Archive of Our Own ^beta

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"Raine! Raine! Get in the house!" My father's voice echoed through the trees. I promptly grabbed the last of the firewood and hurried back to the house.

I hadn't been gone long but I knew how he worried. Well, I say worried but I doubt he cared much for my presence other than when I got him the occasional bottle from the kitchen. He'd struggled with his knee since before I was born - an injury in battle he would say, so remained off his feet for most of the day.

"I'm here," I said as I dumped the logs in their spot outside the house, stepping into the dimly lit structure I called home.

"It's getting dark," he said from his chair in the living room.

He was sat by the window, where he always was, his steely eyes set on the fire that burned in the fireplace. I would need to put more wood on before it went out, and build up our stores if I even hoped to keep this place warm enough for us both this coming winter.

"Get me another." He held his hand out, displaying the empty glass decanter he had been nursing since this morning.

I closed my eyes, fighting the sigh, and went through to the kitchen to fish out another bottle. I'd need to make the journey to Velaris soon in order to buy more wines and liquors before he realised it was almost all gone.

He tended to blame me for such an occurrence.

Finding one of the last bottles in the cupboards, I returned to the living room and swapped the decanter in his hand for a bottle. "Here."

He grunted. The only response I received before he was ripping the cork out with his teeth and drained at least half of the dark liquid in a single gulp.

I shook my head, carrying the decanter back through to the kitchen. Our house wasn't small, but it was old and rickety and slowly falling apart. It once lay on the outskirts of a large town, though when the humans rebelled all those years ago and we were made to choose sides, the town was laid to waste and slowly burned from existence.

All that remains now is an old tavern my father frequented, an inn and a couple small shops here and there. Most people who lived in these parts relocated to Velaris, which lies a good two days trek west from our village, hidden within the woodlands and farmed fields of the Night Court. We seldom had visitors, though when we did it was usually a business enquiry.

My father was once one of the greatest blacksmiths in all of Prythian. He forged the first Illyrian blade, if his tales were to believed, and supplied even the High Lord himself with weapons for his arsenal.

Now, he drinks.

Business slowed during Amarantha's reign, and after I returned from Under the Mountain, I discovered what and who my father had become. He'd stopped his work, allowed our crops to wither and die and, for lack of better words, had all but given up.

It was like he didn't care anymore. His clothes were tatted, his shoes worn, his body large, and he could barely last more than a few steps on his feet before his knees began to shake.

I tried this last year to help, to boost business and work. I worked the fields, fed the animals, mastered his craft, while he drank himself into oblivion.

Money was tight, though it always had been - even before the war and Amarantha, but I made it work. I sold our crops and meat, only keeping what we needed, and made a lot of money in my father's forge crafting weapons and mending armour.

Though, as the winter season is coming, I knew I would need to get us prepared. Food. Clothes. Wood. Water. The winters here were harsh and I'd tried so hard to get my father to agree to sell the farm and move, but he was adamant we stayed. He felt closest to our mother here, as well as my brothers, and I could never break his heart like that. I would never force him to leave and abandon the place he called home.

I collapsed back onto the small bed in my room, finally able to release my sigh as I stared up at the ceiling. It had been a long day and my legs were aching from the exhaustion that began to settle in.

I could feel my eyes slowly becoming heavy when a loud thud echoed at the front door, followed by another, and then another. The frown on my face only deepened as I was forced back through the house to see who it was.

We weren't open at this hour and I was in no mood to entertain travellers of any kind, neither to give them directions nor offer them supplies. We barely had enough for the two of us, but I refused to leave people hungry.

I spared a look to my father, who seemed to have passed out in his chair given the snores that echoed through the sitting room as I passed.

I unlatched the lock on the front door, fighting back the nerves that crept up my spine. Who would come here at this hour? It wasn't her. Amarantha was dead. She could not hurt me. She did not have any power. She was dead. She was dead. She was dead.

I carefully pulled the door free, my eyes widening briefly at the male that stood before me. He was tall and muscular. Strong. An Illyrian, if the wings were anything to go off of. His hazel eyes seemed to do a once over, forcing me to fight the urge to step further back round the door. His skin was dark and his hair even darker, and his face held a beauty that was somehow framed by shadows.

"Hello," he spoke in a low voice that had my back freezing up. His voice...I almost recognised it.

"Can I help you?" I tightened my grip on the door, though maintained my stance. Illyrian males were not people I would allow to make me feel inferior.

"Hamish Temples. Does he live here?"

I seemed to release a breath at the mention of my father's name. I could only assume this Illyrian was here to have his armour mended or weaponry carved. That was why they tended to grace us with a visit. They usually stayed up in their mountains otherwise.

"He does, though he has been feeling under the weather as of late, so has retired early. Is there something I can do for you?" I asked, stepping in the way of the male and the corridor behind me.

He watched my movement, his eyes dropping to the subtle shuffle of my feet before returning to my face with an intensity I wasn't prepared for. It was like he could see right through me, read every thought that had ever crossed my mind.

He seemed to hesitate, opening his mouth momentarily before closing it once more. Instead, he reached into a hidden pocket to reveal a letter that bore the Night Court insignia.

"Please ensure Hamish Temples receives this letter. It is urgent."

I eyed the male a moment longer before turning to look at his hands; the cobalt coloured jewels attached to the backs glinting in the light and drawing my attention. Siphons. I knew enough about Illyrians to know of the siphons they used to contain their 'killing power'.

Beneath the siphons and their holders I noted the nasty scars that marred the male's skin, leaving his skin with a variety of grooves that almost made his hand appear disfigured. I couldn't even begin to imagine the kind of pain and torture he must have endured to have such scarring.

Without lingering on his scars for too long, I reached for the parchment and took it between my fingers before tugging it from his hold. His jaw seemed to tick from the harsh movement but he said nothing as he promptly hid his hand behind his back with the other, seeming to prefer to keep such trauma from wondering eyes.

He watched me closely as I tucked the letter under my arm, the look on his face seeming to dare me to ask what had happened to him. I knew it wasn't my business, so I ignored it.

"Urgent?" I parroted with a disbelieving raise of my brow, "He is a blacksmith. Nothing is that urgent for him."

The male said nothing, though seemed to take a deep inhale through his nose that had his brows furrowing. I was sure he could smell the alcohol. The stench was difficult to miss.

"I'll make sure he receives this letter. Thank you," I spoke and closed the door on the male before he could pass any further judgement on myself or my father.

I waited by the door until I heard his heavy footsteps retreat across the wood and down the steps into the field. I lingered a moment longer, eyeing the wax sealed letter, before taking it through to my father's room.

It was his letter. I would leave it for him to open, even if he was never sober enough to be able to read it.

When the sun rose the next morning and I made it to the small dining room to bring my father food, I found him sat at the head of the table with his head in his hands and that letter laying on the table before him.

"Is everything okay?" I asked as I approached, weary of the mood that the content of such a letter may have put him in.

"Fine," he dismissed, holding the parchment haphazardly before him. "Did you see who delivered this?"

"An Illyrian male—"

"Illyrian—" he cut himself off in order to take a calming breath. His anger was palpable and I found myself inching for the doorway, "I have warned you about their kind before, Raine. You do not go near them!"

"I am sorry, father," I apologised, lowering my head. "He came to the door to deliver it himself. I did not intend to upset you."

He took a moment before responding, "You will not open that door again, do you understand me? You are to stay inside until further notice."

"But father—"

"Do not argue with me Raine," he spoke in warning. My heart sank at the prospect of being stuck inside. I didn't like being inside, trapped in the dark. I hated it. I couldn't do that again.

My heart began to race, mind searching for any kind of excuse, "but father, we need more firewood before the snow settles and—"

I felt the sting before I heard the slap. He had backhanded me across the cheek, sending my head whirling to the side.

"I have warned you about what happens when you speak back to me Raine."

My hand came up to cup my cheek, soothing the burn that lingered behind. I was sure it wouldn't bruise badly, but the pain would linger for most of today.

"I'm sorry, father. It won't happen again," I apologised, taking a small step further away from him with every grovel that left my mouth. Today was a bad day. He loves me. Today was just a bad day.

"How do you think I feel? I don't want to do this Raine, you're my little girl. I only ask for a little respect and this is how you repay me?"

"I am sorry, I just want to help," I said in an attempt to pacify the situation. It was just a bad day. He was having a bad day. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologising," he snapped, stepping round me to reach the cellarette and find himself yet another bottle for the morning. "I do not want to see your face again today. Am I understood?"

"Yes sir," I nodded, stepping aside to allow him room to exit.

I busied myself for the morning cleaning the house, starting upstairs before slowly making my way to the bathrooms and then downstairs. It took me most of the day, only taking a break to make both myself and my father a small lunch. He ate in the sitting room, as expected, and took one of our last bottles of wines with him.

I waited until I heard his drunken snores before I snuck back to the dining room to read the mysterious letter. Given the intensity of the male who had delivered it, and how urgent he painted its contents to be, I wanted to be sure my father wasn't ignoring something dire.

I carefully unfolded the parchment and perused the inked words written before me in perfect handwriting.

It wasn't a long letter, but the large signature at the bottom was what caught my eye. Signed by Rhysand, the High Lord of the Night Court.

He'd requested my father's presence, though why he needed to see him was not stated, just that he was needed at his Palace in Velaris.

I doubted my father would be able to make that trip. He hated being away from the house that long and his knee would struggle, even if he did take a horse.

"You're nosey, aren't you?"

My head shot up to see my father stood in the doorway, a grim frown on his face. He had told me to stay out of his way today.

"I'm sorry, I was just curious..." I had no excuse to be reading his personal letters.

He limped towards me, his hand gripping the back of one of the chairs to help keep him on his feet as he grabbed the letter.

"That half-breed lord has no business demanding my presence. He can deal with his arrow problem himself," he sneered, scrunching the paper into a ball in his hand.

"I'm sure he has a reason to ask for your help, he wouldn't go to just any blacksmith about it," I attempted to reason, though I could tell from his scowl I was not being very successful.

"Hybern arrows are old, made of ash to kill us fae and laced with faebane fed even to the roots of the trees they are carved from," he explained, limping back through to the living room. I followed warily behind him.

"He should not mess with the King of Hybern, nor should he be bringing their wrath upon his people," he all but growled the words.

"Perhaps Hybern moves against him of his own accord," I suggested, "there have been musings at the tavern that the Illyrians are mobilising again."

"And what were you doing at the tavern? Eh?" His eyes snapped to mine, a sinister edge in his steely gaze.

"I was..." helping to carry you home after you started a fight and passed out on their floor covered in your own vomit... "...delivering some supplies we sold to them. They needed more herbs for their kitchen."

He grunted. He took a seat and tossed the letter into the fire without a care. "If that Illyrian comes snooping round here again you stay away from him. I'll deal with him and his halfbreed lord."

I felt my stomach twist at the way he spoke of the High Lord. Rhysand was a kind male and I owed him my life - though my father would never know that. He didn't care.

I could do nothing but nod.

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It had been two weeks since the letter arrived from our High Lord and we had heard nothing from him since. To distract myself from what that could mean, I busied myself in the forge working on my father's half finished projects. If I wasn't there, I was out in the fields.

It took some convincing for my father to allow me back out again, though he was only swayed when he handed me some coins and told me we were out of alcohol, asking me to retrieve some from a nearby village. I had offered to make the trek to Velaris, but he refused to wait that long.

It wasn't until the third week came round and a second letter appeared that I began to worry. My father had seen it on the kitchen table and chucked it straight into the fire, not even bothering to read its contents.

On the fourth week, another letter arrived while I was out. When I returned that evening, I discovered that the living room had been trashed as a result of what he had read. My father refused to speak a word about it, not to me or anyone else. He hadn't even mentioned the matter to his drunkard friends, whom he met with twice a week at the nearest tavern. He was currently there, throwing away the last of our money.

I shook the thought from my mind and wiped the sweat from my brow, bringing the hammer down on the half finished blade in my hand. It had taken me many, many years to perfect the techniques necessary to forge such weaponry.

The metal clanged with each strike, transforming the lump of metal into a fantastic longsword. It had been requested by an Illyrian at the Windhaven camp, Lord Devlon, and would take another few days to finish.

With the orders sent to my father piling up and only one of me, it was taking significantly longer than usual to fulfil them. What would normally take him a couple of days to forge took me up to a week to perfect.

I turned to carefully lower the blade into the large barrel of water behind me when I suddenly spotted a figure stood in the doorway. I dropped the weapon to the floor as a surprised yelp escaped me, followed by another shout when the red-hot metal collided with my shoe.

My heart raced as I jumped back, hitting the workbench behind me with a loud thud. A weak pain arose in my hip, but I pushed it aside as I turned to face the figure.

"I did not mean to startle you," the figure spoke and I froze at the sound of the male's voice. "Are you okay?"

"Uh..." My brain seemed to turn to mush as I tried to form a response. I knew my eyes were wide as I stared at the cobalt siphoned Illyrian male from four weeks before. "Yeah, I uh..."

I shook my head, looking around before grabbing a small bucket of water and chucking it on the steaming metal I had just been working on.

The water hissed when it hit the hot metal, promptly turning to steam and cooling to a temperature that would allow me to pick it up without burning my hand in the process.

I didn't hear a single step from the male when he approached, but before I knew it, he was crouched in front of me, offering the half-finished weapon I had dropped.

"Thank you," I said, carefully taking hold of the blunt edges and placing it on the counter beside me. When I turned back around, he had returned to his full, dominating height.

He stood before me with that same intensity as last time. Those hazel eyes, that had tormented my thoughts since the moment I first saw them, traced over my face carefully, like he was taking in every single detail presented to him; the shape of my jaw, the arch of my lips, the thickness of my brows, the faint lines of scars on my skin, the curve of my nose. I was convinced he was reading every thought behind my eyes when he looked into them.

"My High Lord has not received any kind of response from Hamish Temples," he spoke, though I was not surprised. I doubted the High Lord of Night was going to take being ignored well. No High Lord liked insubordination.

"I do not believe he wishes to speak with him," I shrugged, not sure what he expected me to do about it.

"Why."

There was nothing but pure demand in the way he spoke - like cold death. From that single word I could tell that the male before me had killed countless people and walked away without a single blink. And I was sure he would have no qualms with ending my life if his High Lord ordered him to do so.

"I do not know," I dismissed his demand, attempting to seem calm despite how fast my heart was racing. I was sure he could hear how fast it thrummed against my ribs, like a humming bird in spring. "I have not seen the letters, perhaps he is unable to assist the High Lord."

He quirked a brow, as if to say he didn't believe me. Normally I was a good liar, but it was like every fib or diversion I could use had scuttled from my memory. I felt like a blubbering idiot in his presence.

"Do you work here?"

His eyes darted round the room, taking in the furnace, the work benches, the tools, and various half finished weapons and shields that lay scattered around the space.

"My father has taught me his craft since I was eight years old," I explained as I began tugging off my gloves and apron. I doubted I would be getting much more work done with this sudden guest.

I know my father told me to stay away from him, to not engage or speak with such a male, but I trusted the High Lord of the Nigh Court. The High Lord had protected me Under the Mountain and claimed to owe me just as much as I owed him. If this male worked for him, despite my own qualms, I would trust him too.

I watched the Illyrian as he stepped across the room to pick up one of the finished blades, weighing it in his hand. He seemed to have tucked his wings in tight to avoid knocking anything as he stepped through the work space.

"I am to send that one to one of the Illyrian Camps once this long sword is finished," I told him, motioning to the half finished weapon on the counter behind me.

"It's well made," he commented, spinning the blade with such ease I couldn't look away. He had such a way with the blade, holding it as though it was an extension of his own body; it certainly moved like it was. "The weight is nicely balanced. Be sure to pass my compliments along."

I nodded my head to him, clenching my jaw to keep from spewing that I was, in fact, the individual who had forged that weapon.

"And this one?" He returned the blade to the counter and moved towards a slightly longer sword.

"A sword for a merchant living in Velaris. He wishes to gift it to his son for his hundredth birthday," I answered, remembering the conversation I had had with the male when he came to us. He had shown me an image of the sword he wished to be crafted and I tried my best to copy it down to the finest details.

He eyes danced over the blade and I was almost tempted to supply him with further information regarding its specifications, but chose not to. I doubted he would care anyway.

I caught sight of the hilt of a blade strapped to his hip, the dark obsidian handle hidden mostly by shadows but the Illyrian runes were as clear as day. My mother had taught them to me when I was young.

"Truth-Teller," I read the runes aloud. He turned to me, eyes narrowing slightly as I spoke of the legendary blade at his hip, "It is a fine blade. I have heard stories of it."

His eyes dropped down to his hip, moving his arm slightly to display the hilt. It was like the shadows that surrounded it slid away in that moment, allowing the sunlight streaming through the window to illuminate the silver scribed runes.

"It is indeed," he agreed, "It has never failed me. Not once."

He dropped his arm and I watched closely as the shadows swarmed his hip once more. It was almost as if they moved with him, following his unspoken orders and acting like some kind of protection - a dark blanket around him.

"I have heard some people say it is magic and will always strike true," I raised a quizzical brow, wondering if the rumours had been accurate or not.

"Do you think those rumours are to be believed?" He countered with his own question.

"That depends on your answer."

He returned the blade in his hands to the counter and turned back to me, folding his arms across his chest.

"I have fought with this blade for hundreds of years and remain stood before you. Does that not speak of the nature of the blade?" He fired yet another question my way.

"Perhaps it speaks more on the nature of the wielder, than the blade itself," I countered, matching his stance.

His eyes dropped to watch me fold my arms, tracing over my figure once more. The way he assessed me, like I was some kind of threat he needed to be prepared to fend off in a heartbeat.

"Do you wield any of the blades you forge?" He asked.

"My father forges the blades," I remind him. Most males do not allow a female to touch their weapons, let alone forge them. If anyone knew I had made these blades in place of my father, he would be shunned and his reputation destroyed.

"Of course," he nodded with a slight quirk to the side of his mouth, almost like a smirk, "my mistake."

I felt a light wash of relief as I took in his expression. This male did not seem like the kind of person to go around spreading other people's business. If anything, he knew more of other people's personal business than anyone.

"My brothers taught me how to use a blade growing up," I answered his previous question.

Ivon had apparently been so eager to teach me to fight that our mother once caught him showing me how to fire an Illyrian bow our father had forged when I was still learning to walk. She was furious that I could have been hurt by such a big weapon so sent him to bed without supper, though I had snuck him up some uncooked chicken to make him feel better.

As I got older, my brothers showed me what they had been learning in their training whenever they were home. Levi was home the most, so took me out into the fields to teach me his tips and tricks until the sun had set and the moon was high in the sky. We used to spend hours lying there and watching the night sprawl above us.

"They did not want me to rely on anyone to protect me, even though that was all they did whenever they were home. I was not allowed to even speak to a male if they hadn't met him first," I almost laughed at the memory.

Once, I had been knocked over by a male in the market and my brothers had scented him on my clothes when I returned home. After I told them what had happened, went out and dragged his ass to our door to apologise and warned him to never come near me again.

Yes, they were protective, but they were never overbearing. They only wanted what was best for me. After Cyrus, my younger brother, was born they trusted him to watch me while they were away. Him and I became very close.

"I may not have the same skill set as an Illyrian warrior," I sent a pointed look his way, "but I know my way around a blade well enough."

"Your brothers sound like smart males," he acknowledged and I felt my brows furrow. He did not disapprove of a female learning to fight?

"They were," I agreed without hesitation, though could not meet his eyes. I did not want to see any kind of sympathy. I had seen that look on every person who knew what had happened to my family and I hated it. "Is there something you want?"

"I came to speak with Hamish Temples, since he does not seem inclined to respond to my High Lord," he answered, his tone cold.

I tensed. My father does not like Illyrians, he would not be pleased to know I have spoken with this male now, let alone speak with him himself.

"My father is away," I told him, only half fibbing since he was away...just, only as far as the local Tavern.

"Away?" He repeated and I watched as a shadowed curl wrapped around his ear, as though whispering a dark secret to him. "Do you know when he will return?"

"No." I never did.

He remained silent a moment longer before he reached a scarred hand out, picking up a second knife from beside him. His fingers traced over the engravings, and for a moment, it seemed like he was lost in thought.

"Tell your father that his silence is noted," he finally spoke, withdrawing his hand. "And that my High Lord insists on his presence."

"I will, though I doubt it will change his stance," I responded, feeling a subtle tension in the air. "My father can be stubborn, especially when it comes to matters he deems...unnecessary." I cringed as I spoke.

The Illyrian simply stared at me, a darkness clouding his expression that had my stomach tensing. He nodded, his face unreadable.

"Stubbornness can be a dangerous trait in these times." His words sounded like some kind of warning, a threat maybe.

"And what would these times be?" I asked, prying.

I knew small details from various rumours or conversations I'd overheard in town, and the discussion about Hybern weapons with my father a few weeks prior had shone some light on the situation, but I still remained in the dark.

"These times," he began, his gaze piercing, "are full of uncertainty. With all seven High Lords returning to their Courts, or at least what's left of them, and looking to retain order, things may get out of hand."

I saw through his practiced excuse, his evasion of mentioning Hybern or its King and his movements. Though the letter had been addressed to my father, I had done some looking of my own into Hybern.

I did not know much more about the type of weaponry they used, nor the implications of the Faebane they seemed to have in their supplies, but I had heard the various murmurs of his movements. How could I not? If he were to ever send another person like Amarantha...

I refused to even consider the possibilities.

"I will speak with him," I concluded, "though I make no promises."

"Thank you," he nodded his head in thanks, an understanding that he meant no harm. I returned the small gesture, feeling a small smile tug at the side of my mouth.

The Illyrian's hazel eyes lingered for a moment longer, as if searching for something in the depths of my own. Then, without another word, he turned and strode back out of the door with soundless steps, leaving me alone with the unfinished blades and the weight of unspoken truths.

I couldn't shake off the ominous feeling that clung to the air, a sense of impending danger that whispered through the flames of the forge. My work was long forgotten as my mind raced with thoughts of Hybern, the High Lords, and the looming uncertainty that the Illyrian had hinted at.

I wasn't surprised by my father's behaviour. He had always been a strict and critical male, his opinions of people often very aggressive. I knew his opinion of the High Lord of Night was not a good one. He may as well reside in the Hewn City with Keir, or Uncle Keir as he was once known to my brothers and me before we saw the true nature of the male. We saw through his facade when we were still young and knew that if he was capable of doing such things to his daughter, then mother knows what he would do to people who crossed him. Death would be a mercy if he ever got his hands on you.

We did not want to associate with that and so distanced ourselves from him without ruining relations. To this day, we still exchanged Solstice gifts, though they did tend to get delivered in the mail. My father, I knew, made the occasional journey to visit him in his city—a place full of people who shared the same opinions on our High Lord and his people. He fit right in. Ironic, really, considering our mother, his mate, was a lesser fae—an abomination, as he would call them.

I shook my head, opening up the windows and heading out to go find some flowers in hopes of hiding the Illyrian male's scent before my father returned. He would not be pleased to know I spoke to him again.

"Now, I may be mistaken..." my whole body froze, "but did I not just see a male Illyrian walk out of my forge."

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"Hey, hey, hey," I jumped as Mayella bucked back and forth, loud noises of distress leaving her mouth.

"Whoa, girl, whoa!" I held my hands up, catching hold of her rein and attempting to calm her down. "Hey," I dragged out the word, bringing her back into a comfortable standstill. "What's got you so startled?"

I grazed my hands through her fur, stroking her nose gently before moving to caress her mane. She shook her head back and forth a few times, as though shaking me away, before returning to a relaxed stance.

"You're okay," I soothed, stepping closer so that she could press her nose against me. "You're safe. Yeah? Come on, let's get you something to eat, shall we?"

I took a step back, fishing out a carrot from my back pocket to offer her. She took it from my hand without hesitation, huffing out hot breaths against my side.

I'd taken her out on a ride two days ago to clear my head, a ride that led to me camping in the woods for two nights as the bruises healed.

My father wasn't particularly pleased by the presence of the Illyrian male, nor was he amused when I told him what we had spoken about. He was furious that someone had seen me in his forge and deemed it appropriate that he test the weapons I had been crafting...

The cuts had healed, but the bruises were taking longer than usual, though that tended to be the case when I went a few days without food. I made sure to stock up the house before I left—mostly on booze—and there was enough food for my father to survive at least a week without my presence.

When I awoke this morning, I decided it was time to head back to the house. I had just finished reattaching Mayella's saddle when she suddenly started jumping around, as though some dark threat had suddenly overcome us. I wasn't sure what caused it, but she was now calm enough for me to step away and finish packing up my tent and sheets.

I reattached my pack to her back, swung myself up and over onto the saddle, and we took off once more. We needed to find water to refill the canteens I was carrying, then we would make the journey back to the house. Ideally, I'd remain out here for weeks, months, years even...

I led us towards a nearby stream, filling the canteens and encouraging Mayella to take a drink too. We only had to stop once more on our journey south, giving Mayella a much needed break from hours of riding.

