly polite inquiries about my health from the Autumn Court, though according to Mor, those were Beron's or Eris's attempts at fishing for information about me because I'd been the one to whip Lucien Under the Mountain. Even amid a discussion about fish imports, Cresseida, a Summer Court princess, had written that she was relieved to hear Rhysand was treating me well, though she'd left it unclear whether she meant as an emissary or as a…lover.

"They don't know that I'm immortal, so I don't see why any of them care," I'd told Mor, speaking freely behind the privacy wards that she'd casted to protect her workspace. "As far as they're concerned, I'll be dead in the blink of an eye."

"Why wouldn't they care about the fate of Feyre Cursebreaker, Savior of Prythian, a true living legend?" she'd said, brown eyes twinkling.

I knew Mor didn't mean it like that, but I still squirmed in my seat. It sounded too much like the faeries who occasionally stopped me when I was out in the city and thanked me for going Under the Mountain. They spoke about me as if I'd been a selfless hero, but in truth, I'd only been thinking of Rhys. Everyone else just…happened to also benefit.

"Because I'm not that interesting." And because I mostly just wanted to be left alone.

Mor shrugged. "Immortality gets dull after a century or two."

I wondered if I'd ever be able to speak about being alive for so long with the same nonchalance. It was easy to forget just how old my new family was. They were all ancient, even if none of them looked a day over thirty.

"It must if I'm what passes for interesting around here."

Rolling her eyes, Mor swept her golden hair off her shoulders, twisted it deftly around a finger, then secured it to the back of her head with a spare pen. "It won't kill you to be a little less modest. You're allowed to be proud of yourself."

I wasn't sure exactly when I'd forgotten that, but I had. And I was grateful for the reminder.

Today, however, Mor's office was empty. She was back at the Court of Nightmares, but I wanted company, so once I'd grabbed the book off of her rosewood desk, I made my way to the library downstairs.

Several heads whipped in my direction when I entered, gems on their foreheads glittering. I froze. Evelyn, the priestess who'd taught me to read, waved me over to the table where she was sitting with several others.

I'd studied with them before. Roslin, who sat next to her, was a historian, and she'd been kind enough to make me a list of books about Night Court history that were appropriate for someone who knew nothing about the subject. Many of them were children's books. But still, Roslin, Evelyn, and the others didn't mind answering my occasional questions about what I read, and ever since I'd helped with the aftermath of the attack on Cesere, I'd always been welcomed to work alongside them.

No one had ever been crass enough to voice the silent, shared understanding aloud—that I might not have sworn an oath to the Mother and donned a hood, but I was still like them. Another female who'd been through an ordeal and found solace afterward in quiet study here.

But today…when I didn't move, Evelyn merely waved her webbed hand more frantically. Confused, I slid into the seat between her and Roslin.

"We have news for you," Roslin said. Her voice was low, almost conspiratorial.

"You do?" I said.

"Ianthe returned to the Spring Court."

I blinked. "Who is that?"

"The worst," another priestess at the table, Deirdre, said without looking up from the yellowed pages of the hefty tome she was reading. Roslin brought a hand to her mouth to hide a giggle.

Evelyn rolled her coal-black eyes. "The youngest High Priestess in three centuries. Her father sent her family to Vallahan—that's on the Continent—when Amarantha took over. Apparently, now she's back."

I was only vaguely aware of what the High Priestesses did. There were twelve of them, apparently, and Rhys had conferred with some of them regarding temple security after the attacks. They were as powerful and well-connected as nobility, but I didn't understand the intricacies of it.

Maybe I should have asked Mor for more detail when she'd explained all this to me a while back. "Is that a bad thing?" I said.

The look Roslin gave me was….sympathetic. "Clotho mentioned the news came in a letter with other updates this morning. We thought you should hear it first, considering your history with Spring."

It seemed as if she'd done me the courtesy of making sure I wasn't blindsided by something important and possibly upsetting. I just wasn't sure what. But still, I appreciated the gesture, even if I didn't quite understand.

"Thank you," I said, though the words came out as a question.

Deirdre flipped to the next page of her book. "Ianthe is unofficially banned from the Night Court because she tried baby-trapping the High Lord."

My immediate, instinctual rage was so strong that my vision went white for a moment. If anyone said something, I didn't hear it over the roaring in my head. My breathing nearly went ragged.

If any other female even considered bearing my mate's offspring, I'd feed her her own intestines.

A gentle hand on my arm snapped me out of it. I took a breath, hoping my reaction wasn't too insane. And before Rhys could hear anything, I clamped down harder on my mental shields. We'd never discussed the possibility of children, but this certainly wasn't how I wanted to broach the subject.

But perhaps I didn't have as much self-control as I would have liked, because the words that slipped out of my mouth were, "She can live if it means she's making Tamlin miserable."

Roslin laughed. "No wonder Rhysand loves you so much."

The tight feeling in my chest loosened. She'd said the only thing that could have made me feel better when the feral instincts of the mating bond were riding me hard—a casual observation that Rhys loved me. Not that he cared about me as merely as an interesting human playing or a useful emissary doing his bidding.

Knowing that an outsider had noticed was…comforting.

But still, I was curious. The Spring Court had been quiet since our return—no signs of interest in either a misguided attempt at saving me from the wicked Night Court or killing me in revenge for a perceived betrayal. Azriel's spies had reported that Tamlin still kept the boarders with Summer and Autumn sealed shut. We knew very little.

"Do you think Ianthe wants to be Lady of Spring?" I asked.

Deirdre's face darkened, and the scars criss-crossing her cheeks, a reminder of whatever she'd survived before coming to the library, seemed to deepen. "Despite our vows to serve the Mother, some of the sisters are more interested in serving their own ends."

Rhys had said I was the only one he'd ever sent after the ring tucked under my tunic, but there must have been plenty of others who'd wanted it, as dangerous as being Lady of Night could be. It worried me that one of them had now set her sights on my kidnapper.

Maybe it was for the best that Night had no diplomatic relations with Spring—I wouldn't have face Ianthe at some dull courtly function.

And perhaps it was all the talk of sisters, but I couldn't help but think that Nesta would know precisely how to politely eviscerate her if that ever changed.

I'd gone quiet, and the conversation had petered out. We returned to our books, and I flipped to the page I'd marked because there had been a word I didn't recognize and needed to ask about.

"By the way," I said, "What does def— defenes—"

Unable to pronounce it, I gave up and pointed to the word as Evelyn peered over my shoulder. "Defenestrate. It means to throw someone out a window," she said.

"Does that really happen enough that there's a word for it?"

"It was a favored method of execution in the Court of Nightmares a few millennia ago," Roslin said. Her smile turned into something a bit ghoulish as she rested her chin on a fist. "Isn't history just fascinating?"

I laughed, not sure I agreed, but enjoying myself all the same. This was certainly better than Tamlin's war-camp limericks fashioned out of the list of words I didn't know.

It was a good way to pass an afternoon. And it hadn't been a waste, exactly, but by the time when priestesses left for their evening prayers and Rhys had slipped into my mind to let me know he might be late for dinner, I had to admit to myself that I was procrastinating. I still needed to send that letter to Nesta.

It wasn't the wording that I hesitated on. Nesta would feel more comfortable if she knew what Cassian looked like ahead of time—to be sure that the meeting wasn't more faerie trickery. So I intended to enclose a sketch.

I'd set myself up on the roof of the townhouse, paper and pencil in hand, and wrote the letter. That much had been easy enough. But when it came time to draw…I froze.

After the painting I'd done all over the townhouse, I'd thought I could manage it. But this was different. Those designs had been impersonal—flowers, birds, flames, that sort of thing. A portrait, however, was a statement by the artist about the subject.

I couldn't hide. But I also needed to get this done, and all I could do was sit and stare at the empty paper. I'd faced actual danger much more fearlessly, but somehow….a blank page left me paralyzed.

That was how Rhys found me when he landed some time later. Before he could say hello or ask how my day had been, I said, "Could you help me with something?"

He went preternaturally still. Better than anyone, Rhys knew how difficult I found it to ask for things, especially help. I might as well have just declared a crisis.

"Whatever you need," he said, violet eyes roving over me as if he were looking for injuries.

"I'm sending a sketch of Cassian to Nesta so she knows who to look for when he meets with her. Since you're a daemati, could you help me…er…hold a picture of him in my mind while I draw? It'll be more accurate that way."

I actually didn't need that—I knew perfectly well what Cassian looked like. But I couldn't do this alone, and it felt a little pathetic to admit that I wanted the comfort of Rhys's mind curling around mine.

He understood anyway. With a wave of his hand, the chair I was sitting in became a bench wide enough for us both. He sat, draping his wings over the back, and pulled me against his side.

He hadn't even touched my mind, but I'd already relaxed just from having him near. Getting closer to Rhys always felt like straightening out something that had just been askew.

Mate.

A talon rapped politely against my shields, and I let him in. The picture formed, sharper than I would have been able to manage with just my own mind's eye—Cassian, with his rough-hewn features, shoulder-length hair, and easy smile. Not so obtrusive that I couldn't concentrate on anything else, but clear and easily reachable. A perfect, helpful reference.

Rhys's mind encircled mine just as surely as his arms did. For anyone else, that might have been terrifying, but I was held—not fenced in. Cradled. Rhys was there with me, every step of the way. Even the darkness settled around my shoulders.

I managed it. The sketch was hardly my best work, but it didn't have to be. It was accurate enough, and I folded the paper and let it disappear before I had too much of a chance to nitpick my own creation. Rhys, who must have known I didn't want an audience, kept his face buried in my hair and scented me instead of peeking over my shoulder.

Once the letter was gone, I swung my legs to the side, crossing my thighs over his and letting my head fall against his chest as his hand rubbed soothing circles on my back. I could hear his heartbeat through the fine embroidered fabric of his jacket, slow and steady. We sat like that for a while, until the first few stars appeared in the sky.

"You haven't eaten anything, have you?" Rhys said eventually.

Right. Dinner. I'd told myself I'd eat once I'd sent the letter, then gotten so caught up in not being able to sketch that I'd forgotten about food entirely. But now that I thought about it…I was starving.

"No, but I need to," I said, standing up.

Rhys was looking at me curiously, with an expression I couldn't quite name. He'd once told me he could feel my hunger pangs through the bond, but I wasn't quite sure if that was what this was about.

"You could have told me sooner that this was a bad day," he said gently.

"It wasn't. Not until I tried to draw. And then…" It had felt like everything came crashing down.

"Come," he said, taking my hand. "Let's not let an empty stomach make it worse."

Cerridwen had long since left for the day, and the meal she'd left us had gone cold. Rhys set about heating it up again, shooing me away from the oven when I tried to help.

Instead, he reached into a pocket dimension and pulled out a wine bottle. "You can open this and pour if you really feel the need to make yourself useful."

"There's a cellar downstairs," I said, hopping down from my perch on the countertop to take the bottle.

There was wine down there, and whatever magic protected the townhouse had kept the bottles pristine—not a single speck of dust had touched them during his fifty years away. Because I'd refused to snoop, I hadn't known they were even there until Mor had insisted on opening one that first dinner after we'd returned.

Rhys flashed me a wicked smile. "The good wine is downstairs, where Cassian can steal it and think he's put one over on me. But I don't tell him about the best bottles, and they stay where he can't get to them."

I couldn't help but feel a warm rush of affection. Even in something as small as this, Rhys couldn't help but be a sneaky, conniving bastard—who also trusted that I'd keep his secrets.

We sat down, and it was hardly the first time we'd eaten a meal together. I was still acutely aware this was the sort of evening I'd dreamed about Under the Mountain—idle chitchat about how our days had been, enough food, weather mild enough to leave the windows open and let the salt-tinged night breeze inside. Everything we'd fought for, really.

We'd just been finishing up when Nesta's response arrived, the note appearing out of thin air next to my plate. Rhys hovered in the doorway, far enough to make it obvious he wasn't trying to read it, but concern for me evident on his face.

Nesta had given me a date and time, then written, Send an accurate portrait, not cover art from a cheap romance novel. No one actually looks like that.

I hadn't embellished anything. The sketch might not have been my best work, but it was true to life. And if it had truly been bad, Nesta would have said something far more scathing.

With a small smile, I picked up the pen that had appeared and wrote, I haven't been able to read long enough to take inspiration from novels. You can trust it's a good likeness.

I thought that would be the end of it. But the dishes were in the sink, and I was halfway up the stairs and intent on drawing a bath when the paper appeared again.

Was Rhysand angry? An illiterate wife would have difficulties running his household.

I was tempted to scoff or roll my eyes, but those words had a certain weight to them when they came from the woman who'd nearly married Tomas Mandray. Instead, I considered what to say while I brought the note to my room.

There's not much of a household to run. The palace is for business only. Rhys and I are the only ones in the townhouse where we reside. He wasn't angry, though. Just concerned and horrified on my behalf.

Her last note of the evening arrived as I stepped into my bedroom. Your husband is quite strange, but send him my regards. Please ensure General Cassian arrives on time for our meeting. Goodnight.

No pen accompanied the note; Nesta clearly intended the conversation to end there. I tried to let it go, though I wished I'd asked about Elain and my father while I'd still had the chance. But still, it was one of the most civil conversations I'd had with Nesta in recent memory.

Perhaps it was easier to be kind when we weren't looking each other in the face.

Though we could now sometimes manage without it, out of an abundance of caution, Rhys and I took the sleeping draught that night. We'd taken to knocking it back together, then kissing goodnight.

We weren't quite fine yet, but we were getting closer.

Chapter Text

Cassian insisted on another family dinner. The Inner Circle tended to drift in and out of the townhouse at all hours, so they often ate with Rhys and me as they passed through. But since that second night back, we hadn't all shared a meal as a group.

Rhys told me privately that they hadn't done that fifty years ago. They'd gone out on the town together or traveled to Illyria—apparently there was a cabin somewhere in the mountains—but never intentionally planned quiet dinners at the House of Wind.

I knew what changed. And the shadows in Rhys's eyes told me he did, too.

But still, I'd snorted and asked if it wasn't merely because all of them were getting too old for late nights out. He'd grumbled something about teenagers and changed the subject.

Rhys flew us both up to the House, effortless grace on full display as one push from his powerful thighs launched us into the sky. He'd regained enough strength to move fluidly like his brothers did, more at ease in the air than on the ground.

He always looked beautiful. But the quiet joy sparking in his violet eyes every time he tasted the wind stole my breath.

Mor greeted us on the balcony, pulling me into a one-armed hug to avoid spilling the glass of wine in her other hand. The hem of her red silk gown fluttered in the breeze.

"Is there a dress code I didn't know about? I said, glancing down at my own attire, a pair of leggings flecked with paint and the undershirt I'd worn beneath my armor while training that morning.

"It's the same one as always," Mor said, kissing Rhys's cheek as she released me, "whatever we feel like."

I smiled, comfortable in my casual clothes even next to Rhys, who wore the immaculate black jacket and pants I'd come to think of as his uniform. Through the open door behind Mor, I spotted Cassian, still in leathers, his long hair an uncombed mess.

He caught my eye and grinned. "Take any seat you like, as long as it's not next to Rhys. He gets you all to himself enough as it is."

"Have you considered," Rhys drawled, looping an arm through mine as we headed into the dining room, "that Feyre spends so much time in my company for a reason?"

I hadn't noticed Azriel in the corner, preternaturally still and half-hidden in a shadow, until he said, "Living under the same roof isn't a particularly compelling reason to spend time with you, brother."

Cassian said, "And unfortunately, I've seen it, so I can tell you that neither is the size of his—"

Amren couldn't have chosen a better moment to come striding in from the hallway. "Enough. No one wants to hear you finish that sentence."

Mor took the opportunity to tug me away from Rhys and over to the open bottle of wine on the sideboard. I took a sip from the glass she handed me and rolled my eyes at Cassian made yet another dirty joke about wingspans. Amren's irritated hiss followed it, timed as if on cue.

Azriel pulled out a chair for me. I made a face—not even Rhys, with princely manners engrained since childhood, bothered with that. Az just glared and jerked his chin at the empty seat, a clear order to cut the crap and sit down.

I did, noting that Rhys's expression had gone soft as he sank into his own chair at the other end of the table. Not bothering to speak mind-to-mind, I raised my brows at him in a silent question. He just smiled as a flick of Mor's wrist sent the wine bottle floating through the air and landing gently in front of the seat she'd claimed at his left.

I knew what that look meant—it was good to be home. I felt the same way.

The cooks in the kitchens located deep in the belly of the House had outdone themselves—even for faerie food, everything smelled especially fragrant. As soon as it had all appeared with a snap of Rhys's fingers, I reached for a platter of pan-fried trout and scooped a generous portion onto my plate.

Nuala had made the same thing for dinner a few times; I'd asked her about it and learned that Velaris prided itself on dishes made from the river trout fished from the Sidra. So different from my landlocked village below the Wall, where seafood of any kind might as well have not existed. And even when we could afford it, fish had been a luxury reserved for the balls and dinner parties my mother ordered the nanny to keep me well away from.

Perhaps I'd feel differently after my first winter so far north, but for now, I didn't mind trading the forests and farmland of my village for Velaris's salt-tinged air and plentiful lobster.

All six of us around the table went quiet, more intent on filling our plates than making conversation. Simple fare for a casual dinner—garlicky rice, grilled vegetables sprinkled with goat cheese, bean soup. Or rather, five of us did. Amren sipped her goblet of blood, plate empty.

"Take more. I asked the cooks to make extra because it's your favorite," Cassian said eventually, passing the platter of trout back to me.

A lump formed in my throat. "Thank you," I managed to say.

I'd always had more than enough to eat in the Spring Court, but no one had taken note of which foods I'd liked the most. Not even in an attempt to woo me and break the curse. Perhaps they'd all assumed there was no need when even the most delicious food mortals had to offer paled in comparison to the blandest meal in Prythian.

But Cassian...Cassian had once probably needed the same urging to take another helping that I did, the same reminder that I could pick what I liked and not just worry about survival.

He knew better than to say any of that that aloud. With a wink, he added, "And it's good lean protein for clean bulking."

I was healthier than ever, but I'd still need to pack on several more pounds to get Cassian to stop calling me unacceptably scrawny. And even then, I'd still probably hear about it until I could properly string an Illyrian bow. But still, I scooped one of the larger pieces of trout onto my plate.

"Some of us have hobbies that aren't building up muscles to ogle in the mirror, you know," Mor said.

On my other side, Azriel sighed; we'd all heard this argument before. But predictably, Cassian said, gesturing with his fork, "It's all about functional fitness. And you can't talk—wine-tasting isn't a hobby, either."

"Dancing is," Mor said, flicking her golden hair over a shoulder, "and even after all those balance and spacial awareness drills in the ring, you nearly crushed my foot last time you tried. Functional, my ass."

At this rate, they'd bicker all night; I tuned it out and turned to Amren. "How is the blood?"

Her brows flicked up, and I took a bite of trout to cover my discomfort as the full weight of her strange silver stare fell on me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rhys still. Hopefully, I hadn't offended her.

"Fresh, hot, and well-spiced," Amren said. She smiled, letting the blood gleam on her teeth.

I hadn't realized the cooks seasoned it. Or that freshness mattered, though now that I thought about it, I supposed it made sense that she wouldn't want to drink a cupful of coagulated lumps.

In my years in the cabin, I'd butchered far more than my fair share of kills, always dumping the blood as a waste product. With something akin to professional curiosity, I asked, "Are the spices added to the salt they use to draw out the remaining blood?"

"Yes, though I also request that they save the blood that drains from the initial cut to the animal's neck."

"It's from livestock, then?" It would be impossible to save that much blood from a creature felled by an arrow, though I supposed it might be possible for a rabbit caught in a trap and slaughtered later.

Amren tilted her head, still staring at me as he ran her tongue over her canines. I tried not to shudder. "So many questions. Are you planning on obtaining some for me, girl?"

"I'd rather not process my own game again if I can avoid it, but you never know," I said with a shrug.

Amren muttered something to herself in a language I didn't understand, then took another sip of blood. She sounded…amused. But I couldn't be sure, not with her.

Rhys slipped into my mind and said, I've never worked up the courage to ask her about the blood.

Someone should have, if she consumes it like we consume food, I said.

Charmingly practical as ever. With an affectionate tug on the bond, he pulled back out of my mind before anyone could complain we were having a silent conversation.

I went quiet after that, turning my attention back to the food on my plate. Most of us did, though Cassian and Mor's bickering had faded into a sort of comfortable background noise.

There was a lull in the conversation eventually. And just as we'd all gone silent, Azriel quietly said, "Shit."

I glanced up to see his shadows writhing around him, more agitated than ever. They'd gone darker. More of them had gathered to speak to him, if I had to guess.

He'd locked eyes with Rhys, the two of them obviously speaking mind-to-mind. The mass of shadows was too thick to make out Azriel's face, but Rhys looked grave. As if whatever Azriel told him had just aged him a hundred years.

We waited. I tried to breathe through the panic that was already clawing its way up my throat.

"I think this is confirmation," Rhys said aloud, "that the King of Hybern intends to resurrect Jurian to launch a war."

"Then he's insane," Cassian said. "There's no way to resurrect the dead."

Mor frowned. "And even if there were, why Jurian? He was so odious. All he liked to do was talk about himself."

Right. They'd all fought in the War five hundred years ago. I'd known that, but the gravity of it hit me like a ton of bricks just then. Rhys and his Inner Circle hadn't just fought for my people's freedom, they'd known the most famous hero from our history books personally. Cauldron, they were ancient.

"That's what we need to find out," Rhys said. "Azriel just got word that Hybern sacked a third temple today. Thanks to the sentries we provided after the last two attacks, not a single priestess was harmed. I stand by the decision to prioritize preventing loss of life, but it left the trove unguarded. Hybern's soldiers looted it."

Perhaps this wouldn't be a war of brute armies and pure bloodshed, but one of dark magic and ancient spells. I could only imagine what sort of powerful artifacts the priestesses hid in a temple trove. And if Amarantha had been the beginning, if she'd been clearing a path for her king…

I breathed, "The ring and the finger bone vanished after Amarantha died. You didn't mist them?"

"I couldn't," Rhys said. "It would have taken time to unravel the protective spells she'd placed on them. And I…I didn't have the self-control to do it then, not with you injured. Nuala and Cerridwen couldn't get to them fast enough, either."

"They never caught the Attor, did they?”

Rhys said too quietly, “No. No, they didn’t.” The food in my stomach turned leaden. He said to Amren, “How does one take an eye and a finger bone and make it into a man again? And how do we stop it?”

Amren frowned at the remaining blood in her cup. “You already know how to find the answer. Go to the Prison. Talk to the Bone Carver.”

“Shit,” Mor and Cassian both said.

Rhys said calmly, “Perhaps you would be more effective, Amren.”

I was grateful for the table separating us as Amren hissed, “I will not set foot in the Prison, Rhysand, and you know it. So go yourself, or send one of these dogs to do it for you.”

Cassian grinned, showing his white, straight teeth—perfect for biting. Amren snapped hers once in return.

Azriel just shook his head. “I’ll go. The Prison sentries know me—what I am.”

Mor's fingers stilled on the stem of her wineglass; her eyes narrowed on Amren. It felt uncomfortably like a calm before a storm, and I was all-too-aware that their last big fight had apparently leveled the cabin in Illyria.

“If anyone’s going to the Prison,” Rhys said before Mor opened her mouth, “it’s me. And Feyre.”

“What?” Mor demanded, palms now flat on the table.

"He won’t talk to Rhys," Amren said to the others, “or to Azriel. Or to any of us. We’ve got nothing to offer him. But an immortal with a mortal soul…” She stared at my chest as if she could see the heart pounding beneath. "The Bone Carver might be willing indeed to talk to her."

If anything, the Bone Carver sounded less intimidating than the Weaver. And after the Bogge, the naga, the Attor, the Suriel, and the Middengard Wyrm…maybe I had reason to feel confident. I was still standing after facing them all.

"Your choice, Feyre," Rhys said, in that too-casual way that covered his anxiety. If he'd been standing, I was sure he would have slipped his hands into his pockets.

I didn't hesitate. "I'll go."

"Then eat up. We'll leave after dinner."

I nodded. Better to get this over with and waste no time. I returned to my food, shoveling it into my mouth without really tasting it anymore. As I ate, I reached down the bond for Rhys, but my mental fingers only brushed reinforced walls of adamant. He didn't want to talk, then.

For all its opulence, the dining room in the House of Wind might as well have become a mess hall full of soldiers. We all finished the meal silently, efficiently, then dispersed to get work done.

Rhys and I armed ourselves and changed into Illyrian leathers. Beyond giving the rest of the Inner Circle a few terse orders, he still hadn't spoken at all. And even as he pulled me into his arms to fly above the House's wards, his face was blank. Unreadable.

When we emerged from the space between worlds, he set me down on a sharp grassy slope of the small mountain, where veils of mist wafted past. Behind us, the land swept away to brutal cliffs.

"This is it?" I said. This place was freezing, barren—nothing terrifying or monstrous, only rock and grass and mist and sea. It didn't seem like a trap, not like the Weaver's cottage had.

"That," Rhys said, pointing up at the mammoth mountain, "is the Prison."

"I don't see anything." No guards, no watchtowers, no inmates.

His lips twitched. "The rock is the Prison."

In other circumstances, he might have made a joke and flicked my nose. And his answer still didn't explain much of anything, so I just waited, crossing my arms.

Rhys added, "This place was made before High Lords existed. Before Prythian was Prythian. Some of the inmates remember those days. Remember a time when it was Mor’s family, not mine, that ruled the North.”

"Why won’t Amren go in here?"

"Because she was once a prisoner."

Amren served in Rhys's court, and even then, she still barely followed her High Lord's orders most days. I struggled to imagine her confined anywhere. I supposed it had been a long time ago, in a vastly different body, and the thought made me shiver.

We'd need to hike up the mountain ourselves—before we'd left, he'd explained that the wards prevented winnowing or flying inside the Prison. It might take a while, and we could talk more on the way. I started up the path.

Only to stop after a few yards when I realized Rhys hadn't followed.

I turned. He stood frozen at the base of the mountain, eyes wide and wild. Something about his gaze was…off. Unfocused.

My stomach lurched.

"Rhys?" I said, hurrying back to him. "Are you alright?"

"I—" he said, then stopped, as if he'd choked on something.

"What's wrong?"

"I— I can't. I can't fight another war and go under another mountain."

Without thinking, I launched myself at him. I had no idea how to stop the forces behind his panic, but I could pull him close. Hold him through it. I wrapped my arms around his too-rigid body and pressed myself against him.

"We got out," I said, repeating the words until they became a litany. We got out, we got out, we got out.

Rhys winnowed us home without warning. It felt like stumbling through the void between worlds, and I clung to him desperately. We landed on the roof of the townhouse, so unsteady on our feet we'd nearly toppled over.

Until this ran its course, I needed to give him whatever reassurance I could that the past was over. Something to ground him in the here-and-now in Velaris and pull him out of the memories.

"Rhys. Sit down," I said, hoping it sounded firm, but…kind.

Thank the Mother he obeyed, sinking down into the chair and draping his wings over the back. They drooped as he tipped his head forward and held it in his hands. He looked less like a High Lord than I'd ever seen him, and more like a dark, fallen prince.

To keep his view of the city unobstructed, I moved behind him and said, "Can I touch you?"

I relaxed when he nodded—it would be easier this way. He'd kept his wings hidden Under the Mountain, so I reached forward and skimmed my hands along them. Even though I avoided the most sensitive places, a shudder ripped through him.

"Eyes up," I whispered. "Look at the sky."

I avoided the soft caresses that were best left for touching his wings in the bedroom. Instead, I focused on the joints, the places that I knew often ached as he rebuilt the strength he'd lost. A groan rumbled from the back of his throat.

We were silent as I rubbed circles with my thumbs, pressing gently against the delicate bones. He couldn't reach any of these places, and he'd never let anyone but me touch them either. I took my time—it felt good, in some ways, to take care of him as only a mate could.

After a long while, he sighed and said, "I failed again today, and here you are picking up the pieces. I'm sorry." His guilt dripped down the bond—acrid and viscous, like some sort of noxious oil. I wanted to retch.

"None of that," I said. "I won't lie and tell you it's fine to struggle—there's too much on your shoulders as High Lord. But if you and I can manage not to fall apart at the same time, we'll be alright."

His wing twitched under my hand. Then Rhys snapped it in tight, pulling it out of the way so he could look curiously at me over his shoulder. The shadows in his eyes were a little less dark.

"You sound like a High Lady."

I shook my head. "I'm speaking as your mate. If we're facing a war, you need to stay functional, and I'm the best person to ensure you do."

It wasn't until the words were out of my mouth that I realized how cold they sounded. I cringed. It was the truth, but I hadn't meant to talk about Rhys like he was a…duty.

"We all have our part to play," I added more softly, running my fingers through his silken hair. "Don't think that means I love you with anything less than my whole heart."

He pressed his eyes shut and nodded. That sick feeling on his end of the bond finally began to dissipate, and I felt…lighter. We both did.

Rhys stared up at me with that reverent look I'd never been able to handle, the depth of his feelings for me on full display. Like I was his savior, his queen, his mate, his beloved, all wrapped up into one.

"When it finally happens, you're going to make an excellent High Lady one day," he said, voice rough.

I doubted that. Half a tattoo and a few ancient creatures using the title didn't mean I was worthy of it. Whatever the Night Court wanted for its end of the bargain was almost certainly more than I was capable of giving. Being Lady of Night was more than enough to navigate on its own.

But there was no use arguing, so I merely said, "Let's get you to bed."

Rhys's proud, elegant nose wrinkled like he'd smelled something sour, and I relaxed, sure the worst of this was over. "You don't need to talk about me like I'm elderly."

"I can carry you to bed and tuck you in if you'd rather be treated like a babe," I said sweetly. Even with the wings, I doubted he weighed that much more than the dead bucks I'd routinely carried home. If it really came down to it…

My shields were up, but Rhys caught the calculating look on my face and guessed what I was thinking anyway. Hissing like an irritated cat, he took my hand to winnow us downstairs.

We took the sleeping draught for the first time in a while. Rhys didn't question it when I poured a dose for us both—we didn't need nightmares dragging us from sleep if we could avoid it. Together, we knocked back the bitter liquid before kissing goodnight.

I wasn't sure how much time passed before something jerked me awake. A small figure stood at the foot of my bed. My hazy, sluggish mind was the only reason I didn't bolt upright in shock and slam into the headboard. At first, I thought it was a dream, but—

"We have work to do," Amren said in a low voice.

That was enough to clear the fog from my head. For a moment, I considered calling for Rhys, but Amren had come to me for a reason. And I trusted her.

I reinforced the walls around my mind, then whispered, "Has there been another attack?"

"No. You and I are going to see the Bone Carver."

"Now?"

"The High Lord is indisposed, and I'm his Second."

Amren's silver eyes seemed to glow in the the moonlight, watching me as I stilled and considered her words. She hadn't said anything untrue, but…she'd dodged my question, too.

"Are you giving me orders?" I said, not really meaning it as an accusation. Technically, Amren was well within her rights to do so.

She bared her teeth with a soft snarl. "I will if that's what it takes you get you to hurry up. You can't go to the Prison in your nightgown, girl."

I slid out of bed as quietly as I could. In anticipation of trying to see the Bone Carver again tomorrow, I'd draped my leathers over the back of my chair. I grabbed them and ducked behind a screen to change.

"I thought you wouldn't go inside?" I said, shucking off my clothes. Perhaps, she meant for me to go alone. I would, if that's what it took.

But Mother above, Rhys might actually kill her for it.

"If Rhysand can't enter, that changes things," she said.

Fair enough. I'd avoided saying it aloud to Rhys, but there was always the chance of the same outcome when we returned to the Prison again. This could easily turn into a test of stubbornness that wasted precious time.

I pulled on the leathers and tightened the straps with quick, efficient movements that had become routine. "But why not tell him that?"

Amren snorted. "Because it's easier to complete the task without the added complication of a self-sacrificing idiot breathing down our necks."

And since we were acting in service of defending his people, Rhys would get over it. By now, I understood how the Court of Dreams operated and when the rules could be bent or broken.

But still… "I'm not leaving him in the house alone. Not right now."

"I wouldn't ask you to. Morrigan is downstairs."

I bit back an irritated sigh; Mor would have woken me up with far less cloak-and-dagger nonsense than Amren. Ultimately, though, it was for the best that both Rhys's Second and Third were aware of this mission.

And I wouldn't make the same mistake I had in Illyria. Once my leathers were on, I grabbed some scratch paper from a pad on my bedside table and scrawled a note. I'm with Amren, will be back soon. Use the bond if you need me. — F

While I wrote the note and stuck it on Rhys's door, Amren scowled and drummed her fingers on the jeweled bracelet circling her wrist. But she kept quiet, so I supposed she couldn't have truly been that impatient.

I think Amren understood, on some level, that Rhys might need the reassurance. Or perhaps she merely appreciated additional evidence that this wasn't a kidnapping. It was difficult to tell with her.

Once I was finished, her pale hand shot out and grasped my wrist, and she whisked us both away, ready to get to work.

Chapter Text

After the familiar comfort of my bedroom in the townhouse, the sight of grassy slopes stretching for hundreds of feet below us made my stomach lurch. We’d winnowed straight to the top of the mountain.

“How?” I asked Amren as she dropped my hand. Rhys had said the wards prevented this.

“I know a thing or two about the secrets this place holds,” she said, voice grim.

I didn’t ask her to elaborate. Rhys had warned me the inmates listened through the earth for gossip to trade, and if Amren decided to share how she’d done it, she wouldn’t tell me here. Instead, I turned my back to the rocky slopes and churning sea, expecting to find a door.

There was none. Just…more rock. A sheer stone wall rising up in front of us both.

“These are the gates?” I said.

She nodded. “Place your palm flat against them.”

I did, and the bare stone rippled beneath my palm. I willed a door to open for me, and wards strained to obey. Strained against something. The magic felt like a dog lunging for prey just out of the range of its leash.

If spells could want, this one wanted to do my bidding. But it couldn’t.

After a moment, the rippling stopped, and no gates appeared. The stone remained smooth. I removed my hand and looked to Amren, who said quietly, “What did you feel?”

I thought for a moment, unsure how to describe it. Not quite a block or a damper on the power, but…something else. “It was like I asked it to reach for something beyond its grasp.”

Amren hummed thoughtfully, staring at me again as if I were made of layers she could see right through. That had intimidated me once, but I was beginning to grow accustomed to it. I just waited for her to explain.

She didn’t. Her hand darted out and clasped mine again, and we disappeared into shadow once more.

We emerged in darkness. The air here—wherever here was—didn’t have the same salt smell from the sea nearby. Instead it was…dank. Musty.

Torches along the wall flared to life, and I nearly heaved when I realized we were in a passageway underground. My chest went tight, but I forced myself to breathe. The panic faded after a few moments.

Amren said nothing, just watched me with a pinched expression on her face. “Where are we?” I said, gingerly slipping my hand from hers when I realized I hadn’t let go.

“Entering through the back door,” she said, striding forward and clearly expecting me to follow.

Despite her minuscule stride length, Amren walked wickedly fast. I needed to jog a few steps to catch up, then matched her breakneck pace. “Rhys didn’t mention anything about a back door,” I said, embarrassingly breathless.

“I doubt he knows about it.”

In my surprise, I nearly stumbled, and Amren kept pushing forward, not even pausing as she shot an irritated glare over her shoulder. But for the first time, I wasn’t quite sure if agreeing to come here with her was wise.

“What do you mean?”

“He never asked, and I prefer not to discuss this place or my time here if I can avoid it.”

I considered that and kept walking. It seemed reasonable enough—after all, I didn’t exactly enjoy speaking of my time Under the Mountain, either. But after Rhys’s warning about the inmates’ possible gossip, it gave me pause.

“Can we speak freely?”

“Yes. None of the beasts down here are intelligent enough to make sense of what we’re saying.”

So we weren’t alone, then. My hand drifted to one of the knives strapped to my leathers. I wrapped my fingers around the handle but didn’t unsheathe it.

“Do you have a theory about what happened with the gates just now?” After all that research, it seemed impossible that she wouldn’t.

“They’re keyed to Rhysand’s blood. The gates might not have opened for you, but that they reacted at all…whatever power runs through your veins must resemble his. Though since you haven’t misted any armies or shattered minds, I assume it’s weaker. After today, I’m more certain that when the magic flowed through you at the end of the Great Rite, it merely re-shaped something that had already been there long before Calanmai. Something dormant, perhaps.”

For a long while, there was no sound but the crunch of gravel under our feet as I mulled that over. A heavy sense of inevitability settled over me, and not for the first time. Childhood dreams of Velaris, a mating bond with the High Lord, a hunter made of stars pointing the way home…

I was always meant to end up here in the Night Court. But I didn’t understand why. Something told me that the purpose behind it all was connected to whatever the magic wanted for its side of the bargain inked on my left hand.

“Our trip here is another test, then?” I said.

Amren’s answering smile didn’t meet her eyes. “Partially, yes. We’re primarily here to carry a burden that weighs too heavily on Rhys at the moment, but I’ll confess that my curiosity about the nature of your power played a role in my decision to set foot in the Prison again.”

“Efficient.” If we were killing two birds with one stone, I could hardly complain. And at least she was honest.

“That’s a high compliment from you.”

We lapsed into silence again. Occasionally, I heard a scraping, slithering sound in the distance. Perhaps it was just my imagination, but something about it reminded me enough of the Middengard Wyrm moving through its lair that my heart pounded each time. Nothing ever seemed to approach us. I kept a hand on my knife anyway.

The passageway sloped upward until we reached a set of massive stone doors. From top to bottom, they were covered in elaborate carvings—art. I could have spent all day admiring the craftsmanship, and I wished for paper and a pencil to rub a copy of the etchings, something to take home and examine at the very least. But Amren and I had a task to complete.

And besides, as soon as we approached, they swung open anyway.

I heard Amren’s breath catch in her throat. Her spine had gone ramrod-straight, and for a moment, I wondered if I might need to reach for Rhys through the bond and ask him to bring us home. Before I could say anything, she took a slow, deep breath, then marched into the gloom like a soldier entering the fray. There was nothing to do but follow.

We found ourselves in a large central chamber made of the same drab grey rock as the mountain. It was round, and identical passageways branched from it in all directions. There were no signs or labels to differentiate them, but Amren seemed to know exactly where to go, not even pausing to look around. The walls lacked torches, so with a flick of her hand, Amren summoned an orb of faelight to illuminate the way.

There was no sign of life—no sounds or footprints or even dust. I’d never known a place so still. “Where are the guards?” I whispered. I’d spoken as softly as I could, but my voice still sounded far too loudly as it echoed against the walls.

“They’re nothing more than shadows of thought that emerge from the rock to deal with the prisoners. At feeding time, generally. I doubt we’ll see them.”

“Then how will we see…er, who we’re here to visit?” I said, careful to avoid saying the name aloud. Despite the feeling of emptiness surrounding the Prison, its inhabitants lingered just on the other side of the walls, well within earshot.

“If he wants to talk, he’ll open his door. The magic will keep him confined to the cell.”

We kept walking, deeper and deeper into the mountain, both of us trying not to think of the cells we’d once been confined in. My memories bubbled up enough to recall the feel of the moldy pallet of hay I’d slept on in Amarantha’s dungeon, and I could only imagine what horrors Amren had endured here.

I wasn’t sure how far we walked when we finally stopped before a set of ivory doors. Doors of bone, I realized with a shiver. They’d been carved just as elaborately as the first set we’d passed through, with a similar set of images—flora and fauna, seas and clouds, stars and moons, infants and skeletons, creatures fair and foul—

It swung away. The cell was pitch-black, hardly distinguishable from the hall—

“I have carved the doors for every prisoner in this place,” said a small voice within, “but my own remains my favorite.”

“The one you carved for me is certainly a close second,” Amren said, stepping inside. The bobbing faelight followed her.

A dark-haired boy sat against the far wall, his eyes of crushing blue taking in Amren and then flicking to me. He didn’t look a day older than eight. I hovered near the door and waited for some signal to proceed.

Amren reached into the pocket of her pants and pulled out a bone. To my immense relief, it didn’t appear human. She tossed it towards the boy, and the clatter against the floor made me flinch.

“After all this time, they still set out a shankbone for me each spring,” Amren said as if that explained it.

“I’ve heard no rumors of bloodied doorposts.”

Amren shrugged. “Less interest in keeping me away these days.”

I didn’t dare ask about whatever ancient, gruesome ritual they seemed to be discussing. Even if I wanted to, I didn’t trust my voice not to tremble.

The Bone Carver’s eyes fell on me again. “Come inside,” he said, and there was no innocence, no kindness in that child’s voice.

I took one step in and no more.

“It has been an age,” the boy said, gobbling down the sight of me, “since something new came into this world.”

His too-blue gaze bored into me the same way Amren’s often did. Somehow, I knew he sensed my immortality—perhaps he could even see it. “Hello,” I breathed, unwilling to say more.

The boy’s smile was a mockery of innocence. “Are you frightened?”

“Yes,” I said. When Rhys had briefed me, his first command had been never lie.

The boy stood, but kept to the other side of the cell. “Feyre,” he murmured, cocking his head. The faelight glazed the inky hair in silver. “Fay-ruh,” he said again, drawing out the syllables as if he could taste them. At last, he straightened his head. “What did you discuss with the stag on Calanmai?”

I blinked, shocked that he knew about that. But as I’d been instructed earlier, I replied, “A question for a question.”

The Bone Carver inclined his head to Amren. “Your High Lord has trained her well.” But those eyes alighted on me. “Tell me about the stag and your hunt on Calanmai—and I will answer your question.”

I hesitated. We needed the information, but those were secrets too precious to divulge just yet. Especially not to an inmate confined in a prison full of gossips.

“Only if you agree not to share the information with anyone else.”

“Answer two questions of mine for each one of yours, and I’ll keep what you tell me in confidence. That’s the price of my knowledge and my silence.”

“Deal,” I said, just as Amren gave me a subtle nod.

The Bone Carver waited as I took a breath, trying to steady myself. I’d told this story twice now—once to the Inner Circle and once to Nesta—but I needed to get my thoughts in order.

“I felt…a compulsion,” I said. “All I could think of was killing the stag. I held on to some parts of myself, but really only the knowledge of hunting I’d gained before crossing the wall. I lost all sense of time as I chased it through the woods.”

The Bone Carver’s eyes seemed to glow brighter. “How did you track it?”

“By sight and sound. The same as any other deer.”

“And how did you intend to kill it?”

“With a bow.”

“Did you hear anything speak to you?”

“Not at first. Nothing told me to go outside or chase it. That part I just…knew. It wasn’t until I made the choice not to shoot that I heard anything at all. Once I dropped the bow, the stag acknowledged me with a greeting.”

I would have kept going, but Amren cut in, her voice cold as ice, “That’s four questions. Answer two of ours before continuing.”