Upon return, the state of the house and surrounding fields was as expected. The food I left for my father was untouched, while the alcohol had been all but finished. I could only assume my father had made the journey to the local tavern, where I was sure he would remain until someone dragged him back here expecting payment for his debts.

Sighing, I took Mayella back to the stables and gave her some food, deciding I would come back to clean her properly in the morning. Rubbing the exhaustion from my eyes, I got to work cleaning the house. I don't know how my father even managed to make it this dirty in only a handful of days.

As I made my way through the downstairs rooms, I discovered a new letter bearing the Night Court insignia tucked away in the dining room, so I assumed there must have been a run-in between the Illyrian and my father while I was away.

I could imagine how that interaction went down and it certainly couldn't have been a pretty one. I almost pitied the Illyrian that had to face my father. He was not a male I would ever trifle with willingly.

Hours later, long after the sun had set and I had placed the final chair back in place, my father returned. I heard him shoulder open the front door and began for the stairs, but before I could disappear to my room he was already in the doorway.

"Raine," he spoke and my whole body froze.

"Father." I inclined my head.

"I need to speak with you," he said as he moved to the table, taking a seat at the head. I eyed him a moment longer but moved to sit a few chairs down, hands clasped before me.

"Is everything okay?" I asked since he very rarely sat and spoke with me in this manner. The last time he did it was to inform me of my betrothal to Koja, one of Keir's nephews.

"You have been gone since yesterday," he began and I felt my hands curl into fists. How long had he been gone that he hadn't even noticed my absence? 

"I was making deliveries," I lied. He nodded, clearly accepting it as truth.

"I have received another letter from the High Lord regarding the weapons used by Hybern," he spoke, his eyes watching for a reaction. I had none.

"And...are you going to meet with him?" I asked slowly, not wanting to push too hard. It was rare that he would confide in me in this manner and I wasn't sure how to ensure this conversation happened.

"No," he decided. "I refuse to do work for males like him."

"He is the High Lord," I said cautiously, "he's hardly just any male."

He narrowed his eyes at me as he leaned back in his chair. "Rhysand is nothing more than a half-breed pretending to be a High Lord. He knows nothing of true power, of real strength. And he certainly knows nothing of Hybern."

"Father," I implored, "Surely there must be some merit to his request. If the Hybern threat is real, and as serious as it sounds, wouldn’t it be wise to at least hear him out? Your knowledge would be invaluable."

He grunted, reaching for a bottle of wine that had been left on the table. "Invaluable, perhaps. But I'm not about to lend my skills to someone like him. He has no right to rule, let alone demand anything from me."

I sighed, biting back my frustration. "But if he’s asking for help, that must mean the threat from Hybern is real. That this could affect all of Prythian."

"You think I don't know that?" he all but scoffed, taking a generous sip from his bottle. "I know more about what Hybern and their weapons are capable of than anyone else in this land. I was there, Raine. Over 2000 years ago, I hailed from those very lands."

I blinked in surprise. "You...you never told me that."

"There's a lot I haven't told you," he replied, his voice suddenly weary. "I've seen their cruelty, their cunning. I know their weapons. I left Hybern for a reason. Their methods, their cruelty...I wanted no part of it. I saw what power did to those who sought it. Hybern's thirst for domination, for control...it consumed them. It was a land of perpetual conflict, where alliances were made and broken with a single word, and death was a constant companion."

"And now they are a threat to us again," I reasoned. "You saw what...Amarantha was capable of." I almost wretched at the sound of her name in my mouth. It tasted like a bitter acid, ready to destroy me all over again.

"Do not speak her name!" He snapped, his power surging through the room. 

I took a steadying breath, my head bowed as I fought off the frown that tugged at the corners of my mouth. "I’m sorry," my voice was softer than before, memories of the past fifty years invading my mind. "But you know what she did to us, to me, to Cyrus- you know first hand the devastation she caused. If Hybern comes, it will be worse."

"Then the half-breed should not interfere with them. He should not meddle with what he does not understand."

"He is trying to understand, father. Can't you see that?" I reasoned, my voice trembling with urgency.

He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "Understanding and meddling are two different things. Rhysand is naive if he thinks he can simply step into this war and come out unscathed."

"But isn't that why he's reaching out to you?" I argued. "To gain the understanding he lacks? You have the knowledge and experience that could tip the scales in our favour."

He simply took another sip of his wine, tipping his head back to get the last of it out, before slamming the bottle down on the table. "You think I haven't seen this before? Young, ambitious leaders thinking they can conquer the world with sheer willpower. They don't realise the cost until it's too late."

I sighed, at a loss for what to say. It seemed anything I said was simply going to be dismissed. There was nothing I, or anyone else, could do to change his mind. Perhaps if my mother was still around she would have been able to sway him, but that was never going to happen.

"You are still young Raine," he slumped back in his chair, his hand rubbing his temple. I hardly considered almost eight centuries of life young, but my father had lived through millennia. I was still a child in his eyes.

"Father," I began softly, choosing my words carefully, "If Hybern has developed new weapons, ones that have never been seen before—"

"Then we need prepare ourselves," he interrupted sharply, his eyes hardening. "We won't rely on the whims of a High Lord who thinks he knows better."

I remained silent.

"If what he says is true and Hybern have advanced their skills, then all of Prythian will be destroyed." He sat up straighter, a look of anger on his face, "Hybern's weapons are designed to break us. They are forged with dark, ancient magic, and infused with spells that can break through any defence. Their blades can cut through any armour, their arrows can pierce any shield. They are designed to cause maximum pain and suffering, to break the spirit as well as the body. They revel in creating chaos and fear. And their tactics...they have no honour, no mercy. They will do whatever it takes to win."

His gaze shifted to me, a flicker of something—fear, perhaps—in his eyes. "Hybern has always relied on sorcery, enchantments woven into the very metal of their blades. Their weapons are not just tools of war; they are instruments of terror."

"And you know how to make weapons that can counter this magic?"

A bitter smile curled his lips. "Of course. I was once one of their finest blacksmiths, before I left that wretched place. I know their secrets, their weaknesses. To counter them, you need to understand their construction, their enchantments. It's not an easy task, but I could do it."

"Then why not help?" I pressed.

"My knowledge could also be used against us if it falls into the wrong hands," he said grimly. "Rhysand might be the High Lord, but he is still young. He does not understand the true nature of the darkness that Hybern wields."

"That is a big if," I retorted. "You do not know that that is the case, you are just coming up with excuses, no genuine reasons to not help other than your own prejudices. I knew you were bitter, but I didn't think you would abandon the innocent people of this Court out of spite."

"You know nothing-"

"You intend to leave Hybern to destroy everything! Because of what? Your pride?"

"It is not pride," he snapped. "It is principle. That half-breed lord needs to learn that he can't just demand things and expect everyone to bow to him."

"And what about us? What about Prythian?" I challenged. "Are we just collateral damage in this lesson you want to teach him?"

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze distant. "Maybe," he finally said, his voice quiet. "Maybe we are."

I stood, unable to contain my anger any longer. "Then maybe you're no better than him," I said, my voice trembling. "Maybe you're just as blind and stubborn as you claim him to be."

He didn't respond, his eyes downcast. I turned and left the room, intent on bathing before hiding away in my room for the rest of the night. I wanted to be surprised by my father's behaviour, but really it was just as I expected.

He was still an arrogant, bitter male who cared for nobody but himself.

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Chapter Text

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I struggled to open my eyes when I awoke the next morning, stretching my arms out above my head as I forced myself to my feet. I was absolutely exhausted. My shoulders and hips ached but I managed, the newfound information from my father continuing to spin through my mind as I went about my daily tasks.

We needed more firewood and I would also need to hunt for some meat for our dinner so, after going through my morning chores, I donned my coat and made my way out into the woods with an axe strapped to my back.

The air was cold, my breath coming out in hot clouds as I trekked between the trees. The winter winds had begun to blow in, bringing with them that icy chill and the first signs of snow of the season.

As I walked the trodden path, my mind returned to what my father had said last night. I understood his principles, even though I didn't agree with them, and I could only hope he would come to his senses before it was too late.

The urgency of the situation gnawed at me as I trudged through the gloomy forest. If Hybern's potential threat was real, and if my father's knowledge could indeed make a difference in preparing defences against them, then wasn't it his duty to set aside personal grievances?

The path led me all the way to the small shack we had out here that was full of felled trees and I got to work chopping the wood, occasionally scanning the forest for game. The rhythmic thud of the axe grounded me from my thoughts, a welcome distraction. Each strike echoed through the quiet forest, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant call of a bird.

My father was from Hybern. That fact alone reverberated through my thoughts like a thunderclap in a silent forest.

Questions flooded my mind, demanding answers that seemed elusive. How did I not know? Why hadn't he told me? Did my mother know? My brothers? If he was as famous of a blacksmith as he claimed to be, did that mean he knew the King of Hybern? Had he crossed paths with the witch who had brought our world to its knees for 50 years? Is that why we were targeted? Would he truly be acting against Hybern should he even meet with the High Lord?

The chill of the winter air seeped into my bones, but it was the cold realisation that my father's past held secrets I had never dared to imagine that made me freeze. His refusal to cooperate with the High Lord, his staunch rejection of any association with the Night Court—perhaps these objections were not merely rooted in stubbornness, but his innate hatred of Prythian from having lived in Hybern for so long.

How long did he live there before he came here? He had been mated to our mother for centuries, so it had to have been a many number of years ago. Which side did he fight on during the human rebellions? Was he with the humans or the Fae? Or did he remain impartial?

I just...I didn't understand.

The questions swirled around me like the snowflakes beginning to fall from the grey sky above. Each swing of the axe felt heavier and the ache in my shoulders intensified with every one.

The firewood pile grew steadily, and by midday I had chopped enough to last us at least a week. Of course I would need to make the trek here to retrieve it, since there was no way I would be able to carry it all back to the house on my own, but it saved me time later on.

With that sorted, I searched inside the hut for the bow Ivon, my eldest brother, had carved for me as a birthday gift one year. I kept it in a small trunk at the back, along with a quiver of arrows which I slung over my shoulder. It was always easier to hunt with a bow than an axe, at least in my experience.

I wouldn't consider myself the best hunter, that was always my brother Kegan, but I knew these lands well and knew that a Luzak - a wolf-like creature with dark grey fur - would be the best species to track this time of year.

Leaving the warmth of the hut, I ventured out into the afternoon sun, my boots crunching on the fallen leaves beneath me. I knew these woods like the back of my hand, every twist and turn etched into my memory from centuries of hunting. 

Luzaks were intelligent creatures, known for their stealth and cunning, and had a generous amount of meat on their bones. Their tracks would be subtle, but not invisible if you knew what to look for. I soon spotted the telltale signs—a series of paw prints pressed into the snow, leading deeper into the forest, closer to the mountains. I followed cautiously, mindful of my surroundings. Luzaks were elusive, and thankfully did not work in packs. If they did, there was no way I would ever willingly hunt for one.

Their claws were long and sharp, their teeth even more so. They walked on four powerful legs, strong enough to crush bone and fast enough to outrun even the quickest fae. My brothers never used to let me hunt them when I was young and I didn't blame them, they were indeed formidable creatures.

They weren't very common out of season, since they spent the summer months up in the steppes and cold mountains, only venturing south in the winter since it would become too cold for them otherwise. The only time you would find them in groups, or packs, was during their mating season, which is also when they are most volatile. Thankfully, mating season wasn't until the summer.

The creature's trail led me through dense thickets and across frozen streams. I moved silently, my footsteps light on the frosted ground. The snow was not yet settling, leaving behind a muddy mush that made navigating the terrain far more challenging than I had hoped.

Eventually, I caught a glimpse of movement—a flash of dark fur blending with the shadows of the trees. I slowed my steps almost immediately, notched an arrow, and drew back the bowstring. My movements were fluid and deliberate.

I released a steadying breath as I slowly lowered into a crouch behind a fallen tree, adjusting my aim. The air shifted and just as I was ready to let the arrow fly, there came a loud crack from behind me, shattering the silence. The Luzak whipped around, its amber eyes locking onto mine with wary intelligence, before it darted into the woods, fleeing.

I cursed under my breath, keeping my bow raised as I turned to the source of the sound, only to discover the blue siphoned Illyrian stood a few metres from me, casually leant against the bough of a tree. Slowly, I lowered my aim.

"I would have thought an Illyrian warrior would have more subtlety," I remarked as I stood, evident frustration on my face.

"Apologies," he said evenly, his voice low and smooth as he stood straight, uncrossing his arms. "I did not mean to startle your prey."

I huffed, resisting the urge to snap at him since that it wouldn't have achieved anything, my prey had already fled. Instead, I sighed and brushed a stray lock of hair from my face, taking a moment to observe him. His wings were tucked in close and he was dressed in typical Illyrian armour, an old, worn bandolier strapped around his chest and his seven siphons glowing a striking shade of blue compared to the muted tones of the forest.

Seven siphons.

I had only heard of two Illyrians who bore a number so high, which led me to believe this male held a position far higher in this Court than I realised.

"What brings you out here, then?" I asked, more out of curiosity than politeness, my grip on my bow tightening. His hazel eyes scanned me in a once over; assessing. "Other than to scare off my hunt." He had come all the way out into the forest to find me, which was surprising since his business, or at least his High Lord's business, was with my father.

"My High Lord has not yet received any word from Hamish Temples-"

I sighed, turning away from him and restarting my hunt. I didn't want to be out here all day if I didn't have to, and I would prefer not to come into contact with the creatures that lurked here once night fell.

I got all of two steps before I felt his presence beside me. He moved with grace, his steps entirely silent against the forest floor, betraying his years of training. He had the ability to move silently, and yet he chose not to. Prick.

"My father has his reasons for ignoring his summons," I said as we moved through the forest, unwilling to divulge more.

The male nodded, seemingly unperturbed by my guarded response. "I assume you have read the letters then."

"No, my father's business remains his own," I answered simply, "I only know what he cares to divulge."

"Then you must have heard of the rumours about Hybern," he began. I kept my steps even, eyes focusing on the ground as I looked for new tracks to hunt. I would most likely have to head further north to find any other kind of game, so I adjusted my course through the trees.

"There are always rumours about Hybern," I said simply, taking a sudden turn when I spotted faint tracks on the other side of a stream. I jumped across the small gap, moving swiftly.

The male followed suit, his movements effortless despite the terrain. "True," he acknowledged, his voice pensive. "But these ones are different, are they not?"

I contemplated his words. I knew what he was getting at, what he wanted from both me and my father. I just...I sighed. Already, this entire situation was starting to frustrate me.

A sudden rustle up ahead interrupted what I was about to say. I held my hand up to the Illyrian, hoping he would stay out of the way while I sorted my father's dinner for the evening.

I readied an arrow, my senses on high alert as I shifted my position, willing my heartbeat to slow as I prepared to shoot. My eyes caught sight of the dark fur of the creature, moving slowly between the trees as the animal grazed.

I could just about make out the blue highlights in its winter coat, confirming that this was another Luzak. If I caught this thing, I'd have enough meet to feed my father and even sell some of it in town. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

In a swift motion, I drew back the string and let the arrow fly. It sailed through the air, finding its mark with lethal accuracy. The creature staggered, a startled yelp escaping its throat before it collapsed to the ground.

I stood, beginning to approach the creature when I heard the male comment from behind, "Nice shot."

"Such high praise coming from an Illyrian such as yourself," my response was tinged with sarcasm and I watched a muscle in his jaw feather as a result. Males.

I swung the bow onto my back and instead armed myself with a hunting knife. This was never the part I enjoyed...

Stepping out from behind the trees, I promptly found the whimpering creature. It's legs shuffled about amongst the undergrowth as it whined in pain, its eyes widening at the sight of us. It looked terrified, the poor thing.

It always broke my heart to see them like this. Approaching cautiously, I knelt beside the creature. It watched me with a mixture of fear and pain in its eyes as I placed a soothing hand on its hide. It accepted my touch with little protest, allowing me to pet its fur.

My grip tightened on the blade as I muttered a prayer of gratitude to the mother in the old tongue, before plunging the dagger into its throat.

Blood sprayed across the ground, some even staining my trousers, as I killed the animal. Once sure that it was dead, I pulled the arrow from its chest and began to bind the animal's front and back paws.

"I came by last week," the male said from somewhere behind me, "you weren't here."

"I was away, getting supplies for my father," I dismissed his words, continuing to bind the Luzak in order to carry it back more easily. "And since when was my whereabouts business of the High Lord?"

He was silent a moment before he answered, his tone calm, "It isn't. But your father's knowledge is. He’s not responding to the letters, and the situation is becoming more urgent."

I sighed, securing the last knot with more force than necessary. "My father has his reasons for ignoring them. If he chooses not to respond, it's his decision."

Even if I had hounded him about it enough times. 

"We need his expertise. If he won't listen to us, perhaps he’ll listen to you," the male suggested and I almost laughed at the notion as I heaved the creature up onto my shoulders, adjusting my grip as I turned to the male. 

"You overestimate my influence over my father. He is a stubborn male, set in his ways."

My father was a very traditional male. He preferred 'the old ways' as he called them, where respect was earned through deeds, and titles meant nothing without the power to back them up. He did not view the current High Lord as someone deserving of his position, nor did he have any respect for him.

It was the same in all remits of life really.

In his eyes, females and lesser fae were considered inferior, meant to handle domestic tasks. That was why I always ended up doing all the house chores, the cooking, and even the hunting - though my father was convinced I went out and bought his meat. If we had the money, I would. He didn't think much of my abilities beyond how I could serve males, always dismissing my opinions and efforts. Lesser fae were even more beneath his notice, mere tools to be used and discarded as he saw fit. It made any attempt to reason with him about anything outside his narrow worldview nearly impossible.

Growing up, he used to terrify me and my mother used to help calm him, but not always. If we did exactly as we were told, he could be kind, almost gentle, but any sign of disobedience or defiance was met with swift and severe punishment. His anger was a constant shadow over our household, an ever-present threat that kept us all in line.

He wasn't just hard on me; my brothers and mother bore the brunt of his wrath. Ivon tried to shield us from the worst of it, often stepping in to take the blame or the beating, even stepping up to defend our mother. One particular occasion resulted in our father hacking off the end of his finger as punishment.

Our mother used to tell us when he was having a bad day and we would do our best to behave. It was just his bad days. He loved us really.

"Perhaps," he conceded, "but you are still his daughter. If anyone can persuade him, it would be you."

I sighed, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. "Even if I could convince him, what makes you think he would agree to work with your High Lord? He has made it clear he isn't the biggest fan."

That was putting it lightly. He despised the High Lord, seeing his worth as less than the shit on the bottom of his shoe. He saw him as a half-breed pretender who hadn't earned his place. 

I felt the Illyrian's hazel eyes turn to my face as we walked, the temperature seeming to drop as the trees darkened around us. "We are all on the same side in this, whether he likes it or not. Our goal is to protect Prythian, to protect our people. That is all my High Lord wishes to do."

I considered his words, my annoyance slowly giving way to understanding. "I'll talk to him," I said finally. "But I can't promise anything."

"That is all I ask," he replied, a hint of gratitude in his voice. "Has he told you anything?"

I pondered his question, deciding whether or not I wished to divulge what he told me yesterday. If the Hybern threat was in fact real, I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I had the ability to help and didn't grasp it.

"He said their weapons were old and imbued with ancient magic," I began telling the Illyrian everything my father had spoken of their weapons, nothing more. He listened intently, nodding every now and again and asking the occasional question for clarification. "But, he said he could not speak on their new weapons without seeing them himself."

"And if he saw their weapons in person, he would be able to tell us more?"

"That is what he said," I confirmed with a nod. "Though I very much doubt you will be able to persuade him to design weapons for your High Lord."

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, wings twitching slightly as he walked. "If I were to bring some of Hybern's weapons to you, would you be willing to share what your father says about them?"

I stopped in my tracks, caught off guard by his proposition. If my father ever found out that I went behind his back like this...

It certainly was a risk, no doubt, but if it helped to protect innocent people from Hybern, to stop what that witch did for 50 years from ever happening again... "If you bring me the weapons," I agreed slowly, "I'll tell you everything my father says about them."

This wouldn't be the first time I put myself on the line to deliver someone information...I had just hoped I wouldn't have had to do this again.

He inclined his head as he thanked me, the look on his face firmer than I'd seen it before. His lips were in a tight line and his eyes appeared a deeper shade of hazel than usual, as though swarmed by shadows.

"I will be back with the weapons in a few days, and will return weekly for any updates to report to my High Lord," he laid it out for me. 

"Please," I urged, "try to avoid my father, if you can. I will help you in any way I can, but he cannot know that I am speaking with you.

He hesitated, his eyes tracing over the serious expression on my face before he nodded. "Alright."

And then he left...disappeared, to be more precise. 

I knew winnowing and he did not winnow, that was for sure. It was as though darkness itself had taken ahold and pulled him away. 

So he was a Shadowsinger...

I had only ever heard of such an ability, never met someone who could exist with the shadows and wield them in such a manner. His ability was rare, incredibly so, and highly coveted. No wonder he was under the employment of the High Lord, having a shadowsinger as an ally was always advantageous. 

Shadowsingers were said to be skilled in espionage, and tracking, though the truth behind their abilities and their extent remained a mystery. Shadowsingers wouldn't be much use as spies if their secrets were known to the entire populace.

I guess it did make sense now; how he had found me in the forest, and why he was the one who approached us on his High Lord's behalf.

Turning away from the spot where he had vanished, I continued my journey back home, rethinking my entire interaction with the Illyrian. 

I was getting too old for this shit.

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Chapter Text

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A month had passed and winter came in full force. The snow had finally begun to settle and glistened softly in the sunlight as I made my way back from the village, my pack slung precariously over my shoulder. The village had been bustling despite the biting cold that now nipped at my exposed cheeks.

That blue siphoned Illyrian had kept his word and re-appeared every weekend to glean whatever information I knew or could find out regarding the Hybern weaponry, with the reluctant assistance of my father of course.

He was the same, though I occasionally caught him venturing into his forge or eyeing the crate of Hybern weapons the Illyrian had delivered to us on behalf of his High Lord. My father's curiosity sometimes got the better of him and I would catch sight of him inspecting an arrow or a shield before discarding it with a grumble of annoyance.

From what we could see, the arrows were made from ash, and the swords from a metal that neither I, nor my father, had never seen before. Each piece of weaponry spoke of meticulous craftsmanship and deadly efficiency, traits that left my father begrudgingly impressed.

A sudden gust of wind blew in, tossing my cloak every which way as I approached the wooden gate that marked the boundary of our land. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney of our house, blending with the grey winter sky and the snow topped mountains that stood as a beautiful winter backdrop. Only a few minutes now.

I quickened my pace, eager to finally dump my over filled pack on the floor and warm my chilled core by the fire. I pushed open the creaking gate and trudged across the frost-dusted yard to the front door. The second I stepped inside, I was greeted by the warm smell of home as I tossed my cloak onto the hook and dropped my pack with heavy sigh of relief. Fuck my shoulders hurt.

The house was quiet, the only sound the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Odd...usually my father would have been sat in his armchair. Perhaps he was in his forge, though I doubted it. I hadn't seen the fires from his forge burning, so if he was in there it would have to have been freezing.

I moved to the kitchen, dragging my pack with me and began setting the supplies I had brought on the worn wooden table. I shiver ran the length of my spine as I put everything away, knowing that if I didn't do it now then I'd procrastinate doing it at all.

I left the pack on the table before making my way through to the sitting room to warm up. As I turned the corner, I was surprised to find the crate of Hybern weapons, that were usually hidden away beside the bookshelves at the side of the room, had been moved...

Had my father actually returned to his forge?

I turned on my heels, intent on going to check for him when he suddenly came staggering in the back door, his hair in disarray and feet stumbling as he caught himself against the wall.

Drunk. Again.

I didn't know why I let myself get excited that maybe he was getting better. I should've choked that emotion before it began to give me hope that things would one day go back to normal.

My father had lost his mate, no matter how he coped or how long he had to grieve, he would never be the same again. There would never be that same normal again; this was it. This was the new normal and I just had to accept that.

"The box of weapons are gone," I said as I went to prepare him some tea.

"I know," came his gruff response. "I did not want such vile things in my home."

He got drunk and angry, and decided to blame the weapons, he meant. Sure he'd assessed them with me, he wasn't so prideful as to not even look at the weaponry, but he wasn't going to forge anything against them.

"They were certainly more advanced than I was expecting," I commented as he came tumbling into the room, collapsing onto one of the few chairs.

I busied myself with heating the water and spooning dried herbs and tea leaves into a pot to steep. The steam began to rise, carrying a soothing aroma of citrus and mint through the room.

"It's unsettling," he muttered after a long silence, his gaze fixed on the table. "The precision, the craftsmanship...they're not like any weapons I've seen before."

"Oh?"