“No interest in catching up with an old friend, I see,” the Bone Carver said, an edge to his voice that made me certain he and Amren had never been friends. To me, he added, “Ask it, girl.”

“If there was no body—nothing but perhaps a bit of bone,” I said as solidly as I could, “would there be a way to resurrect that person? To grow them a new body, put their soul into it.”

Those eyes flashed. “Was the soul somehow preserved? Contained?”

I tried not to think about the eye ring Amarantha had worn, the soul she’d trapped inside to witness her every horror and depravity. “Yes.”

“There is no way.”

I almost sighed in relief, but my heart sank as the Bone Carver spoke again, explaining that a cauldron—The Cauldron, really—could manage it, if someone collected the scattered pieces and reforged them. After sacking all three temples, the King of Hybern almost certainly had each part in his possession.

We continued our trade until we both shared everything—I told my story and received harsh truths in return. Amarantha’s reign had given Hybern time to hunt the Cauldron. Jurian’s resurrection would likely be only the first test of its abilities. We had precious little time to locate the Book of Breathings and nullify the Cauldron’s power before Hybern tore down the Wall.

Amren hardly spoke through most of it, and when she did ask occasional questions, her tone became increasingly clipped. I’d never seen such a tense set to her shoulders before. In the past, I had known her to be irritated or even angry, but never…struggling for control.

When it was done, the road ahead was clear enough—get the book and prevent a war. We didn’t bother with thanks or goodbyes, and Amren herded me out of the cell as quickly as possible.

The moment we winnowed back into the warmth of the townhouse, Amren let out a long, shuddering breath. We’d materialized in the living room, where Mor had been sitting in an armchair and reading through some sort of report. She leapt to her feet at the sight of us.

And to my shock…Amren allowed Mor to pull her into a hug.

Mor whispered something to her I only caught part of, but it sounded a bit like “proud of you for facing it.” In response, Amren merely took another shaking breath.

I turned my back, feeling like an intruder. Mor and Amren were family, but I didn’t share the closeness of a centuries-long friendship the way they did. Instead, I reached down the bond for Rhys and relaxed when I sensed he was still asleep.

As I toed off my boots, Mor conjured up a cup of blood from the Mother knew where and pressed it into Amren’s hands. Amren sipped it quietly, holding it with both hands. Her eyes had gone distant, the swirling silver depths suddenly…dull.

“She’ll be alright with some time,” Mor said, catching my look of concern as I took a seat. “Tell me how it went.”

I did, keeping an ear pricked for any sign of movement upstairs. The sky had just begun to lighten, and Illyria had beat the capacity for sleeping in out of Rhys long ago. Just as I finished telling Mor everything, I felt the telltale shift in the bond as he woke up. I tugged on the thread gently, a subtle come find me, and braced myself for a fight.

A minute later, Rhys appeared in the doorway, bleary-eyed and wrapped in a dressing gown of quilted black silk. At the sight of Amren and Mor’s presence and me still in leathers, he went preternaturally still.

I waited, unwilling to speak first. His nostrils flared as he scented something. The silence stretched on for a few more long moments, broken only by the ticking clock on the mantle.

“Can I ask,” Rhys said to me, voice deceptively mild, even as his wings twitched, “what you were doing underground with Amren in the middle of the night?”

“Visiting the Bone Carver,” I said simply.

Rhys’s eyes slid to Amren, and I could practically feel him puzzling it out as he took in her exhaustion and the way she clutched her cup of blood. “You— you truly visited the Prison? Just now?”

“It needed to be done,” Amren said.

“Cauldron, Amren,” Rhys said with a sigh. “Not by you.”

Before they had a chance to argue about it, I said, “Let me show you what we learned, Rhys. You can watch the memory in my head.”

By now, I’d practiced shielding myself enough to adjust the walls around my mind with more precision than merely raising and lowering a gate. I cordoned everything off until the conversation with the Bone Carver existed in its own room with a door that I unlocked and opened for Rhys. One careful talon reached in tentatively, then I felt him step through.

It only took a moment for him to absorb everything, thank me, and slip back out of my mind. Out loud, he said, “I appreciate the three of you handling this on my behalf.”

From my place on the sofa, I studied him. Rhys had slipped his hands into the pockets of his dressing gown, so at odds with the careful, diplomatic, decidedly High-Lord-like tone he’d taken. His face remained impassive.

I hated not being able to tell what he was thinking.

Mor opened her mouth to say something, but Rhys continued, “And I believe I owe everyone an apology. A bit of…slowness after my return was inevitable, but I never should have let it reach a point that I became an obstacle that you felt the need to work around. I’m sorry.”

“It’s too early in the morning for your dramatics. Feed us breakfast, and we’ll call it even,” Mor said with a roll of her eyes.

I wasn't sure if Mor had truly shrugged off Rhys's upset so easily or if this was just a way of ensuring it didn't spiral. Cassian had done the same thing when he'd ignored Rhys's growl that first dinner back. It seemed to be a strategy the Inner Circle employed deliberately, a subtle way to tell the most powerful High Lord ever born that he needed to get over himself. But I'd never known how to ask them about it.

Regardless, it seemed to have worked. Rhys padded towards me on cat-soft feet, and a tray laden with pastries, fruit, sausage, and eggs appeared on the coffee table with a lazy wave of his hand. It smelled delicious, and I realized just how hungry I was, too.

Amren set down her now-empty cup and said to Mor, “You’re above being rewarded with treats like a dog, girl.”

“Hoarding jewels doesn’t make you any better,” Mor said, sticking out her tongue.

Amren hissed, and I ignored the rest of it as Rhys sank down beside me on the sofa. He pressed a kiss to my cheek and murmured, “Good morning, by the way.”

I said nothing, just let my head tip to the side so it rested on his shoulder. It felt good to lean into his warmth and let it chase away the last vestiges of the Prison’s damp chill. Dawn had broken in earnest, and from my seat, I could see the pink-and-gold sunrise through the window.

His talons scraped my shields again, a soft, affectionate request for entry. I let him in. Thank you for remembering to leave a note, he said.

You aren’t upset I didn’t try and wake you first?

There was no need. If you were dead-set on going, I wouldn’t have tried to stop you. It was hardly a reckless decision when Amren is more than capable of watching your back.

Rhys meant it. There was no sign of any panic he was fighting off. Just…trust.

Breakfast turned into a spontaneous working meeting. Getting our hands on the Book of Breathings would require extensive planning—a strategy to meet with the human queens and intelligence gathering regarding the Summer Court, both on top of preparing for a war without tipping our hand to Hybern in the process. And there were still open questions regarding our upcoming trip to Day as well as the status of the Spring Court…

We hardly scratched the surface, but I was already overwhelmed by the end of it. So much could go wrong. And if any of it did, if I failed any of the tasks ahead, my family would be at risk.

When Mor and Amren left, I headed upstairs to change out of my leathers and wash up. Splashing a bit of cool water on my face seemed to help my head stop spinning. For a moment, I just tried to gather my thoughts, then glanced in the mirror and spotted Rhys leaning against the doorframe behind me. 

I had the sense he'd been watching me for a while, half hidden in a shadow cast by the door. He’d replaced the dressing gown with his usual black jacket and pants. My eyes drifted to the open top button, where a whorl of an Illyrian tattoo and a hint of dark skin peeked through.

“I’m not normally in the habit of telling you what to do,” he drawled. I raised my brows, but let him continue, “But would you mind if I gave some advice for facing down a war, as someone who’s fought one before?”

I turned to face him and nodded, wiping my hands on a towel. “I’ll take whatever you can offer.”

“You’re running on half a night’s sleep, so take today off. Paint, go for a walk, read a novel…whatever you find restful. Give yourself that gift while you can, then roll up your sleeves and get to work first thing tomorrow.”

“I wish I could,” I said, though I didn’t mind that he’d suggested it. But I doubted I could make it through an idle day without the guilt eating me alive.

"Then figure out how."

Not quite an order, but something in the words had my spine straightening and my chin lifting. "What are you going to do if I can't? Make me?"

Rhys moved towards me with inhuman speed, and in a blink, I was seated on the cold marble countertop. He splayed a hand on either side of my thighs and leaned over me, so we were breathing the same air. I stared right into those violet eyes, which were now at the same level as mine.

"If you won't take care of yourself, I just might have to," he said, dropping his voice low, in that way that promised we'd be falling into bed together before long.

A sense of relief washed over me, even as heat coiled low in my belly. He'd only flirt like this if those painful memories from before had stopped rising back to the surface. We could move on.

I trailed my bare foot up the inside of his leg, savoring the way I could watch his pupils go wide when he stood this close. "You'd leave your poor mate alone to take care of herself?"

"Never," he breathed, tipping his head to run his nose along my neck.

Even as my fingers found the buttons of his jacket, a thought cut through the haze. "You can't cancel your meetings just to fuck me, Rhys. Not with a war on the horizon."

He straightened up and stepped back, and I shivered at the sudden lack of his heat. I tried to school my features into a cool, expectant expression, but I doubted I managed it. With a stern look, he fastened the button on his jacket I'd just loosened.

"You're going to stay where I can keep an eye on you."

"Am I?"

"Sit in as emissary on as many of my meetings as you feel up to, then take a nap on the sofa in my study in the House of Wind. And give yourself an extra day before returning to the training ring.”

Just the thought of it soothed the part of me that was still a little girl who wanted nothing more than to hang about her father's offices. The times he'd indulged my curiosity and explained the worth of an exotic spice or some aspect of a negotiation had made up my few happy memories from childhood, back when I'd been the beloved daughter of the Prince of Merchants.

I had no doubt Rhys was fully aware of that. And he wasn't above using that knowledge to get what he wanted from me. He was never anything less than deliberate.

If I didn't know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he loved more than anything else in the the world, I'd be terrified.

“Alright,” I said, then made to hop down from the counter.

But with a flicker of magic, Rhys had summoned my shoes from the closet. He knelt and began slipping my feet into them without a word. On instinct, I jerked my leg out of his grip.

I started to say, "You don't have—"

"You aren't a burden, Feyre," he said quietly, "and you're not the only one with a need to feel useful, either."

Slowly, I extended my leg. His long, elegant fingers wrapped gently around my ankle, and I let him guide my foot into the shoe. One, then the other, and I swallowed my protests as he tied the laces for me, too.

That was about all I could tolerate for now. Before he could so much as offer me a hand, I got to my feet without help. "Thank you," I said.

Rhys pulled me into his arms to fly to the House. I felt the slight bend in his knees, and as usual, I braced myself for the sudden rush of wind as he launched us into the sky. But it didn't come.

Instead, he leaned in and kissed me. Open-mouthed, searing, claiming. The sweep of his tongue into my mouth might as well have set me on fire.

An image floated down the bond: me, naked and bent over the mahogany desk in his office, my head thrown back in ecstasy as he slid into me…

In case I haven't made it clear how I intend to end the day.

He chuckled at my sharp intake of breath. Before I could respond, we shot into the sky, and for once, I was grateful that the rush of morning air was very, very cold.

Chapter Text

I wanted to paint Rhys in shirtsleeves. He was sitting at the desk in his study, jacket gone, and a shaft of sunlight brought out the otherworldly blue sheen in his hair. Too engrossed in making notes on the map spread open before him, he didn't notice that I'd woken up.

Exhaustion had hit me shortly after lunch. As promised, I hadn't forced myself to sit through more meetings and instead had fallen asleep on the sofa. Judging by the position of the sun in the sky, I hadn't been out for more than an hour or two.

Not bothering to sit up, I just took the opportunity to take in my mate's profile. It would take more than a few practice sketches to properly capture the curve of his regal nose, the sweep of his jawline, the sensuous perfection of his lips. Even if I spent a century on it, I wasn't sure I'd ever manage to capture him properly.

But I wanted to try.

After a few minutes of staring, I realized I was clutching the jacket he'd shed. I'd pulled a blanket over myself as I'd drifted off, so he must have given it to me. In my sleep, I'd brought it up to my nose. I couldn't scent him like a faerie, but a deep inhale filled my lungs with the pleasant, familiar smell of the pine-scented soap we both used.

I sat up and stretched. The movement lifted my shirt slightly, and suddenly Rhys's attention snapped from the map on his desk to the inch of bare skin around my navel.

"How did you sleep?" he said, gaze traveling slowly up, up my chest, lingering there before finally landing on my face. For a moment, the air in the study seemed to grow hotter.

"Fine," I said getting to my feet. I held the jacket out towards him. "Do you want this back?"

He shot me an irritated look. "It's wrinkled."

I rolled my eyes—if Rhys could mist entire armies without blinking, his magic could certainly handle smoothing out a few creases. He waved a hand, and the jacket disappeared, probably into a hamper somewhere.

I crossed the room to get a better look at the notes on his desk. "What are you up to?"

The moment I stepped within reach, Rhys's arm snaked around my waist and pulled me onto his lap. A startled laugh escaped me, my shoulder bumping his as I tried to regain my balance. He pressed a kiss to my temple.

For a moment, I thought he might ignore my question. But even as he pulled me closer, he said, "Contingency planning. If the worst comes to pass, the villages on the Night Court's western shore will be the hardest hit."

I pestered him about it, curious about the handful of small fishing towns near the mouth of the Sidra—the vast majority of his people lived in the Hewn City, Velaris, or Illyria. But the stubborn faeries the Night Court's small towns were no less deserving of protection, and with Cassian busy in Illyria, the task of preparing them for a possible war fell to Rhys.

If the questions bothered him, Rhys didn't let on. By now, he knew I needed to ask. I trusted him more than anyone, but after finding out I'd been living in a manor full of servants invisible to only me…I worried. Maybe I always would.

He answered everything thoroughly, and when there was nothing left to say on the subject, I asked, "What's left for today, then?"

"Was what I showed you this morning really so unmemorable?"

"It wasn't. But do we have the time?"

"We made enough progress for today," he said, tucking an errant strand of hair behind my ear, "and if we run ourselves ragged this early, we'll forfeit a war before it even begins."

Rhys wasn't wrong. After all, I'd spent the entire morning listening to him calmly craft a plan to shore up the Night Court's emergency stockpiles, expertly conveying the gravity of the situation without causing any of the officials and representatives of his court to panic. And he'd just appealed to my sense of practicality, which even I knew was the best way to get through to me.

But we were sitting in summer sunshine. The days were growing shorter, and instincts honed from years of hunting were screaming at me not to waste a minute preparing for the lean times ahead.

A tendril of darkness traced a soothing line down my back. My old fear of long, cold nights faded, just a bit.

I leaned down and kissed him fiercely, intent on chasing pleasure until my mind went blank. Rhys answered with a bite to my lower lip, then gently nudged me off his lap. As my feet hit the floor, I started to ask why he'd pulled away.

But before I could, a warm, broad hand settled between my shoulder blades. I let him press me forward until my chest rested against the desk, the smooth, polished wood cool against my bare arms.

Gently, Rhys gathered up my hair and swept it over my shoulder to keep it out of the way. I waited to feel his hands on me again, but he merely paused, giving me an opportunity to ask him to stop. Careful—he was always so careful with me.

I bit back an irritated reminder that I wasn't made of glass. After everything he'd survived, it would break him to hurt me like that, even accidentally. I twisted my head to the side to look back at him. "Go ahead. I trust you."

The words seemed to unleash something inside him. A flicker of magic danced along my bare skin as my clothes disappeared, and both his hands settled on my rear, kneading it. I drove my hips back in search of more contact.

His lips found the nape of my neck instead. A shiver ran through me as Rhys slowly kissed his way down my spine, the calluses on his fingers scraping closer to my core.

With his mouth occupied, his voice floated into my mind. I've wanted to do this since I first saw your ass in leathers.

I reached a hand back, needing more of him. His fingers had nearly spread me open, but I'd barely touched him at all. He let out a low chuckle as my fingers scrabbled uselessly towards the fastenings of his pants, the tops of his thighs, any inch of him I could manage to reach.

If you want something, ask nicely. Otherwise, just let me take care of you.

"Ple—"

The door slammed open, the sound cutting through the air like a thunderbolt.

I yelped in surprise, straightening up. Rhys's power surrounded me in an instant, the darkness covering my nakedness like a cloak. A vicious snarl ripped from his throat, a savage, bestial threat.

He'd moved closer, putting his body and wingspan between me and whoever the intruder was. I shuffled to the side and peered around him to see what was going on.

Cassian had barged in, hair windswept, and there was a peculiar wild look in his eyes that I'd never seen before. Without bothering with a greeting or even acknowledging Rhys, he looked at me and said, "Who hurt Nesta?"

"Did something happen?" I said, stomach already lurching. I was dimly aware of another tang of magic and my clothes reappearing on my body. The tendrils of night continued hovering around me protectively.

"Not recently, as far as I can tell."

I stepped out from behind Rhys. "Then what the hell are you talking about?"

Cassian took in a deep breath, slowly—carefully—letting it out. I'd never seen him like this, struggling to keep calm. He gripped the back of a nearby chair so tightly that the wood groaned.

I couldn't imagine what it took to rattle the most powerful Illyrian warrior in history.

After a moment, he said, "It's not faeries she's worried about. She wouldn't be the first woman to be skittish around our kind, and that's even without her seeing through glamours and your kidnapping. But the questions she asked, the way she flinched…someone put their hands on her. I'm sure of it."

Tomas Mandray, if I had to guess. Apparently, Nesta had listened to my warning, but we hadn't discussed the details. She probably would have snapped at me for prying if I'd asked, even out of sisterly concern.

And if she'd have my head for that, I couldn't imagine how badly she must have reacted when a strange faerie male had asked her about it. Even if it was his job to know and keep her safe.

No wonder Cassian seemed so agitated.

Rhys still hadn't spoken. At some point, his fingers had turned to talons, but he'd barely moved, just watched us intently. He was still refusing to interfere in anything involving my sisters, I realized. This matter remained mine to handle.

"I have my suspicions," I said slowly, not quite sure if naming Tomas was wise when Cassian seemed fully prepared to rip off his head and present it on a platter to Nesta, "but nothing concrete."

"Who?" Cassian's fingers twitched towards the dagger at his hip.

"If Nesta wants him dead, it needs to happen quietly. That makes it a job for Azriel, not you."

I felt a flicker of Rhys's approval through the bond, plus something warm that might have been pride. A muscle jumped in Cassian's jaw, but he nodded his assent. I loosed a breath.

"She's sharp-tongued, but your sister didn't ask for anything unreasonable. And she didn't kick me out of the house, so I think it went alright," Cassian said.

I motioned for him to sit, then debriefed him properly, asking for details. Despite all his bawdy humor and easy laughter, Cassian was still a soldier, and his polite yes ma'am and no ma'am had gone a long way with Nesta. So had adding himself to the rotation of sentries guarding the manor; he'd be nearby on a regular schedule, not merely giving orders from Prythian.

He regretted not being able to send female sentries, especially when the servants left and it was only Nesta and Elain in the manor at night. But during Amarantha's reign, the camp-lords had stopped training the girls, and they'd clipped the wings of the few existing female warriors. Safely extricating them from marriages they'd been forced into during the last fifty years was an ongoing, delicate operation that required coordination between Cassian, Rhys, and Clotho.

It would be a long time before Illyria would see any females with the training and experience required to guard the High Lord's family.

I needed to write Nesta another letter to ask for her side of the story. And to beg, perhaps, for advice on how to play courtier when I visited Day. But still, by the time Cassian left with a wink and a reminder to air out the study, some of my worries had eased.

My gaze slid to Rhys, who'd remained silent the entire time. "I know you have opinions about all of this," I said, ready to hear them.

"I anticipate we'll need Nesta's assistance getting the Book from the queens. It's in our best interest not to antagonize her," he said, crossing an ankle over his knee.

He wasn't wrong. I'd had the same thought, though I'd hoped that I could put off broaching the subject until after we'd secured the other half from Summer. If only to keep Elain safe, Nesta would agree eventually, though I dreaded the fight that would break out over it. We'd only just started getting along.

But something in Rhys's tone gave me pause. I cocked my head, studying him. "Is not antagonizing Nesta a problem for you?"

"That's not the issue." A non-answer, accompanied by a twitch of his wings.

"Then what?"

"Can I ask you to keep this between the two of us for now?" he said with a sigh. I nodded, then waited for him to continue. "Cassian would lay his life down for Nesta merely because she's a member of my family. And if someone did indeed hurt her, he would be right to be outraged by it. That said, I've known my brother a long time, and while he's certainly a hotheaded idiot, something getting under his skin to that degree is…unusual."

I could practically feel him holding something back. "Rhysand…"

"If I suspected someone had assaulted you, my reaction would have been similar."

I nearly scoffed and said it was impossible. But perhaps the bond in my chest was proof otherwise, and now that I thought about it, there had been something familiar in the wild look in Cassian's eyes. I'd seen it on Rhys—and I had probably looked the same way at the mention of Amarantha or Ianthe.

We were treading on dangerous ground.

"You— You truly think they might be mates?" I breathed.

"I don't think we can discount the possibility. My dreams of you predated your immortality, and Nesta is the only human I've known with a natural ability to see through glamours. There may be forces at play we're just beginning to understand."

I could see the logic in it. And in truth, it didn't seem to change much when we were already well aware of the storm clouds gathering on the horizon. Perhaps this just meant Nesta was destined to neatly sidestep heartbreak in the same manner I had with Rhys. Tomas had never deserved her. But Cassian….Cassian would indeed be worthy of someone brave and loyal enough to trek through the winter woods to rescue me.

But I was getting ahead of myself. "Nothing to be done until a bond snaps, I suppose," I said, standing.

"I'll continue to defer to you where your family is concerned, of course. But I suggest that you avoid playing matchmaker."

His lips twisted into that particular smirk that told me he knew he'd correctly guessed my thoughts without even using his daemati abilities. More annoyingly, he was also right that we should let them sort it out. I said nothing, just kissed him to wipe the look off his face.

Rhys kept his promise from the morning, and I was bent over the desk again before long.

I spent the flight back to the townhouse feeling happily boneless and sated. As we ate dinner, I drafted a letter to Nesta. The response came a few hours later, appearing on my pillow just as I pulled on a nightgown.

Dear Feyre,

General Cassian lacks delicate manners and asks too many questions, but he appears competent, which is more important. The sentries are far more tolerable when I'm not convinced I'm going mad. As long as they don't come sniffing around Elain, they can stay. I wouldn't have chosen any of this, but considering the position you now occupy, I understand the necessity.

Elain is well. The social season is in full swing, and without Father here, my hands are full chasing away her many unscrupulous fortune-hunting suitors. It is, however, good to see her thriving at balls and parties again.

All my best to you and the new Mr. Archeron.

Nesta

I re-read it several times, marveling at her calling me "dear," even if it was courtesy rather than real affection. But there wasn't an insult or a harsh word to be found. Beyond that, she'd mentioned Rhys again, and it was strange to think of him as….well, an in-law someone might be on polite terms with.

I wasn't built for this sort of domesticity. Would we be sending Solstice cards next?

The next morning, I took the additional rest day that Rhys had urged me to. Instead of spending my morning in the training ring, I brought the letter to an isolated corner of the library and struggled my way through a response alone.

Dear Nesta,

I'm glad that Elain is well. I hope you mean that she is truly enjoying the time with friends this season. Your mention of suitors worries me. There is no reason for either of you to feel pressured to make a desirable match for status or money. If you marry at all, it should be for love. You and Elain deserve nothing less than the happiness I've found here in the Night Court.

And of course, if there are any issues with Cassian or the sentries, tell me. I'll make sure they're addressed.

I also wanted to let you know that I have an upcoming trip to the Day Court, so there will be a few days I won't be able to receive letters. I'll be going with Mor and Amren as Rhys's emissary. We need to visit some of their libraries and hopefully put some of the more nasty rumors about me to rest. No one in Prythian seems to know what to make of me, a human who now lives among the fae.

I'm…nervous. This is the sort of thing you were always good at, not me. I'm not supposed to be a lady who wears gowns and spends entire days surrounded by books, and I'm positive by the end of the visit I'll embarrass myself or worse. I know you'll probably say I'm hopeless, but if you have any advice at all, I could use it.

Yours, Feyre

I'd never written anything so long before. For a while, I just sat and stared at the paper before me, shocked I'd managed it. My handwriting was still embarrassingly childish, especially next to Nesta's elegant script, but it was legible enough.

It felt odd to commit my thoughts and feelings to paper—everything was there, in black and white, making me far more vulnerable than baring my soul in a painting ever did. I didn't want to think about that too deeply. Before I could talk myself out of it, I sealed the letter and sent it.

I couldn't stay in the too-quiet library and think about my shortcomings. What I wanted was the training ring—or failing that, a target I could shoot arrows into until my fingers bled around the bowstring. But I'd made a promise, so instead I spent the afternoon stalking around the perimeter of the Rainbow like a ghost.

Another day passed before I heard from Nesta, and she'd dutifully compiled a list of useful phrases to keep in mind—"How embarrassing for you", "What an odd thing to say", "A little small, I suppose, but it's very nice", among others. There had been some general advice as well, reminders to listen more than I talked and to cross my legs when I sat in a skirt.

At the end, in large letters, she'd added, Good luck.

When the day finally came to leave, I didn't feel much better. The last time I'd worn a white dress of my own volition, Nesta called me an idiot for getting grass stains on the hem. Hissing insults the whole time, she'd forced me inside to change before I embarrassed our mother at a dinner party she was throwing that night. I must have been seven or eight.

Now, I still didn't quite trust myself not to tear or stain the gown Cerridwen helped me into. Like silk, the fabric was cool and smooth against my skin, and despite being lightweight, it was also perfectly opaque and sturdy. Lines of embroidered night-blooming flowers circled the waist and hem, the stitching impossibly intricate. I'd never seen anything like it below the Wall.

Thin straps criss-crossed the open back—if I had them, the design would accomidate Illyrian wings. Instead, it merely showed off the powerful upper back muscles I'd gained from years of shooting a bow.

I hadn't asked where the dress came from, though I assumed Rhys had chosen it himself. Considering the amount of time he spent picking lint off his own clothes, I doubted he'd delegate the task of buying mine to someone else. Not that I minded—he had excellent taste.

Beyond that, I was relieved I hadn't needed to pick anything out myself for the trip to the Day Court. As an emissary, every aspect of my appearance sent a message. I assumed this gown suited the occasion.

But still, my stomach did a nervous little flip as Cerridwen set a diadem atop my head after pinning my hair up into an elegant braided bun. Even Mor didn't wear a crown.

I looked pretty, if slightly wrong. It wasn't just the crown—the cut of the dress was Day Court style. Probably better suited for bright sun and heat, but I wouldn't have chosen it for myself.

Rhys had left his dressing gown on my chair again. I fingered the midnight-blue cloth and met Cerridwen's eyes in the mirror. "Could you please pack this so we can take it with us?"

"Technically, you just asked me to steal from the High Lord," she said, voice stern even as the corner of her lips quirked up into a half-smile.

"Which isn't a bigger ask than anything Azriel has every instructed you to do."

She slid one last pin into my bun. "I'll make sure it gets packed with everything else. You can repay me by sitting still next time I arrange your hair."

I nearly told her it was a deal, but that was perilously close to a bargain. I didn't need another tattoo. Instead, I thanked her and made my way downstairs to be ready when Mor and Amren arrived.

Rhys—in reading glasses again—had stretched his long legs across the sofa as he skimmed the intelligence briefing that Cerridwen had delivered when she arrived. An expression I couldn't read flickered across his face as he drank in the sight of me. He barely seemed to take in the crown; it was the dress, I noticed, that made his lips part for a moment. I didn't understand why.

"Even more radiant than usual," he said, answering a question I hadn't been able to ask.

But still, I shrugged. "Easy to do when I don't set the bar very high most days."

His violet eyes seemed to shutter, even as he set the report down and came over to me. I let him pull me close, and his breath tickled my cheek as he sighed.

"One day, you'll believe it when I call you beautiful," he whispered.

Though I was a far cry from ugly, spending my days surrounded by the perfect, ethereal beauty of the fae made it hard to feel attractive. I said nothing—I could already imagine Rhys's smug reminder that mates were equals and the Cauldron had matched me with the most handsome High Lord for a reason.

Careful not to smudge the makeup Cerridwen had applied, Rhys pressed a kiss to my bare shoulder. I savored the closeness, the heat of him. My eyes fluttered shut.

The sound of Mor's voice made us both jump; we'd gotten so lost in each other that we hadn't noticed her winnow in with Amren. "Do you two ever manage to get your hands off each other?" she said.

"No," Rhys said, slowly—deliberately—raking his hand across my body, from my ribcage to my hip.

I reached up and cupped his cheek with my palm. "We don't."

Amren made a noise that might have been a gag. Rhys ignored it, tipping his head to kiss my hand, then dragging his nose down the inside of my wrist. He inhaled deeply, as if trying to memorize my scent before I left.

Cauldron, I was going to miss him.

"I am certainly not explaining to Helion that we're late because you can't stop sniffing your mate," Amren hissed.

Also choosing to ignore her, I pulled Rhys closer and kissed him goodbye. Mor stood with her arms out, waiting to winnow us, and once I pulled away from Rhys, I slipped my hand into hers. Rhys's gaze slid to Amren, and for a moment, I wondered if they were speaking mind-to-mind.

"Don't give me that look," Amren said, taking Mor's other hand. "You know perfectly well it's not that sort of mission, but yes, I'll protect her with my life, High Lord."

"Mine, too. Don't give your brothers too much trouble while we're gone," Mor said.

We faded into mist, and the distance hit me like a brick. The last time I'd been this far from Rhys, I'd been in Velaris and he'd been Under the Mountain. Our mating bond seemed to groan in protest, and for a moment, I felt as if it might rip my rib right out of my chest. As we materialized, the pain faded to a dull ache.

…only to be replaced by the discomfort of too-bright sunlight shining directly into my eyes. I squinted and dropped Mor's hand.

The three of us stood on a balcony overlooking a city full of white limestone towers and domed golden roofs. Everything seemed to reflect the sunlight back into the sky, and a hazy heat made the air feel heavy. I had the sudden urge to find a rock and lie motionlessly like a lizard or stretch out in a sunbeam like a lazy, contented cat.

Once my eyes adjusted, my gaze dropped down to the balcony floor, where colorful shadows danced along the white stone. I turned and found the source—hanging ornaments of colored glass dangling in the open archway. Each intricate shape seemed expertly carved to best reflect the the sunlight, and if we weren't about to meet with a High Lord, I would have stepped closer to appreciate the artistry.

Though…there wasn't a High Lord in sight. Or any advisors or courtiers here to greet us, either. "Where is he?" I said.

"Due east," Mor said. "He might be a bit far for human eyes to spot just yet, but he'll be here soon."

Once I shielded my eyes, I could just make out a dark spot against the cloudless blue sky. The outline of wings came into view, and for a moment, I thought I might be looking at an Illyrian. Then again, if Rhys had a hidden set of wings, so might the other six High Lords. Maybe they'd all tucked them away Under the Mountain…

But no—the wings belonged to a horse. And Helion was its rider.

Back in his own domain and with his magic returned, the High Lord of the Day Court seemed to glow even more powerfully. Like Rhys's, Helion's skin had returned to a healthy dark color now that he was no longer confined underground—though if I dared paint them, I'd need a deeper burnt umber pigment for Helion. He wore the same crisp white bolt of cloth I'd seen before, now with the addition of a radiant spiked golden crown. It glinted atop his onyx hair, which had been arranged into a cascade of small braids adorned with golden beads.

The stallion he rode was just as beautiful as its rider. The jet-black horse was all muscle, its fur gleaming in the sun and the hair of its mane billowing in the wind off its wings. I stood, transfixed by the creature's graceful movement through the air.

"Thank the Mother," Mor breathed at my left. "Meallan is his most beloved pegasus—I'm glad Amarantha didn't manage to butcher him along with the others."

Meallan's hooves clicked as he alighted on the balcony, and Helion patted his thick, muscular neck before swinging a powerful leg over the beast's flank and dropping easily to his feet. He approached us, amber eyes wary. I braced myself for bows and formal greetings, ready to play courtier.

But when Helion's gaze landed on Mor, his expression softened, as if he was too overwhelmed to continue keeping up appearances. "It's so good to see you alive," he said, pulling her into a hug.

I caught Mor's smile as she squeezed him back and said, "It's been a long fifty years, but you don't look like you've aged a day."

Azriel's words from weeks ago came back to me—that everyone knew I had been the reason for reunions like this. The thought bolstered my confidence, and I stood a little straighter.

But as Helion released Mor, he turned to Amren next. "A pleasure as always," he said, giving her a brief nod.

I tried to look unbothered as Helion's attention finally landed on me. A lazy smile spread across his face, and it took everything in me not to hide my left hand behind my back. If he'd known I was glamoured Under the Mountain, then he surely detected the spells covering my tattoo and my scent just as easily here in his domain. As I waited for him to say something about it, I forced myself to keep breathing.

But all he said was, "Welcome to the Day Court, Cursebreaker."

Chapter Text

By some miracle, I managed to meet Helion's gaze. "It's good to be here," I said, not quite sure if I meant it. "From what I've seen so far, your court is quite beautiful."

"There's time for a tour," Helion said, indicating Meallan with a jerk of his head. "I'll take you for a ride if you wish."

His grin told me he was fully aware of the innuendo—I could see why Rhys considered him a friend. Or at least, had at one point in time. I wanted to like Helion, but I could feel my hackles rising at the offer. We'd only just arrived, and he was already trying to get me alone, like a lion trying to separate the weakest prey from the rest of the herd.

Feeling out of my depth already, I forced myself not to sound too prickly. "I don't think there's room for four on Meallan's back."

"Morrigan and Amren have seen it all before. I'd consider it an honor to show you around personally."

I resisted the urge to glance at my friends for reassurance. Helion would notice. And if I seemed at all like I needed someone else's approval to make a decision, I might always be perceived as Rhys's little human puppet.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained. "I'd love that," I said.

The golden crown on Helion's head glinted as he turned to Mor and Amren. "Your accommodations are in the usual location, ladies. Make yourselves comfortable. My librarians also know to expect you, so Feyre and I will catch up with you soon."

"I'd tell you to return our emissary in once piece, but you're the one who'll need to watch out," Mor said, voice light. "Feyre likes to knock winged creatures out of the sky."

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Amren's lips rise in the barest hint of a smile. But she said nothing and quickly returned to looking faintly bored.

"Is your High Lord among the winged creatures she's felled?" Helion said, his eyes sparking with amusement. I wondered if word of the Illyrian I'd killed had spread beyond the Night Court's borders.

Mor winked. "He's very worst of them."

Helion's deep laugh could warm a person from the inside out. And I found myself relaxing just the slightest bit—he knew about Rhys's wings, then. One less secret to keep.

I'd expected some officials or attendants to appear and usher Mor and Amren inside, but they walked through the archway unaccompanied and disappeared behind a curtain made of colored glass beads that caught the sunlight. It might have been a sign that the trust built up over centuries remained intact after Amarantha. Or perhaps, Helion merely kept his treasures and secrets elsewhere.

When they were gone, I didn't dare approach the massive black stallion. Meallan pawed at the ground, huffing. Unused to horses, especially winged ones, I had no idea what that meant.

"I'm not quite sure how all this works," I said, hating the way my cheeks heated.

Helion waved a hand, and a saddle appeared on Meallan's back. I'd never seen one quite like it, with a seat at the pegasus's shoulders and another farther back, behind his wings. Though I'd witnessed far more impressive displays of magic by now, I gaped at it.

I could hear Nesta's sneering voice in the back of my mind, calling me ignorant and useless. I was still in a gown. If I was going to ride a horse, winged or not, I needed to change into something far more practical. I should have considered that when I agreed, but I spent so much time in pants that it hadn't crossed my mind.

"The magic will keep you from falling off," Helion said gently. "You have nothing to fear."

I wondered if it was the same spell that Tamlin had used to secure me to the horse when he'd brought me to Prythian. Anxiety curled in my gut at the thought.

But still, I didn't move. "Could you show me?"

I caught a flash of powerful thighs as Helion placed a foot in a stirrup and sat himself atop Meallan, his torso facing forward and both legs draped to one side. Before my family had sold our horses and dismissed our stableboys, Nesta had just started to learn to ride like that. I never did.

Unwilling to ask for help, I attempted to mount the pegasus in the same manner. I managed it, though with far less grace than a faerie. Thank the Mother my dress didn't have a slit up the skirt to expose anything I didn't want revealed.

Even if Helion had already seen me half-naked Under the Mountain anyway.

He gave me a moment to get comfortable, then I felt a tang of magic as the spell held me in place. Warm and bright, Helion's power felt nothing like Rhys's; if I wasn't careful, it would burn. Though I was definitely secure, I gripped the pommel of the saddle tightly and wished I'd asked Mor more about horses when she'd mentioned an interest in riding over dinner a few weeks prior.

At least by now, I'd learned to brace myself for takeoff. Even if, unlike an Illyrian, Meallan started with a gallop.

The pegasus charged across the balcony, hooves thundering against the limestone. Even though the saddle, I could feel the stallion's muscles working as we gained speed, faster and faster until Meallan leapt into the air with a powerful beat of his feathery wings.

I felt a bit less out of place in the sky. As my urge to cling to the pommel faded, I lifted a hand to shield my eyes as I gazed at the city stretching out below us.

Velaris didn't hurt this much to look at. The many gold domed roofs of the Day Court's capital reflected the sun, so to keep from blinding myself, I turned my head and squinted at Helion's back.

If Night concealed its secrets by cloaking them in darkness, perhaps Day made it impossible to stare directly at anything valuable.

For a while, the only sound was the rushing wind off Meallan's wings. I waited. Immortals, I was beginning to understand, always took their time. And even in a friendly court, I needed to be careful.

Once we'd climbed high enough, Meallan began circling the city in a wide arc. It would have been a natural place for Helion to begin telling me about Day and pointing out landmarks, but instead, he said, "How are you faring in the Night Court?"

The question sounded genuine, but I wished I could have seen his face as he asked it. I'd prepared for this, though. "I couldn't ask for a better place to call home," I said. As far as I knew, Helion had no ability to detect lies, but it seemed safer to speak the truth.

"It's been a long while since I've spoken to a human, but I was unaware the mortal realm had become so miserable that you'd prefer a land of darkness."

I should have let it go—at least he hadn't called the Night Court a bunch of sadistic killers, like Lucien had. And we did intentionally cultivate a reputation. Perhaps if Helion hadn't mentioned my humanity, I would have held my tongue.

"You'd be amazed how many nightmares you can ignore when your High Lord is the only one whose rebellion against Amarantha didn't fail in the end."

The muscles in Helion's shoulders rippled as his back stiffened, and I knew I'd hit home. Despite being older than Rhys, Helion had only become High Lord when Amarantha butchered the last Lord of Day. In some ways, he was just as untested as me.

"We might not be Under the Mountain anymore, but what I told you then is still true now. The Night Court plays dangerous games."

It hadn't rankled me at the the time. Then, I'd worried about the possibility Helion might use his knowledge of the glamour cloaking my hand to his advantage, but it hadn't irritated me. Not like it did now.

"The fae play dangerous games," I said, more sharply than was probably wise when speaking to a High Lord. "All of you. Tamlin used me as a pawn in an attempt to break the curse on Spring."

Helion's laugh was harsh. "If you considered yourself Tamlin's pawn, then I suppose Rhysand has told you that you're his queen."

I should have expected it, but the condescension in his voice brought me right back to those early days in Spring. My hand tightened around the pommel of the saddle as I glared daggers at the High Lord's back, feeling painfully small and human again.

Fucking faeries and their casual, immortal arrogance.

"I didn't stay in Night to become a more valuable chess piece. I chose to join Rhys's court because I'm treated like a fellow player, not an object to be moved around the board."

Helion hummed thoughtfully. For a long moment, he said nothing else. To avoid babbling to fill the silence, I closed my eyes and tried to enjoy the wind in my hair and the sun's warmth seeping into my skin.

"I was in your shoes once," he said, so quietly that I barely made out the words. "Before I became High Lord, I was my father's emissary for centuries. Our courts share a border, and I've negotiated enough with Rhysand to know that he has a heart buried under all those layers of darkness, and it's usually in the right place."

It was the kindest thing I'd heard anyone say about Rhys outside of Velaris. If anyone from another court could see through the mask, I supposed it would be Helion.

He continued, "That doesn't change the fact that your High Lord is a secretive bastard. And according to rumor, you two are…involved. I'm sure he's pouring honey in your ear—for now, at least. If he breaks your trust one day and staying in the Night Court becomes untenable, know that you'll have a sanctuary in the Day Court. Even bargain magic can be cleaved."

"Thank you," I said, meaning it. If I'd needed to curry favor with Rhys, I could have gone right back to him with a tale about another High Lord trying to poach his emissary out from under him. It would sour the alliance we were shoring up and probably change Rhys's mind about providing Day assistance with rebuilding—but Helion had risked it anyway, just to give me an out.

He ran an affectionate hand along Meallan's muscular neck. "Regardless of your reasons, you put yourself in danger to free us all. It's the least I can do."

If I'd been able to move, I would have shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. I hated the thought of anyone feeling indebted to me when I'd done it solely for Rhys. At the same time, downplaying the achievement was hardly strategic.

I might never learn to play these sorts of games, even after a thousand years of this.

"If Amarantha had lived much longer, she would have invaded the mortal lands," I said flatly. "Your interests aligned with mine. I hope they stay that way."

"Agreed," Helion said smoothly, "so I'll leave those glamours clinging to you alone for now. Keep your secrets. But if I have reason to believe you might be a threat to my people, don't think for a moment that I won't rip that magic right off you."

Completely reasonable, all things considered. "You'd be a horrible High Lord if you didn't."

Helion didn't bother with a reply, just nudged Meallan into a descent. We landed shortly after that, then made the rest of the way towards the main library on foot. With so many High Fae stopping to talk to us, our progress was slow. Like Rhys's, Helion's people didn't hesitate to greet their High Lord and address him by name, and my rounded ears immediately identified me as the Cursebreaker. I smiled and shook hands and—by some miracle—managed not to look alarmed when one female asked me to kiss her infant.

The pale limestone buildings seemed to glow in the sun that beat down on us, and the architecture was all long, elegant columns, large windows, and towers that stretched skyward. Bright and airy—nothing like the cozy rowhouses of Velaris. I didn't spot a single lesser faerie, either.

The Day Court's central library sat on a hill directly at the center of the city, right where several broad streets converged like the spokes of a wheel. More artwork made of brightly colored glass dangled from poles lining the sidewalks, casting multicolored shadows on the stones beneath our feet. Beautiful, but as much as I admired the art, I would have preferred the occasional tree to provide shade.

The sprawling library might as well have been a palace, and sunlight streamed in from every window. It held more knowledge than I could fathom, but I knew there were several more miles of libraries in this court. And that was after Amarantha had destroyed so many of them.

Somehow, I felt even smaller and more ignorant than before.