"The arrows have a different tip than your standard arrow. Typically you want as sharp an arrow as possible to kill any animal bigger than, say, a rabbit. Arrows don't carry a lot of shock with them, so a blunt tip wouldn't cause much damage. If you want to cause blunt trauma to someone, you'd use a morningstar or a mase of some kind. That way, when they strike the armour, they lead to internal damage, rather than external. The arrows Hybern use are not only made from faebane fed ash trees, but are also tipped with faebane shards."

"Faebane shards?" I furrowed my brows in confusion as I prepared my father's tea, sliding it across to him.

"I had heard rumours of them as a concept, I did not know Hybern had actually managed to make them," he spoke, though it sounded more like a voiced thought than an actual statement. He took a generous sip of his tea, his nose scrunching up in distaste. "These shards are designed to disrupt magical defences and protections upon impact, allowing the arrow to penetrate through even the most potent magical shields. It's a calculated choice, able to neutralise any advantage that magic-wielding opponents might have in battle."

I tensed, my hands tightening on my own tea as I stared at him. Hybern were somehow worse than I had thought...

"It's clever," he muttered with a slight laugh. "Using the enemy's strength against them."

"Indeed," I agreed softly, knowing full well the dangers posed by such weaponry. She knew how to use others power against them too. Red hair. Red hair. Red hair. "Would it even be possible to combat attacks like that?"

"Not with magic, that's for sure," he scoffed. "Fae these days rely too much on their magic. Magic is not the be-all and end-all of warfare. It has its uses and its strengths, but it also has its limits. Hybern understands that, hence their focus on faebane. They've found a way to nullify magic without directly opposing it. It's a tactical shift that our side would do well to understand and adapt to."

Our side. So he did not ally himself with Hybern...

"So Hybern have found a way to nullify our magic, while leaving their own in tact?" I asked, sipping my tea and allowing it to warm my core.

"Five hundred years ago the humans stood against their fae overlords and waged a war to earn their freedom. They didn't use magic to do it, nor did they have any kind of physical edge as we do. They didn't even have access to our basic medicines for healing. But they fought anyway."

Of course, I already knew all of this, for I was there when it happened. I was almost three hundred years old when the humans began their revolt. My brothers were summoned to fight for their High Lord, while my father was employed to craft weapons and design objects of great power that could lay waste to all those who opposed.

It was a grim time in our lives, seven long years I wished to forget. After the first two, my mother and I became fed up of waiting for a letter to inform us that one of my brothers had died, so we left to join the fight.

We started by helping in the war camps, fetching food and water, treating wounds. My magic was a big help for it gave me the ability to heal others, so that's what I did. We did everything we could until one day a General from another Court found us.

She told us her name was Morinnia and that their numbers were dwindling. The humans needed all the help they could get.

Mother was reluctant to join the front lines, to raise a sword against the fae given her own standings, but I had the pointed ears and power our armies were looking for. I reluctantly joined the ranks of one of the fae legions, fighting for the humans for the next two years until I was eventually sent home.

The horrors of war were not something I relished in, nor something I ever wished to experience again. If I could avoid it, I wouldn't fight.

"All they had was their little brains and the desire to win, and they made it work. They crafted weapons of iron and steel, armour that could withstand the impact of magic, and strategies that exploited the fae's over-reliance on their magic abilities," my father continued, knocking me from the memories of what I had witnessed all those years.

"They understood that magic, for all its power, had vulnerabilities," he explained, his voice low and steady. "If even a species as pathetic as humans is capable of standing against our kind, then you best believe that Hybern are capable of so much worse."

"You helped the humans then, father. Why not help now?"

My question was met with silence.

I waited and watched as father attempted to pick up his tea again, but his hands were shaking too much to grasp the handle properly, causing him to knock it over and spill its contents across the table.

"Fuck!" He cursed, shooting to his feet.

I quickly found a clean cloth and tossed it over the spill, wiping it up quickly.

"The lessons of that war are not lost on me, Raine," he shot me a glare before he made his way from the room.

What did that mean?

Over the course of the next few days, my father began to act differently. He grew more agitated, his drinking habit more prominent, and his time spent at home increasingly scarce. I worried for him, I always did, but there wasn't much I could do. He wouldn't listen to me no matter how hard I tried to speak with him.

It was a cold morning when I came downstairs to discover a note from my father, a list to be more precise, of things he needed me to buy: whiskey, leather strips to mend the bellows, a batch of coal, port, three leather hides, rivets, wine, nails, and an assortment of oils and polishing compounds.

Did this mean he was going back to his forge?

I could do nothing but hope as I prepared to attain everything he needed on his list. I fished out the pouch of gold I kept safely hidden in my drawer, counting up what I would need before depositing it in my pack.

I would need to make the trip to Velaris if I wished to gather all of these supplies for him. The various woods he listed at the bottom we already had in the barn so I didn't need to worry too much there, and any woods that we didn't have I could easily go and find.

It would be a good few days travel if I went by foot, so I settled on taking Mayella. If we travelled fast, we could get there before nightfall, though that would mean I'd need to spend money on somewhere to stay, and most inns where incredibly expensive these days - especially in Velaris.

A safer bet would be if I travelled to the small village just outside of the city and walked in the following morning, that way there would definitely be stables for Mayella to rest in.

It took me the better part of the day to ride all the way there, slowing Mayella to a gentle trot as we passed an old wooden sign displaying the name of the village: Whitestone.

It was quaint, with only a small collection of buildings around the crossroads: an inn, stables, a couple small shops and a tavern. I led Mayella to the stables, where I paid the two gold coin it cost to house and care for her these next two nights, before taking my belongings through to the small wayfarer inn.

The inn was modest but welcoming, a small fire crackling in the hearth and casting a warm glow across the room. The innkeeper greeted me with a nod, handing over a key in exchange for a few more coins. I climbed the narrow staircase to my room, a tiny but clean space with a single bed and a small window overlooking the village square.

I dumped my pack on the ground, feeling that familiar ache in my ass from a day of riding. It had been a long while since I felt so tired after riding.

A sudden rumble from my stomach made me chuckle, eyes dropping to look down, "I know, I'll get food in a minute."

I needed to find somewhere safe to store my belongings. Though many people could be considered trustworthy, I was not one to trust easily, especially not strangers who could easily rob me blind should they decide to shoulder in my door.

I hadn't missed the look I got from the male I passed in the corridor. Predator and prey.

I placed my change of clothes on the bed and tossed my spare shoes on the floor before stuffing my pack behind the headboard, cramming it between the bed and the wall. It wouldn't be impossible to find, but it felt like it was more secure there.

Another loud rumble resonated from my stomach and I sighed. I would need to go and get food from somewhere, perhaps the tavern I passed just up the road.

I headed back downstairs, glancing at the other patrons as I stepped out and made my way to the tavern for a meal. When I stepped across the threshold, the place was buzzing with the low hum of conversation, the clinking of mugs, and the occasional burst of laughter. I found a seat at a corner table, away from the majority of other patrons, and ordered a bowl of stew and some bread.

I hated being around drunk people if I could avoid it, but I didn't have enough food on me to last and this was most likely the only establishment that sold food that was open at such a late hour. I was never critical of those who chose to drink, what one wished to do with their money and time was up to them, but that didn't negate the fact that I became uncomfortable in places such as this. It was my own problem, not theirs to cater to, so I would continue to endure it without any contempt.

My eyes glanced warily around the room, taking in everything around me, before they settled on two patrons sat a few tables over. They were hunched over their drinks, their faces ruddy from the cold as they spoke in hushed tones.

"...found those damn ash arrows on our hunt again yesterday," one of them muttered, a burly male with a scruffy beard. "Hybern's handiwork, no doubt. And what does our High Lord do about it? Nothing."

I stiffened, my whole body going tense. Ash arrows? Hybern was already here? I had thought the cache of weapons my father and I had been given were simply from old stores, not fresh from a recent skirmish.

His companion, a wiry male with a scar running down his cheek, nodded in agreement. "He's a half-breed; too weak to even know who or what lurks in his lands. Can't even keep our borders safe."

"Too busy playing politics and keeping those Illyrians close," the burly male continued, a sneer on his lips.

His friend agreed. "A bunch of savages. And our oh so great High Lord has two of them working under him. What a joke!"

"Shows you where his priorities lie, doesn't it?" The first male laughed, taking a hearty drink of his ale, some of it even spilling into his beard. "He should be focusing on Hybern, not coddling those winged bastards."

"You ask me," the wiry man said, leaning closer to his friend, "we're sitting ducks. Hybern's gearing up for something big, and our so-called leaders are too blind to see it."

The burly male grumbled in agreement before adding so lowly I had to lean in to hear, my ear twitching, "I heard he's been disappearing to the Spring Court—"

"Here y'are darlin'." I jumped at the sound of the female's voice, turning in time to see her place my food before me, along with a drink.

She was a short, rounded female, with rosy cheeks and kind eyes the colour of mossy glens. Her hair was a cascade of chestnut curls, adorned with delicate flowers and vines that seemed to bloom and twist naturally around her head. The flowers seemed to shimmer, and their petals gently moved as if caressed by an unseen breeze.

Unlike the sharp, pointed ears of the High Fae, hers were rounded and a pair of elegantly curved horns peeked through her hair, curling upwards towards the ceiling.

Her skin was dark, similar in colour to the bark of a tree, contrasting softly with her more vibrant attire. She wore a simple green dress that cut low on her large breasts, with a stained apron tied around her waist and a few flourishes of embroidery along the hemline.

She was a Cern.

Cern were a species of lesser fae, descendants of ancient nature spirits that once roamed the forests of Prythian. They were known for their affinity with the natural world, able to wield nature magic that rumours said also allowed them to communicate with plants and animals. Some were even gifted the ability to shapeshift into an animal form of their own, if the books and stories were to be believed.

As a result, their kind had been hunted centuries ago by the Spring Court, used for sport and the entertainment of the High Fae. Over time, their numbers dwindled, and they sought refuge in the quieter corners of Prythian, fleeing to the other Courts.

The female that stood before me was as beautiful as the forest. The stories of her kind's beauty were nothing shy of an understatement.

"Thank you," I said, feeling a slight blush on my cheeks from the blatant scan I just did of her body.

"You're not from around here, are you?" she asked kindly, her voice soft and melodic like the rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze. I noticed the intricate tattoos that wrapped around her forearms as she gestured towards me, each inked marking seeming to somehow move across her skin. "I don't recognise you, and I know just about everyone in Whitestone."

"I'm just passing through," I replied. I had been here a number of times over the years, but never for long. Only the occasional stay on my way through to Velaris or if I was travelling with my brothers, though they usually preferred winnowing or using other means to get around.

"Goin' anywhere nice?" She queried, resting her hand on her hip.

"Velaris," I answered with shrug. "I need to gather some supplies for my father."

"Beautiful city that one," she agreed with a fond smile. "I'd move there if I could."

"It's quite different from Whitestone, that's for sure," I nodded, taking a sip from the drink she brought over.

"Aye, that it is," she said wistfully, her gaze drifting towards the window where a few flakes of snow had started to drift down. "Well, you picked a good time to visit. Snow's comin' down now, but it's still early enough in the season. Won't be too harsh yet."

"Do you live here in Whitestone?" I queried.

The female chuckled softly, nodding. "Born and raised. Been here all my life, helpin' run this place with my family." She gestured around the tavern with a sweep of her hand. My eyes followed and I spotted a male that must be her father stood behind the bar cleaning a glass with a rag, his own two horns curled around his ears like a ram's. "Not much changes around here, but that's how we like it."

I picked a piece of bread and dipped it in my stew. I could almost moan with how good it tasted.

"Business has been slowly picking up since Amarantha died," she continued. I tensed, forbidding the memories from taking root. It was always so clear, the memories so vivid.

I saw her stood over me. Laughing. Red hair. Pain. Blood. So much blood. So many bodies. Red hair. Dark blood. Red blood. Red hair. Red hair. Red—

"It's now mostly farmers and travellers passing through, but it keeps things simple," she continued.

"That's good to hear," I replied, ridding my mind of the thoughts that began to spiral. "Simple sounds nice."

"Aye, it's not for everyone, but it suits us just fine," she said, her tone warm and content.

Loud cheers from a nearby table caught our attention and I turned to see the two patrons I'd been listening to now chugging back their ales with joyful shouts. Males.

"Don't mind them," she said with a heavy sigh. "They've been here since noon, nothing but ale and complaints."

I nodded, taking a sip of my drink. "They seem quite...passionate."

She chuckled, wiping her hands on her apron. "Aye, they're regulars. Always something to gripe about. You'd think they were the ones running the Courts."

"Seems like they're more concerned with who's running the Courts," I replied, making her laugh.

"I don't blame them. We've been without a High Lord for almost fifty years...I'm Iva, by the way," she introduced.

"Raine."

"Well it's nice to meet you Raine," she said when there came another shout from across the room as two males got into some kind of drunken disagreement, which a third young male quickly ran to dispel.

"Charming," I remarked dryly, my gaze fixed on the spectacle unfolding.

"My money is on the red head," Iva said with a smirk as we watched the pair fall to the floor in a scrap. Their movements were slow and untrained, each punch and hit sloppier than the last as they attempted to best one another.

The onlookers all began to cheer and chant, egging them on. The atmosphere in the tavern shifted from casual to raucous as more people gathered around to watch.

The young male who had rushed to intervene was now trying to separate the fighters, his efforts met with stubborn resistance and slurred protests from both parties.

It was almost comedic.

"Should we do something?" I asked after a few more flimsy punches had been thrown. It didn't seem like their little scuffle was going to be ending any time soon.

Iva chuckled softly, her gaze never leaving the commotion. "Nah, let them tire themselves out. They'll sort it eventually, or pass out trying."

I laughed now, unable to stifle my amusement. This was definitely a first for me; watching two old drunkards throw fists in a small tavern. I used to watch my brothers get into stupid scraps such as this all the time, both with each other and with strangers, but even in their drunkest state they were more coordinated than these two.

One of the more memorable fights they had was between Kegan and Levi over who got the last pie for pudding, or something along those lines. We had laughed ourselves hoarse watching them, and neither one of them ever forgot it. The amount of passive aggressive digs Levi made from then on whenever our mother made pies for pudding was laughable.

The two males continued their clumsy brawl, each seemingly convinced of their own victory. Eventually, the smaller of the two managed to land a wild swing that grazed the other's cheek, eliciting a mixture of cheers and groans from the spectators.

"Fucking hell..." Iva muttered, shaking her head. I could only assume this was a common occurrence given the lack of panic from her and her father.

The fight only lasted a few moments longer, each of the males becoming more exhausted than triumphant. The young male managed to step between the two to separate them, each one helped up by their friends amidst a mixture of laughter and shouts.

"They'll be nursing sore heads tomorrow," Iva remarked, shaking her head again. Whether she meant from the punches or the alcohol I wasn't entirely sure.

"Iva!" A male voice snapped and we both turned to see her father glaring at her. "Back to work."

She sighed. "You enjoy your meal darlin'. If you need anything, let me know." She flashed me a parting smile before heading back to serving the other patrons.

The words of those two males still lingered in my mind as I ate my supper for the evening, enjoying the taste of the vegetable stew. I ate quickly, hoping to get as much rest as I could since these next few days would be long and exhausting otherwise.

Once finished, I paid my tab and bid Iva a good night before disappearing. My room at the inn remained untouched when I returned and I moved the drawers in front of the door before curling up in the bed - an old habit I guess.

When the sun rose the next morning, I was already on my way into Velaris. My first stop would be at the docks, since most merchants would be making port early and I did not want to miss out on their better quality goods. I would then make my way back through the city as the day went on until I returned to the inn.

Besides, the merchants at the docks sold the better liquor and usually for a fair price too. It would surely help me save some gold for later.

Velaris greeted me with a bustling energy, the streets already alive with vendors setting up their stalls and the aroma of freshly baked goods mixing with the scent of flowers that lined the avenues. The air hummed with the distant sound of artisans at work and the occasional burst of laughter from groups of fae passing by.

I navigated through the slowly accumulating crowds, keeping a tight grip on my belongings. As I approached the docks, the scent of the sea mingled with the myriad of scents from the city. Merchants were already busy unloading crates and barrels from their ships, their voices carrying over the water as they negotiated deals with eager buyers. I spotted a few familiar faces among them, merchants I had traded with before, their expressions brightening as they recognised me.

"Raine! Back in Velaris again?" one of them called out, waving me over. "Come, come, see what treasures we've brought from across the sea."

"Hello Andi," I greeted him with a nod, scanning the goods laid out on his makeshift display. There were bolts of fine fabric from Day Court, shimmering silks and rich velvets that caught the light with every fold. Nearby, barrels of aged wine from Autumn Court gleamed with promise, their labels adorned with intricate designs that spoke of their craftsmanship.

"I'm looking for a few things," I said, eyeing a crate of leather hides stacked nearby. Andi was someone I would consider a friend. I'd been coming to the docs to buy from him since I was a mere babe, he was a good friend of mother's. "Some hide, leather strips, and coal."

"Any hide in particular?" Andi asked, turning about his stall. "You're in luck with the coal, we just sailed in from Winter Court, it's the finest coal you'll find this side of Prythian."

"Amazing," I smiled, thinking over the hide. "What hide do you have?"

"Hmm..." he scratched his chin in thought before turning to one of his crates. He pulled back the lid before rifling through. "Your father did always like the stuff we got from Spring...how's your father doing, anyway?" He asked to make idle chat as he prepared my goods.

"He's doing well," I nodded. "Unfortunately the mice got to some of our bellows and into the store cupboard."

"Pesky rodents," he muttered in distaste. "We get them on the ship all the time but Little Johnny takes care of them."

"Little Johnny?" I furrowed my brows. I wasn't aware he had children, at least not recently.

"He's our newest addition to the crew. We found him just after we left Spring, the little guy stowed away but we caught him chasing the mice," he explained as a furred creature jumped up on the table to his stall. Its fur was a mix of different colours, though predominantly white and ginger, and it had a soft face with big eyes.

"How adorable," I cooed at the animal, offering my hand towards it.

"How many strips of leather will you be needing?" He asked.

"Around twenty if you can," I smiled at him as he began cutting strips while my attention returned to Little Johnny.

"He's what the humans call a 'cat'. The boys reckon he found a gap in the wall and snuck across," he explained, continuing his work with the leather while I began stroking the creature. It brushed up against my hand, pushing his side and back into my palm for attention.

Everyone knew of these gaps, though I had never heard of an animal like this ever sneaking through. I'd have thought the creatures of Spring, or even the High Lord, would have been aware of the crossing...though this 'cat' was so small I doubt anyone, or anything, would have noticed him.

"Oh he's just about as adorable as they come." I felt my heart jump when he flipped onto his side with a 'meow' and began to purr at me. I almost squealed at how cute he was and began to pet him with both hands.

"Absolute softy that one," Andi laughed as he began folding my goods to pack into a sack.

"I'm jealous I can't take him home with me," I joked as I ran my fingers between his ears, his tail flicking off the side of the table.

"Unfortunately my mate is all too attached, he's adamant Little Johnny must be carried everywhere," Andi remarked, making me laugh.

"I don't blame him," I shrugged as I squeezed Little Johnny's cheeks. "Look at this face!"

"You're just as bad as each other," Andi laughed as he plopped down the sacks of coal. He counted up the total and I handed over the required gold in exchange for the goods. "You sure you can manage?"

"Course I can," I confirmed as I filled my pack, attaching the goods where they were needed so that I could carry them best. I would need to reorganise everything later once I bought more, but for now this worked.

"Just like your brothers," Andi smiled fondly as his cat went over to him for attention now. "Don't be a stranger. We'll be making port again in a few weeks time."

"I wouldn't dream of it," I smiled, heaving the two large sacks of coal onto my shoulders. They were heavy, far heavier than I remembered, but nothing I couldn't handle.

We said a few parting words before I turned to continue through the markets. It was a few docs down that I'd find the ships that went to Autumn Court. They made some of the best alcohol in all of Prythian.

"Morning, what can I help you find?" The male asked as I meandered up to his stall.

"I'm looking for some whiskey and wine, the best quality you've got," I replied, scanning the array of bottles and barrels on display.

"Ah, you've come to the right place," he said with a smile, gesturing to a well-stocked stall behind him. The rich amber liquid glowed in the early morning light. "The crew got merry on this stuff on the journey back here, said it was the best they've tasted."

I chuckled at his little anecdote as he led me over to where bottles of amber whiskey and deep crimson wines were neatly arranged. They even had the jugs of port my father was after. I moved closer to examine each label carefully, noting the origins and vintages. After some deliberation, I selected a few bottles that seemed promising and negotiated a fair price.

"Anything else, ma'am?"

"Yes, actually," I said, handing over the coins for the liquor. "Do you know where I could get some rivets? Or even some nails?"

He pondered it for a second then pointed towards a nearby stall where a craftsman was trimming hides to size. "They should have them over that way, they come from the Continent - can't find better than that."

I thanked the male before I left and made my way over, my mind running through the list my father had given me. As I approached the stall, I saw an older male behind the counter, his hands busy arranging various strips of leather and small metal pieces.

"Good morning," I greeted. "I'm looking for some nails. And metal rivets, if you have them."

The male looked up and gave me a nod. "Morning. Got plenty of those. How much do you need?"

I pulled out the list my father had given me, quickly tallying up the quantities. "I have about twenty strips of leather, so enough rivets and nails to match."

He nodded and began gathering the items I requested. As he worked, I glanced around at the other goods on display, my eyes landing on a beautiful looking bracelet. It appeared to be crafted from some kind of metal, the surface shimmering with an iridescent glow that shifted colours as it caught the light.

"That one's special," the blacksmith said, noticing my interest. "Made from starsteel, infused with a bit of magic from the Night Court. It's said to bring luck to its wearer."

"It's lovely," I agreed with a smile, glancing back down to the bracelet once more. "How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing else you like?" He asked, a cunning grin on his face as though he knew this bracelet would attract at least one female's attention and lead to him being able to grossly over charge.

"No, just the rivets and nails," I denied, looking to the large box in his hands.

"Here," he said, dropping the box on the table to count out everything I had asked for. He compiled them into a second slightly smaller box and wrapped a bow around the outside to help ensure the lid remained closed. "And I'll throw in a bundle of steel wire for good measure."

I raised an eyebrow at his generosity, though I suspected he was simply trying to secure a repeat customer. "Thanks, that's quite kind of you."

"Not at all," he replied, waving a dismissive hand.

I handed over the money, waiting for him to count it before he released his grip on the box. I tucked it under my arm with thanks and ventured back into the city streets. I still had plenty of stops to make before heading back to the inn.

My next destination was a quaint little herbal shop tucked away on one of the quieter streets. It wasn't a frequently walked path, in fact I had stumbled upon this shop by accident the first time I came here alone, but I had since become a frequent customer. The scent of fresh herbs and dried flowers greeted me as I stepped inside. The shopkeeper, an elderly faerie with a kind smile, greeted me warmly.

"Good morning, dear. What can I help you with today?"

"I need some herbs for my father's apothecary," I replied, pulling out my father's list and flipping it to look at the back. "He's looking for rare herbs—anything you might have that can be used for medicinal purposes."

The shopkeeper's eyes lit up with interest as she took the list from me, reading it carefully. "Ah, I see. Well, you're in luck. I received a fresh shipment of herbs just the other day. Let me fetch them for you."

While she bustled about the shop, I wandered through the aisles, admiring the various plants and dried herbs hanging from the ceiling. Each pot on the shelves had a small label indicating its name and properties but I could barely focus on the labels long enough to read it all before I was glancing over at the next jar. They all contained a range of powders and extracts, some glittering, some tar like, while others shimmered with vibrant colours.

The shopkeeper returned shortly with a small basket filled with a variety of herbs and jars. "Here we are. This should cover everything on your list."

I inspected the contents, noting what was there and what I still needed to find. The herbs were vibrant and fresh, their scents mingling in a heady aroma that filled the small shop. Some jars contained glittering powders that shimmered like stardust, while others held tar-like substances that promised potent effects. I was pretty well adversed on this kind of thing from my time working as a healer in the war, so knew what other things I would need to grab on my way back still.

"Perfect. Thank you," I grinned, genuinely pleased with the selection.

"Always a pleasure, dear," the shopkeeper replied with a warm smile. "Is there anything else you need?"

"Uh...that should be all thank you."

I paid the shopkeeper, thanking her again before leaving the cozy shop. The day was progressing nicely, and I had only a few more stops to make before returning to the inn. First there was the bookshop, where a bespectacled faerie with ink-stained fingers who went by the name of Bertrusse helped me find the next book in my series, along with the advanced metallurgy book my father had mentioned a few weeks back when we first received the Hybern cache.

Next I visited the tailor for some sheets of cloth and thread, then I went to find the assortment of oils and polishing compounds my father regularly used. He was very particular about these things.

The sun was high in the sky, indicating it was late afternoon, as I rounded the corner to make my final stop of the day. I had brought the sword I, well my father, had forged for a male who lived here in Velaris. He had promised me a discount in his store if I ever needed anything, and my father had mentioned how he expected the last payment from the male sometime soon. So, wrapped in tarp, I held the sword he intended to gift to his son for his birthday under my arm. 

I kept a tight grip on the sword, attempting to stay standing despite the heavy packs on my back, as well as the ones strapped across my chest and waist. My core was killing me. I definitely underestimated just how much stuff I was going to end up lugging back with me - perhaps bringing Mayella into town would have been a better idea.

One sack of coal was strapped onto the side of my pack, while the other rested precariously on my shoulder as I meandered through the clusters of people. I felt so obnoxious with this much stuff on me, taking up more space than I needed. It was only a matter of time before I bumped into someone, as proven by the sudden force that knocked my shoulder and sent me stumbling, my parcels almost falling from my grasp.

I looked up to the male who had collided with me. He was disheveled, hands covered in dirt, his eyes wild with panic.

"They're coming!" he shouted, his voice cracking with desperation. "They're coming, and we're all going to die!"

My grip on my goods tightened as I watched the male wildly spin, as though he was looking for something. His eyes danced over each and every person around him as they all backed away.

"You're all crazy!" He pointed an accusatory finger. At who, I wasn't sure. "NO! I will not calm down! He is coming for us! All of us! You hear me!"

The crowd immediately reacted, mothers pulling their children away, vendors pausing their transactions to watch the commotion, and the on lookers stepping back, their faces etched with a mix of concern and fear. The male's agitation grew as he continued to shout, his words becoming more frantic and incoherent.

"They're going to destroy everything! The High Lords can't save us now! We're all doomed!"

I backed away slightly, the male's fear and mania radiating off him in waves. The crowd had created a wide berth, no one daring to get any closer. The stranger's eyes darted around wildly, looking for anyone who might listen to his ramblings.

"Calm down," I said, trying to sound soothing despite my own unease. "What's happened? Who is coming?"

His eyes locked onto mine, a flicker of hope and desperation mingling in his gaze. "You don't understand," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "They're already here. They're everywhere. The war...it's not over. It didn't end with her!"

His words sent a shiver down my spine. Hybern. He had to be talking about Hybern. The rumours were right...that Illyrian was right...it's not over. Not again. I couldn't face that again. The memories came flooding back in sickening waves, like a live performance I was forced to become a spectator to...

Red hair. Black eyes. Her laugh. That wicked, awful sound that scraped my very soul, gouging out all hope I had left. Cruel smile. Red hair. Wicked grin. Black eyes. Red hair. Red hair. Red—

Suddenly the City Guard were stood before us, their expressions stern yet concerned. "Sir, you need to come with us," one of them said, reaching out a hand to the distressed male.

"No!" he shouted, pulling away violently. "You have to believe me! They're here!"

The guard's grip tightened, and the male struggled, his shouts turning into incoherent cries. The other guard stepped forward, helping to restrain him. "It's alright, sir. We'll take care of you," he spoke in as calming a tone as he could muster.

"It's not me! They'll kill me anyway!" He insisted and suddenly we could hear heavy wing beats in the sky. My eyes shot upwards, searching the sky for the source.

Illyrian.

I could recognise the sound of their wing beats anywhere. One of the Illyrians the High Lord kept within his ranks must be on their way...perhaps even the High Lord himself given his heritage.

I didn't want to wait to find out who it was and promptly continued on my way, the man's desperate pleas echoing in the air. I squeezed through the crowd, sparing a single look back where I caught sight of a pair of hazel eyes.

They were different from Azriel's, warmer, calculating. I stood there for a moment, staring at the Illyrian as I processed what had just happened. The man's frantic warnings about Hybern were unsettling, to say the least. I shook off the lingering unease and continued on my way, determined to finish my errands and return to the inn. But his words stayed with me, a constant reminder of the fragile peace that hung over Velaris and all of Prythian.

I was beginning to remember why I hated the city, my aversion for loud spaces and crowded streets. It was always incredibly overwhelming when I came here as a child, and it wasn't any different now that I was older. I always thought I would get used to it, but I never had. I just wanted to go home, the sooner I left this city the better.

I eventually made it to my last stop, the bell chiming above me as I stepped inside. My eyes danced over the shelves, but I didn't focus on anything in particular as I approached the man behind the counter.

"Hi, I'm looking for Bran," I greeted with a smile, though the male merely glanced me up and down. "I have a delivery for him, it's from my father." I pulled out the sword and watched as his eyes traced over the cloth it was wrapped in.

"Bran!" The male shouted, looking over his shoulder towards another door. "Delivery for you."

"What! I'll be out in a minute!" Came the response.

"He'll be out in a minute," the male reiterated to me.

"Thank you," I nodded as we fell into an uncomfortable silence.

My eyes danced around the room while I rocked back and forth on my feet, biting at my inner cheek. It took longer than I hoped before the male came out and I was able to give him the sword. His fingers danced over the ties before tugging them away and flipping back the cloth.

The sword took weeks to craft, the metal glinting in the faelight as Bran took ahold of the hilt. He raised it into the air to get a full view of the metal I had spent so much time sharpening and polishing. I was sure it could cut through a sheet of paper as though it were air with how sharp I'd made the blade.

"Amazing, tell your father he did a fine job," Bran grinned as he assessed the blade, his male counterpart doing the same.

"He will be most pleased to hear it," I inclined my head. "He also said you would have a package for him?"

"Ah...right..." the male lowered the blade, sparing a look to his friend before they nodded in some kind of unspoken agreement.

The second male disappeared into the back room, leaving me alone with Bran as he began wrapping the sword back up.

"My son will be most pleased when I give this to him," he smiled.

"First century is a big birthday," I agreed. I could still remember mine. My brothers had all been away for work and I hadn't expected to see them, but Cyrus had apparently sent them all a letter as a reminder and invited them home.

I was awoken to all four of them jumping on me, much to my delight. We had a breakfast with our mother and then they took me out into the fields for the day, even treating me to a few gifts before we celebrated at home in the evening. It was truly the most special day.

"Tell that to his mother, she's been crying all week about him getting too old," he remarked, making me laugh.

"My mother was the same," I said with a small sigh. "On my brother's seven hundredth birthday she was so against it that she went around telling everyone he was only seventy."

Bran laughed. "I'm sure my mate will do the same. I already have to keep this sword a secret from her. She's so worried about the rumours of us going to war and thinks that giving our son a blade would only encourage him."

I hummed, offering him a sad smile. "Hopefully it won't every come to that. Besides, if he did go, he now has the best sword on the battlefield."

"I suppose you're right," Bran chuckled, through a sad smile graced his lips just as his comrade returned.

He had a simple box in his hands, wrapped in brown paper and string, which he offered to his boss. Bran gripped it tightly, looking as though he was debating handing it over.

With a heavy sigh he offered it to me, a sad look in his eye. "Here, this should cover the remaining cost of the blade."

"Oh uh..." I looked down to box, not sure what was inside but since my father had accepted whatever it was as payment, I wouldn't question it. "Thank you."

I moved to tie it onto my waist when Bran stopped me, his hand gripping my wrist tightly. "Keep it level...and don't shake it too much."

I eyed him curiously, desperate to know what lay hidden in my hands. It must have been something delicate if I couldn't shake it...but why keep it level. That was new, even the most delicate packages could be tilted a little.

"Thank you..."

"Get home safe," Bran decided, escorting me towards the door. "And say hi to your father for me."

"Will do," I agreed as he opened the door, ushering me out. I didn't get the chance to say anything more before he had closed the door and suddenly locked it after.

Strange...

I chose not to think on it until I was back at the inn, so promptly began my journey. It would take me a while to get there and I had begun to sweat profusely despite the cold winter weather.

I wiped my forehead on my shoulder, heaving heavy breaths as I paced out of the city and along the dirt road back to Whitestone.

As I approached the inn, I spotted Iva standing outside her family's tavern, chatting with a few of the regular patrons. She waved when she saw me, her smile brightening the fading light.

"Looks like you had a successful trip," she called out as I approached.

"Very," I replied, shifting the weight on my shoulders. "Got everything I needed and then some."

"Good to hear," she grinned, resting her weight on a single hip. "Once you've put all of that away, come on over. Dinner's almost ready, and I'll save you a seat by the fire."

I couldn't help but smile at her thoughtfulness. I thanked her as I headed back to the inn, passing the few patrons that lingered in the various chairs scattered about the entryway. I could feel their eyes watching me, though paid them no mind.

I may have looked like a weak, vulnerable female, but I could hold my own pretty well. I certainly wasn't going to fear a one eyed male with a face that resembled a Melpomene mask.

When I did finally arrive back at my room, I placed my father's box on the chest of drawers before dropping everything else I was carrying onto the floor with an unceremonious thump.

I wiped my brow as I fell onto the bed, not even caring that I was still in my dirty clothes. I was exhausted.

With a groan, I rolled onto my back, knowing I would need to get some food from the tavern since I hadn't eaten all day and Iva said she would be saving me some food. It would be rude of me to not go.

Rolling out my shoulders, I began to sort through all of my goods to hide them from any prying eyes before departing to the tavern. The air was cold, but the walk was short so I didn't mind the temperature too much.

I had hope that once I got home tomorrow, these goods would perhaps encourage my father to go back to his forge. It would be nice to see him doing what he loved again, even if it was only to complete orders instead of helping the High Lord. It would at least mean this trip wasn't a waste of my time and money...

Shaking off the thoughts, I soon found myself sat by the fire at the tavern with a plate of food in front of me and a smiling Iva stood filling up my water.

"Successful trip then?"

"It was indeed," I confirmed.

"I'm glad to hear," she continued to smile at me, the look so infectious I found one growing in my own lips. "There's that smile. I've gotta go serve some tables, but I'll be back to chat."

I didn't get the chance to respond before she was off, leaving me to eat the rest of my food. The two males I'd been eavesdropping on the day before were nowhere to be seen so I passed the time by listening to various patrons' monotonous conversations and staring at the crackling fire.

I could feel my eyes becoming heavy the longer I sat here, knowing I needed to finish up and pay as soon as possible. I'd be getting up early again tomorrow so that I'd make it home before nightfall, meaning I needed all the rest I could get.

My entire body ached more than it had in a long time. I'm sure I would have fallen asleep in front of this fire if Iva hadn't suddenly plopped down in the chair opposite me with a thud.

"I'm back," she beamed. "Got a couple minutes before my father calls me back to work."

"How generous."

"Ugh," she groaned, "he works me to the bone. When ma gets back in a few days he'll back off. She has him wrapped around her finger."

"As he should be," I joked, much to her amusement.

"You okay hun? I saw you just staring at the fire before," she checked, a look genuine concern on her face.

"Oh, yeah, just a long day," I sighed.

"I can imagine," she nodded, offering me a reassuring smile. "Some folk came in here earlier saying there was a madman in the city, prattling on about Hybern or something like that."

"It was a...strange experience, that's for sure."

"I wouldn't worry too much Raine. There's been a lot of talk about Hybern lately. People are scared. And when people are scared, they need someone to blame." She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. "But if you ask me, all this fussin' about the High Lords and their soldiers isn't going to help anyone. It hasn't even been a year since that witch of theirs ruled these lands, and already they're back to bickering like children."

I laughed, appreciating her light humour over such a dire situation. Considering Whitestone's proximity to Velaris, I could only assume she was hidden within the shield around the city during the witch's reign.

"Children with more power than the rest of us combined," I reminded her.

"Tomato, tomato." She waved a dismissive hand. "I say we throw 'em all in a room with the Hybern guy and have 'em wrestle it out. Leave all us weak folk alone," she shrugged and I couldn't stop the cackle that left me at such a ludicrous yet rational idea. If only power could be fought be the rulers who claimed it, instead of sending in the lackeys to scrap over the mere dregs left over.

"I'd pay to watch that."

"Mmh, so would I," she hummed with a cheeky grin, as though her mind had gone off somewhere. "I've heard the High Lord of Day is mighty fine, though ours is equally scrumptious."

"Iva!" I gaped at her shamelessness to say such things in a room full of listening ears. That was the sort of thing you said a little more subtly, even if it was true.

"What?" She looked genuinely confused, an innocence on her face that made me smile. I wished I had her level of confidence and self assuredness.

I shrugged, deciding to indulge her topic of conversation. "If you ever get the chance to meet the High Lord of Day, I'm sure he'll indulge your offer. He's very...insatiable that one."

"Oh?" She quirked an eyebrow. "I best hope he comes stumbling in here if he's ever allowed to visit the Night Court, shouldn't I?"

"Indubitably."

It was her turn to laugh now. "I have no idea what that means, but I like the way you say it. I'm glad I met you Raine."

"And I you, Iva."

✿

Chapter Text

✿ ✿ ✿

"You are three short!" Giddel held up three fingers in order to emphasise the debt my father owed.

My father opened his mouth to speak, to start to argue with the male once more. Giddel was a large male and well built from his time in the war, and everyone around here knew not to mess with him or his business. The harsh scars that carved across his face were evidence of the pain he was capable of enduring, let alone inflict on others.

He was well know for getting very agitated when people liked to test his patience or mess with his business - understandably so.

"It's okay!" I jumped in, stepping up beside my father as I reached into my pocket. "Here. I have the money. This should be enough, is it not?"

I pulled out five gold pieces to offer the male, hoping that the added coins would aid him in forgetting the antics my father had just involved himself in.

I hadn't intended to come to retrieve him from the tavern, but it seemed he insisted on not returning home for a number of days and I became worried. When I first returned from Velaris, things seemed like they were starting to look up. His forge was burning again, albeit not all the time but enough to give me hope he was working again. As I went about the jobs in the fields I could head the occasional clang of his hammer on steel and it was a refreshing sound to listen to.

It was like a melody to my ears. I even saw more orders coming in. It looked like he was starting to get back into it, even if he was still spending a few nights a week at the tavern. I didn't mind his drinking so much anymore because I knew he couldn't just quit cold turkey, but he was making steps. But with Solstice around the corner, I knew it was only a matter of time before he spiralled like this.

Solstice used to be our mother's favourite holiday of all. She loved giving gifts and watching us all open them. It was also the only holiday where she would not compromise and expected us all to be home for. Every year we would wake up to a gift sat on the foot of our beds, usually a pair of socks or gloves, or even a hat our mother had made for us. We would always wear them before heading downstairs, then laugh at how funny we all looked in our matching accessories.

We'd spend the day eating and playing games, listening to music and even dancing about, even though it always resulted in something falling off the side and breaking. In the afternoon we usually migrated to the fields to celebrate until our fingers were about to fall off. Only then would we head back inside for our evening meal and exchange gifts. Not to forget the multitude of gifts our mother would make to give to the local orphanage and pass around the week leading up to the day.

I hadn't celebrated Solstice in almost fifty years, nobody was allowed. She wouldn't allow it. I had hoped that my father would be interested in at least having a meal together in the evening, but it seemed that wasn't meant to be. I wasn't surprised. They day reminded him of his lost mate in the same way it reminded me of my mother...

I needed to get used to this disappointment now. I was just glad I hadn't gotten my hopes up too much. I was so convinced I was going to die Under the Mountain that I deemed all of this borrowed time; like I was supposed to be dead and every step, every heartbeat, every breath I took now was something extra, a novelty I wasn't supposed to have been bestowed.

Giddel's eyes dragged over my form with that same look in his eye that he had used when I was young. A look that led to my brothers beating him black and blue and leaving scars in places no one would see. They didn't like anyone disrespecting our family, but they hated males' vulgar thoughts more. With them gone, it seemed some of the males interpreted this as a free pass to be just as disgusting as before. It made me sick.

I offered him a gracious smile, wiggling my fingers so the coins in my hand jingled until his eyes snagged on the gold again. He sneered but took the money from me.

"This is your last warning Hamish."

He pointed a finger at my father and I didn't wait for him to say more. I grabbed my kin and pulled him from the bar, offering its owner words of thanks and apologies as we went.

Not only had my father drank more alcohol than was safe for any fae, Giddel had told me he had attempted to engage in intimate activities with a taken female, despite her protests, and then got into a fight with her partner when the male got upset with him. I had no idea my father was capable of such horrid acts, and I was unbelievably ashamed.

He was stumbling over his feet, barely able to stand when we eventually made it home. He toed off his shoes the second I opened the door for him, shoving me away as he stumbled through to the kitchen to find himself more alcohol.

The thought that he had almost attempted to force a female— I felt sick to my stomach. How could he do such a thing? How could he—

"What were you thinking?" I snapped, the words leaving me before I took a second to consider what I was doing. "You can't just go around grabbing females, especially not ones with a partner. Who do you think you are?"

"Excuse me?" He stopped in his tracks, like my words had been some kind of spell that froze him in place. He slowly turned to face me, pure disgust on his features, hiding his simmering rage.

"You are not allowed to go around grabbing females however you like! It doesn't matter that you're drunk—"

"I am not drunk," he denied.

"Yes you are!" I argued right back. "You're drunk, you are a drunk."

His rage exploded all at once. One second he was across the room looking for a bottle and the next I was in his clutches and being dragged through the house.

He's my father...I will not fight my father...it's a bad day...he's drunk...I will not fight my father. It's a bad day. It's a bad day. It's a bad day.

✿

I winced with every step I took, various parts of my body damaged badly enough that I knew they wouldn't be mended by Solstice. It was only two days away and I had just finished buying my father a new gift. I was going to give him a genuine gift, an original copy of one of the tomes he used to read to me when I was a child, but I knew he wouldn't appreciate anything other than a bottle of one of his favourite wines.

It saddened me to hand the money over and wrap it for him, especially after our argument the other day, but if it was what would make him happy then I would endure it.

I was sat alone in the forge when there was a knock at the door. I looked over from my chair, not entirely sure who it would be. We didn't take any inquiries the week of Solstice and my father had a key to the house. He wouldn't be knocking.

I used my hands to help me stand and limped across the room to unlock the door. I gripped an iron fire poker as I approached, carefully undoing the lock and peering through the small gap I opened.

I loosed a breath when my eyes landed on those pretty hazel eyes and I pulled the door further open to allow the Illyrian to enter.

He said nothing as he stood in the doorway, his eyes dragging over my body in a slow sweep before landing on the iron 'weapon' in my hand.

"Sorry." I tossed the stoker down onto the bench behind me. "I wasn't expecting visitors."

He still said nothing and I felt myself shift under the intensity of his gaze. He made me feel as though I was on show, like he was staring at a portrait, taking in every minuscule brush stroke the artist used, critiquing each colour and movement involved in its creation.

It made me feel overly conscious of myself and worry that I had something on my face whenever I caught his eyes staring, or that I had mud on my clothes whenever his eyes lingered a moment too long.

I motioned for him to come in so that I could close the door and keep out the cold. His eyes didn't leave me as he crossed the threshold, his steps silent.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" I asked, leaning my hip against the work bench beside me.

His wings were tucked in tightly behind him as he came to stand across from me, toying with his hands a moment before tucking them behind his back like he usually did. Nervous.

"Your ankle is injured."

I frowned at his observation, following his gaze down to my feet where I kept most of my weight on my left so that my right could fix better. My father had decided that since I liked to run around after him all the time, it would be best I couldn't run at all for a while.

"I fell off my horse the other day," I dismissed with a wave of my hand.

"Your horse?" He rose a brow.

"She was startled."

"Startled?" He parroted.

"Indeed," I confirmed.

He hummed, his eyes dragging over me once more before returning to my face. "Must have been some fall."

"Oh it was," I agreed once again, feeling the smile tugging at my lips. I tried to hide it but caught sight of his own smile growing slightly on his face.

I could see in his eyes that he wasn't falling for it. He didn't believe a single word that left my mouth, but he played along and I was grateful for it. He knew to keep out of my business and, in return, I had kept out of his. Not that he would have told me much anyway.

"I have no new information for the High Lord," I told him as I turned and made my way towards the small cache of Hybern weapons that my father hadn't gotten rid of. I had located the few pieces hidden about the forge and tucked them away in an old storage box we had for safe keeping. I pulled open the lid to display the dreaded weaponry.

"I am not here for the weapons," he spoke and my brows furrowed as I turned to him. He wasn't here for information?

"No?" I closed the lid and turned back to face the male.

"A gift," he pulled out a small box from a hidden pocket, "from the High Lord."

I frowned. It had been many years since I had received a gift from someone, let alone a High Lord. I took slow, careful steps towards the male to see what he held out for me in his scarred hand.

"Thank you," I smiled at him appreciatively as I took the box. He waited and watched as I peeled back the wrapping and lifted the lid to reveal a stunning ruby necklace. Red. Blood. Hair.

The gem was large, a rich, molten ruby that seemed to glow with an inner fire, surrounded by a delicate constellation of night-dark diamonds along the chain. It was grand yet elegant, its beauty reminiscent of the starlit skies of Velaris. The craftsmanship was astonishing—every facet perfectly cut, every detail a work of art. The chain shimmered like the faint gleam of moonlight on water, strong yet impossibly light. It was incredibly well made, and I genuinely appreciated the gift but...

"I cannot accept this," I shook my head, offering it back to the male, "it is too much."

"The High Lord insists," he pushed, holding his hands up as if to show me that he would not be leaving here with the necklace.

"I..." I was at a loss of words. I quickly closed the lid, struggling to look at the red gem. I hated the colour red. I couldn't bare to look at it a moment longer. "Tell him it is too much, and thank you. It really is lovely."

He watched me place the box down on the counter beside me, noting the movement but saying nothing. I was not going to explain why I doubted I would ever wear it, nor would I go into detail about why I would need to hide it before my father found it and sold it for himself.

"Oh," I perked up suddenly, holding up a finger as if to tell him to give me a second as I turned and hurried to the side of the room. I had not intended on getting the Illyrian a Solstice gift, but my mother had taught me to always give gifts.

Solstice was her favourite holiday and she never once failed to buy someone a gift. She would be busy for weeks, sewing or painting or crafting, making gifts left right and centre until she had something to give to us all.

I missed her more with every Solstice that passed.

Once I located the box, I turned back round and made my away over to the male once more. He watched me closely, saying nothing as I dropped the hand carved box on the table beside him.

He raised a brow in question, waiting for me to explain. I was almost bouncing from a mix of nervousness and excitement.

"It's a Solstice gift," I explained.

"I will take it to the High Lord if you wish," he nodded.

"No," I shook my head, stopping his hands before he could reach for it. "It's a gift for you."

He didn't bother to hide the shock that appeared on his face. His eyes widened until I could see the whites around his hazel irises, his eyebrows met his hairline and his mouth gaped ever so slightly.

He was at a loss for words, stumbling through various sounds before he settled with asking, "why?"

"We give gifts on Solstice, do we not?"

"I got you nothing," he noted, a look of disappointment overcoming him.

"That's okay," I offered the male a warm smile, "the High Lord's gift is more than enough."

He eyed me, then the box, then me again.

"It's nothing big or fancy..." I began toying with my hands, "and if you don't like it, or don't want it, you don't have to accept it. I just...I appreciate your presence. You've made my life a little more interesting lately, and...and well, I like our conversations."

He hesitated before opening it, sliding the small latch and flipping the lid back to reveal its contents. He reached a scarred hand into the box to pick up the leather bandolier I had fashioned for him.

"I uh...I noticed that yours had become worn," I motioned to the armour that he wore.

He had never worn much armour when he visited me, only donning the single blade at his hip, but I had seen his bandolier once when we first met and the leather was torn, the buckle loose and one of the slots for a knife had been broken entirely.

He held it up before himself, eyes inspecting the leather while his hand grazed over the top of the stitching.

"I used the same techniques for when we fashion Illyrian bandoliers," I quickly jumped to explain before he rejected it, "and I made sure it was the right colour, but I noticed you had a siphon—"

"Thank you," he interrupted my nervous rambling, his eyes flick up to look at me, "Really. It is lovely."

His mouth tugged up into a beautiful smile and I didn't hesitate to return it. He had the most amazing smile. It lit up his entire face, brightened his eyes, and displayed those straight white teeth of his. Even the shadows that curled around his shoulders lightened.

He was truly something to behold.

"You're welcome," I beamed with something akin to pride. He liked it. I had spent a number of weeks wondering what to get him, and then fashioning this piece of armour - after much deliberation. My mother had been the one who taught me how to make them.

He toyed with the stitching a moment longer before his eyes lifted to me with that same appreciative smile. And I saw it then. That look. I'd seen that look before. He hadn't received a gift like this in years, many years. Sure, I believed he had been given gifts from his friends and High Lord, but not something so personal. Not something like this.

I then thought about it, debating for a moment in my head, before turning and crossing the room once more. I had something...something old that I thought the High Lord may appreciate. It had belonged to my mother, a gift from her closest friend; an Illyrian seamstress.

I walked to the armoire at the side of the room, opening the bottom cupboards and pulling out a box. I debated keeping it but I knew, deep down, that I would not need it. I would never have use for a gown this magnificent.

I took it over to the Illyrian once more, holding it out for him like an offering. "Here. I uh...your High Lord will appreciate this more than I ever will."

The male didn't question me, nor did he pry on the box's contents as he tucked it under his arm and willed it to disappear, surrounded by shadows nearby.