We joined Mor, Amren, and a handful of scholars in a airy, cream-and-yellow atrium. Helion made the introductions, and it wasn't until one of the librarians shook my hand and said it was a pleasure to meet Evelyn's pupil that I finally relaxed. The priestesses in the House of Wind had mentioned me in their correspondence with their colleagues abroad.

And it was nice to speak to someone with more enthusiasm for my new ability to read than anything I'd done Under the Mountain.

The rest of the day became a blur of scholarship and diplomacy. Amren had already collected a pile of ancient tomes and fragile-looking scrolls, all in hopes of finding any new scrap of information about High Ladies, human magic, or mating bonds. Mor led discussions regarding trade and the courts' shared border; it was tricky, I realized, to offer assistance rebuilding without insulting Helion by calling the Day Court weak.

I helped them both where I could. But mostly, I played the role of Feyre Cursebreaker—Prythian's savior, who'd happily chosen to settle in the Night Court after a spectacular victory over Amarantha. Apparently, I was a legend, and it helped for Helion's retinue to hear me speak positively of Rhys. Azriel called it cultivating soft power, planting seeds that would make it easier to sway other courts to our side when we inevitably needed their support in the future.

By the time dinner rolled around, I wanted to crawl under a blanket and hide from the world. But as a new High Lord, Helion needed to put on a show of prosperity, so there would be a party after the meal. Amren had already slipped away to sip blood undisturbed, and I'd never envied her more.

After one unfortunate wrong turn, I learned that Day Court revels were the sort where couples fucked in shadowed corners or quiet alcoves. I clung to Mor's side for the rest of the evening, sipping only water. It seemed like an eternity passed before we could bid goodnight without causing any offense.

I breathed a sigh of relief when Cerridwen emerged from a shadow to help me out of my gown—I hadn't trusted myself to undo the buttons at my lower back without somehow tearing the delicate fabric.

She snorted, catching the look on my face. "I wasn't going to let you take care of that on your own. The stitching is too intricate to fix with magic if you rip a seam."

"Someone sewed this by hand?" I said.

"Looks like it, though I'm not sure. Rhysand handled everything for your wardrobe himself and wouldn't say where he got it."

That certainly sounded like Rhys. He must have somehow figured out my measurements and taken them to some dressmaker somewhere in Velaris. Secretive, perhaps, but also a bit…endearing.

Once the buttons were undone, Cerridwen sat me in the chair and started pulling the pins out of my hair. Keeping my braided bun in place all day had required quite a lot of them, so I reached up to slip more out and speed the process along. She batted my hand away.

"From what I overheard from Helion's staff, you did well today."

I met her eyes in the mirror. "Were you off spying earlier?"

"It's my job," she said, matter-of-fact but not unkind. She made quick work of the pins, then summoned a brush from thin air and began gently untangling my hair. "The servants who interacted with you today said you were polite, and now they're all wondering what a nice girl like you is doing in the Night Court."

"If they truly believe there's nothing worthwhile to be found there, then they don't know where to look." Even though the Court of Nightmares had been the face we'd shown to the world for millennia, how could anyone see the stars and not wonder if there was more to the Night Court than cruelty?

Cerridwen squeezed my shoulder as she set the brush down. "Exactly."

She bid me goodnight, and I was finally alone for the first time all day. Without a distraction, I couldn't ignore the ache in my chest. Distance seemed to pull the mating bond taut, and keeping it stretched hurt, just like a muscle would if kept in the wrong position for too long.

Last time I'd felt this particular pain, Rhys had been trapped Under the Mountain.

Cerridwen had hung his dressing gown in the wardrobe. I pulled it over my nightgown, wishing I could scent him like a faerie. The prospect of falling asleep without him across the hall felt…daunting.

As if on cue, a talon gently scraped its way down my shields. I couldn't lower them fast enough. For a moment, I closed my eyes and savored it—Rhys's entry into my mind felt like the soothing darkness of nightfall and the first evening stars winking into view. My chest ached a bit less.

Feyre darling, he sighed, his voice just as clear as it was in Night. The Day Court was out of range of his daemati abilities, but the mating bond bridged the distance so he could reach me. I let my mind brush against his in answer.

I'd thought he'd want to debrief about how the first day of the visit had gone. Instead he asked, Have you seen my blue dressing gown by any chance? I could've sworn I left it upstairs.

Nudging him to look through my eyes, I glanced down at my torso so he could see it on me. His low growl rumbled through my mind—not truly menacing, but the sort of snarl a happy dog might make during a game of tug-of-war. I couldn't help but laugh aloud.

It looks better on me anyway, I said, padding over to the bed. Silly as it was, I kept the dressing gown on as I slid under the covers.

Everything does.

It was no different than any of the other many compliments Rhys had given me, but I felt my throat tighten. Utterly ridiculous when we hadn't even been apart a full day, but… I miss you.

I miss you, too. The townhouse feels too empty. I had half a mind to go sleep in the House of Wind, but I didn't want to bother Cassian and Azriel.

Staying here overnight is stupid when most of you can winnow, I said, even though I understood the importance of demonstrating of hospitality and trust. You could bring me home to sleep in your bed, then return me the morning and no one would be the wiser.

A predator’s tail swished through my thoughts. Are you asking for a dark lord to steal you away in the middle of the night?

Despite the balmy temperature and extra layers, I shivered. Rhys knew exactly what he was doing when he purred like that. Don’t. The last thing we need is Helion’s servants smelling arousal when they change the sheets in the morning.

Rhys’s laughter felt like starlight twinkling down the bond. It’s the Day Court; they’ve seen far worse, and you aren't creating any more work for them by staining the sheets. If you're still concerned, Cerridwen will take care of it.

I trusted her implicitly—the twins had been Under the Mountain, and they handled the linens in the townhouse. A nightmare's eyes—yellow, with slitted pupils—observed my thoughts as I considered what to do.

Unless we wanted to start a war, Rhys couldn't actually enter Day without permission. I was on my own. But if I wanted to touch myself, that didn't preclude him from watching through the bond and feeling everything. We could even climax together that way. But another thought struck me…

How do you feel about taking over again? Like you did at Amarantha's revel. Without the vomit. Obviously.

Mother above, I was babbling in my own damn mind. I rolled over, hiding my face in my pillow even though I was alone. It seemed like such a ridiculous request once I got the words out.

His mind went still. You'd want that?

Only if you do. If you'd rather not, I'd understand why. It was just a thought.

You'll need to keep your shields completely down—so I don't run the risk of not hearing it the moment you change your mind. For your safety, you can't any hide part of yourself from me. If you're alright with that, then… The words slipped away into pure predatory interest that heated me all the way to my core.

Rhys had never lacked for willing partners, but I doubted any of them had ever wanted to bare themselves to him so completely. Certainly not if he'd never sent anyone after my ring before I'd come along. But I was his mate—the exception to every rule.

I let him in. His talons speared me all the way down to my soul, but there was nothing painful at all about the sensation, not when I liked yielding to him. The mating bond vibrated with his low growl of approval.

My breath hitched as he took complete control. Everything, down to each individual beat of my heart, bent to his will. For several long moments, nothing else happened; he merely waited to be sure I wouldn't panic at the feeling of being a prisoner in my own body again.

But I didn't. Not even when my fingers twitched, as if pulled by strings like a marionette's. My hand slid under the hem of my nightgown and slowly trailed its way up the inside of my thigh and the planes of my stomach. Too slowly for my taste, really.

Good thing it isn't up to you. Even in my head, Rhys sounded louder with our minds pressed so close.

My fingers skimmed the underside of my breast then slowly circled my nipple. Once. Twice. Three times.

Heat was building my lower abdomen, but I was powerless to do anything about it. I longed to buck my hips or press my thighs together, but it was useless. I'd only get whatever Rhys decided to give me.

More, I whispered. Please.

You can be so sweet when you want something. His voice had gone soft, all gentle humor, and the beast's snout nuzzled against the back of my mind affectionately.

The circles around my nipple continued, each one agonizingly and torturously slow. I would have whimpered if I'd had any control over the sounds that came from my throat. But Rhys's power kept me silent better than any gag.

Without warning, my hand flattened, palming my breast and pinching the nipple between my thumb and forefinger. For a moment, I thought Rhys was about to give me what I'd begged for.

I should have known better. He pulled my other hand up and down, my fingertips brushing my stomach and my ribs. But never as close to my other breast or the apex of my thighs as I wanted. I was powerless to do anything but feel the heat and pressure build.

Or rather, powerless to do anything but think the word bastard in my head as loudly as I possibly could.

His dark chuckle seemed to skitter down my spine, and something shifted in the bond, as if the current flowing between us changed directions. Rhys hadn't relinquished control, merely let me see and feel what I'd done to him.

This whole time, he'd been stroking a hand up and down his length. A bead of wetness leaked from the tip, and I was suddenly overcome by how stupidly, massively unfair it was that I couldn't lick it up.

Rhys heard that thought—he groaned aloud. His grip tightened around his cock, and he let me feel the scrape of his calluses against the shaft. All I could do was squirm inside my own mind.

Are you keeping me like this just to make me watch? I tried—and failed—not to sound petulant. It was difficult with my mind squirming under his talons.

His slid along every inch of me, a soft caress I felt against my entire soul. I might rile you up, but I'd never deny you.

Finally, he pulled my hand all the way down, past my stomach, over my abdomen, into my panties, until a finger plunged inside of me. Rhys forced my hips to rock, grinding my clit against the heel of my hand and pressing my finger deeper.

He matched my rhythm to his own, and we moved together—breathed together—in perfect synchrony. Pleasure ripped through me like wildfire, and Rhys burned in the same inferno. I lost myself in it, giving myself over completely as I let him pull me closer and and closer to the edge with him.

One final squeeze of his mental claws, and we tipped over together. Stars and galaxies exploded behind two sets of eyes. I couldn't cry out, but I heard Rhys roar aloud for the both of us as the release tore through our bodies.

Rhys's claws peeled out of me gingerly, returning control back to me piece by piece. I flexed my fingers and toes, utterly sated and stretching like a contented cat. As the last talon pulled away, I curled a mental hand around it to keep him close.

His tail wrapped around me and pulled me against the nightmare's soft underbelly, so I lay right next to the most vulnerable places in his psyche, where even scales and talons couldn't completely cover his fears and insecurities. I cuddled closer, and he let out a contented purr.

We fell asleep with our minds still intertwined—probably the only way we could have gotten any rest while we were apart. It didn't make the morning light streaming in any less painful a few hours later.

The rest of the visit passed slowly as well. Amren confirmed that every last scrap of information regarding magic humans could wield had been destroyed, though she did find a few promising leads regarding a ceremony in which a High Lord could swear in a co-ruler. No one, it seemed, had attempted it in millennia.

Perhaps that was merely because High Lords guarded their power jealously. But that it hadn't even happened once, even in the long memory of the fae…

It might be dangerous. Which didn't exactly bode well for me or Rhys.

While Amren busied herself with research, Mor met with Helion and his advisers to revisit treaties and trade agreements signed by Rhys and the previous High Lord of Day. Many, it seemed, needed re-negotiating in the light of the current state of Prythian after Amarantha. She'd destroyed all of the tunnels and passes through the Myrmidons—the mountain range we shared at our border—and it would take resources from both our courts to repair them. But by the end of the trip, we had a solid plan.

I spent most of the time feeling useless. With centuries of experience as Rhys's Second and Third, Amren and Mor didn't need my help with anything. I'd known that—I was supposed to be learning by observing them, and my presence in Day was primarily to dispel rumors anyway. But between the homesickness and the break from the training ring, I was quietly losing my mind.

At the farewell dinner on the final night, I could practically hear Nesta's voice in the back of my head scolding me for scarfing down my salad so we could leave faster. Day Court cuisine was primarily produce—the sunlight here nurtured their crops particularly well—and I missed the mutton stew that Cassian sometimes brought back from Illyria. All the vegetables had me feeling like a rabbit.

And by the Cauldron, I really wanted to change back into pants.

The toasts to a Day-Night alliance and thanks for hospitality and promises to host Helion's retinue in the Hewn City soon seemed to drag on endlessly. But eventually, Mor took my hand and winnowed us home.

Rhys had been pacing the living room of the townhouse while he waited for us to arrive. He'd known we were on our way, but he loosed a breath at the sight of the three of u arriving all the same. Something inside me relaxed, too.

"Feyre's back in one piece, just like we promised," Mor said.

Rhys's gaze seemed to snag on my gown for a moment. It was similar to all the others I'd worn in Day—airy, open-backed, and intricately embroidered. For some reason, his throat bobbed.

But that lasted for hardly a moment, and then he was smiling and stepping towards me, and I was launching myself into his arms. He held me tight, and the world seemed to spin right on its axis again.

"Do we have anything urgent to discuss?" he said. The words were directed at Mor and Amren, though he spoke them into my hair as he scented me.

"Nothing so urgent that we can't give you a few hours to get…this…out of your system," Amren said.

I laughed against Rhys's tunic. He thanked Amren and Mor for all their work and somehow managed not to snarl at them to leave faster. Not that they wanted to linger anyway.

When we were alone, he kissed me hello. And until that moment, I hadn't really understood how good it could be to have someone to come home to.

Chapter Text

I hadn't felt properly home again until Rhys was buried inside me to the hilt. I chased the feeling until he'd whispered, "Take what you need, darling," rolling us over to put me on top.

I'd gained strength and endurance in my thighs from years of hauling deer carcasses for miles through the forest. It was so much sweeter to put it to use riding my mate instead—I could tell him to sit back and enjoy it, then go and go and go until I'd wrung every last drop of pleasure from him.

When it was done, I ended up on my back with him sprawled half on top of me. His massive wings took up most of the bed, and he'd rested his head right on the crook of my shoulder. Gently, I raked my nails along his scalp. Though I needed to be careful not to tug—Amarantha had liked to yank and pull hair—this always got him to relax properly, until he was boneless, his guard down in a way it could only be with me.

In some ways, the afterglow felt like a hard-won victory.

He'd been quiet long enough that I thought he might have fallen asleep. I was also close to it, though I'd missed touching him so much that I couldn't quite stop paying attention to the feel of his skin against mine long enough to drift off. If the visit to the Day Court had kept us apart any longer, I might have worried for both our sanity.

Despite all that research Amren conducted on mates, I still wasn't sure how anyone with a mating bond got anything done.

After a while, Rhys's voice drifted into my head, as if he was too worn out to speak aloud. By the way, I have business to discuss with you before we consult with the rest of the Inner Circle tomorrow. Better to do it now while we have time alone.

"Business?" I said.

Regarding strategy for getting the Book of Breathings. Ideally, we'd meet with the mortal queens at your family's estate. Neutral territory, where humans have invited us in. But of course, that will require Nesta's cooperation. How should we proceed?

I sighed, my breath fluttering his blue-black hair. I'd considered that very same question for days now but still hadn't come up with an answer. Nesta wouldn't allow me in the house, lest any word of my involvement with the fae get out. My family had already had their lives ruined once; they would not survive it again.

They wouldn't survive a war, either. That much was obvious to me, but Nesta's stubborn defense of Elain meant that she'd dig her heels in and refuse anything that might risk our family's social standing. It was horribly short-sighted. But if Nesta could position herself as a buffer between Elain and any faeries, she would, even if it meant all of the human realm would burn down around them.

And if I had any idea how to convince Nesta to do anything she didn't want to, my life in that cabin would have been far easier.

"I think it's a lost cause," I said.

Ultimately, it's your decision, but we might have more success if we asked Cassian to speak to her.

"Because you think they're mates?" The words were out of my mouth before I thought them through.

For a moment, Rhys was silent. Then he picked his head up to look at me, as if he knew avoiding my gaze was cowardly. "Yes," he said aloud.

Perhaps the idea should have bothered me more than it did. But I knew how easily Rhys and I were inclined to agree with each other—I could never find it in me to judge his choices too harshly when I knew I'd make the same ones in his position. Whether that was because the mating bond primed us to think the best of each other or because the Mother matched individuals who saw the world the same way, I didn't know.

If anything less than the life of every mortal were at stake, I might not have been able to stomach manipulating my family. But the possibility of war brought more hard choices with it, and I'd stopped hesitating to do the necessary, unpleasant thing a long time ago. "I'll ask Cassian about it tomorrow, then."

"I can handle it if you'd rather not."

I saw the offer for what it was—not merely him trying to shoulder my burdens, but a willingness to step in and allow me to keep my own hands clean. As High Lord, Rhys would take full responsibility for a decision like this. But I wouldn't let him.

I was his mate before I was his subordinate.

"You don't need to," I said, and it was a testament to how relaxed I was with his body curled around mine that I didn't snap the words at him.

For a long moment, he studied my face. I waited for the reminder that I could lean on him, that I didn't have to go it alone anymore, but it never came. He just leaned down and kissed me gently.

I let myself fall into it, hooking a leg around his hip to draw him closer as I parted my lips. It was a strange tightrope to walk—Rhys's mate and the High Lord's emissary, a member of a ruler's Inner Circle of advisors and a member of a tight-knit family—but I was managing to balance without falling.

But as Hybern inched closer, I doubted it would always feel quite so easy.

Our conversation wasn't over; after a few minutes of lazily kissing each other and getting tangled in the sheets, I pulled away again. "What happens if Nesta refuses? We should have another plan in place."

"You sound like you have an idea," Rhys said, propping his chin on a fist as he studied me.

"There are two halves of the Book and two of us. While you're in Summer, you could send me to the Continent to speak to them. I'm human—they might agree to hear me out."

The bond pulled so taught that for a moment, I thought my rib might have cracked. My hand flew to my chest as darkness flooded the room.

Then, as quickly as it tightened, the bond slackened. Enough light to see by returned. Rhys was still on top of me, but his wings were flared wide, no longer drooping on the sheets. Something dark flickered in his eyes.

"I don't think it would be prudent to put an ocean between us. Especially not if we were both undertaking dangerous missions. It wouldn't end well for either of us."

He wasn't wrong. Even if I took a bodyguard, the distance was too great for anyone but Rhys to winnow. We'd both be out of our minds with worry, and even if we avoided danger, I doubted we'd manage to get our hands on both halves of the Book that way.

I reached up, brushing a thumb along his cheek. "Then we'll make sure it doesn't come to that."

Rhys said nothing, just leaned into the touch. His eyes fluttered shut, and he angled his head until his nose rested against the pulse point on my wrist. I watched the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed my scent deep into his lungs.

"How are you planning on getting the Book from Summer, then?" I said, bracing myself to be told I'd need to stay behind in Velaris.

Instead, Rhys said, "To be decided tomorrow with the rest of the Inner Circle."

I nodded. "And that's all the business we need to take care of for now, then?"

"Not unless you have something pressing."

I kissed him in answer, tipping my hips upward—the only pressing thing on my mind was pressing my body against his. One brush of my fingertips against his wing, and we were ready to begin another round of making up for time we'd just been apart.

After the too-bright sun in the Day Court, I welcomed the steady rain beating down when I returned to the training ring the next morning. A chill was already settling into my bones, the first cool early morning that signaled autumn had arrived. Fog blanketed Velaris, and as Rhys flew us up to the House of Wind, I could hardly see anything but mist.

I spent most of the warm-up avoiding the water droplets that flicked off the Illyrians' wings each time they moved. But still, I didn't complain, not when I knew that each raindrop that landed on the sensitive membranes of their wings sent a jolt of cold through their bodies. My leathers, at least, kept out the damp.

Cassian and Rhys had immediately begun sparing, and the clashing of their blades broke up the steady pattering of the rain. Azriel, as close to cheerful as he ever got, pulled me aside to work on properly gripping a knife in slippery conditions. We'd only been at it for a few minutes when something made his head whip towards the door. I glanced up, though the sound of steel-on-steel in the distance continued.

Mor had arrived.

Since I'd returned from Under the Mountain, she hadn't joined us for training. All her recent trips to the Hewn City had eaten up her time. But war was on the horizon. She needed to prepare just as much as the rest of us.

"You're late," Cassian called over his shoulder. "Rhys and Feyre managed to get here on time, and they probably spent all morning fu—"

A thud cut off the rest of that sentence. Rhys had knocked the sword out of Cassian's hand, and there was a blur of arms, legs, and wings as the fighting devolved into grappling. Next to me, Azriel made a low, disapproving noise.

"Not all of us get up as ridiculously early as you do. I didn't even sleep in," Mor said smoothly. She walked over to us, plucked a knife from the sheath on Azriel's arm, and sent it sailing into the target. She threw with perfect form, and it landed directly in the center of the bullseye.

"Not a bad start," Azriel said.

When Mor turned to him, her face was grave. "Returning to it is easier than I thought. I wonder if you ever truly forget what it's like."

"It's not the sort of thing you could ever forget."

Some sort of shared understanding seemed to pass between Mor and Azriel. I was acutely aware, again, that everyone here but me had already fought in a war once. It was a wonder they didn't view me as a child.

Mor's gaze flicked over to where Cassian and Rhys were still attempting to pin each other to the ground. Despite Cassian's massive bulk, Rhys had wriggled out of his hold multiple times. His limbs were free, but Cassian had dodged each one of his blows.

"It's been a while, cousin," she said, "but unlike Cassian, I think I could still beat you into the dirt without any trouble."

Rhys answered with a growl, and just that split second of distraction was enough for Cassian to twist his arms behind his back. The fight ended. Cassian leapt to his feet.

Rhys took Cassian's proffered hand and stood, glaring daggers at Mor. "Back it up if you're going to talk like that."

Mor unsheathed the sword at her hip. Rhys picked his own up off the mat; she stepped into the ring, and they began to circle each other. For a moment, I stood and watched; Mor had always moved differently from the Illyrians. They'd trained her in combat basics themselves, but eventually, she'd sought teachers elsewhere, learning techniques that didn't assume a fighter had wings. She was a far smaller target, more nimble on her feet in a way that made her nearly impossible to hit.

I set the knives aside after that, running through drills where Azriel knocked me over or grabbed me while Cassian observed and corrected my form. I'd improved, if a bit slowly, over the past few months. My best chance of survival was still running away, but I was better at staying on my feet and instinctively sinking my teeth into the soft skin at the crook of a would-be attacker's elbow or tearing at a High Fae's pointed ears.

When we were all finishing up, my heart returning to a normal rhythm as we ran through our last few stretches, the door to the stairwell swung open again. An umbrella emerged, the same soft grey color as the storm clouds above us. Below it, I caught a flash of black hair and a pale hand wrapped around the sapphire-encrusted handle.

All five of us froze in place.

A long raincoat swished around Amren's feet as she stepped carefully around the border of the sparring ring, then sank onto the chaise in the corner. "Since I was the only one not present, I decided to join you all today," she said, answering the question that none of us had dared ask.

Cassian's grin was positively wolfish. "It's been a while since you've come out to play."

He wasn't wrong. Before I'd gone Under the Mountain, Amren had occasionally come up here to pick at her nails while the rest of us trained. I hadn't seen her here since Rhys and I had returned, probably because she was off making sure the Night Court kept running smoothly.

"We have much to discuss, and I believe all of us—yes even you, Cassian—are capable of multitasking," she said, resting the umbrella on a slim shoulder.

Rhys must have agreed; he waved a hand, and a familiar tang of magic hit my nose as a privacy shield closed around all of us. "I intended to meet with you all this afternoon, but now is a good a time as any," he said.

Right. The Book. We'd planned to make a plan for that in the afternoon, but it was only a small sliver of time. It was difficult, these days, to get the entire Inner Circle in the same place for very long.

Mor had been sitting, leaning over with her face against her knee and her hands around her foot. She straightened and said to Rhys, "I assume you already have a plan then?"

Perhaps it was just me, but there was a sharpness in her voice that sounded almost…accusatory. Rhys snapped his wings in tight, the movement sharp enough to send another spray of water into the air. Despite his obvious agitation, his power didn't slip its leash.

"I've decided that we'll steal the Book of Breathings from the Summer Court," he said.

For a long moment, the only sound was the rain against the windows of the House. Despite the silence, however, no one's face betrayed a hint of surprise. I'd half-expected this, too. Tarquin hadn't been High Lord long enough for us to build up enough trust to ask for a small favor, let alone a powerful artifact his court had been trusted with safekeeping.

Rhys's gaze swept over all of us as he continued, "I'm interested to hear your thoughts on how to best accomplish that."

"I’ll contact my sources in the Summer Court about where the half of the Book of Breathings is hidden," Azriel said.

"No need. I don’t trust this information, even with your sources, with anyone outside of the Inner Circle."

“They can be trusted,” Azriel said with quiet steel, his scarred hands clenching at his leather-clad sides.

“We’re not taking risks where this is concerned,” Rhys merely said. He held Azriel’s stare, and I could almost hear the silent words Rhys added, It is no judgment or reflection on you, Az. Not at all.

But Azriel yielded no tinge of emotion as he nodded, his hands unfurling. It was Cassian who set down his glass of water and said, "Then how the hell are we stealing it if we don't know where it's hidden?"

"I'll have to pluck that information from Tarquin's mind," Rhys said.

"You think you can manage that undetected?" Amren scoffed. "It's your funeral, I suppose."

"Amren's right. You might as well sign your death warrant if you try and invade another High Lord's thoughts," Mor said.

Rhys's jaw tightened. "I would have succeeded tunneling through Amarantha's shields at that damn party if I hadn't gone alone. At least some of you will be accompanying me on this trip. I refuse to make the same mistake again. This time, I— I'm asking for help."

Guilt gnawed at Rhys every single time he delegated a task to the Inner Circle rather than complete it himself, even as he recovered from a fifty-year long ordeal Under the Mountain; he was, as Amren had said, a self-sacrificing idiot. Admitting he couldn't do this all himself cost him something.

But he'd managed it. That might be the reason we had a shot at survival.

Amren crossed her legs, the jeweled buckles on her rain boots glinting as she moved. "I've been telling you for centuries that all the magic in the world doesn't preclude you from needing assistance, boy. Late as it is, I'm glad you've finally learned that lesson."

Rhys bowed his head. His wings drooped just a bit, and for a moment, he looked less like a High Lord and more like a pupil who'd just gotten a verbal lashing from a teacher. I wondered, not for the first time, exactly how young he'd been when she'd taught him to control the immense power that thrummed through his veins.

"Are you asking for bodyguards," Azriel said darkly, "or a distraction?"

"One of each, I think. Though I'm open to suggestions," Rhys said.

Across from me, Cassian's wings rustled. "The Summer Court is full of hotheaded fools and arrogant pricks. I should go."

"Bringing a male who wrecked a building last time he visited is a horrible strategy. Or have you forgotten that you're banned for life?" Mor said. The surprise must have shown on my face because she looked to me and added with a wink, "Remind me to tell you the story next time I've got a couple glasses of wine in me."

Cassian had been unwrapping his hands when Amren arrived, but now, I noticed that he'd stopped. As if he was remaining prepared for another fight. He opened his mouth to speak, but Rhys cut him off, violet eyes flashing dangerously.

"I'll need you in the human realm, Cassian. If I'm unreachable in the Summer Court for any reason, then I don't trust anyone but you to keep watch on the Archeron manor."

"Then don't take Azriel, either," Mor said, her tone brooking no argument.

"Agreed," Rhys said, "bringing my spymaster would send the wrong message and put them on their guard."

That left Mor, Amren, and me. On the rare occasions Rhys left the borders of the Night Court, he preferred to have either his Second or his Third stay back and guard Velaris.

And I certainly wasn't powerful enough to do that. Or to protect Rhys from another High Lord, either.

"Mor would be the better option if you wanted to appear friendly. She's built a rapport with Cresseida as they've corresponded since Amarantha's death, and if we're stealing the Book, that will blindside them more effectively," Amren said.

Cassian sighed. "Robbing another court blind could blow up in our faces, even if we're not trying this around the Summer Solstice. Are we sure we need to steal?"

I wasn't quite sure what the time of year had to do with it, but Cassian had said it so matter-of-factly that I must have been the only one who didn't know. Despite living in Prythian for months now, I still didn't understand faerie holidays. Summer solstice in my village had been nothing more than some donated ale from a local tavern and a few half-hearted line dances before most of us returned to tilling and planting.

This seemed more serious, and that left me with a faint sense of unease.

"Yes," Rhys said tightly. "As much as I'd like to avoid making an enemy of the Summer Court, we can't risk the possibility that Tarquin will say no then sell the information to the highest bidder."

Keeping our true motives hidden protected the Night Court. Rhys saw that clearly, even if he didn't relish the thought of stealing. It was yet another tough call he wasn't shying away from.

I just hoped it didn't end with blood on his hands, like it had with the Summer Court faerie Under the Mountain.

With the entire Inner Circle here, I didn't want to draw him into a lengthy mind-to-mind conversation. I merely sent an image down the bond, of my fingers interlacing with his. He sent a pulse back, a feeling I couldn't quite identify.

"Are you hoping they just won't notice, then?" Cassian demanded. "Because that's bullshit."

"Presumably, Rhys is banking on the assumption that he'll be gone by the time they notice," Azriel said, disapproval evident in his voice, too.

They were right—no surprise there, considering they were both strategists. The situation left us with no options that didn't come perilously close to ending in disaster, and just the thought of it made my chest tighten. War, perhaps, was an inevitability, and the real question was merely of how much damage we could mitigate.

I hadn't truly considered the possibility that I might go to the Summer Court. As a human, my role had seemed lie primarily in obtaining the other half of the Book. Now, I reconsidered and wracked my brain for the scraps of information that I'd read about the Summer Court in the history books the priestesses had recommended.

An idea struck me. "Would we have a better chance of pulling this off if we had someone else we could pin the blame on?" I said.

Rhys's voice became a lethal caress, sending shivers down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold rain. "Say more, Feyre."

"The Summer Court doesn't involve itself in conflicts," I said, "We could ask if they'd be willing to serve as a neutral meeting place, now that Under the Mountain has been sealed off."

"After fifty years together underground, it will be at least a few centuries before the High Lords agree to convene in one location," Amren said, shaking her head.

"It doesn't have to be all of them. What if we told them we wanted to meet with Tamlin and observers from a neutral court, so I could finally provide some answers about the time between Calanmai and Amarantha's death? If I told them a few half-truths, that could be enough of a distraction for Rhys to get into Tarquin's mind undetected, and when the Book turns up missing, we blame Spring."

"If Feyre is coming, then I'm bringing Amren. They're all utterly terrified of her," Rhys said. Amren frowned—annoyed, perhaps, that he'd made a decision without asking her. But he added, just a bit too casually, "There is also a great deal of treasure to be found in the Summer Court. If the Book is hidden, Amren, you might find other objects to your liking."

"Very well," she said, "I'm in."

I didn't exactly relish the thought of facing my kidnapper again. But if I was doing it flanked by Rhys and Amren, no one would dare lay a hand on me.

Azriel said, "If that's the plan, then we should limit the attendance to three per court. Tarquin will likely want Cresseida and Varian there, and I assume Tamlin will bring Lucien and Ianthe. Feyre, that's—"

The sound of her name sent a wave of white-hot rage coursing through me. For a moment, I could think of nothing but the need to see her guts spilling out of her. My hand curled around handle of the knife strapped to my thigh.

"I know exactly who that bitch is," I ground out through clenched teeth, "and what she tried to do to Rhys."

Gods, if we really needed a distraction, then I could certainly provide one by severing Ianthe's head from her body. But perhaps that would be too quick, too painless—

A gentle tug on the bond interrupted my train of thought.

"Cauldron, Feyre. That was at least a hundred years ago," Rhys was saying aloud, shaking his head in disbelief. "Who even told you about it?"

"You were still mine back then, even if I wasn't born yet. She had no right to breathe the same air as you, let alone bear you a child. The priestesses know that and told me when she returned to Spring."

Someone made a noise that sounded like a snort—either Cassian or Mor, I couldn't tell. Not when I was too distracted by the feeling of Rhys's arms wrapping around me. He'd moved too quickly for my eyes to follow, but in an instant, the scales of our leathers were scraping against each other as he pulled me to him. My anger disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced by the contentment that flooded me each time I got near my mate.

One word floated through the crack in my shields. Yours.

His lips brushed my cheek; I wanted more, to tear his clothes off and leave a few bite marks on his skin, but we couldn't exactly do that in front of the rest of the Inner Circle. I merely smiled and relaxed against him.

"Ianthe can't fight. Feyre could probably kill her if she wanted to," Cassian said.

At that, a flicker of lust warmed Rhys's end of the bond. I pressed my legs together, resisting the urge to drive my ass back like a cat in heat.

Mor groaned, "Please try to get the Book without any casualties. And don't stink up the place either, you two."

Rhys just smiled and kissed me again.

The Inner Circle didn't linger much longer after that. Once I changed into dry clothes, I spent most of the day in the library, where I claimed one of the leather couches near a fireplace and began working my way through a stack of books about the Summer Court.

Cassian, to my surprise, had readily agreed to speak to Nesta. Even after I'd warned him that she wouldn't like what we were asking of her, he'd only grinned at me and said handling it would be "an honor and a pleasure." Perhaps it was merely because he liked a challenge, but I wondered if Rhys was indeed correct that a mating bond might snap between them.

It would certainly explain why Cassian was the only person I'd ever known to be so eager to speak to Nesta.

Even after a few hours of reading, however, I still didn't understand exactly what he'd meant about the Summer Solstice earlier. I didn't work up the courage to ask. So far, Calanmai had been the only holiday I'd experienced in Prythian, and that had been...well, eventful.

It wasn't until that evening, when Rhys and I were alone in the townhouse, sharing a quiet dinner, that I said, "Why is it for the best that we won't be in Adriata until after Summer Solstice?"

Rhys studied me over his wineglass, probably wondering why I'd asked out of the blue. I tried not to squirm as I waited for an answer—now that the words were out of my mouth, it seemed silly to be afraid of a holiday.

"Superstition," he said eventually. "The solar courts are the only three that experience a change in seasons. The Summer Court doesn't have any particular sway over Night during the summer season, but with the stories about how magic waxes and wanes, I'll confess it would worry me to attempt to steal from them on the shortest night of the year."

I kept eating as I considered that and attempted to ignore the violet eyes boring into me. Rhys was quiet, but he didn't have to say anything—his expression alone was an obvious request to say what I was thinking.

But in truth, I felt like a bit of an idiot for not having considered the connection between the seasons, the length of days and nights, magic, and the courts of Prythian. A part of me was glad I hadn't asked in front of the Inner Circle. They probably thought me naive enough as it was.

It did beg another question, though. One I'd have to ask carefully. "Do we....do anything for the Winter Solstice? Here in Night?"

"It's one of our most important days of the year."

Of course it was. I scowled. "That doesn't actually answer my question, Rhys."

"There are services in the temples, but few people actually attend, in all honesty. It's time off spent with family, feasting and exchanging gifts."

"That's all?"

Another feline smile. "Did you want there to be more?"

I stilled. Rhys couldn't know. I hadn't told anyone, and my shields were secure and had been for months now.

"Out with it, Feyre," he said. I started to tell him that there was nothing at all, but Rhys just rolled his eyes. "I'm not reading your thoughts, but it's clearly written all over your face that there's something you haven't mentioned."

"Promise you won't do anything with the information."

"No."

We glared at each other over our plates. A talon ran down my shields—playful, somehow. Not a threat at all.

"Rhysand..." My use of his full name was an obvious warning. He just smirked, and I realized I'd inadvertently turned this into a game for him. I sighed, unwilling to prolong the conversation when he'd find out eventually. I mumbled, "I was born on the Winter Solstice."

He blinked in surprise. "You were born on the longest night of the year."

"Yes, but there's no reason to make a fuss about it." I knew Rhys, though. He'd fuss anyway.

Predictably, he said, "There's every reason in the world to make a fuss about it."

I shook my head. My family had forgotten my birthday often enough that I'd lost interest in celebrating it well before we'd lost our fortune. And now, I didn't see the point in counting the years as an immortal.

Unwilling to talk about it, I merely pushed my peas around my plate. We went quiet. But I could still feel the weight of his stare, even with my own eyes cast downward, so I made sure to take a few bites of food before I gave Rhys another reason to worry.

"Mine is exactly two months before yours, and I hardly celebrate it, either," he added.

My brow furrowed. "Why not?"

"It's uncomfortable to receive birthday gifts as a High Lord. Solstice is a bit different—it's an exchange. But otherwise, there's enough bowing and scraping to me every other day of the year, and I hate the thought of anyone feeling obligated."

I hadn't considered that. But even as a trainee in an Illyrian war-camp, I supposed Rhys couldn't avoid the strangeness that came with being a crown prince, long before he'd become High Lord. Most of the Night Court probably remembered the announcement of his arrival into the world.

Of course he hated attention just as much as I did.

"Can we agree to forget each other's birthdays, then?" After all, we'd made it this far as a mated pair without knowing. It clearly wasn't important.

"No," he said flatly, and I glared. More softly, he continued, "I used to mark the occasion with a night out with the Inner Circle. Dinner, drinks, dancing. No gifts."

Before Amarantha, I realized. Rhys had fifty years of celebrations to catch up on, and I couldn't begrudge him that. "That sounds…nice," I admitted.

"If you'd rather I didn't buy you anything, at least allow me to make you climax twenty times on Solstice."

He tossed it out so casually that I was sure he was serious. Besides, it wouldn't be the first time he'd wrung more pleasure out of me than I'd thought possible, his relentless hard thrusts reducing me to a trembling, mewling mess.

But even as my cheeks heated at the thought, I found myself balling up a napkin and chucking it at his head. "Your cock is not a gift."

By now, I'd thrown enough objects at him that Rhys wasn't caught off-guard. In one smooth movement, he dodged and used a wing to smack the crumpled paper, sending it sailing back in my direction. I caught it deftly in one hand.

He winked. The napkin dissolved into mist—and me into a fit of laughter.

A letter from Nesta materialized next to my plate. Odd—I hadn't expected to hear back from her so quickly. Cassian wasn't due back at my family's manor for another few days. Ignoring Rhys, I opened it immediately and began to read.

Dear Feyre,

Cassian has explained the situation regarding the Book of Breathings to me, and there's no use mincing words—I do not want any more faeries in my house. That said, I recognize that it would be unwise to ignore the threat posed by a potential invasion by Hybern. I am considering hosting this meeting with the Queens of the Realm. In return, I would ask for your assistance in a matter regarding Elain.

A lord's son has been courting her, and I do not approve of the match. His name is Greysen Nolan, and his father has devoted himself to hunting the fae when they cross the Wall. Even though he is kind enough and clearly smitten with her, I have my doubts she would be safe if he one day discovered his wife's sister is married to a High Lord of Prythian. This makes him an unacceptable choice of husband for her.

Unfortunately, Elain is falling in love with him. As such, my attempts at warning her away from him are falling on deaf ears. Father is in Neva, but even if he were home, he's too eager to see us married off to do anything about it.

I'd appreciate it greatly if you or Rhysand could intervene before the situation gets out of hand. Whatever it takes to get him away from Elain with as little emotional upset and damage to her reputation as possible. This seems, if I'm not mistaken, like the sort of thing that could be accomplished with a glamour or your husband's ability to manipulate minds.

Please let me know if you're amenable to this. If so, I will make the necessary arrangements to contact the Queens once Greysen has been taken care of. For Elain's safety, I insist that you continue to allow her to believe you're staying with that fictional Aunt Ripleigh, and that you and your court continue to keep quiet about our family's involvement.

Best,

Nesta

I read the letter twice, then relayed its contents to Rhys. Nesta's request seemed so…well, feasible. I'd expected there to be much more of a fight to get her to agree. But then again, her first priority had always been Elain, no matter how badly I'd needed her, too.

And Cassian was, perhaps, a miracle worker.

"You can tell Nesta that it's no trouble, of course," Rhys said, waving his hand in a gesture that looked painfully aristocratic. "Scrambling one boy's mind is a small price to pay to keep us all safe."

That was all the discussion the matter needed. I sent a quick response to Nesta, letting her know, and then Rhys and I returned to our meal. The next day, letters went out to the Summer Court and, later, the Queens, each with a careful request for a meeting.

For a while, we could do nothing but wait for a response and hope they agreed.

Chapter Text

I wasn't aware that Rhys had gone south across the Wall until a letter arrived from Nesta. It was nothing more than a brief missive, confirming that Greysen had indeed let Elain down gently, telling her that she was a wonderful person but he didn't quite feel a spark between them. She'd accepted it, sad but not truly heartbroken.

The matter was handled. Just as quietly as Nesta had requested.

While we waited for responses from the queens and Tarquin, I filled the time by keeping busy—training, reading up on the Summer Court, badgering Rhys with questions about the various reports he received and meetings he attended, painting more surfaces in the townhouse. As routines went, it was peaceful enough.

A few days after Nesta's letter arrived, I lifted a hand to knock on the door of Rhys's bedroom. But before my hand touched the wood, the knob turned, seemingly of its own accord. From inside, he drawled, "Stop skulking in the hallway, Feyre."

A star-kissed breeze pushed the door open. But I stayed rooted to the spot.

It wasn't the power rolling off him that had frozen me in place. By now, I was used to the way he often loosened his hold on it, just a bit, when he was home. But I hadn't expected to find Rhys in nothing but his undershorts, bent over as he rifled through a drawer.

Cauldron boil and fry me, that ass.

He grabbed whatever he was looking for, then straightened. The movement made his powerful thighs flex. I'd knelt between them just a few hours ago, recently enough that I could still practically taste him on my tongue, but perhaps we were already overdue for another round…

Rhys turned, and the slight flaring of his nostrils told me he'd scented the direction of my thoughts. As if the heat creeping up my cheeks didn't give me away. With a knowing glint in his eyes, he said, "Is there something you wanted?"

There was. I forced my gaze away from his swirling tattoos and muscled chest, back up towards his face. Later. We could do all of that later.

"We should talk," I said. "About the visit to the Summer Court."

His expression darkened into something more serious. "You don't have to go if you're not comfortable. We can figure out another way to get the Book."

"It's not that. I was in Mor's office earlier, and she said Cresseida asked how many rooms we required. Obviously, you and I are sharing. But we haven't slept together—actually slept—for a full night."

We'd both gone weeks without a nightmare, and I couldn't remember the last time we'd needed to use the sleeping draught. But sharing a bed hadn't seemed worth the risk of his claws accidentally ripping me open, so he'd continued slinking back to his own room on the nights I fell asleep in his arms.

I'd tried to look at it as a blessing after so many years of Nesta and Elain kicking or elbowing me in the middle of the night. In the Spring Court, having such an enormous bed to myself had felt impossibly luxurious.

Now, I'd take an eternity of stolen blankets and cold toes against my calves if it meant Rhys was there.

"I think you're right that we'll have to risk it," he said, voice pained.

"Then let's try it tonight." Better to be…prepared.

He nodded, then seemed to remember he was holding a pair of sleep pants and slipped them on. No shirt. It was still more than he'd worn to bed during the summer. I wondered idly if he'd cover up more when the weather was at its coldest.

A part of me hoped not.

"Your room or mine?" he said.

I shrugged. "Your bed is bigger."