"I will make sure it gets to him."

"Thank you..." I smiled at him once more, hesitating when it came to his name.

"Azriel," he supplied.

"Thank you Azriel," I repeated, watching him straighten up when I spoke his name, his eyes returning to my face. "I'm Raine."

"I know," he smiled, amused.

"Oh," I nodded. Why wouldn't he know my name? He was a shadowsinger and the most renowned Spymaster in all of Prythian. I really wasn't using my head right now.

We fell into comfortable silence, the early fall of rain beginning to patter against the roof and windows. It sounded as though there would be a heavy downpour tonight.

Slowly, the sound faded into the background and I became focused on the male before me, on Azriel. He wore a calm expression, but it was weary. He looked conflicted somehow, a shadow clouding his eyes like ink in water, spreading slowly across his hazel irises that otherwise held a cold kindness.

He was just so...I couldn't put my finger on it. Nor could I stop the smile that grew, or the soft sigh that followed.

"It sounds like it's coming down hard out there," he broke the silence. He meant the rain, I assumed.

"It does," I agreed all too quickly, and promptly righted myself. I turned to glance at the weapons that lay around me, "You uh...you can stay for a while, if you like?"

His brows furrowed as he watched me closely, his eyes assessing every little movement I made. "Stay?"

"To keep out of the rain," I clarified. It was never fun to travel in a downpour, and it usually made the journey twice as long and twice as dangerous.

He didn't respond so I busied myself with tidying a few things away, preparing the workspace for later. I still had a bit left to do tonight, and I always left it ready for when my father decided he wished to continue where he left off.

"What were you making before?" He asked as he came over, his eyes dancing over the various lumps of metal and tools displayed on the work surface.

"Oh," I looked to the surface. In truth, I hadn't been using the forge when he arrived. I was simply sitting in here to get some peace and quiet, treating it like an escape. I had so many fond memories in here, from forging with Cyrus, to watching Levi fall and bash his head against the fireplace - mother wasn't amused when we'd told her how he got the gash. This space was so imbued with joy that it was difficult to feel sad when I was in here. "Well, my father mentioned something about adjusting the shape and enchantments on shields. I was reading up on it and it could be possible...if he was more invested in this project..."

Azriel followed me over to the work bench that had a large shield and collection of books sat beside it. There were also various sheets of parchment filled with notes and drawings I'd been working on. I had never been as good at all of this as my father, and I doubted I ever would be, but my basic understanding of the area allowed me to forge ideas such as this.

"May I?" Azriel asked, indicating to one of the sheets of parchment. I nodded, motioning for him to do as he wished.

His scarred hands, hands that I had thought about only a handful of times since first seeing them, took the parchment with a delicate touch as he held them to the light to read over what I'd noted down.

He pursed his lips, falling into thought as he assessed what I'd written. I was sure some of what's there may be useful to his High Lord if he could find a more experienced blacksmith than myself willing to build on the concept and then craft it.

"Is this shield designed to protect against magic? Like with the tipped ash arrows?" He asked, lowering the parchment to look at me. There was genuine curiosity in his gaze and the prospect of talking about my ideas with someone almost made me giddy.

"In part, yes. While we can't entirely defend against the faebane, we can imbue the metal with magic to limit the damage such weaponry can inflict," I explained, coming to point at the parchment.

"And this part here," he traced his finger over my notes and then the simple sketch beside it in the bottom corner, "a new kind of arrow head?"

"Oh," I chuckled bashfully, "it's just someting I was doodling, I haven't fully rationalised the idea."

He hummed, continuing to stare at the small design for so long I suddenly felt self conscious. I usually had such faith in my abilities and understanding of this area of crafting but the second this Illyrian I barely knew looked at it, I was suddenly a nervous wreck?

I internally groaned. I was behaving like a child. I didn't know why I was allowing myself to get so worked up. Perhaps it was a subconscious need to gain everyone's approval, a desire to be seen without flaws...even though I had many.

"Tell me about it."

I froze.

He...he wanted me to tell him about it?

"Uh..."

I couldn't seem to find the words as I stared at him, his bright hazel eyes staring at me unbroken. He actually looked like he wanted to her about it; there was genuine interest in his eyes.

"Okay."

He moved sideways, giving me room to step forward and motion to my design. I explained each aspect, fearful that I sounded like I was rambling uselessly but he didn't interrupt me once. Azriel seemed like the kind of person to dismiss himself quickly if you were taking up his time. But he didn't leave.

He listened to every word I spoke, nodding every now and again and even interrupting me to ask questions. He actually wanted to know more!

I felt my heart warm in my chest at the notion, my mouth going dry with how much I was talking but I had no intention of stopping as I walked him through the papers.

There was a chance he already knew some of this stuff, especially since he was a seasoned Illyrian warrior and within the High Lord's inner circle, but even if he did, he didn't make it known. Either that or he didn't care that I was going over it again.

My nerves diminished the more I spoke, becoming used to his presence as I flicked through various sheets and books. Soon enough we were both sat at the table inspecting the Hybern weaponry, his eyes a lot keener than my own. I didn't know if this kind of thing was in his job description, nor did I know how much he already knew about blacksmithing, but it was refreshing to have a third set of eyes on this stuff. 

"Ugh, stupid magic weapons," I groaned, tossing the small blade back into the box. It had blunted significantly and I had no intention of ever sharpening it again. "I’ve spent hours studying these things, and still, they always seem to surprise me in the worst ways."

Azriel chuckled softly at my frustration, his eyes glinting with amusement as the blade clattered back into the box. "I share that sentiment." He nodded, picking up another blade from the box, turning it over in his scarred hands. 

The way he looked at the blade, the tension in his jaw, the slither of his shadows over his wing tips...

"You have faced Hybern recently?"

Azriel’s gaze lifted, and for a moment, a shadow passed over his expression, like a storm cloud rolling through on an otherwise clear day. "Yes," he said simply, his tone clipped but not unkind. He didn’t elaborate, but I could sense the weight of his memories hanging in the silence that followed.

I decided not to press this topic further, knowing a topic change was needed. I turned to the small window, watching the rain continue to batter down outside. I opened my mouth to speak but Azriel beat me to it.

"So...when will you finish this new arrowhead you were doodling?" He leaned back slightly in his chair, eyes flicking over the forge one more time. 

I laughed, the sound surprising me as much as it seemed to surprise him. "Honestly, I don’t know. I hadn’t even thought that far ahead. It was just a random idea."

Azriel tilted his head, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Well, if you ever do get it finished, I’d be interested in seeing it in action. Might be something worth testing in real conditions."

"Hmm...it'll be a while before I finalise the design, let alone forge it," I muse, pondering the ideas. I'd most likely have to travel to one of the libraries or ask a scholar somewhere if they could somehow attain copies of text in the Day Court's libraries. I wasn't keen on travelling that far, let alone go through the hassle that was required to cross Court borders. 

"Our resources are at your disposal, you know that," he reminded me. 

I huffed a sigh, running my hand through my messy hair at the though of all the work I needed to get done. The High Lord's request was somewhat of a time crunch, but I needed to care for the animals and our fields during the day, as well as continue to work on orders so that we had some kind of income. It was just...a lot. It would be fine. I'd figure it out. 

Azriel must have noticed my hesitation, the way I rubbed my eyes to hide my exhaustion, and sighed.

"It's a lot to ask of you, I know, but we are here to help if we can. You're not on your own."

I froze at his words, something about the way he said it cutting straight through me. Of course, he didn’t know. He couldn’t know how much weight those words carried, how long I’d been shouldering the burdens of our household, our forge, our farm. I didn’t even realise how much I needed to hear that until just now.

I sighed, deciding to ask, "do you have access to old texts?"

"Old texts?"

"Yeah..." I reached across the table to one of the books and turned it to show him the cover. "This is an old metallurgy book, though it seems to be the fifth volume. It dates back years," I explain as he reaches across the table. I hand it over as I continue, "and I can't seem to find any of the earlier volumes. It outlines the design of older weapons, yes, but it also details old imbuing methods and there are a few mentions of forgotten techniques that I've never even heard of. I don't know for sure if the earlier volumes will help, but it couldn't hurt to find them..."

I watched Azriel scan the cover, his eyes dancing over the pages before he opened it up and scanned a few pages. "I'll see what I can do." 

"Thank you," I smiled, incredibly grateful for the help as he returned the book to the side. 

A comfortable silence settled between us for a moment, the only sound the rain tapping against the window. I glanced back at Azriel, who was now scanning the other tools and unfinished projects scattered around the forge. He seemed at ease here, in the quiet and the work. Something about the space must have reminded him of the calm before battle—the preparation that required focus, but also allowed a certain stillness. At least, that was how I felt when I was in here.

"I best be headed back," he stood and I promptly did the same. "I'll have my sources search for the earlier editions and anything else we can find that may help. I should have an update within the week."

My eyes almost bulged at that but I hid my surprise. Of course it wouldn't take him or his High Lord long to find the information they were looking for. I'm pretty sure if he wished it, he could have everyone in this Court looking for a single tome.

"Oh uh, great, thank you," I nodded, watching as he carefully picked up the box I had made for him, the bandolier safely tucked inside. It brought a small smile to my face that my hard work hadn't been for naught. 

I wasn't entirely sure what else to say to him as he headed for the door. I simply trailed behind, knowing that I would do another quick tidy before heading to the house for the rest of the evening. I held the door open for him as he stepped outside, his wings flaring at the sudden shift in temperature. So sensitive. 

"Happy Solstice, Azriel," I offered him a parting smile.

He turned back to me and inclined his head in a slight bow. 

"Happy Solstice, Raine."

✿ 

Chapter Text

✿ ✿ ✿

Waking up Solstice morning, I was surprised to hear a knock at the door. Confused, I wrapped a warm robe around my shoulders and descended the stairs. The house was quiet, though that was to be expected so early on - even the roosters had yet awaken. It was only a matter of time before they started screeching from where they were locked away in the barn. They'd been hidden in there for warmth ever since the snow first began to settle. 

They were always so noisy and annoying when they were cold. Moody bastards.

Opening the front door, I was pleasantly surprised to see a post-male there. What was he doing delivering post on Solstice? I made sure to ask him just that as he handed over a couple of letters and a small parcel.

"Never been much of a winter Solstice fanatic myself," he shrugged, wiping his nose on the shoulder of his cloak. He was wrapped in an incredibly large number of layers, so much so that he looked like some kind of pillow. It was then that I noticed the golden hair cuffs he wore, each embellished with dazzling sea glass. I don't know how I hadn't noticed sooner; he was from the Summer Court. I had heard that they only ever really celebrated the Summer Solstice, which is most likely why he was happy to work on this holiday.

I nodded, thanking him and handing over a few coins for his services. I wished him a happy Solstice as I prepared to close the door, the male muttering a 'yeah, you too I guess' as he made his way back across our property. 

I flicked through the different letters, most made out to my father and most likely detailing orders or well wishes for Solstice from customers eager to sweeten him up for a discount. I piled his up where we usually kept them in the hallway, keeping the few with my name in my hands as I ventured through to the kitchen. 

It was rare that I received letters, but I was more than happy to open them. I had sent out a handful just the other day to some old family friends and acquaintances so I could only assume some of these were their responses. The first few I opened were addressed to my father and myself and I grinned at the names written at the bottom before I stood them up in a neat array on the table for him to see when he came downstairs.

His snores were echoing so loudly down the stairs that I knew it would be a while yet before I was graced with his presence. 

I came to the last letter in my hands and my brows furrowed at the brown envelope with the unfamiliar scrawl on the front. I pried back the wax seal and unfolded the parchment inside, my eyes dancing over that same messy handwriting inside until I reached a name at the end. Iva.

She had written me a Solstice card? 

To Rein,

I hope yu have a gud Solstace. I can not weit to ce yu agen.
Enjoy thuh breyslet!

Love, Iva x

PS. I hope I spell yur name rite. My brothur helped me rite this.

A broad smile overtook my face as I read her sweet message. I hadn't written her a card, but knew I would definitely send one before the end of the day along with a gift. There was a small ripped piece of parchment tucked into the card that I'm assuming she tore off of some previous mail they had received since it was addressed to someone by the name of Adrian with an address in Whitestone written beneath. 

I turned to the little box that also came, recognising the handwriting matched hers. I carefully unwrapped the brown paper, coming to find a small box and inside found a sweet bracelet made from some kind of twine and coloured string. It was hand made, that much was obvious, and so beautifully done. She must have learned how to craft these kinds of things years ago considering how beautiful it was. 

At the centre of the bracelet, there was a small, polished stone. It was a deep, translucent green, the colour of moss after rain, set securely into the woven design. The stone caught the light in a way that made it seem alive, and I could tell Iva had chosen herself. I couldn't imagine her as anything other than flashy. The bracelet was clearly handmade, but there was an elegance in its simplicity. It wasn’t flashy or extravagant, but rather humble and filled with warmth. Every knot, every twist of the string seemed to carry her care, and the imperfections only added to its charm.

I quickly brought it up to my wrist, tying it round so that it sat comfortably around my skin. I was sure I would wear it for years to come. 

I admired her handiwork as I began to make myself some tea, spooning the appropriate leaves into a pot to make a rich blend. I could almost cry at the sentiment behind her gift, regretting having not even sent her a card. I would certainly be returning this kindness. 

As the tea steeped, I sat at the kitchen table, turning the bracelet around my wrist, watching the little stone catch the morning light filtering through the window. It was such a sweet gesture, such an innocent, thoughtful gift. My heart swelled with warmth, the kind of warmth I hadn’t felt in a while. 

My father wasn’t one for grand celebrations, so I knew this Solstice was going to be a quiet one. It wasn’t that he didn’t care; he was just...distant. He's always been that way. Work, the weight of the farm and forge—it took everything out of him. But I knew this morning would be like any other. He’d wake up late, groggy, maybe grunt out a half-hearted greeting before heading to either the forge or wine cupboard, pretending it was just another day. 

I finished making my tea and took a generous sip, enjoying the warmth it brought me. I'd always been a fan of tea in the morning. I still had some of the tins my brother had bought me from the other Courts, though couldn't bring myself to finish them. They all still had just enough for a single cup of tea left inside.

As I sat at the table, savouring the warmth of my tea and the quiet of the early morning, I heard the creak of floorboards from above. My father was stirring. His heavy footsteps followed, each one slow and deliberate, and I knew from the sound of them that he had likely had too much to drink again last night. He always moved like this after a long night with a bottle.

I sighed softly, glancing over at the letters piled on the hallway table—messages addressed to him, and like every year, there’d be no festive exchanges between us other than when I gave him his wine with a small note tied to the bottle neck that he wouldn't bother read—a token gift. The book of tomes I had originally bought him, the gift I wasn’t sure he'd even care to receive, was still tucked away in my room. I had spent months searching for them, combing through markets and bookshops, hoping that if anything could spark some joy in his life, it would be those stories.

But I knew better than to expect too much. 

As I waited for him to come down, I fiddled with the bracelet Iva had sent me, letting its simple beauty distract me. The thought of her sweet, innocent joy warmed me in a way my father’s impending arrival could not. I smiled to myself, deciding that after this quiet morning, I would write her a proper letter. She deserved that much.

Eventually, my father appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. His hair was disheveled, and his eyes were bleary from too little sleep and too much alcohol. He grunted in acknowledgment of my presence, barely glancing my way as he shuffled toward the table. I had long stopped hoping for enthusiastic greetings. This was who he was now—just a shell of the man he used to be, weighed down by his grief, resentment, and the bottle that always seemed to be within arm’s reach.

"Morning," I said softly, not expecting any kind of response.

“Mhm,” he muttered, sitting heavily in his chair. His eyes landed on the pile of letters and the wrapped bottle of wine, and for a moment, I thought he might say something more. But he just reached for the wine, pulling it closer and studying the wrapping with a distracted air.

"From me," I said, trying to keep my tone light, but there was a heaviness in the room I couldn’t shake. "I figured you’d want something to help you celebrate." The word 'celebrate' felt hollow, but I couldn’t help but offer it anyway. "I was told it was the best you could get from the Continent."

He gave a short nod, unwrapping the bottle and setting it aside. He didn’t even bother to open the letters—just glanced at them before reaching for the wineglass I had set out for him. As he poured himself a drink, I mulled over what to say to break this silence. I was well aware my gift was enabling his habit, and if I wanted to help him sober up then I shouldn't have set out a bottle of wine and glass for him first thing in the morning...but I also knew there was a chance he wouldn't have been here this evening for me to give him the gift. I was also aware that he would drink regardless of whether or not I enabled him.

He took a generous sip, his eyebrows raising as if assessing the taste, before he took another.  

"What are those?" He gestured to the row of cards I had put up. Considering I hadn't decorated any part of the house, I assumed he would have been okay with this little addition. Besides, they would be gone before tomorrow.

I glanced at the row of cards, momentarily caught off guard by his question. It was rare for him to show any interest in such things, but I took the opportunity, hoping to prolong this moment of interaction.

"Some letters and cards," I replied, motioning toward the table. "A few from old family friends, some from customers. This one is from Keir," I indicated to the one hidden at the side, "I thought it’d be nice to display them for Solstice. Just...something small."

He gave a slight grunt, not in disapproval but more out of indifference. His gaze lingered on the cards for a second longer, then drifted back to the glass in his hand. The silence stretched between us, and I could feel the weight of it pressing down on my chest. This was how it had been this last year—small moments, fleeting and insignificant, never quite bridging the gap between us.

I bit my lip, debating whether I should bring out the tomes. The original copies of the stories he used to read to me as a child, the ones that had filled our home with warmth and laughter back when he was still...himself. Back when the forge rang with the sound of his hammer and our conversations, not with the hollow clink of an empty glass. 

Would he even care?

I stood up, deciding to at least try, even if I knew deep down that the gesture would likely fall flat.

“I, uh, have something else for you,” I said, my voice quieter now, as I left the kitchen and headed upstairs. My heart thudded in my chest as I retrieved the book from its hiding spot in my room. The worn leather binding felt soft beneath my fingertips, its familiar weight a comfort I hadn’t felt in years.

When I returned to the kitchen, I hesitated in the doorway, feeling an odd sense of vulnerability as I placed the book in front of him. He stared at it for a moment, his brows furrowing slightly.

"I found this at one of the winter markets," I explained, trying to keep my voice steady. "The original copy of the stories you used to read to me. I thought...maybe you’d like to have them again."

For a long moment, he didn’t move. His fingers drummed lightly on the edge of the table, and for a while, I thought he might not touch them at all. His eyes flickered over the book, and I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. His hand reached out slowly, tracing the spine , and for a fleeting moment, I thought I saw something—recognition, maybe even the faintest glimmer of emotion.

But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

He let out a deep sigh and leaned back in his chair, the books untouched. "I don’t need this," he muttered finally, gesturing to the book. His voice was low, almost apologetic, but laced with the same bitterness that had clouded our interactions all year. "I don’t need any more reminders of the past." He reached for his glass again, taking a long, slow drink.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep the disappointment from showing on my face. I had known he wouldn’t appreciate the gift, but it still stung more than I wanted to admit.

"I thought maybe it’d bring back some good memories," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. "Of when things were...different."

He looked at me then, his eyes heavy with a sadness that seemed to mirror my own. "Memories won’t change anything," he said, finishing his glass of wine and pouring himself another. His voice was gruff but tired, as if the effort of even acknowledging those memories was too much for him. "They won’t bring anything back."

My heart sank, and I fought the urge to argue, to tell him that these books were more than just memories—they were a chance for us to reconnect, to find some small piece of the father I once knew. But I knew it would be futile. He wasn’t the male who used to sit by the fire, reading tales of heroes and magic to me anymore. That male was gone, buried under years of anger and loss.

“I see,” I said softly, my throat tight with the effort of holding back tears. I turned away, forcing a smile to my face as I busied myself with cleaning up the kitchen, unwilling to let him see the hurt.

"I will be by the fire," he announced and I heard the wine bottle drag across the table as he moved to stand.

I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything more. I didn’t want to push, didn’t want to make this day harder than it already was. It was Solstice, after all—a time for warmth and celebration, even if it felt like neither of those things would ever find their way into this house again.

The rest of the morning passed in silence, and though I had tried to make this Solstice special, it felt no different from any other day. But as I fingered the bracelet on my wrist, a quiet reminder of the small joys that still existed in my life, I promised myself that I wouldn’t let my father’s darkness dim my own light.

Once clean, I went upstairs to dress in appropriate attire for a day outside. "I will be with the animals if you need me," I told my father as I headed towards the front door, my boots thudding against the floor as I went.

He didn’t respond, just stared into his glass, his mind likely somewhere far away. I left the house quietly, my steps heavy as I headed toward the barn and finally allowed myself a moment to breathe. I glanced out to the fields, my eyes dancing over the silhouette of distant mountains and watching as the snow continued to fall, blanketing the world in white. There was work to be done, animals to tend to, but for now, I allowed myself to simply stand there and admire the world's simple beauties. I wasn’t alone, even if it felt that way sometimes. And for today, maybe that was enough.

"Hello my sweet girl," I greeted Mayella as I entered the stables, giving her nose a quick stroke before heading to the storage bins at the other end and mixing the feed for her and her compadres. Little shits, the lot of them. The amount of fences these horses had bashed in over the years still astounded me. 

A loud thud and series of cries came from the other side and I walked over to the stable, peering in at Apple as he lay dramatically on his back. "You really are a drama queen, aren't you?"

He merely wriggled and continued to make ample noise at me until his food was placed within his stall. The greedy bastard was face first in the basket before I had even placed it down. 

"Just like your mother," I shook my head in disdain, "One day you'll be just as fat as her too."

A sound of protest was heard from the neighbouring stall making me laugh.

I busied myself with the horses for a bit longer before going to tend to the other animals. Normally I'd have at least let them out to walk and stretch their legs but given the weather and how hard the ground was, I was sure it was safer to leave them as they were just a bit longer. 

I had just finished with the cows when I noticed a tower of dark smoke spiralling into the sky. I felt my jaw slack as I traced the line all the way down to the chimneys of the forge. He...was he really working? 

I didn't let my excitement get the best of me as I continued on to the chickens and other small animals we kept. The rabbits and other little creatures were all snuggled up when I tried to feed them, so I decided I would leave cleaning their cages until tomorrow given the sudden drop in temperature. I could have sword I'd used a ward over this barn to keep it warm...perhaps the magic was simply too old.

I made a mental note to find the notebook I'd written the magic in as I headed back to the house, knowing I'd need to practice it a few times before I attempted to rework the ward over the barn. I washed up quickly before busying myself with preparing dinner. I would make enough for the both of us, and anything left over I would place in the ice box outside so that we could have it another day.

I was halfway done with prepping the chicken when the backdoor creaked open. I turned just in time to see my father stroll through, half-expecting him to grumble something about getting him some wine or about when the food would be ready. Instead, he stood there, holding something wrapped in rough paper. His expression was, as usual, guarded—distant, even—but there was something behind his eyes, a flicker of something softer than I’d seen in a while.

"Happy Solstice," he muttered, dropping the scrunched ball of paper on the table. His eyes shifted away as if he was almost embarrassed by the gesture. 

I took the package slowly, not sure what to say. 

“Thank you,” I managed, my voice a little quieter than I’d intended.

He nodded gruffly, muttering something under his breath about needing a drink before turning on his heel and walking out, leaving me standing there, holding the package in stunned silence.

I unwrapped it carefully, revealing a small, intricately carved dagger—the craftsmanship was beautiful. It wasn’t flashy or ornate, but it was perfect in its simplicity. The blade shimmered faintly in the kitchen’s warm light, a perfect blend of practicality and artistry. The hilt was simple, wrapped in dark leather, but there were small, intricate carvings along the guard—patterns that looked almost like vines or roots, maybe even swirls. The handle fit my grip as though it had been shaped just for me - not just another one of his projects.

I turned it over in my hands, noticing a small symbol etched at the base, a symbol I recognised as our family crest; a symbol my father hadn’t bothered to use or reference fever since my brother died.

I placed the dagger down gently on the table and allowed myself a small, bittersweet smile. It wasn’t much, and it didn’t make up for all the lost time between us. But in this moment, it was enough.

I sat down on the bench, my body feeling weak. Maybe this Solstice wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

✿ 

Chapter Text

✿ ✿ ✿ 

It had been a number of weeks since Solstice and Azriel had begun to visit more often. First he came by each week to deliver the books and scrolls he had promised me, then he began to appear every other day, and now it was rare to go a day without his presence. I was surprised by how often he came, though understandably so considering his job. I still told him anything I knew of Hybern, as his orders form his High Lord asked, but most of the time I believe he came for company. 

If I was in the forge he would watch, offering to help where he could and even attempting to learn some of the techniques I used when forging the blades. If I was in the fields he would accompany me, offering me a warm coat or some food should I not go to make lunch. If I was working with the animals, he would spend time grooming them and petting their coats.

Though, it had now been three days and I had not seen his face, nor heard his voice, nor thrown an apple at him for his frustrating comments on my work. He had a dry sense of humour, but one that I hated to admit made me laugh more often than not.

The prick.

I wouldn't go so far as to say I missed him, I barely knew the male, but I had indeed become used to his presence. I had begun to consider him a friend, but perhaps I was misinterpreting his kindness.

He had come here under orders from his High Lord. They had gotten the information they wanted from me - well, and my father - so he had no business here. They had no use of us anymore, no reason to return if not for armour or weaponry to be made or mended. Though, I was sure there were equally skilled blacksmiths closer to Velaris and in the Illyrian mountains that were far easier for them to use.

I didn't allow myself to think much of it, not even over the next few days when no word came other than a letter from Iva accepting my invitation to visit. To busy myself, I made the journey to the nearby market to attain some new materials - just a few strips of leather and lace - as well as some more spices for cooking. I had just placed my order with Amira, one of the stall vendors, when I overheard some females speaking.

"It's terrible what happened, truly," one said, her hand placed pitifully over her heart.

"I can't imagine. Scarred for life," her friend sympathised in the same voice. "Vahain said almost all of them were slain. You would think the Priestesses of Cesere would have been safe at their Temple."

"Indeed, though what do you expect when their protection is in the hands of a half breed High Lord," the dark haired female remarked with amusement, cackling with her friend.

The Temple of Cesere had been attacked?

I didn't need to know more to assume that Hybern played a hand in the travesty. What gain would someone get from attacking Priestesses?

I had met a number of females from Cesere, even befriended a few of the Priestesses, and they were peaceful people. Kind. Doting.

I felt my anger blossom but willed it away. I did not have time for anger and I was not going to react. What would my anger achieve anyway?

With a sigh, I payed for my goods before turning to make the journey home. I tugged my cloak tighter around me, holding it together at the front. I made a mental note to attach some kind of buttons at some point so I could keep my hands free when walking.

At home, I was greeted by a large handful of letters scattered about the floor. I picked them up, searching through the different communications, no doubt some were orders being placed at my father's forge. I was already behind when it came to making his orders. For him it had always been quality over quantity, though his magic and skill allowed him to make an immense amount of weaponry almost ten times faster than I ever could.

I piled the letters where they were needed before tidying away a little. I had just finished dusting the sitting room when I heard three soft knocks at the door and hurried over to open it.

"Raine!" Iva greeted me with a broad smile, throwing her arms out for a hug. She welcomed herself inside and rushed to me, wrapping her arms tightly around my midsection in a bruising embrace. "How have I been the one outside since yesterday and you're somehow colder! Get by the fire!

I laughed at her kindness, wiggling my arms free to awkwardly return her gesture. It was strange how a simple interaction with the female a few weeks ago, and then the exchange of letters, had led us to this moment. I don't remember the last time I invited someone over.

"It's good to see you too," I greeted. She released me, stepping back to place her hands on her hips. 

"What a mighty fine patch of land you have here," she said as she shamelessly looked around the house. I went to close the door as she peered into the sitting room before turning to venture into the kitchen, though not before toeing off her boots by the door. "Well, I am certainly jealous."

I closed the door behind her with a smile, watching as Iva made herself at home. She moved ease, resting her pack against the wall and removing her cloak and various layers as she went. Her cheerful energy filling the house like sunlight breaking through the clouds. It was refreshing. 

"Jealous?" I asked, chuckling as I followed her into the kitchen. "Of this old place?" 

"Yes!" she exclaimed, dress flaring as she spun around to face me, her eyes bright with sincerity. "You've got space here. It’s peaceful, like something out of a dream!" Her gaze landed on the small window above the sink, where the view of snow-covered fields stretched out beneath the afternoon sky. 

I appreciated her enthusiasm. "It has its moments," I admitted, even though it could be quite quiet and sometimes pretty lonely, especially during the colder months.

Perhaps that was why I was thinking of Azriel so much? Maybe I was just lonely...

Iva spun back to face me with a wide grin. "Well, I'm here now, and we’re going to make it like a proper Solstice, just like we talked about!" Her enthusiasm was contagious, and I found myself nodding along, even as she immediately began to rummage through the kitchen drawers. 

"Iva," I said with a laugh, "what are you looking for?"

"Bakin' sheets! We’re going to make something sweet, right? You said you had all the ingredients. I’ve been dying to try them tarts you mentioned in ya letters."

Her excitement for something so simple made my chest feel lighter. "The tarts?" I raised an eyebrow. "I was thinking we could have them tomorrow, but—"

"Oh, nonsense!" she interrupted, waving her hand dismissively. "We should have 'em today, right now! Solstice tarts are meant for celebration, aren’t they?"

"What are we celebrating? Solstice was weeks ago."

"Me bein' here, duh!" She said it like it was obvious. "I have also been walkin since yesterday and I deserve a treat!"

I couldn’t help but laugh at her persistence. "Alright, alright, let me get the flour," I said, moving to gather the ingredients.

As I started pulling down jars of sugar and spices, Iva busied herself with grabbing anything she thought would be useful, humming a cheerful tune as she worked. The warmth of her presence was undeniable. The way she bustled around the kitchen, her hands quick but clumsy, made the house feel alive in a way I hadn’t experienced in a long time. 

"Alright," she beamed as she looked over the the array of ingredients we had on the table. "Where to start!"

"I'll get started on washing the fruits if you wanted to work on the dough?"

"On it!" She saluted me as she began to look around for everything she would need. It was no surprise she was good at baking, she'd worked in a tavern all her life. She most likely picked it up from her family when she was a kid. 

"So," Iva said, turning to me as she prepared the mixture in one of the wooden bowls. "Are we expecting anyone else today?"

I shook my head, smiling slightly. "No, just you and me."

My father had gone away for a few days. He'd told me it was a trip to see an old friend and I opted not to question him on it since I knew he wouldn't answer me. That, and it also gave me time to have Iva over for a couple nights. She was adamant she needed to learn to ride a horse and become best friends with one of the cows. Who was I to deny her?

Her face lit up, clearly pleased with the answer. "Good! Then we can take our time making everything perfect." She winked, then leaned in with a conspiratorial grin. "I might not be good at understandin' some of them words in ya letters, but I’m very good at this." She waved a flour-covered hand toward the dough, smudging her nose in the process.

I laughed, amused by her natural charm. "I’m sure you are."

"Exactly, so get to mushin'," she instructed with a jokingly serious expression as she began to knead her freshly prepared dough on the countertop. How in the mother had she managed to make that so fast?

We worked together, rolling out the dough, creating the filling, and chatting about anything that came to mind—her family’s tavern, the people she met over Solstice, and all my animals. She asked so many questions, genuinely interested in every small detail, her curiosity endless. It was strange, in the best way, to be so fully engaged in conversation, to feel so present in a moment. 

"—stuck in the fence," I finished recounting a story about one of the rabbits' many great escape attempts, much to Iva's delight. She was flour-covered from wrist to elbow now, her movements a little messy as she focused intently on forming the dough in perfect circles.

"You have rabbits too?" she gasped, her eyes going wide with delight. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? I want to meet 'em all! Are they fluffy? Can we name one?"

I chuckled at her childlike excitement, nodding as I began slicing the fruit for the top of the tarts. "They're very fluffy, yes. And they've already got names, but I’m sure they won’t mind you calling them whatever you like."

"Oh, I already know I’ll have a favourite," she said confidently, sprinkling flour onto the counter like a seasoned professional—though a little too liberally, as a small cloud of flour dusted the air between us. "You think I could cuddle 'em? Or would they be all squirmy-like?"

"They might be a bit squirmy at first, but if you're gentle, I’m sure they’ll let you hold them."

The memory of Azriel attempting to pet one just the other week came to the forefront of my mind and caused a smile to tug at the edges of my lips. It hadn't gone well at first, but he eventually managed to convince one of them to fall asleep on his lap. A truly sweet sight.

Her face lit up at the idea. "Oh, we’re gonna be best friends, just you wait!" She hummed to herself again, happily shaping the dough into little circles. "So...Raine, what do you do out here all by yourself? When you’re not busy with your farm or takin' care of the animals, I mean."

I shrugged as I mixed sugar into the berries. "I'm not entirely alone, my father lives here too," I reminded her.

"Oh yes, how could I forget?" She hit her forehead with her palm, leaving a mess of flower over her already messy face.

"Besides, there's always something to do on the farm, but I read sometimes, go for walks...it’s peaceful. We also have my father's forge out back, which is always fun to explore."

"I've never been in a forge before," she said, "but we have a blacksmith back home who let me try his hammer out one time. I missed the horseshoe and accidentally smacked him in the knee so he didn't let me help again." I attempted to stifle my laugh at her story, highly amused. "He still walks with a limp when I pass him."

"Iva!"

"What?" She held her hands up in surrender. "It was an accident! I give him free food every time he comes in to the tavern."

"Does he ever come in?"

"No, but that is not the point. The meaning is there," she shrugged. 

"I can't say I ever gave someone a limp when I helped my father, but he did once show me how to make simple jewelry," I shrugged, knowing better than to admit to having handled any of the blades or other weapons he forged. Some males were far too superstitious for their own good, but what they didn't know couldn't hurt them.

"No way! Can you teach me one day? That is awesome!"

I smiled at Iva’s excitement. “Maybe. It’s a bit more delicate than baking, though,” I teased, glancing at the flour still coating her face and hands.

She laughed, undeterred. “Oh, I can be delicate when I need to be, just you wait. I won’t break anything...probably.”

I shook my head, amused by her boundless energy. “Well, we can try next time you visit. I'll have to make sure we have all of the materials.”

Her eyes lit up at the thought, and she wiped her hands on her apron, leaving white streaks across the already messy fabric. “Deal! I’ll make you the best tarts in exchange for a bracelet or somethin’ shiny.”

“You drive a hard bargain."

“Always,” she grinned, then her expression softened a little as she looked out the window, watching the snow falling gently outside. “You know, it’s nice here, Raine. Real peaceful."

I followed her gaze, the tranquil beauty of the snow-covered landscape drawing me in. “It does have its moments,” I admitted. “I've always loved it here. I find busy villages and cities like Velaris a little too overwhelming after a while."

Iva nodded slowly, still gazing out the window before turning back to me with a thoughtful smile. "See, that’s where we’re different. I love busy places like Velaris. The noise, the people, the energy—it’s like the whole world is alive all at once, and it makes me feel like I’m part of something bigger." Her face lit up with enthusiasm as she continued, leaning her hip against the counter. "You walk down the street, and there’s music playin’ from some tavern, people laughin’, sellin’ things, shoutin’ deals...you can stop at one stall and buy the sweetest fruit, then walk ten steps and you’re at a bakery smellin’ fresh bread. There’s always someone to talk to, somethin' new to see. I don’t know, it just feels like...possibility, y'know?"

"Not at all," I laughed, though enjoyed listening to the way she spoke of the city so fondly. Velaris truly seemed like the perfect place for her, she'd most certainly thrive there.

"It's like...you can disappear in the crowd, but at the same time, you're part of somethin’ bigger. And everyone’s got a story, a different life, but we’re all in the same place, sharin’ the same air. Makes me feel like I’m never alone."

Her words held a certain kind of magic, a perspective I hadn’t really considered. It was clear how much she thrived on the liveliness and connection of people, where every day brought new faces and experiences. She was clearly very extroverted.

"I think I'd miss the quiet too much," I admitted, leaning against the counter as we spooned the tart mixture onto the dough. "Out here, it's just...calm. The animals, the land, even the wind through the trees. It feels like time moves slower."

She smiled softly at that, her hands pausing mid-motion as if she were thinking it over. "Yeah, I can see that. I guess everyone’s got their place, huh? Some folks are meant for the quiet, and others are meant for the noise."

She certainly was a loud individual.

"But," she added quickly, her grin returning, "I’m more than happy to bring a bit of that noise here for you."

"I'm so lucky," I responded, my tone dry in a teasing manner.

“Well, you’ve got me now, at least for a few days. I'm gonna make sure it’s not quiet at all.” Her grin returned, infectious as ever. “We’ll talk, bake, explore—everything.” She poked my hip now, causing me to jump away and bat at her hand with a slight laugh. “And tomorrow,” she announced, “we’re gonna take those horses out and I’ll finally get to learn how to ride. You promised.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You remember that?”

“Of course! I’ve been dreamin’ about it ever since we started writin’.” She clasped her hands together dramatically. “Just imagine: me, a mighty rider, galloping across the fields. Everyone in the village will be so jealous.”

“I’m sure they will be."

“And you’ll teach me, right?”

“I said I would, didn’t I?” I replied. “But you better be ready. It’s not as easy as it looks.”

“Oh, I’ll be ready,” she said with a wink, then turned back to the tarts with renewed focus. “But first, tarts. Then we conquer the horses.”

I smiled to myself, feeling lighter than I had in weeks. She truly was a joy to be around.

Once the tarts were cooking, I gave her a quick house tour before showing her to our guest room. We had two guest rooms in total, though they rarely ever got used. I led her to the larger of the two. It contained a single bed pushed up against the wall, a bedside table, and had just enough room for a small chest of drawers and a window. It was nothing special, just an old storage room we had converted.

"Sorry about the size, I know it's a little small-"

"Small?!" Iva interrupted with a gasp, her voice raising an octave as she spun about the middle of the room, her eyes wide in disbelief. "Are you kidding me? This is like a palace compared to my room at home!" She flopped onto the bed with a dramatic sigh, arms spread wide like she was claiming the whole space. "And the bed! It’s so soft! Are you sure this is real? I feel like I’m dreamin’."

I laughed at her over the top reaction, leaning against the doorframe as I watched her take it all in. "I wouldn’t go that far. It's just a normal room, nothing too fancy."

"Oh, but fancy is exactly what it is!" Iva countered, sitting up with an excited bounce. She gestured around the room, eyes wide with wonder. "You’ve got a proper window with curtains that match the bedspread! I don’t even have curtains in my room. It’s just a hole in the wall we cover with an old sheet when it gets too cold."

I blinked, not sure how to respond at first. "A hole in the wall? Really?"

She nodded, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Yep! But this? This is like something out of a storybook." She stood up and padded across the room in her stockinged feet, inspecting every detail, from the soft rug to the wooden drawers. "I could dance in here!" She twirled in a circle, arms outstretched like she was at a grand ball.

"Well, I’m glad you like it. You can stay as long as you want."

"Oh, you’ll never get rid of me now," she teased, though there was an underlying sincerity in her voice. She stopped spinning to look at me and wore a wide, toothy grin before collapsing onto the bed again, stretching out like a cat soaking in sunlight. "I could get used to this, ya know? Livin' in the lap of luxury. You’ve really got it made here."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "I wouldn’t call this luxury."

She tilted her head, propping herself up on her elbows to look at me. "Maybe not to you, but it sure is to me." There was a twinkle in her eye as she flopped back down. "I'm gonna sleep like a queen tonight!"

I decided to join her, crossing the room and flopping back on the bed with a sigh. She was right, it was indeed very comfortable. 

My eyes settled on the wooden ceiling, tracing over the various planks of wood and following their grain from one side to the other, then back again.

"Do you ever get lonely out here?" She asked, catching me off guard.

"I dunno," I admitted, "I guess I don't really think about it too much. It’s just been me and my father for a while now, and I suppose I’ve gotten used to the quiet."

Iva propped herself up on her elbows, her gaze softening. "I can imagine it gets lonely sometimes. Even though it’s nice and peaceful, I reckon it can feel a bit empty, too."

"Yeah, it can," I said, looking over at her. "Especially during the winter. The days are shorter, and the cold seems to make everything feel more isolating."

Iva nodded, her expression turning thoughtful. "I get lonely sometimes too, when the tavern's closed and it's just me in the kitchen." She paused, brows furrowing in thought before she asked, "Do you ever think about leaving? Maybe movin' somewhere less..." she gestured vaguely towards the window across the room, "isolated?"

I blinked, not expecting the question. "I...I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it, not seriously, at least."

Move away?

"Well, I know you got responsibilities here, but if ya ever need a break from it all, you could come visit me at the tavern. It’s loud and a bit crazy, but everyone’d love you, and you’d never be lonely." She grinned, the thought clearly pleasing her.

"I'll keep that in mind," I said with a smile, appreciating her offer. The idea of being around people constantly was still a little overwhelming so I doubted I would take her up on it any time soon.

"Good! Oh, we’re gonna have such a time while I'm here! You can teach me to read, too. You write all fancy, and I wanna learn it." She jumped up from the bed, unable to control her excitement.

"You want me to teach you to read?" I asked, surprised.

"Course I do! I wanna know what ya sayin' when ya write me letters. You write so pretty, but sometimes I can’t figure out all the words. It makes me feel a bit silly." She blushed but kept her smile, clearly unbothered by her own admission.

"I’d be happy to teach you."

Iva beamed at my response, clapping her hands together. "Oh, wonderful! We’ll start after we eat those tarts downstairs. I’m a quick learner, promise!"

"We’ll see about that."

Soon enough she had finished sorting out all of her things and we returned to the kitchen just in time to get the tarts out. Unfortunately, it took us less than five minutes to eat almost all of them and the remaining handful I placed in a small jar for tomorrow, even though we both knew we would finish them before we even fell asleep that night. 

"See, what did I tell ya? These tarts are amazing!" she said between bites, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction.

Chapter Text

✿ ✿ ✿

I'd been out in the cold for hours, trudging through the knee high snow until I eventually made it to the top of the hill. Usually I would have ridden Mayella, but I needed to think and I knew the long walk would allow me time to do just that.

I hadn't been to their memorial in weeks, and I knew it was fine. It was fine. They wouldn't care. They always said how they never wanted to be cried over, but I always failed to reign in my tears whenever I came to see them.

We hadn't recovered all their bodies, and burned the pieces we did, so I built this place for them despite my father's objections. It wasn't much. I had simply carved their names into sheets of iron and nailed them into the side of five large rocks I had brought up here. They deserved more than nameless graves somewhere out there. They deserved to come home.

As I approached the hill crowned with their memorials, a mix of emotions churned within me like a tempest. The snow beneath my boots crunched softly, a stark contrast to the cacophony of thoughts echoing in my mind. I sniffled, wiping my nose as I attempted to ignore the icy wind blowing past me. They were just up ahead, not much further now. 

Kierra, Ivon, Kegan, Levi, and Cyrus.

Their memories wrapped around me like a comforting shroud as I crested the hill. Each step through the snow carried me closer to the past, a past filled with laughter, and battles, and the warmth of a family that now only existed in these silent markers.

Kierra Temples.

My mother's memorial faced the vastness of the ocean, a place she loved. It wasn't easy to see from here due to the surrounding forest and foliage, but if you focused hard enough, you could smell the salt in the air, feel that distant ocean breeze, hear the faint roll of the waves. 

If I came up at sunset, the orange light would hit her plaque just right and scatter across each of the surrounding stones. It felt as though she was reaching out, offering her children—her most cherished accomplishments—a final, enduring embrace, her undying warmth wrapping around us even from beyond the grave.

As I stood before her name, I felt her presence as vividly as if she were stood beside me, a guardian spirit watching over the family she had held together. Through everything, she was my rock, my guide...my mum.

She used to spend hours with me everyday, teaching me all that she knew: how to sew, how to climb, how to tend to the animals, how to laugh, how to play, how to smile, how to be loved. Wherever she went, I followed - like a shadow. I was always with her as a kid, our was bond undeniable, and I missed her more with every day that passed.

The echo of her screams invaded my thoughts, poisoning the memories of the good times we shared with it's dreadful notes of pain. I hated it.

I missed her so much. So much more with every day that passed. I still found myself longing for her again, her embrace, her smile, her laugh. No matter my age, or how mature I may be, I still longed for my mum. I always would.

Her name was situated in the middle of the five memorials, my eyes dancing over the plaque to the left of hers.

Ivon Temples.

Ivon was the oldest of my siblings and the kindest male I had ever met. His memorial spoke of a warrior's valour, though that may have been since I had decorated with the engraving of two crossed blades.

His stern countenance was etched into my mind, a reminder of the protective older brother who had once shouldered the burdens of our family. The scar on the rock, a harsh slash that tore through the stone, mirrored the scar he had on his cheek.

Many years ago, Keir and his legion of darkbringers had been fighting under the orders of the last High Lord of the Night Court. They went into battle against an enemy legion, though were massively underprepared.

Ivon was still new to combat, as was most of his legion, and they had become overrun by the enemy. My brother fought tooth and nail to protect his comrades and get them to safety. Almost a hundred darkbringers went in that day, less than thirty came back, but each one had been saved by Ivon. My big, brave brother.

Despite his injuries, including the blow to his face that left the jagged scar, he had saved each one of them. He was promptly awarded for his bravery and promoted upon their return. I could still remember being invited to the ceremony that awarded him his medal, I reckon my mother and I were cheering the loudest out of anyone else there. 

When I was young, I used to trace that scar on his face and he would tell me the story of how he got it each night before I went to bed - when he was home, at least.

The mere sight of his memorial brought a fresh set of tears to my eyes and I found myself sniffling. I would have given anything to hear that tale again, just one more time. Once more. I would cling to every word he uttered and engrave his story on my skin so I may never part with it. 

I liked it the way he told it.

Kegan Temples.

Kegan was like a smaller version of Ivon, always following him around and messing about with him when we grew up. His monument was tucked in close to Ivons, his plaque decorated with a small bow and arrow to showcase his proficiency as a marksman.

I could almost hear his cold, calculating voice speaking to me, the one that hid a brother's loyalty beneath its frosty exterior. He acted all big and tough, but he was a true softy with us all deep down. I couldn't remember a single instance when he had been embarrassed to hug any one of us, he did it without shame.

When I was young, I used to run to him for comfort anytime I was scared. Some nights I was so terrified of the dark that, if he was home, I would crawl into bed beside him. He never cared, simply shuffled aside and offered me his extra blanket. He'd ask about why I was upset and always used to tell me, 'You are not weak for being scared, Raine. Strength isn't the absence of fear. It's standing tall in its presence and choosing to move forward anyway. The fear will pass.'

I never forgot those words. To move forward despite my fear, since it would all be over soon. I would chant them like a mantra when I was trapped Under the Mountain, anytime I was consumed by fear, I would remember Kegan. My big, brave brother.

Move forward anyway. The fear will pass.

He was always so strong, so brave. He was everything I wanted to be and more. I always looked up to him, always held his hand when I was scared, always looked to him for support. He was my safety blanket in every sense of the word.

But he was also my older brother and consistently tried to teach me to become a marksman as he was. I was all for it and he even made me my own bow, but the second I dropped an arrow and it almost pierced my foot, I became too scared to touch the weapon for almost a month. He was highly amused by this and never let me forget it.

The memorial tucked in on the other side of our mother was a little crooked, though felt no less special to me as I turned to him, wiping my tears from my cheeks with my palms.

Levi Temples.

Levi and I were closer in age than I was with my other older brothers, and we used to get into trouble together all the time - even if it was always his idea. He was the kind of male who could effortlessly charm his way into anyone's heart, which also allowed him to smooth talk his way out of trouble constantly.

His memorial was decorated with a few small music notes and a dagger — the jester and the warrior — a dichotomy that defined Levi. He truly left a void in our family when he passed. He never failed to make us laugh, not once. He was always good with words, and was a fantastic musician.

I could still picture his laughing face, his broad smile that was so full of life, and his beautiful voice. I could still hear him sing when the wind blew just right, his voice carried to me on a gentle breeze anytime I felt so isolated and alone that even silence became torture. It was never quiet with him around.

Some of his favourite songs still bought me to tears when I heard them, so used to hearing them being sung about the house until our mother was sick of it. He would merely grin, disappear upstairs to retrieve whichever instrument he desired, and return to serenade our mother with yet another song that she had yet to ban from the house. It was always hilarious.

He would read me stories all the time, some he had found in the other Courts and some he had written from his travels about Prythian as an emissary for Keir. I still had his notebooks full of stories, and a few half finished songs he had been working on. Even now they brought me comfort on the harder days.

My favourite story was from the time he had spent in the Autumn Court. He had been sent by Keir to speak with High Lord Beron, though the message he had to relay was not mentioned. He had met the High Lord and his litter of sons, and went into great detail about each of them, along with their inner turmoils and family drama.

It did make me laugh. I knew more of the truth of what transpired amongst those sons than I ever thought I would, and my brother's narrative of his experience with them was still amusing to this day, such as his comparison of the High Lord to an angry, fire breathing monkey.

I could feel the tears falling as my eyes danced over the familiar stones to the last one.

Cyrus Temples.

My younger brother. I watched Cyrus grow up. From the moment he took his first breath, to the moment he took his last; I was with Cyrus through it all.

I traced his name with my eyes, and then my fingers, biting back the heart shattering sob as I caressed my brother's memorial. My little brother.

Cyrus's memorial adorned a small shooting star, identical to the one we carved into our matching ear cuffs. They weren't well made by any standards...but I still refused to take mine off. It reminded me of Starfall, and I couldn't wait for the next one, just so that I could wave as my family passed by.