And that was that. I stepped inside and slipped right between the silk sheets. Rhys hid his wings before joining me. Which was for the best—once the lights were out, it took a minute of fumbling around to make ourselves comfortable. Even though I knew his body as well as mine, I still nearly managed to smack him in the face with my forearm. Twice.

Taking advantage of his temporary lack of wings, I pressed myself against his back and hooked a leg around his hip. The short hairs at the nape of his neck tickled my cheek; I'd become so sick of the distance between us that I could hardly stand to rest my head on a separate pillow. I'd tossed the extras towards the edge of the bed.

Rhys laced his fingers with mine and shifted so our joined hands rested on the center of his chest. An overwhelming feeling of rightness crashed over me again, just as strongly as it did when he was inside me. The mating bond urged us to cling together through the night, and I'd grown so tired of fighting it.

I counted the steady rises and falls of his chest until I drifted off. My sleep was restful, dreamless, as if having him in my arms affected me like a drug. But when dawn broke, I woke to find Rhys still snoring beside me.

It might have been the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard.

The next night passed similarly. And the next. At some point, I began thinking of the bed as ours rather than his, but I wasn't brave enough to move my things out of my closet and begin sharing with him. Rhys kept his wings hidden each night, too. We didn't speak about it.

For the next few weeks, the Summer Court dragged its feet on finalizing the details of the meeting. It worried me. But according to Mor, the delay was expected and planned for—High Lords rarely allowed each other into their territory, so Tarquin was obligated to dig in his heels on the details to avoid being perceived as weak-willed. She and Cresseida handled the negotiations while the rest of us continued to wait.

The time passed slowly, then suddenly…Rhys's birthday seemed to arrive in the blink of an eye.

The six of us went out for dinner, sitting outside on the patio that the restaurant's owner had spelled to keep out the autumn chill. But the air was still crisp, with a salt-lemon-verbena breeze off the Sidra.

It was the same meal we'd had that first night back from Under the Mountain, when we'd decided to hide the bond—Mor had gotten the food from this very restaurant. The tension and awkwardness of that night were now long since resolved. Over glasses of wine and platters of rich, spicy food, we chattered about sports matches and teams—Amren was a vicious, obsessive supporter of one—new shops, music we'd heard, clubs they favored. Nothing heavy or consequential. Just…peace.

In truth, I'd hardly noticed how relaxed I'd become. Not until I plucked a piece of fried potato from Rhys's plate and he looked at me, eyes wide and mouth parted. If his expression wasn't soft, almost contemplative, I would have thought I'd irritated him.

A long moment passed; he continued to stare. The others, engrossed in a discussion about the return of the Sidra boat races next summer, didn't notice. Through the bond, I said, What?

You've never done that before.

I'm sorry. I—

Don't apologize. I've been trying to get it through that thick skull of yours that I really do mean it when I say everything that's mine is yours, too. That includes my food.

I reached over, spearing one of his carrots with my fork, and he smiled. We changed the subject, going back to speaking aloud before anyone else noticed we were having a private mind-to-mind conversation. At the thought of sharing another secret with him, warmth bloomed in my chest.

When all of us were utterly full, Amren quietly wished Rhys a happy birthday, then vanished to pick up more blood from the kitchen to take back to her apartment. The rest of us headed up the street to Rita's, the dance hall that Mor hadn't yet succeeded at dragging me to.

Our pace was unhurried, my arm looped through Rhys's while we walked. This side of the Sidra was far more lively than the quiet street where we lived—laughter spilled out of the crowded shops and cafes that we passed. In Velaris, nearly everything was open overnight, and at this hour, just as performances at the city's many theaters ended, the sidewalks were full of faeries in finery who'd just finishing attending performances.

I liked how the city always thrummed with energy. It wasn't something you could find in the Spring Court or my tiny village across the Wall.

On the sidewalk outside Rita's, I could hear the pulse of dance music from inside. The lyrics were inane—half of them just seemed to be the words "baby" and "oh"—but the song was lively and joyful, something about being starstruck by first love. Azriel stepped close to me to allow the door to swing shut without catching on his wings, and I could've sworn I heard him singing along under his breath.

The crowd near the entrance parted, and I hadn't realized the space was so massive. At one end, a purple-skinned faerie with horns and tusks tended the bar, serving drinks in a variety of bright colors. A group of scaled and antlered musicians were performing on a small raised platform, with strange instruments I'd never seen before. Booths and tables lined the rest of the walls, full of fae drinking, laughing, and trying to speak over the music. Most of them favored clothing with sequins or jewels that glittered under the multicolored faelights covering the ceiling.

But nearly everyone was packed into the dance floor in the middle, dancing the night away.

Quite a few eyes landed on Rhys as we stepped inside; I hadn't dropped his arm, and I pressed myself closer to him on instinct. As respectful and friendly as the people of Velaris were, they still noticed the High Lord everywhere he went.

And it was still his birthday, after all.

"Keep Azriel company while he claims our booth," Rhys said, leaning in close to speak directly into my ear. His breath was warm against my neck. "I'll join the rest of you shortly with drinks."

He could have let the words slide directly into my mind—with the loud music, that would have been prudent. But people were watching. It occurred to me for the first time that this was the sort of place where patrons met, coupled up, and went home together. I'd never experienced anything like that before, other than Calanmai. Or possibly Amarantha's revels Under the Mountain.

"Alright," I whispered back, forcing myself not to sound nervous.

Rhys kissed my cheek. Affectionate as he was, I couldn't help but wonder if the gesture was also for the benefit of the many fae who were clearly observing us with interest. He slipped his arm from mine before I could decide if I wanted to know.

Mor was already dragging Cassian into the crowd of dancers, so I understood why Rhys had asked me not to leave Azriel alone. I followed Az to a low-backed booth that was far enough away from the band that we could hear ourselves think. It was one of the only places to sit with the sort of chairs built for wings, probably the spot they'd made a habit of sitting in over the centuries.

"You're not much of a dancer, are you?" I said.

"I mostly come here for the music and the company," Azriel said. His gaze was fixed on the dance floor, where Mor was doubled over in laughter while Cassian did something that involved crossing his arms over his torso, shaking his hips, and jumping to the side.

Gods, the fae could be strange sometimes.

I turned my attention to the bar, looking for Rhys. A gaggle of well-wishers had formed around him while he waited for the bartender's attention. Some childish, petulant part of me longed to tug hard on the bond and call him to me, but I resisted the urge. No one was even touching him.

But still, once one of the faeries speaking to him walked away, he glanced up and winked at me before turning to the next and saying hello.

Azriel observed our interaction with the barest hint of a smile on his lips. "We used to make a game of it, you know."

"Of what?"

"Taking bets on who'd work up the nerve to invite Rhys home." I immediately bristled. Chuckling quietly, Az added, "Now, I suppose we'll have to take bets on whether or not you'll start a bar fight instead. You've made such good progress with your left hook that it would be a shame not to put it to use."

I supposed that was what passed as a compliment from him. And it was true that I was getting closer to fixing the strength imbalance in my arms. I shot him a half-hearted glare.

Rhys winnowed into the seat beside me a few minutes later, curling a wing around me as ours cups appeared on the table. He said something to both of us, but a memory came to me, unbidden. His voice in my head, back when I was in that cell Under the Mountain.

In the meantime, do not drink anything unless it's been handed to you by me personally. And Feyre…I am so, so sorry.

I shouldn't have been thinking about a painful memory now, not when we'd gone out to celebrate. The ordeal was over. Besides, I'd just had a glass of wine at dinner and hadn't thought twice about it.

But there was something different about drinking surrounded by dancers and revelry, even somewhere as safe as Velaris. I kept thinking of that night in the throne room, when he'd forced my body to dance while I'd pretended to be drunk for Amarantha's amusement.

A knot formed in my stomach. The music beckoned, but tonight, at least, I doubted I could bring myself to answer its call.

Even if my mate asked me to.

I'd thought things were getting better. But there was truly something wrong with me if I couldn't let myself enjoy what had thus far been a wonderful night. And maybe…maybe Rhys knew that, considering the way his arm remained draped over my shoulders, even as he chatted with Azriel and laughed with Mor and Cassian when they stumbled back to our table.

Rhys's smiles looked genuine—heartbreaking in their beauty, as always. It was almost enough to distract from the fact that he didn't touch his drink at all. It might as well have been a prop while everyone around us chugged or nursed theirs.

It felt like several centuries passed before Rhys was asking if I'd mind terribly if we headed home. It couldn't have been late, not when the dance floor hadn't even begun to empty, but I felt strangely exhausted. I only half-heard his comment to the others about being an old bore with an early bedtime.

On another night, we might have ambled back to the townhouse on foot. But once we were outside, Rhys joined our hands and winnowed us straight to our bedroom. Within minutes, we were curled up together under the covers, and things began to feel alright again.

I didn't remember falling asleep, but I woke to the feeling of being shoved roughly onto my back.

A heavy weight pinned me to the mattress. I screamed. The unnatural darkness swallowed up the sound, my voice lost to the wind whipping through the room.

Darkness. Rhys's darkness.

I reached down the bond and yanked, shouting his name into his mind. But it only echoed against walls of black adamant. I pulled and pulled, like I was trying to haul a thrashing fish out of the sea.

My vision cleared enough to make out feathers and wings. He stared down at me, and there was no recognition in his eyes, nothing human or fae in his face. This was a creature that lived in black pits and only emerged at night to hunt and feast, the beast that lurked within him.

A talon reached for my throat.

Before it could touch me, a shield of darkness formed around me. Familiar power—the feeling of night and him—surrounded me like a cocoon.

The moment his talon scraped against it, the wind died. Moonlight and the sounds of the city poured back into the room again. Rhys winnowed off me, and when he re-materialized on the opposite side of the room, he was back in the form I was most familiar with, wings out.

"I'm sorry. Shit, Feyre. I didn't know it was you," he rasped, violet eyes wide as he scanned me for injuries. I'd never seen his face so ravaged by pain.

"I'm fine," I said, sitting up. "You were dreaming."

Unsure if I should touch him, I got to my feet and headed to the bathroom instead, intent on getting him a cup of water. He sounded hoarse, as if he'd been screaming. He made no move to follow me, just watched me as his breathing evened out.

When I returned and handed the cup to him, his wings were drooping just a bit less. He accepted the water, then used his other arm to draw me against him. I felt him press a kiss to the top of my head, then bury his face in my hair.

"It's not your fault. You're not in control of your powers when something like that happens," I said quietly.

"The magic slipped its leash but still chose to protect you."

This went farther than merely just a mate's protective instincts—the bond we shared didn't prevent us from hurting each other accidentally. The research Amren had conducted in the Day Court libraries had confirmed that.

I sighed, flexing my left hand as if that would shake off the glamour covering my tattoo. "Because it still wants something from me. Something it can't get if I'm harmed."

"Whatever it is, I'm grateful."

I hummed in agreement, then fell silent as Rhys drank the last of his water. The arm he had around my waist was tense, his hold tight, as if he was afraid I'd run back to my room. "Do you want to talk about it? The dream, I mean."

"There are memories from Under the Mountain, Feyre, that are best left unshared. Even with you."

I could guess, then, who he'd dreamed was in bed with him. It wasn't his burden to carry alone, but I wouldn't push. Not when we had all the time in the world. "Then I'll listen when the time comes."

I tugged him back towards the bed. To my surprise, he followed rather than jumping out the window to fly and let the cold night air clear his head. But this time, he didn't hide his wings, draping one of them over me like a blanket.

We managed to get a few more hours of rest, but the next morning, the sunlight streaming in through the window felt even more like an invader than usual.

The morning we left for the Summer Court, Nuala helped me into another lightweight, open-backed gown like the ones I'd worn in Day. It was strange to wear something that exposed so much skin when the growing clouds outside promised snow later. And even stranger to wear a dress instead of leathers to a meeting full of enemies.

At least I looked nice. The light blue color matched my eyes, and night-blooming silver flowers had been embroidered to climb from the hem to brush my thighs. The thread matched the delicate silver diadem that Nuala had placed on my head. Feminine and soft, but also…regal, somehow.

An ensemble befitting the Lady of the Night Court.

Once Nuala disappeared into the shadows, I turned to head downstairs and found Rhys leaning against the doorframe. Some emotion I couldn't read flickered across his face. I'd seen it before, I realized—when I'd dressed for the visit to the Day Court. Considering how rarely I wore anything formal, I hadn't thought much of it at the time. But I would have thought the shock would have worn off by now.

"Why do you look at me like that every time I wear a gown?" I said. "It's not… I— I don't look silly, do I?"

My cheeks heated in spite of myself. But other than when I'd visited my family, the dresses I'd worn had been distinctly faerie. I supposed that made sense—I was, after all, deliberately presenting myself as a member of the Night Court—but perhaps they didn't look quite right on me. More like costumes for a human girl who was merely playacting.

His violet eyes widened in horror. "Gods, no."

"Then what?"

Rhys was silent for a long moment. I waited. As much as I hated secrets, I could be patient when whatever this was affected him deeply. It clearly wasn't a game.

"I thought you'd guess eventually," he said quietly.

"I haven't."

"My mother made the dress you're wearing right now. She made all your dresses, actually."

I blinked. He'd said she'd been a seamstress, of course. But she'd also been dead for centuries—Cauldron, we'd even visited her grave together. "How?"

"Long ago, when I was a boy, she made them—all your gowns. A trousseau for my future bride. In Illyria, she took in the mending because she was ordered to. But it was work she loved. When she mated my father, she…continued."

A shiver ran through me. I hadn't felt quite like this since I'd learned I'd been dreaming of Velaris before Rhys even knew about about me, but I was again acutely aware of how much had been waiting for me here in the Night Court. A role—a place in the world—ready for me to step into it.

"You didn't think you'd ever see anyone wearing these, did you?" I breathed.

"No. No, I didn't."

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and I was very, very careful not to let my sleeve touch my face as I brushed them away. Now that I knew where the gown had come from, I wasn't sure I even dared to move for fear of staining or tearing it. "I'm honored. Truly."

"She would have loved you," Rhys said, lifting a hand. My tears vanished with a flicker of magic. "Though not right away, in all honesty. She made sure the dresses accommodated wings because she never gave up hope I'd settle down with an Illyrian. But if defeating the Middengard Wyrm didn't win her over, shooting that warrior out of the sky would have."

"Your mother wanted you to end up with a killer?"

He laughed. "She was very Illyrian. If she were still here, she would've been crowing for weeks about what an excellent shot you were to hit a male with such a small wingspan."

Neither of my parents had ever bragged about me. A strange sort of grief hit me as I realized my mother-in-law would never get the chance to. All I could do was try and live up to the title she'd once held.

"I think she'd be proud of you, too."

Rhys's smile was sad. It disappeared as quickly as it came, then he offered me his arm. "Come. Let's not keep Amren waiting."

I took it, ready to leave for the Summer Court.

Chapter Text

The slight chill of the air in Velaris gave away to dry, suffocating heat. Bright sun glinted off a turquoise sea, and the cooling breeze off the water did little to make the platform where we stood any more comfortable.

We'd emerged right at the base of a tan stone palace. It sat atop a mountain, not unlike the palace of moonstone I'd never visited but knew existed above the Hewn City.

High Lords and their affinity for elevated abodes, I supposed. Rhys, at least, had wings. But as far as I knew, Tarquin couldn't fly, so it seemed like an odd, impractical choice to me.

It did, however, look just like the illustrations I'd seen in the books on the Summer Court I'd devoured in the library, the layout of the mountain-island at the center of the half-moon bay identical to the maps I'd poured over.

But reading hadn't prepared me for the sight of so many ships—ferries and merchant vessels and barges and yachts. Or the squawking gulls overhead and the distant hum of a crowded, bustling city.

A half dozen or so people waited for us, framed by a pair of sea glass doors that opened into the palace itself. On our little balcony, there was no option to escape—no path out but winnowing away…or going through those doors. Or, I supposed, the plunge awaiting us to the red roofs of the fine houses a hundred feet below.

"Welcome to Adriata," said the tall male in the center of the group.

I remembered him from Under the Mountain. Even if I could forget that rich brown skin, white hair, and eyes of crushing, turquoise blue, I still had the occasional nightmare of the party where he'd been forced to watch as Rhys invaded his courtier's mind then snuffed out his life.

Rhys had lied. But sometimes my mind conjured up a version of events where Amarantha had seen the mercy killing for what it was. On those nights, I clung to Rhys tighter and reminded myself we'd made it out alive.

Rhys merely drawled, "Good to see you again, Tarquin."

The five other people behind the High Lord of Summer swapped frowns of varying severity. Like their lord, their skin was dark, their hair in shades of white or silver, as if they had lived under the bright sun their entire lives. Their eyes, however, were of every color. And now they shifted downwards, to where Rhys kept his fingers intertwined with mine, even as Amren pulled hers out of his grip.

Rhys slid his free hand into a pocket and inclined his head towards Amren. "Amren, I think you know. Though you haven't met her since your…promotion." Cool, calculating grace, edged with steel.

Tarquin gave Amren the briefest of nods. "Welcome back to the city, lady."

Amren didn't nod, or bow, or so much as curtsy. She looked over Tarquin, tall and muscled, his clothes of sea-green and blue and gold, and said, "At least you are far more handsome than your cousin. He was an eyesore." A female behind Tarquin outright glared. Amren's red lips stretched wide. "Condolences, of course," she added with as much sincerity as a snake.

Wicked, cruel—that's what Amren and Rhys were to these people. And as horrible as it was, that knowledge made me feel safe. They were with me, and no one would cross them.

Rhys gestured to me. "I don't believe you two were ever formally introduced Under the Mountain. Tarquin, Feyre. Feyre, Tarquin." No titles here—either to unnerve them or because Rhys found them a waste of breath.

I could have attempted to wear the same mask as Rhys and Amren. But there was no point in trying to intimidate anyone here, not when I was the only one for miles with no magic I could wield. To powerful immortals, I might as well have been a helpless kitten flexing its tiny claws.

Instead, I forced myself to smile. "I'm glad our official meeting is under such vastly improved circumstances," I said. Not sweet, exactly, but open. Friendly. I did genuinely mean what I said.

Our hosts remained stone-faced and stiff-backed. Tarquin seemed to weigh the air between my companions and me—I watched his gaze drift back to where my hand was still joined with Rhys's. "It seems you have a tale to tell, lady."

Even though it was proper, the honorific sounded all wrong when applied to me. It was a positive sign, of course. I was all-too-aware that Tarquin had seen me half-naked and writhing in Rhys's lap Under the Mountain, and this was an indication he didn't hold me in contempt because of it.

But I was still so unused to anyone treating me with courtly manners.

"We have many tales to tell," Rhys said, jerking his chin toward the glass doors behind them. "So why not get comfortable?"

The female a half-step behind Tarquin inched closer. "We have refreshments prepared."

Tarquin seemed to remember her and put a hand on her slim shoulder. "Cresseida—Princess of Adriata."

Her long silver-hair blew across her pretty face in the briny breeze, in that distinctly ethereal, fae way that didn't result in the strands getting stuck to her her face or blocking her vision. I didn't mistake the light in her brown eyes for anything but razor-sharp cunning. "A pleasure," she murmured huskily to me. "And an honor."

I didn't miss the slight grovel in her voice, yet another faerie interested in me purely as the Cursebreaker. A part of me wanted to shrug it off, but I doubted that was wise.

"Morrigan told me so much about you," I said instead. I wasn't quite sure how to play these sorts of political games, but establishing myself as on good terms with Rhys's Third seemed a good a strategy as any. "It's nice to meet you, too."

The others were hastily introduced: three advisers who oversaw the city, the court, and the trade. And then a broad-shouldered, handsome male named Varian, Cresseida's younger brother, captain of Tarquin's guard, and Prince of Adriata. His attention was fixed wholly on Amren—as if he knew where the biggest threat lay. And would be happy to kill her, if given the chance.

Amren had never looked more delighted.

We were led into a palace crafted of shell-flecked walkways and walls, countless windows looking out to the bay and mainland or the open sea beyond. As we walked, I slipped my hand from Rhys's and let him move to Tarquin's other side—we were a pair, certainly, but I didn't want to appear leashed to him.

It might not have mattered. High fae—servants and courtiers—hurried across and around them, most brown-skinned and clad in loose, light clothing, all far too preoccupied with their own matters to take note or interest in our presence. No lesser faeries crossed our path—not one.

I'd noticed the same thing in the Day Court. It set me on edge—if Tarquin didn't even allow lesser fae into his palace, then how I could I expect him to respect any humans?

My stomach turned to lead. It made a horrible sort of sense that the Summer Court had held off on joining a side until nearly the very end of the War.

If Rhys sensed my unease, he didn't show it. He and Tarquin were talking lightly, both already sounding bored, of the recent Summer Solstice festivities. Something about harvests and floral arrangements on display.

"We have four main cities in my territory," Tarquin said to me, looking over his muscled shoulder. "We spend the last month of winter and first spring months in Adriata—it's finest at this time of year."

I held back a snort. The time of year hardly mattered in a land of endless summer. "It's very beautiful," I said.

Tarquin stared at me long enough that Rhys said, "The repairs have been going well, I take it."

A warning, polite but firm, and he was so rarely possessive in this way. In truth, I didn't hate it.

And it certainly hauled Tarquin's attention back. "Mostly. There remains much to be done. The back half of the castle is a wreck. But, as you can see, we've finished most of the inside. We focused on the city first—and those repairs are ongoing."

Right. Amarantha had sacked the city. Rhys said, "I hope no valuables were lost during its occupation."

It was risky to use the bond, but I couldn't help it. Through the small opening in his shields, I whispered, That was far too obvious. Don't be an idiot.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a beast flattened its ears and lowered its tail contritely.

"Not the most important things, thank the Mother," Tarquin said.

Behind me, Cresseida tensed. The three advisers peeled off to attend to other duties, murmuring farewell—with wary looks in Tarquin's direction. As if this might very well be the first time he'd needed to play host and they were watching their High Lord's every move.

It made me feel the tiniest bit better. I wasn't the only one here out of their depth.

The others seated themselves at the mother-of-pearl table. I probably should have joined them. I'd spent so little time around the ocean, however, that the view from the wide windows captivated me. Stupid as it was, I wandered to the glass and let myself stare.

The vibrant water—cobalt, green, midnight—was beautiful. Objectively so. But something about it just made me regret that I hadn't yet visited any of the Night Court's coastline. Ridiculous, really, when my home was surrounded by the sea on three sides.

Tarquin appeared beside me and said, "This is my favorite view."

"You must be very proud," I said, "to have such stunning lands."

"How do they compare to the ones you have seen?" Such a carefully crafted question.

If I told the truth—that it rivaled Spring but nowhere was more beautiful to me than the Night Court—I might seem a bit too much like Rhys's sycophant. But I didn't want to hide that I was quite happy in Night, either.

I shrugged. "Everything in Prythian is lovely."

"Have you seen much of it, then?"

Another careful question. Azriel would probably praise Tarquin's subtle attempts to get information out of me. But at least this was another one that Mor and Amren had prepared me to answer.

"My position as Rhysand's emissary necessarily involves travel. I returned from a trip to the Day Court shortly before coming here to meet with you."

From her seat beside Rhys, Cresseida said, "Do you have much contact with the mortal realm, then?"

I took that as an invitation to sit down. They'd left a seat open for me, beside Amren and across from Rhys. The conversation moved on to other things—namely, the threat from Hybern and the possibility of an imminent war.

I picked at my salad and steamed shellfish, listening more than I talked. Rhys was the one who'd once commanded a legion in battle, so he took the lead on the discussion. We needed to have it before the delegation from Spring arrived and the entire visit could potentially go to shit, so Mor had arranged for us to arrive early.

Ultimately, Tarquin's answers didn't surprise me. If Hybern attacked, he'd fight. Otherwise, he had no intention of getting into a war at all.

It shouldn't have bothered me. Tarquin's own people were his first priority, which meant picking up the shattered pieces of his court in the wake of Amarantha's death. But I hated the thought of the Summer Court slowly repairing itself, reestablishing trade and becoming prosperous while Hybern pillaged the mortal lands to the south.

It was the choice I'd make if I were in Tarquin's shoes. But that didn't make it any easier to share a meal with him without snapping my teeth.

Rhys must have sensed my tension. Even as he discussed the possibility of an alliance in that detached way he had with outsiders, I felt an invisible hand rubbing soothing circles just between my shoulder blades.

The rest of the afternoon was easier—Tarquin led us on a tour of the city and allowed us to walk through a hall of treasure and jewels. I had the sense that his advisors intended him to boast about his court's wealth and beauty. He didn't quite manage it.

I didn't hesitate to pepper him with questions about the history and value of it all, the kind I remembered my father asking other merchants before we'd lost our fortune. Partially just to appear involved, more like an emissary and less like Rhys's little mortal pet, but also because I was curious.

He readily admitted when he didn't know the answers, even when it earned him a glare from Cresseida. With a sheepish glance at the ground, he'd said, "I haven't had much time to learn about it all."

I'd never known a faerie to be so…artless. Though Tarquin was old enough to be my grandfather, I could almost fool myself into thinking we were close in age. In other circumstances, I might have been able to call him a friend, someone who related to the way I felt out of my depth so often in Prythian.

But it ended all too soon. Tarquin excused himself to go greet the delegation from the Spring Court, and we were left with a brief window of time to get settled in our suite and freshen up before dinner.

I wasn't sure whose brilliant idea it had been for us all to have this discussion over a meal, but apparently we were all expected to pile ourselves onto Tarquin's pleasure barge and dine on the water. I suspected it was a calculated move to put some distance between all of us and the newly-repaired city if this meeting came to blows.

Rhys winnowed the three of us to the harbor fashionably late. The other six attendees were talking quietly amongst themselves as they waited, but the moment we materialized, they all fell silent. A slight loosening of Rhys's grip on his power, and the shadows cast by the setting sun lengthened.

Another subtle warning.

"Feyre," Tamlin said, his green eyes roving over me, as if in search of an injury. He'd left his customary bandolier of knives at home. Instead, a decorative gold sash adorned the formal green suit he wore, matching the crown that sat atop his head.

Perhaps Rhys was rubbing off on me because despite all the history between us—and the potential danger of our mission tonight—my first thought was that the cut of Tamlin's jacket was just a bit too boxy in the shoulders.

Lucien gave me a wan smile. "It's good to see you."

It was a far cry from the hug he'd given me when we'd reunited Under the Mountain.

My eyes landed on the final member of the Spring delegation. By now, I'd heard enough about Ianthe that it felt like we'd already met—once we'd confirmed Tamlin was bringing her to Adriata, I'd asked my friends in the library more about her. They'd shared plenty of stories about how she'd simpered and backstabbed her way into her current position as High Priestess, smiling sweetly even when she'd terrorized the other acolytes.

A part of me suspected Evelyn, Deirdre, Roslin, and the others hoped I'd return with Ianthe's blood coating my teeth.

She glided towards me, blue-grey robes billowing gently around her, and proffered a ring-adorned hand for me to shake. "It's such a pleasure to meet the Cursebreaker."

"I'm sure it is," I said flatly. I didn't take her hand.

Until that moment, I hadn't been aware Rhys could snort down the mating bond.

Tarquin's face had gone slightly ashen. It was Cresseida who said, "Dinner is waiting. Why don't we all get ourselves seated?"

Behind her, the pleasure barge bobbed in the waters of the bay. It was crafted of the finest wood and gold, and a canopy of tiles set with mother-of-pearl covered the dinner table on the main deck. A ramp extended from the dock to the side of the boat, its railing lined with a string of faelights shaped like fish.

My stomach flipped as it occurred to me that even though my father owned a fleet of ships, I'd never actually set foot on one before.

I looped my arm through Rhys's as we stepped aboard. Partly for support, partly to give in to my instinct to hiss and snarl and treat him like territory in need of defending.

Once we'd all arranged ourselves around the table, some invisible tether released itself. I made myself comfortable between Rhys and Tarquin as we sailed towards the bay. Tamlin look the space directly across from me.

For a while, no one spoke. A pair of servants in blue livery placed trays of appetizers on the table, opened bottles of wine, and poured us all a glass. In the quiet, the clicking and whirring of Lucien's eye seemed impossibly loud.

As much as I wanted to disappear, I needed to pull everyone's attention towards me and hold it there. I stared down Tamlin. His claws and magic and might meant nothing at all to me. This was the male whose carelessness with a glamour had nearly made Nesta go mad.

My sister would not want me to show the barest hint of guilt or fear.

"Go ahead and ask your questions," I said, picking up my wineglass. "I'm sure you have plenty, and I'd rather not let this take all night."

"How have you been?" Tamlin said, more gently than I'd expected from him.

It nearly made me falter for a moment—I'd been tensing up for a fight. But that wasn't the only strategy I'd considered before this visit, so instead of scowling, I plastered a smile on my face. Glowing with newfound happiness could work just as well as raising my hackles.

"I'm well," I said.

"Are you?" Lucien said, sharply enough that I had to force myself not to flinch.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you've spent the past few months living in a hellhole full of sadistic killers."

I narrowed my eyes. "You've always been rude, but I thought you knew better than to speak about someone's home like that, Lucien."

"Is that what the Night Court is to you?" Tamlin said, his blond hair falling over a shoulder as he tilted his head at me. "A home?"

He still spoke softly, but now I realized it was the same sort of tone one might use to coax a frightened animal. This was merely more of that obnoxious fae arrogance. I was a child to him, a victim Rhys took advantage of.

At least, though, I could answer Tamlin's question with more of the truth.

"It is. Everyone there has been kind to me, and I'm happy. Rhys especially has been wonderful," I said.

I let my gaze slide over to him. His mask of polished cruelty slipped just for a moment, and he smiled at me with a softness he never let show outside Velaris. I knew, down to the marrow of my bones, that Rhys had never looked at anyone else like that. That smile—along with every other inch of him—was mine.

Lucien muttered into his wineglass, "I'm sure he has."

I should have ignored it, but I snapped,"Considering your High Lord kidnapped me, I don't think you have a right to talk."

Tamlin's fingers flexed, as if he were forcing those claws not to appear. Perhaps I could goad him into ripping up the tablecloth—that would certainly provide enough of a distraction for Rhys to get into Tarquin's mind unnoticed.

Tarquin, Cresseida, and Varian had all stilled in that peculiar way of the High Fae, so I supposed whatever I was doing was working. Lucien had never really been able to keep his mouth shut—after all, he'd called me a murderer when he knew Tamlin was supposed to be seducing me. Perhaps I could use that to my advantage.

As I hoped, he said, "Don't I? What would you call your vanishing act on Calanmai, then?"

I reached for a plate of mussels, relaxing a bit as I slipped into the lie that I'd so carefully practiced the past few months. "An escape. When I trapped the Suriel, it told me that you'd lied about the Treaty. Since then, I'd been looking for a way back home. I slipped out on Fire Night hoping that with everyone else focused on the celebrations, I might manage to get away and start making my way back below the Wall.

"Rhys and I crossed paths in the forest. The black clothes and the lack of a mask made it obvious that he was Night Court. Your enemy. I asked him for help, hoping that he'd find it amusing to help your captive slip out right under your nose. He offered me a job instead. If I helped him overthrow Amarantha, then my family and I would have all the wealth and protection we could ever need. That's how I became his emissary."

I wasn't sure anyone else at the table was breathing. Trying not to squirm under the combined weight of their gazes, I merely broke the first shell in half and busied myself with removing the meat with a spoon. This was a dinner, after all. Not an interrogation.

When no one spoke, I continued, "We needed to buy time for me to prepare. He brought me to the Night Court and faked my death so no one would come looking for me. But I think you'll understand, Lucien, why I told you I'd been living in the forest instead."

"Rhysand killed an innocent human girl and passed her corpse off as your own. Did you know that's the sort of monster you swore allegiance to?" Tamlin said.

A memory flashed in my mind—Rhys the morning after Calanmai, handing me his jacket because the work to be done wouldn't leave him clean. I'd respected him for it then. I still did now.

"I lay the blame for that woman's death at Amarantha's feet, not Rhys's," I said.

Tamlin shook his head. "By Cauldron, do you even hear yourself? He's addled your mind so thoroughly that it's a wonder it's not a pile of mush."

"I ended up in this mess because I killed one of your men in cold blood, skinned his corpse, and nearly ate him. Before I met Rhysand."

I let my words hang in the air. For the first time all day, Varian pulled his attention away from Amren and regarded me properly. The captain of the guard seemed to reconsider writing me off as a nonthreatening human. Cresseida, who'd been about to bite into a bit of toast laden with vegetables, set her food down.

"Feyre," Tamlin said, his voice suddenly thick with emotion. "I know this isn't you. There's a kind heart under that thorny exterior. It's why I fell—"

Ianthe made a noise that might have been a cough. Thus far, she'd been quiet, but now her eyes were flashing dangerously. Jealously.

From across the table, Amren caught my eye and smirked.

An ugly part of me wanted to make Tamlin hurt—to embarrass him as much as he'd embarrassed me. Developing feelings for my kidnapper was pathetic. Finding out invisible servants had watched me creep around for weeks was humiliating.

Back then, I'd been so willing to settle for scraps.

"It's probably unwise to finish that sentence in front of your new ladylove," I said. "Don't put yourself at more of a disadvantage. That hood of hers makes it difficult for you to re-use your line about her hair looking clean."

"It's not like that. Ianthe is a friend I've known since childhood," Tamlin said.

No one had ever glared at me in the particular way Ianthe was doing now, her face oddly tight and her clear blue eyes burning with hatred. I'd seen this expression directed at Nesta, though—by human girls when the men in our village stared at her tits.

I tried to emulate my eldest sister, hoping I projected half the confidence she did, as I said, "You've really known each other that long? The Mother blessed you with infinite patience if you've been pursuing the same uninterested male for five centuries, Ianthe."

Tarquin looked to Cresseida as if pleading for help. "We didn't invite you here because we were interested in hosting a catfight, ladies," she said tartly.

"Of course not," I said, taking an herbed roll from a basket and placing it on my plate. "I'm happy to answer any more questions anyone has for me."

Lucien was still studying me. "How did whipping me Under the Mountain fit into whatever scheme Rhysand dragged you into?"

"It didn't. I don't have the same strength as a faerie, so I thought you'd have a better chance of surviving if I took Tamlin's place. I didn't want to watch you die," I said.

"And I'm supposed to believe that after you lied to all of us for weeks?"

It was a stupid question—the circumstances were vastly changed with the curse broken and Amarantha dead. And the note of hurt in Lucien's voice rankled me.

But before I could tell him any of that, it was Tarquin who said, "I believe it."

"Do you?" Tamlin said.

"Brutius was my cousin, and we had forces gathering in all of our cities to storm Under the Mountain. They caught him sneaking out through the tunnels to meet with them. Rhys saw that in Brutius's mind—I know he did. And yet he lied to her face, and defied her when she gave the order to turn him into a living ghost. If the High Lord of the Night Court is capable of such mercy, then so is the emissary who works so closely with him," Tarquin said.

It sounded like the beginnings of a good-faith alliance. A rare gift. With the Night Court's fearsome reputation, opportunities to build bridges only came along once a millennium at best.

And here we were, setting it on fire as Rhys unraveled the defenses around Tarquin's mind.

Tamlin shook his head. "You are young, Tarquin. Take some advice from another High Lord who's sat on the throne for far longer than you've been alive—do not make the mistake of trusting Rhysand."

Cresseida shot Tarquin a look across the table, a raise of her brows that made me wonder if the princess had given him the same advice. I took another bite of my food and pretended not to notice their silent communication.

The mussels tasted like ash in my mouth.

"I'll take that under advisement," Tarquin said smoothly.

"I'm not even sure you should allow Feyre to return to the Night Court with him," Tamlin said.

Next to me, Rhys went as still as death. Before he could summon a single scrap of magic, I forced my thoughts down the bond. If I need protecting, Amren will play bodyguard. Don't let them distract you from the task at hand.

He didn't answer in words, just a mental growl of displeasure. But he did not fight me on it.

"I wasn't aware," Amren said smoothly, as if on cue, "that the decision was up to anyone other than Feyre herself."

"It would be if she was in her right mind. But he's clearly done something to her, and I won't pretend otherwise," Tamlin said.

Ianthe added, "You should see the propaganda I've received from my sisters in the Night Court. In their letters, Clotho and her acolytes talk about Feyre and Rhysand like they're a pair of sweet little lovebirds. It's honestly galling that they think we'd believe any High Lord, let alone one as wicked as him, could fall for a human. We all know he'll tire of fucking her when she gets her first wrinkle in a decade or so."

Above us, darkness blotted out the stars.

I'm handling this, Rhys. Back down.

"It's not my fault you're a crone whose womb shriveled up before you could bag a High Lord," I said aloud.

Lucien's gaze dropped back to my left hand. His metal eye began to whirr again, and the bottom seemed to drop out of my stomach. It was bad enough Helion already knew about the glamour covering me.

Ianthe snarled, lips pulled back from her teeth, "You ugly little mortal slut—"

Before Lucien could speak, I stood, tossing my napkin down and letting my chair scrape loudly against the deck of the boat. It didn't come close to covering the sound of Rhys's growl.

I could feel his power straining against his hold, a rabid dog barely held back by a leash, frustration mounting as its jaws closed around nothing at all.

If you kill any of them, I will never forgive you for taking away my chance to end their lives myself. Don't dishonor me like that. Finish getting through Tarquin's defenses.

It was, perhaps, the only thing that could have gotten him to stand down. Rhys was an Illyrian—he understood that a kill was something a person lay claim to. His face remained a mask of frozen rage, but the shadows retreated.

I had half a mind to launch myself across the table and throttle the Spring delegation one by one. But I wouldn't let myself throw the first punch. As Cassian always said during training, avoiding a fight was preferable to winning one.

"I won't tolerate being spoken to like this," I said. My back had gone ramrod-straight, and my hands fisted at my sides.

In other circumstances, I would have stormed off. It seemed pointless, however, when the farthest I could go was merely to the other end of the barge. Everyone else here could winnow or fly, but I was trapped until we docked again.

So stupidly human of me, just like everything else.

Rhys tugged gently on the mating bond, a silent reminder—one word from me, and we could go. If I wanted, he'd take me back to Velaris, Book of Breathings be damned.

I didn't need that from him, though. I'd see this through to the end.

"Even if Feyre hadn't saved all of your necks Under the Mountain, she is a member of my Inner Circle, who I brought here for a diplomatic visit," Rhys said. The words themselves were mild, but they held a threat nonetheless.

High Lords had gone to war for less.

I waited. Even the sea breeze had died.

Finally, Tarquin laid a hand on the table. "I expect my guests to behave themselves, Tamlin. If you and your retinue cannot, then I'll ask you to leave," he said. To me, he added, "It wasn't my intention to subject you to that, Cursebreaker."

"No harm done," I said, taking my seat again.

Tarquin hadn't been obligated to come to my defense. Especially not after I'd called Ianthe a barren crone. With the close ties between the Seasonal Courts, I would have assumed that if Tarquin stepped outside the bounds of the Summer Court's careful neutrality, it would have been to support Spring.

Our plan to steal from him later tonight only weighed on me more heavily.

One of Rhys's talons tapped my shields gently. Once. Twice. The signal we'd agreed on to indicate that he'd gotten everything he needed from Tarquin's mind. I held back a sigh of relief. Hopefully, we could end this dinner quickly and retreat to our room until most of the palace was asleep.

Tamlin sighed, his shoulders slumping in exhaustion. Another High Lord struggling under the weight of his authority—of his failures. "I'm sorry," he said to me. "I should have protected you better, but I can't change the past. I can only make things right going forward. I will fix this."

The words sounded like a vow. My blood ran cold.

I just wanted the Spring Court to leave me alone. But Tamlin, it seemed, had decided I was some damsel in need of saving. I didn't know how to prove that wasn't the case, not when my High Lord could control minds. And for all his faults, Tamlin was too decent to write me off as a lost cause.

I had to try, though.

"I came here tonight with the intention of providing some closure. I've moved on, and I suggest you do the same," I said, more gently than I thought he deserved.

Lucien said nothing, but he stared at me with an expression I could only describe as stricken. Unable to face it, I went back to my food.

There wasn't much conversation after that. Varian managed to get Amren to speak just enough to fill the silence, with Cresseida and Tarquin joining in occasionally. But everything came out stilted and awkward as we all picked at the strawberry salad the servants brought out next.

When the main course was finished, no one breathed a word about dessert.

As soon as we were back in our room, Rhys and I ended up in bed together. I took full advantage of his wings being hidden, curling my body around his back and hooking an arm over his chest. He interlaced our fingers, and for a long moment, we just savored the silence together.

Guilt coated the mating bond, viscous and dark enough to leave a stain. But still shared, existing on the bridge between our souls.

There was a at least an hour to kill—we had to move quickly, while Tamlin, Ianthe, and Lucien were staying under Tarquin's roof to to allow him to offer hospitality, but not until closer to midnight.

It was most definitely not the time, but I pulled my hand from his and trailed it down the hard plane of his stomach, towards the waistband of his pants. "Can we…?" I breathed.

We needed it. I wanted to claim and be claimed, and I was sure that after facing everyone at dinner, he felt the same. Better to get it out of our system before embarking on the next phase of our mission.

Rhys's reply was nothing more than a small noise that emerged from the back of his throat. I let him roll us both over until I was pinned under him the way we both liked. It was odd, though, to see him above me without wings flaring out behind him.

He leaned down to kiss me, and the back of my skull came perilously close to smacking the headboard. As his lips brushed mine, a thought struck me.

Who are we sharing a wall with? I asked, using the bond so he wouldn't stop kissing me.

Amren is across the hall, if that's what you're worried about.

I'm not worried about anything at all. I punctuated that statement with a bite to his lower lip.

He pulled away, shifting his weight from his forearms to his knees so he could study me. I started to protest, but he began making quick work of the buttons on my dress. "Oh?" was all he said.

"Don't put a shield up to block the noise. I want to make a point."

His fingers, which had been loosening a button on my hip, stilled. The look he leveled at me was pure predator.

I merely raised my brows in challenge.

Our clothes were gone in an instant. For a short while, the world narrowed to intertwined limbs, skin-on-skin, mouths moving against each other, and the mating bond thrumming with pure rightness at our coupling.

When it was done, I felt like I had my head on straight again. Soon, it would be time to go, and we both slipped on the Illyrian leathers that Nuala had hidden in our luggage. I couldn't help but admire how we looked like a matched set, wearing the same scaled leather and identical red marks we'd just left on each other's necks.

As we changed, Rhys reached for Amren's mind, filling both of us in on the details of what we'd attempt tonight. A temple ruin. A guard tower to avoid. A lock in need of breaking.

And, riskiest of all, a further violation of another High Lord's mind if we wanted to accomplish any of it.

Light footsteps sounded in the hall, and Amren entered. Her nostrils flared, and she hissed in displeasure as the combined smells of Rhys, me, and sex hit her nose. I didn't bother apologizing.

Her lips were blood-red in the moonlight, but her voice was light as she said, "Care for a midnight stroll?"