Before all of this, we used to go out to this beautiful field together, as a family, and would lie amongst the snow to watch Starfall. It would be cold, yes, but we huddled together on the blankets for warmth. It was my most favourite time with my family. We would sing and dance and feast all evening, but the moment the stars began to illuminate the world with their glorious light, every squabble and frown would vanish into thin air and be replaced by pure happiness.

I hadn't been able to even watch Starfall in almost fifty years. That witch wouldn't allow it. I hoped to watch it with my father for the first time in a while when it did finally come around this time. I couldn't wait to wave to my family again. I was sure it would look as brilliant as I remembered...

A weak smile played at the corner of my lips.

It was almost like I could feel the weight of Cyrus' presence beside me. He may have been the youngest but he was no less determined to prove himself.

I loved all of my brothers immensely, but it was no secret that I was closest with Cyrus. Partners in crime, as our mother would say.

I spent every free moment with him as we grew up, teaching him everything I knew, telling him all my secrets, him telling me his. I had never met someone who understood me as well as he did. He was so easy to talk to, so precious to me that I'd give anything to speak with him one more time.

I felt my knees wobble then buckle all together. I knelt before the remnants of my family with a sad smile and heavy tears flowing down my cheeks. As I sat amongst these memories, it felt like they were all here with me, all watching over me and preparing to wrap me in their arms.

They were here, only a step out of reach.

"Hi..." I whispered, only managing a single fingered wave.

I allowed myself to feel peace, just a single moment of peace, as I sat amongst my family. The cold ground was forgotten, the bitter winter air barely a thought.

"I'm sorry I couldn't come and visit sooner...so much has happened I don't know where to start," I laughed weakly through my tears, wiping my cheek on my sleeve. "I uh...well, I finished making that dress we started, mum. It's taken me a while but I found the perfect beads to hem the neckline...I'll wear it up here in the summer, so that you can see it."

I had to wipe my cheek again, taking a moment to quell my tears that never seemed to stop. I wouldn't be able to speak if I was crying, not as hard as I was now.

There was just so much to tell them, yet I had nothing to say all at once.

The loneliness I felt from my father's constant absence paled in comparison to the strength and love that emanated from these memorials. I felt a bittersweet warmth here, a connection to something deeper than the physical scars inflicted upon me over the years without then.

Father had never visited these graves, not since my mother, his mate, passed. He could never bare it, and any time I suggested he joined me, I was met with anger. I slowly gave up, and instead spoke of him fondly to them.

I did not wish for my family to know of his bad days or poor habits. I didn't want to tarnish their views of him. Even in death, I chose to believe their spirits could still listen.

Instead, I told them many stories, spoke to them of the life I was living and what the world was like now. It hadn't changed much since their deaths, aside from her downfall, but I avoided all topics about that female if I could.

"...the Shadowsinger is surprisingly lovely, even though you said he was a bit weird," I chuckled, looking to Cyrus.

He had apparently met the Shadowsinger a few times in passing during the war with humans all those years ago. The only thing he had ever told me was to be weary around Shadowsingers since they seem to be 'really weird people'. Since Azriel was the only Illyrian Shadowsinger I had ever heard of, I could only assume this impression had come from the blue siphoned male. 

"But once I finish the arrowhead, I'll bring it up here to show you. My archery skills still aren't as good as yours," I looked to Kegan now, chuckling to myself and imagining he was laughing too, "but I promise not to shoot myself in the foot this time. Plus, I doubt I could shoot Ivon in the ass again no matter how hard I try..."

My fingers toyed with the necklace I wore, brushing over the series of matching blue gems. My mother had made it for me, with the help of my father, when I was young. It was shortly after my first bleed that she had come home with the gems and had fashioned them into jewellery. I had a matching ring and bracelet but they no longer served me well.

I sighed lowly, holding my cloak tighter around myself to hide from the cold as best I could. I both loved and hated being here. It was a...bittersweet place.

I wished that they were still here, and I carried a level of guilt when it came to my mother and Cyrus's deaths the most. The history I shared with the people before me was so full of love and yet I still carried pointless regret. I shook off the thoughts before they could fully manifest in my mind. I was not to blame. I was not the one who wielded the blades. I was not at fault. It was not my fault. It wasn't my fault. It wasn't my fault. But I-

I was not going to allow myself to spiral. Not today. Today was not the day. I had so much to do to help my father. I didn't have the time. I never had time anymore.

A cold breeze swept in, pulling my cloak open once more and forcing my body to shudder. I decided it was time to step away and begin the journey back. I would return soon to see them again, I would make sure of it.

Standing, I said my goodbyes to them all before I left - ensuring to remind them how much I loved them. I would always love them, more than anything.

The walk back was long and more difficult than before, some of the snow having melted and refrozen into patches of ice. I kept a keen eye on the ground as I went, watching where I was treading and holding onto branches to keep from slipping as I made my way back to the small path at the bottom of the hill. I was halfway back to the house when I felt the air shift, the shadows around me seeming to stand to attention and sharpen their edges.

"Azriel."

I didn't even attempt to hide my smile when I turned to find the Illyrian leant against a tree beside me. His arms were folded across his chest, his cobalt siphons illuminating the space between us in a soft glow as he stared at me.

There was something about him today. The way he was stood, the half smile on his face, the purple smudges under his eyes, the stray hairs that fell over his forehead. His entire demeanour was different from usual.

"Hello, Raine," he greeted, pushing off the tree. "You weren't at the house today."

"I wanted to clear my head," I shrugged, though the motion was timed well when a shiver ran the length of my spine.

I felt his eyes drag slowly over the length of my body. Once. Twice.

"You are hardly dressed appropriately for this weather," he noted, assessing my attire.

"You have no cloak," I pointed out.

"I grew up in Illyria," he dismissed, a cocky note to his voice.

"Even Illyrians wear cloaks," I reminded him. I knew their kind better than he thought.

He stood up straighter and began walking towards me, his steps long and deliberate. The snow crunched beneath his boots, his legs carving out a path.

"Been out spying, have you?" I asked, quirking a brow. I hadn't seen him in a number of days and call me nosey, but I was curious as to where he had been.

"Something like that," he shrugged, though there was a flicker of emotion in his eyes. A burning anger hidden deep beneath his otherwise cold exterior. 

"How do your shadows work?" I asked instead, intending to distract his mind from whatever horrors he had seen since the last time he was here.

If he was at the Temple of Cesere, like those females from town had mentioned, I couldn't begin to imagine the horrors he was forced to face. I knew I preferred a distraction when dreadful things happened, something to force my mind to think of something else, rather than spiral into it's memories.

His feet halted and he tilted his head in slight confusion, as if my question had caught him off guard. I hadn't intended to cross a line if this was not a topic he was fond of discussing.

I opened my mouth to apologise but he beat me to it.

"They speak to me."

"They speak to you?" I parroted in confusion. "In tongues I presume?"

"I learnt their language when I was a boy," he began toying with his scarred hands, his hazel eyes dropping to watch them, "I was..."

His words trailed off, as though his thoughts had been ripped away from him. His brows furrowed, his mouth opening and closing. He looked as though he was trapped in a memory, a darkness clouding his eyes as he attempted to formulate words.

I reached out, taking his hands into one of mine. They were bigger than mine, far bigger, and I could only grasp his fingers together as a result.

"You don't have to tell me," I said, moving slightly closer. It was clear he was not fond of speaking of their origin, and I had clearly failed at suggesting a lighter topic of conversation. 

He looked up at me from under his lashes, his dark hair having fallen over his forehead. He was so intriguing, so hard not to look at. To admire.

"Do they tell you anything interesting?" I asked instead.

"They tell me lots of things," he answered.

"Anything about me?" I teased with a small grin. He chuckled lowly, eyes dropping back down to where our hands were connected, and it was like he only just noticed that I was still holding his hands in mine. He seemed to tense.

His scars.

"I am sorry," I promptly pulled my hand back. I hadn't intended to insult or upset him, I had only meant to comfort him. I hadn't even considered that he wouldn't like people touching his scars. It completely skipped my mind and I felt awful.

"No. No, it is okay. I'm— It's me who should—" he shook his head, moving as though reaching for my hands again but he seemed to catch himself. I watched him closely, his mouth opening and closing slightly. He looked torn, exhausted even.

His eyes were as mesmerising as always, but they seemed dull. Perhaps it was the lack of light, or the shadows he so readily commanded, but the bags under his eyes seemed significantly darker than usual. Had he been sleeping at all?

I waited for whatever it was he wished to say, prepared to hear whatever it was he wanted to vocalise. I would happily sit out here in the cold all night if that was what he asked. I wouldn't mind.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, dropping his hands to his sides.

"What for?" I spoke softly, though there was a hint of confusion in my voice. He had nothing to be sorry for.

His frown deepened for a moment before he took a deep breath and looked up at me once more. He just looked exhausted. So unbelievably exhausted.

"Are you okay?" I asked, unable to stop the question from leaving my mouth. Every ounce of my body was screaming at me to check on him, to make sure he was okay. I didn't think I could leave him if he wasn't, even if I wanted to.

"Azriel?"

It was like the sound of his name broke him out of whatever silent stupor he had been in, and that look in his eye, that anger and pain on his face, was gone. As quick at that.

"Yes, I am fine." I didn't believe him. I was no fool, but I was in no position to pry. "I was away, spying," he repeated my words back at me with a cheeky little smile. "I hope I didn't miss much over here."

"Not a lot really," I agreed. I had just gone about my normal day to day routine in his absence, nothing new. Well, other than having Iva visit for a few days.

I also had another argument with my father, though the outcome of this one had been very different than the last. He had stormed out and I had yet to see the male in two days now. I could only assume he was on another one of his drinking holidays, maybe he went to see Keir and was drinking with him. It used to be a hobby of theirs, if I remembered correctly.

"No?" He quirked a brow.

"If you don't believe me, why don't you ask your shadows?" I smiled up at him, "I'm sure they watch me in your absence."

"Where's the fun in that?"

"So you admit you spy on me?" I smirked.

"You troublesome little thing," he shook his head in amusement, following me as I took a step backwards to begin the journey back to the house.

The evening chill had begun to settle in and I was sure it wouldn't be long before I was shaking and my lips turned blue. I took a few steps in that direction before his words registered and a frown formed on my lips.

"Little? I'll have you know, I am taller than most females I know," I protested and turned back, just in time to watch him step up in front of me. He stood so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body. I was head height with his chin and found myself staring at the muscles in his neck, so tilted my head back to look up at him, seeing that he was already looking down at me. Males.

"You must know a lot of short females," he mocked.

"Illyrians," I shook my head at him and his inherited ego. "Always a contest with you lot, isn't it?"

"It's not a close contest, even if it were," he responded, seeming to step even closer to me.

I raised my eyebrow. "Should I be impressed, Azriel?"

His smirk deepened, his hazel eyes locking onto mine with a playful glint. The look he shot my way was perfectly feline and I realised that I really did not want to know his answer to my question.

"Perhaps I should get a measuring stick to verify your claims," I proposed instead. 

"You really are trouble. But I can assure you," he began, his wings flaring slightly and drawing my attention to the hard membranes, "no measuring stick is required. My word is impeccable."

Ah yes, Illyrians and their wings. How could I forget?

"Oh, is it now?" I shot back, enjoying the playful exchange.

He took that final step, eliminating all space between us. His proximity was intoxicating, his warmth radiating so strongly I hardly noticed the icy winds swirling around us. There was a tension in the air as I held his gaze, a subtle awareness, as if the universe itself held its breath, waiting for something...

"You doubt my word?" He spoke quieter now, a hint of something in his tone. What, I didn't know.

"I've always found that actions speak louder," I replied, my eyes dancing over his face. I had never been this close to him before, so close I could see the faint silver scars that littered his flesh, feel his hot breath on my skin, hear the beating of his heart.

I watched as his hazel eyes danced over my own countenance, tracing every outline and curve presented to him. My face was still real, it was still my own.

"What happened here?" I asked, my eyes suddenly drawn to a deep bruise along his hairline, accompanied by the faint remnants of a gash. It must have been fairly fresh considering how prominent it still was.

"Nothing," he turned his face away but I remained firm. He couldn't possibly believe I would take 'nothing' as an answer. "It was a lucky shot, it's nothing Raine."

"It looks painful," I reached forward to bush his hair back and see it properly but he caught my hand in his.

"It will be healed by tomorrow," he dismissed once more and I sighed. I wasn't going to push him, but I knew he was doing a bit more than simply spying these past few days.

"Your hands are cold." He looked down to where he held them, his tone less playful now. "You need to get home soon."

"They're always cold," I commented but agreed with him. It was getting cold and I would need to get back before my father returned - if he returned that was. "You may tell your High Lord that I have been working on the shields as requested, and I should have a rough arrow head forged by the end of the week, but I'll need some more time to figure out how to imbue them with magic before I can offer a prototype." He nodded, keeping his face impassive. "But you're right, it's cold. Have a nice night, Azriel."

He smiled at me, "Goodnight Raine."

And then he was gone, swallowed into his shadows.

✿

Chapter Text

✿ ✿ ✿

"We found him face first in with the pigs," Ardruan spat, clear disgust marring his features.

He and his son, Kaidan, had knocked on the front door mere moments ago and were now stood before me, each holding one of my father's arms. He was coated in a mixture of mud and shit from the pig sty he must have spent the night in, the smell so pungent it took a lot of effort not to cover my nose.

Before I could say anything they chucked his half conscious body through the doorway, splattering what I hoped was mud all over my shoes and the floor.

I felt that familiar wave of anger simmering inside of me, my frustration towards my father palpable. It wasn't fair what he was doing, it never had been, but he was my father. I couldn't get upset with him for how he chose to cope. He had given so much. He just needed to get through this, then it would be fine, he would be fine again. He just needed time. 

"He also owes us six hundred gold marks," Ardruan then added, my head whipping up from my father to the males before me. Six hundred?!

I couldn't hide my surprise fast enough. "Six—"

"You have until the end of the week to bring us the money," he interrupted, fixing his sleeves while his son sneered at me from beside him.

Ardruan was a large and imposing male with the battle scars from the war to back up his unspoken threats. He owned one of the gambling establishments my father frequented and I had only met him a handful of times when my father had failed to pay his debts.

His son, Kaidan, was a slimy male who had attempted to gain my favour on a number of occasions. He was shorter than his father, though still taller than me, and had a disproportionate countenance that gave the impression he was constantly sneering.

In other words, he was an ugly male with little to no good personality traits who walked around with this air of untouchability due to his father's wealth and standing in the surrounding area, but had nothing to back himself with.

He was barely a century old and had evaded all war and conflict that had ever presented itself on his doorstep. He was sheltered and unseasoned. I did not criticise him for this, I would have given anything to be the same, but I criticised his belittling of those that had given everything. His arrogance when it came to discussing matters of any significance with him was beyond infuriating.

He was a swine. I was surprised it was not his sty that they had fished my father out of.

"Pathetic male," Kaidan sneered, spitting at my father's feet.

"Always a pleasure, Kaidan," I grimaced, watching his father's eyes dance between us as though there was something to be seen there. I knew there was not.

"If you do not bring us what we are owed, we will take it for ourselves," Ardruan spoke, as he came closer. I watched him, standing my ground despite the fear that attempted to eat away at me. I choked the emotion before it could present itself, keeping my scent neutral.

He brought his hand up, the back of his leather glove caressing my cheek. I recoiled with disgust, moving my face away, and sneered at him.

"Do not touch me," I all but growled.

"You had so much potential, Raine." He shook his head, as though disappointed.

And then they were gone, stalking off to their horses that stood waiting to return them to their estate. Estate may have been the wrong word, for I couldn't imagine those two males living anywhere other than a dingy cave. I was sure the Weaver's cottage was a close comparison.

I shook my head and turned to my father, knowing I had to get him inside before he froze.

✿

"Are you warmer now?" I asked as I approached my father, taking a seat in the chair beside his. I placed the pot of tea on the small table between us and poured him some.

He was wrapped in a series of blankets, freshly bathed and changed, now sat in front of the freshly stoked fire. He took the tea from my hands, his eyes remaining on the flames over my shoulder.

I sighed.

He didn't bother respond. He brought the tea to his lips, only to sputter it up moments later. "Tea? You give me tea?"

"It will help with the headache," I explained as he moved the drink further from his mouth, a grimace of disgust on his face. 

"Wine," he half slurred the word, "I need wine."

"There is no alcohol left in the house," I explained. There were many bottles and crates hidden in the barn, but I refused to go and get them. He did not need to drink any more right now.

"Then go buy some," he sneered, tossing the mug to the floor without a second thought. It shattered upon impact, the tea spilling across the wood.

"I cannot, father," I denied, his head whipping round to face me, "We do not have enough gold marks. You owe Ardruan six hundred— six hundred!— by the end of the week already, and if I am to buy food for us then we cannot waste any on alcohol or wines."

"Ardruan is a leech," he spat, his eyes narrowing at me. "Always taking, never thinking."

I bit my lip, trying to keep my frustration in check. "Father, we need to find a way to make up this money. I was thinking—"

"Thinking? A female's thinking gets us nowhere," he interrupted, his tone venomous.

"Father," I pleaded, keeping my frustrations to a minimum. I hesitated. "Perhaps we could ask Uncle Keir for a loan. He might be willing to help."

I hated calling him Uncle. Hated it. It disgusted me right down to my very core.

"No!" His eyes flashed with anger. "I won't be indebted to Keir. It would ruin my reputation."

What bloody reputation!

"There's no honour in living like this, in drowning in debts and alcohol. Spending days drinking and gambling," I ranted, motioning to our surroundings.

"Honour?" he scoffed. "You sound like your brothers, prattling on about honour and duty. Look where that got them."

"They died defending our people!" I shot back, my voice rising. "They gave everything, and what do we have to show for it? A father who drinks away his sorrows and refuses to see reason."

He glared at me, eyes bloodshot and filled with resentment. He stumbled to his feet, a volatile mix of anger and drunkenness. In his inebriated rage, he launched the table across the room, covering the floor in a mess of broken wood and shards of porcelain.

"You dare to disrespect your father?"

"I dare to ask for a better life!" I snapped. "I dare to seek a way out of this misery. Keir is a friend and he has offered help before. Maybe if we ask him—"

"Are you trying to bring shame to this family? To my name?"

His face contorted with rage as fist raised, his already bruised knuckles glinting in the fire as he prepared to strike me. It was a bad day. 

"You shamed it all on your own," I glared, holding my ground. It was just a bad day. He loved me. Today was a bad day, he had been drinking, he was sad, he loved me.

I watched as his fist wavered in the air, the anger flickering in his eyes, and for a long, tense moment, he looked at me as though struggling to remember who I was—like I was a stranger in his own home. His hand slowly fell to his side, the rage draining from his expression as exhaustion and sorrow took its place. I'd seen this look before—the regret that never stayed long enough to make a difference.

His shoulders slumped, his face drooping into the lines of age and wear that hadn't been there before. He took a shaky step back, sinking heavily into his chair, and looked at the ground.

"...I— Raine." His voice was hollow, strained, as if the words were being dragged from a depth he rarely allowed himself to touch. He rubbed a hand over his face, his fingers pressing into his temples. "I didn't mean to—" He gestured vaguely to the broken table and shards of porcelain littering the floor, his eyes hollow as they took it in.

I swallowed, the ache in my chest tightening with each flicker of regret that passed across his face. He looked like a shell of the father I remembered, his body worn and his spirit dulled. It was difficult to see him like this, but in moments like these - when he seemed to break, to come close to acknowledging the damage he had caused - it always pulled me back, kept me believing he could still be the man he once was, the father who loved his family above all else.

"I know," I acknowledged, ignoring the tremors that shook my core with uneven each breath. "You can't keep doing this," I said softly, crouching down to pick up the broken pieces of the cup he'd thrown. I tried to keep my voice steady, to speak without accusation, without anger.

He didn't look at me as I gathered the shattered pieces, his gaze fixed on his hands, which hung limply between his knees. They were calloused and rough from years of work, the veins stark against his skin—hands that had once held mine in comfort. Now they were trembling, weakened by too many nights lost to drink and despair.

"Can't...can't keep doing what?" he muttered finally, the words barely a whisper, as though even he was unsure if he wanted to hear my answer.

"This." I gestured vaguely, the pieces of the broken cup cool against my palms. "Drinking. Gambling. Destroying everything around us." I struggled to keep my voice calm, not wanting to provoke him further.

He looked up at me then, his bloodshot eyes filled with a sorrow so deep, it almost frightened me. "Raine, you don't understand. You couldn't...how could you? You're a child." His gaze grew distant, as if he was staring into a past only he could see. "They took everything from me. And now...now there's nothing left."

"There is something left," I insisted, the words catching in my throat. I wanted to reach him, to remind him of the life we still had, however shattered. "I'm still here. You're still here. We can make a life, even if it's not what it once was. We have to try."

He shook his head, his hands tightening into fists on his knees. "A life," he repeated bitterly, his mouth twisting in derision. "What life? This...this is not life, Raine. My mate, my sons—" His voice cracked on the last word, his pain seeping through his words. "I have nothing." 

You have me, but the words were stuck in my throat. I swallowed, letting the silence stretch between us. 

They were my everything too. They were my mother, my brothers, my family...they meant everything to me too. I missed them too. I mourned them too. I wallowed in despair too. I longed for their embrace too. I wanted them back too. 

"We—You. You have to go on," I said. "You have to live for them. Honour them by trying. Please." Please. I just wanted my father back.

For a long, fragile moment, he looked at me, something like recognition flickering across his face. Then his expression hardened again, the stubborn, weary man I'd known for so long taking over. He grunted, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet. "Honour them by carrying on," he scoffed, a bitter laugh rasping from his throat. "The dead don't care about honour, Raine. The dead don't care about anything. Stop living in those stupid stories of yours."

He stumbled, clutching the arm of his chair, and looked around the room, his gaze settling on the fireplace. "I'm going to bed," he muttered, waving a hand dismissively. "If I'm lucky, I won't wake up. Might be the best thing that could happen."

The words sliced through me, the despair in them more chilling than any drunken anger. I felt my heart twist, but I fought to keep my expression calm.

"Clean up this mess," he ordered as he slipped out of the room, his limp more prominent than usual. 

"Goodnight," I said softly, my voice barely audible. He didn't respond, only shuffled down the hallway towards the stairs to get to his room, the sound of his footsteps fading away until there was nothing but silence.

I sighed, my mind spiralling. What was I going to do now? 

I couldn't abandon him. I couldn't walk away. He was the only family I had left, and no matter how many times he pushed me away, I would stay. He might be lost in the past, drowning in his sorrow, and his anger, and his grief, but I would be here for him. For what little remained of the family we once were. I wouldn't loose him too, I refused. 

I could do nothing but go and grab a dustpan and broom to clean up the mess. It was a small mess compared to the chaos that had become our lives, but it was one I could fix.

I made quick work of the sitting room before heading upstairs to prepare for bed and formulate some kind of plan on how I would be able to make up the gold marks we were missing. We had some in savings still, though it was nowhere near enough to pay Ardruan. We weren't poor by any means but this many gold marks was extortionate, even for the richest fae that resided in Prythian.

I wouldn't have been so critical of his gambling if he was actually good at it, but it had always been one of his pointless hobbies. Our mother used to tell him off for it all the time when I was a kid. Of course, he never paid her any mind when she scolded him, but she never failed to make her mind known to him.

She would know what to do.

That was it. I just had to think like mother.

As I lay down in bed for the night, I began formulating different ideas in my mind, the multitudes of thoughts aiding in lulling me into a restless sleep.

My father was gone before I awoke early the next morning, our conversation from the night before still fresh in my mind. I didn't sleep much, but it was enough. Determined to make something of the day, I dressed and headed outside to check on the animals and their wards. The updated wards seemed to be holding up well, making sure they remained warm despite the bitter winter winds, and the animals were still as greedy as ever. 

"Look at you lot," I smiled fondly as I lifted the hutch to reveal all the rabbits huddled together like a large ball of fluff. "Come on, move it. It's breakfast time."

The second I leaned down to grab one of their many food bowls, they all scattered and made their way into their larger day enclosure. I brushed my hand over a few of them as I spooned out their food and refilled their water bowls, tickling their soft little ears. 

Father had once been so against us getting any animals that were unprofitable, like the cows and chickens were, but mother had brought home a bunny one afternoon and all his arguments were history. He fell in love with out first bunny so quickly that he had built and set up a small enclosure in our sitting room so that it would never be lonely. 

I smiled at the fond memory before returning Muffin, the largest - and perhaps the most over fed due to her greedy streak - of our rabbits, back to the floor of the enclosure. She immediately scampered off to find the food, stuffing her face into the bowl. 

I laughed as I made my way out and over to the chickens, ticking off all of my morning tasks before heading inside to make some breakfast. There wasn't much time for me to find six hundred gold marks to pay back Ardruan, so I would need to spend the better part of the morning seeing how much we had and making a plan. 

I had somewhat hoped that my father had changed his ways and was perhaps doing the same, had actually gone out to do something, but when I heard the door creak open, and found him stumbling in, disheveled and reeking of alcohol, I knew my hope was futile.

His eyes met mine, a mixture of guilt and defiance in his gaze. I swallowed my frustration and served him a plate of food. Typical.

He grunted his thanks, barely acknowledging my presence. I watched him eat, picking slowly at my own small plate, the heavy silence hanging between us. This was a dance we knew all too well — the dance of avoidance, the dance of a fractured family.

After he finished his meal, he pushed the plate aside, and his gaze finally met mine. There was a vulnerability in his eyes, a flicker of the male he used to be. 

"Raine," he muttered, his voice rough. I narrowed my eyes at him, waiting for what he had to say. 

For a moment, I thought he might actually say something that mattered. That maybe, just maybe, there was some part of him still buried beneath the bitterness and anger that wanted to make things right. But then he spoke and it took everything in me not to cuss him out. 

"I went and spoke with Ardruan last night."

The thin thread of hope I had been clinging to snapped.

"You did what."

He cleared his throat, ignoring my icy tone, and looked away, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Went to him, see if I could...make amends. Work something out, male to male."

My heart sank further, but I forced myself to keep listening, fingers digging into the edge of the table.

"And?" I prompted, my voice tight with the effort of staying calm.

He shifted his gaze back to me, his mouth twisting as he tried to mask his guilt with a defiant glint in his eyes. "He agreed to give us more time. But I had to offer...collateral."

"Collateral?" I scoffed at the mere idea of such a thing. "What could you possibly offer Ardruan that he’d want?"

Like I said, we weren't significantly wealthy and had always lived within our means. Father had never had an expensive taste, so we didn't own many luxuries. Our home was modest, and most of our furniture was hand made. I doubted Ardruan would want one of the family portraits we had hung on the wall, nor would he probably appreciate one of our mother's old trinket boxed where she stored her sewing needles and other small keepsakes she found over the years.

"The deed to the farm."

I stared at him, the words failing to register at first.

"You...offered him the deed to our home?"

Even saying it out loud didn't help it register in my mind. He had to be joking. He just had to be. Perhaps I misheard him.

"I did what I had to do to buy us some time," he said, his tone firm. "You don't understand, Raine. It's a temporary solution, and he said we have a fortnight to repay the six hundred gold marks in full."

"Two weeks," I echoed, numb. I leaned back, crossing my arms tightly around myself, trying to ward off the rising panic. The house, the land, the home where I had grown up with my mother and brothers - the place that stored all of my most precious memories, reduced to a mere bargaining chip.

It was yet another thing he’d take from me—one more sacrifice I’d have to make just to fix the mess he’d created. 

"How could you?" My voice cracked despite my best efforts. "You just...handed it over? Without even asking me?"

"What would you know of these things?" he shot back, his pride laced with desperation. "You're just a girl—my daughter, yes, but these are matters beyond you."

"Beyond me?" I repeated, a sick feeling coiling in my stomach. "I've been the one keeping this household running, feeding us, patching your wounds, tending to the land that you’re throwing away! What about the animals! It’s my home too. I had a right to know."

He said nothing. 

I laughed bitterly, "And even after that, all you've managed to do is get us an extra week! One week!" I stood, unable to remain seated. "You think two weeks is long enough? You think I can just conjure up six hundred gold marks like magic? You’ve trapped us! And now I have to find a way to save us from this, from you—again!"

He shrugged, as though my concerns were to be treated as nothing more than an afterthought. 

“I’ll talk to old man Barlow. He’s always got work for someone with a strong back. You could help him in the stables for a few days,” he said, as if he were offering a grand solution.

I couldn’t stop myself from laughing again, a bitter, empty sound. “You really think Barlow will pay enough for me to clean his stables to cover your debt?”

His face twisted, the familiar look of resentment mingling with that flash of shame. “If you want to solve this, Raine, you’ll do what you need to do. I fought for this family, I provided—I did my part. So do yours,” he growled.

"I—" I had no words. I genuinely had no words. 

"Ardruan is a powerful male, Raine. This is a small price to pay to settle our debts."

Our debts? Our?!

A heat surged within me, rising like flames ready to consume the room. “I won’t let you gamble away our home to fix your mistakes. I’ll go to Keir myself—”

“No!” His fists slammed against the table with a thunderous crack, the force of his magic pulsing out, sending me reeling back. My body hit the counter hard, a spike of pain jolting through my spine as I crumpled to the floor, gasping. “We will not be beggars!” His voice was a growl, raw and unrestrained, his magic humming in the air like a barely contained storm.

The pain was sharp and biting, but I forced myself upright, legs unsteady but holding. A tremor of fear threatened to shake my resolve, but I pushed it down, swallowing it back. 

Move forward anyway. The fear will pass.

I straightened my spine, dusting myself off, refusing to show him weakness. Refusing to let him see that he’d hurt me. You can’t break me, I thought, the words a silent vow as I steadied myself. If that witch couldn't do it, why would I let my father?

My father’s expression wavered, a flash of something like regret crossing his face. But he didn’t apologise. He never had.

He sneered at me before storming toward the back door with a final remark, "Maybe if you weren’t so useless, I wouldn’t be forced to deal with your failings."

Useless?

The door slammed when he left, his harsh words echoing in the empty room and hitting me harder than they should have. 

I stared after him, feeling the exhaustion settle over me. 

If I was going to get us out of this mess, I couldn’t depend on him to help. I needed to make up those six hundred gold marks, that was all that mattered now. Everything else could wait. I rolled my shoulders, my body heavy and mind tired as I thought through my options. The necklace the High Lord had gifted me for Solstice came to mind, though I knew I couldn't sell that here for a fair price, and I would not insult him by returning it to its vendor in Velaris.

But...

In the days that followed, I sold almost every piece of jewellery I owned in the village. It wasn't much, but I knew it would cover almost half of the gold marks my father owed. Slowly, I began to accumulate the money we owed.

That was, until I came home from gathering fire wood in the forest and found my father had discovered the gold...and spent it on bottles and bottles and bottles of alcohol.

The argument that ensued was a bad, and left me with more problems than I was prepared for, but it was a bad day. He loved me. He was just having a bad day. I could still fix this. I still had time.

✿

Five days.

That was all the time I had left to make up the six hundred marks once more.

So, despite the agonising pain and anger churning in my gut, I made my way to the barn. I threw the doors open, already regretting what I knew I would need to do. In the dim light, I searched for that small compartment I hid under all the hay we stored in here.

I pulled back a sheet cloth to reveal the large trunk, gripped the top and used what strength I had to pry the nails away from the wood beneath. The wood splintered but eventually gave way and snapped up.

I peered inside, discovering the small chest that remained untouched and covered in a soft layer of spider webs. I reached in, sliding the chest over the side and placing it on the floor beside me.

I knew it was filled with all manners of trinkets, jewels, and gold that my mother and brothers had once owned. I had hidden them from my father when he had first started drinking, spiralling us into stupid debts.

I knew he would have sold them, traded them for less than they were worth just to get his fix. And I hated it, hated him, for what he was making me do.

I hesitated, knowing how much these items meant to me, but the urgency of the situation demanded sacrifice. I took a deep breath and gathered the precious belongings, sliding the most valuable pieces into a small pouch.

My mother's favourite necklace that she had planned to give to me to wear at my wedding as an heirloom, as her mother had once done for her.

Levi's gold signet ring that he never took off - not until he gifted it to me as a promise to return...he never did.

Kegan's broach that was bestowed upon him after his victory in battle, his first ever accolade.

Cyrus's ear cuff that matched my own, the cuff I still wore to this day.

The ring Ivon intended to give to Anyanna before he died, to bind their lives together as mates.

She died shortly after his death from heartbreak, taking her own life so that they may rest together, saving him from having to wait for her in the next life.

I pocketed the small pouch of goods before returning the chest to its rightful place and sealing the lid once more.

Now, it was time to travel to Velaris.

✿

Chapter Text

✿ ✿ ✿

The streets were bustling with people, their laughter and conversations creating a harmonious symphony that echoed through the vibrant city of Velaris. It truly was a hidden paradise within the Nigh Court.

The air was filled with a medley of scents; the enticing aroma of exotic spices wafting from market stalls, the sweet fragrance of blooming flowers adorning balconies, and the crisp, invigorating breeze coming from the Sidra.

I didn't have time to take in the beauty of the city around me as I navigated through the bustling markets. I was running off of very little sleep and my stomach grumbled with every step I took.

I was to head to the Palace of Tread and Jewels across the Sidra to find the jeweller who would be able to price my items. The various meandering, narrow alleyways led me to the entrance of the establishment, where a delicate chime announced my arrival. The jeweller, a Tartera fae, greeted me.

She was tall, with a lean frame, and wrapped in permanent shadows. They were different from the kind Azriel commanded, warmer even. They faded in tendrils, her body coming in and out of view with her movements, but it was her eyes that stood out to me. They burned like glowing coals and watched my every move as I stepped into her shop.

"Hello," I greeted the female, to which she inclined her head.

"How may I assist you?" Her voice was as smooth as velvet when she spoke.

"I'm looking to sell some jewellery," I explained, reaching into my pocket for the small pouch I carried.

"Let me see what you have," she replied, her shadowed fingers extending with a subtle grace. A small tray appeared on the counter for me to place my items in.

I began fishing out the pieces. First Cyrus's matching ear cuff. Then Levi's signet ring. Kegan's broach. Then the ring Ivon wished to use to marry his mate.

I hesitated on the last item, my thumb running over the jewels a moment longer. I did not wish to part with my mother's necklace, but I knew it would not be worth enough without it.

The glint of white gold and sparkle of gemstones caught the shopkeeper's attention, and her eyes flickered with intrigue. They widened as I revealed the necklace and, for a moment, I sensed a hint of recognition.

Some of these pieces were old, older than most of the creatures that resided in this very city. My mother's necklace was an heirloom passed down from generation to generation for thousands of years.

"These are exquisite pieces." Her eyes danced over the various gems, picking some up to hold in the light. "Family heirlooms, I presume?" she inquired, her eyes now fixed on mine.

"Yes, they belonged to my family," I confirmed, a tinge of melancholy colouring my voice.

"They hold many memories," she spoke as she assessed them, her eyes seeming to close in a prolonged blink before she continued, "I can feel them."

She studied the jewellery meticulously, appraising the intricate details. Her eyes kept drifting back to my mother's necklace, which I was sure was worth the most of the lot. I just needed to make up the six hundred gold marks. I could work on trying to buy this all back after.

After a thoughtful pause, she named a price. "I can give you four hundred in total."

I was about to protest when her gaze shifted suddenly, to the side. I would have turned had she not spoken up once more.

"Your earrings. How much do you want for them?"

I froze. My earrings were a gift from my brothers at my first ever solstice. They had all chipped in to buy me something special, and I never took them off if I could avoid it. They were delicate silver crescents adorned with sapphires.

"My earrings?" I brought a hand up to touch my ear, feeling that delicate weight that had become a comforting constant in my life. "They are not for sale," I replied, a hint of hesitation in my voice. The jeweller observed me keenly, her coal-like eyes flickering with curiosity.

"I could offer you a fair price for them," she insisted. "Five hundred gold marks."

Five hundred...

"I appreciate the offer, but I cannot accept," I replied, my fingers gently caressing the silver crescents. These earrings were simply far too precious to me to sell, even if our home was on the line - they were worth more. I could make up the extra gold I would need some other way, I still had time.

She nodded in understanding, yet her gaze lingered on the earrings, as though they carried a story she was all too familiar with.

I loved my father dearly and would do anything to get us out of this debt, but giving up these earrings simply wasn't an option I would entertain. There were always sacrifices but this was one I would never make.

"I can't part with them," I stated firmly, dropping my hands entirely and allowing my loose hairs to forwards, hiding my ears from her lingering gaze. "But if you're willing to go higher on the other pieces, we may just have a deal."

Her eyes met mine, assessing the determination in my gaze. After a thoughtful pause, she nodded. "Five hundred for the rest." She motioned to the collection of jewels before her.

"Six hundred," I bartered, knowing how interested she truly was in my mother's necklace. If she wanted it this badly, she could definitely part with more gold. 

"Five hundred and ten."

I pursed my lips, refusing to settle at such a low price. I knew these pieces were worth more than she was offering, I had made and sold ample pieces of jewellery in my time.

"Six hundred," I remained firm.

"Five fifty is the highest I'll go."

I eyed her a moment, debating whether I would be able to bargain for more money, but the firmness in her eyes told me that this was the most money she would offer me. It wasn't the full six hundred I needed, but it was close, and I knew it was the best deal I could hope for. I nodded in agreement, accepting the offer.

The door rang behind me as the jeweller carefully counted out the gold marks, placing them in a small bag.

"Greetings, Neve," the male who entered spoke.

That voice...I knew that voice...

My entire body froze, my spine locking up as those memories came crashing into me all at once. One, after another, after another, and hitting me with so much force I could have sworn someone had struck me.

In the dimly lit cell beneath the Mountain, where despair clung to the walls like a suffocating fog, I felt the unwelcome presence of another. It was a foreign presence down here, but one I was familiar with.

"You are hurt," his voice was low and soft, as gentle as a whisper, and full of concern.

"I am fine," I denied, each word burning my throat when I spoke.

I heard him move closer, his feet crunching against the rocks and stone. I attempted to open an eye but I struggled to properly lift my eyelid, the bruising having forced it to swell shut.

"Let me help you," he insisted, his hand reaching through the bars and hovering over my injured body.

A surge of defiance rushed through me. The taste of Amarantha's cruelty still lingered on my tongue, and I hoped, wished, dreamed that one day her torment would finally put me out of my misery. I dreamed that I would one day succumb to my injuries, that I would take that dark hand that would lead me away, so no, I would not be healed.

Besides, no one could heal this.

"I don't need your help," I spat, my words more bitter than intended.

His hand withdrew, and for a moment I thought he might leave me be. But then he sighed, a heavy sound filled with understanding and perhaps a hint of sorrow.

"Please, don't heal me." I coughed, spluttering up blood.

I knew how he was held captive under here, confined to the witch's bedroom and forced to service her in ways I couldn't imagine. He was forced into a life of servitude, while I was forced into a life of torture.

Her time with me was spent trying to break me, and she would keep going until I gave in to her. Until I broke. But if I gave in too soon, if I didn't put up a fight, that angered her more and she would spend longer with me.

I still wasn't sure which was better. Maybe I wanted it to get worse, just so that I could finally be welcomed by the darkness that lingered nearby.

It was always there, always floating just out of reach. Some days, when I had the energy, I would reach out my hand. I would try and touch the dark. I hoped that one day it may reach back to take my hand, and lead me away from this place.

It never did.

And I knew I was in no position to save others, but to those that I could help, to those who had the opportunity to take that dark hand and walk away before their life became akin to mine, I would help.

"You...need to...w—" my words were gasps as I struggled for breath, and suddenly there was a hand on my cheek. His hand was large and warm, brushing back my sweat coated hair— maybe it was blood, not sweat. I couldn't tell anymore.

It just hurt. It hurt so much.

"It's okay," he soothed, "don't try to speak. You need to conserve your energy."

I felt that soft caress on my mind and a small laugh left my lips, which curled up to form a bloodied smile.

"You...you will not like what— what you find in there." My words were broken and spluttered between coughs. If there was any sustenance in my body I was sure I'd have thrown it up by now.

"I only wish to learn your name."

He was right, of course. I had helped him, given him company and healed him for a number of years, yet I had never given him my name. I never asked him his, but he had told me anyway.

Rhysand.

He was kind.

"Raine," I whispered, the first honest answer I had ever given to that question in many years.

"It suits you," he complimented. I felt his hand brushing over my cheek in a soothing manner, keeping my hair from my face as I continued to bleed on the floor.

I wanted to speak more, wanted to tell him how my mother had named me Raine because I used to kick in her womb whenever it was stormy outside, how she used to dance with me and my brothers in the fields whenever it rained, how I appreciated his kindness.

But I was so, so tired, and it hurt so, so much.

I needed all my energy to tell him this: " Theros ." The well known and highly respected High Lord of the Summer Court.

" Theros ? What about  Theros ?" He asked, seeming to have perked up at my words, though his comforting caress never ceased.

"He—" I coughed, lurching to the side. Rhysand shifted, using his hands to support m y head  since I couldn't do it myself. "He intends to escape tomorrow. Protect Tarquin."

"Tarquin?" He sounded confused, but didn't press further.

"He is  his  successor, he will be a good ally."

Rhysand had stayed with me for hours, sat outside my cell in a comfortable silence as he offered me as much comfort as he was capable of. He had only left when he sensed the witch was calling for his presence and I had somehow managed to find the strength to thank him before he went.

From what I later discovered, Rhysand had in fact protected Tarquin by lying to Amarantha about Theros' true intentions when he attempted to escape the Mountain.

I was glad.

"Afternoon, Rhysand," the shopkeeper, Neve, replied, and it was like all my questions had suddenly been answered.

I couldn't face him, couldn't turn to see that face and confirm it. I did not know what truly became of Rhysand after she had been killed, I never even tried to find out. We had been saved and my job was done. I was free.

But he...he was alive and well and stood behind me.

Neve seemed to notice my frozen form but said nothing as she handed over the pouch of gold pieces. The weight of the gold was undeniable, but the emptiness in the second pouch that had once held pieces of my family's history was profound.

"Thank you," I said, my voice soft and sincere.

I turned to leave, though a large body was lingering between me and the door, halting my advances. Rhysand was stood there, a silent presence. A stranger to me now, and I didn't have the courage to face him, to look into those familiar violet eyes that had once offered me solace in the darkest of places.

"Excuse me," I kept my head down as I went to slip past him, feeling those star flecked eyes on me.

He moved, not out of my way, but to face me directly. His presence was commanding, and as much as I wanted to avoid him, I couldn't ignore the male standing in front of me.

His clothes were immaculate, not a single stain or blemish like I would frequently see Under the Mountain. They were smart, and expensive, and obviously well made, and they had buttons, and pretty stitching, and...and—

"Raine?" His voice carried a hint of uncertainty, as though questioning the reality of the person before him.

I couldn't bring myself to meet his gaze. The memories of that dimly lit cell beneath the Mountain were too vivid, too painful.

I tried not to lift my head, to face the male who had seen me before, had seen what I was in those moments. I hated every memory that came with his face.

And then his hand was on my cheek again, caressing my skin with such tenderness I could feel a lump forming in the back of my throat and my eyes began prickling with tears. He was carefully lifting my head up to meet his gaze; his touch was soft, gentle, that same caring caress he had given me Under the Mountain when he came to my cell.

I almost gasped when I saw his face again. His skin was darker than I remembered, his hair longer and cheeks fuller. He looked healthier, happier, though there was a darkness that lingered in his gaze.

"You're alive..." he breathed the words, as though they were a thought that escaped on its own accord.

His eyes, those star-flecked violet eyes, searched my face as if trying to recognise the female who had once offered him company and compassion in the darkest of places.

But I couldn't—

"I'm sorry," I dropped my head once more and pushed past him, almost bumping into the scrawny female who lingered outside.

I didn't halt when I heard him call my name, nor when I bumped into a stranger that was hurrying along the street. I muttered my apology to the elderly male, keeping a tight grasp on the gold at my side.

My mind was spinning, spiralling, scrambled with everything that was overwhelming me and I felt like I could be sick. Not here. No, I couldn't do it here.

I quickened my pace, weaving through the vibrant streets of Velaris, each step echoing the tumultuous thoughts within. My path led me away from the Palace of Tread and Jewels, away from Neve's shop, and into the maze of Velaris.

I just needed to get home. I needed to get out of Velaris and far, far away from its High Lord. I just...I needed peace.

I didn't notice the tears as they fell down my cheeks, nor feel any pain as person after person bumped into my shoulders. I just needed to get home.

I'd be fine once I got home.

Flashes of Under the Mountain claimed my mind, searing themselves into the backs of my eyelids and forcing me to experience that pain with every blink. Attacking blades would have hurt less.

Stop it.

Please stop.

I can't do this. I hate this. I hate it so much. I just want peace. I want to leave.

I can't do this.

I can't do this.

I can't do this!

Suddenly, the world around me shifted. The laughter, the bright colours, the bustling life of Velaris—it all became overwhelming, pressing in on me, each sound like a shattering glass. I needed to escape, needed to flee, but every corner I turned felt like another trap, another reminder of everything I couldn't escape.

My pace quickened, and I pushed through the throngs of people, desperation coursing through my veins. I could almost feel their eyes on me, the judgment, the whispers. Look at her. What's wrong with her? I didn't want to think about it. I hated being watched.

I turned sharply down a narrow alleyway, the shadows swallowing me whole as I gasped for breath. I pressed my back against the cool stone wall, fingers digging into the rough surface as if it could anchor me to this moment. My eyes squeezed shut, and I took deep breaths, trying to calm the whirlwind inside me.

"Just breathe, Raine," I whispered to myself, but the words felt hollow. The thoughts kept creeping in, each one a dagger, cutting deeper. You're weak. You'll never escape this.

A sob escaped my lips, and I stifled it quickly, clutching my hands to my mouth. If I let it out, if I allowed myself to break, I feared there'd be no coming back from it. I could not allow that—not here, not now.

The panic settled like a stone in my gut, weighing me down as I opened my eyes to the dim alley. It was a world apart from the vibrant streets I had fled, and for a brief moment, I felt hidden—safe.

But that feeling was fleeting. 

That crippling weight pressed down harder, squeezing my chest until I could barely draw breath. My heartbeat thudded in my ears, a chaotic drum echoing louder and louder with no consistency. I could still hear the distant sounds of laughter and chatter from the streets, a mocking reminder of the life I felt slipping away.

The nausea rose suddenly, a wave crashing over me as I stumbled further into the alley, seeking any semblance of solitude. I couldn't hold it back anymore. I doubled over, retching violently as the contents of my stomach spilled forth onto the cobblestones behind a pile of discarded crates, their wood damp and cracked with mould. The bitter taste burned my throat, mixing with the salty residue of tears that stained my cheeks.

I hadn't even realised I was crying.

Stop it. 

Please stop it.

I can't do this!

"Please," I gasped between heaves, "just let it stop." I felt so small, so lost. The world outside felt like a dream, and I was trapped in this waking nightmare. 

I coughed, my body trembling as the panic threatened to take over completely. I could still hear her voice, hear his screams, feel the cold ground on my knees as I begged, and begged, and begged—

I heaved again, the memories churning my gut once more. I couldn't do this. 

"Please..."

"Please!" I begged, my hands  clasped desperately against my chest as I fell to my knees before her. The bloodied floor bit into my skin, but I barely felt it. "I'll do anything you ask! Anything you want, please. I will do anything! Please!" 

My eyes glanced back over my shoulder for a fleeting second, but I couldn't stomach the sight that graced me, it burned into my eyes, searing itself onto my eyelids for all eternity, forcing me to be an eternal witness. 

"I...whatever you want! Please..." I continued, the words tumbling out, a frantic plea for mercy. "Just, please—please!"

But Amarantha only laughed at my pain, making a mockery of my grovelling.  Her laugh, a cold, hollow sound, echoed against the dark walls of the throne room. I forced myself not to look at the spectators, though I could feel the weight of their stares, hear the scorn and twisted pleasure in the murmurs of those who watched. I bit down hard, trying to keep myself together, even as fear clawed up my throat, choking me. 

"Look at her," Amarantha crooned, her voice dripping with malicious delight. She leaned forward, her smile stretching wider. " She's so pretty when she begs, don't you think, pet?"

My eyes unwillingly glanced to the male lounging on the throne at her side, his dark eyes watching me; a dark prince in a room of shadows. His gaze was already fixed on me, his expression unreadable, a cool indifference masking whatever thoughts lingered beneath.

The corner of his mouth curled up in a cruel, wicked smirk and he hummed. "Indeed." His voice was low and smooth, but had a sharpness that belied his words.  I didn't know if it was mockery or pity I heard in his tone, and part of me couldn't bear to know.

"Please," I whimpered, "I beg of you...please! Please. Please. Please. Please. Please..."

Her eyes glittered with wicked delight. "So many promises, little lamb," she purred, trailing a finger down the arm of her throne. "So many things you'd do for me, isn't that right?"

I swallowed, attempting to still my shaking as I found my voice, "Anything you want. Anything. Please, let him go. I will do anything, just let him go. Spare his life, please!"

She laughed. The room joined in. 

"Stop!" I whimpered, falling to my knees in the alley, my hands gripping my hair, pulling, tugging, anything to get the memories to stop. 

I hate this.

I hate it.

I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.

Make it stop. 

Please, make it stop.

Please. 

Please. 

Please. 

"Let that be a reminder," Amaranth spoke, her voice edged with cold satisfaction as I crumpled to the floor, my body wracked with silent, numbing agony. My mind raced, but my voice had fled, jaw slacked in horror. "Of what will happen should you defy me again."

How could she? How — I was going to be sick.

Blood pooled around me, seeping into the scraps of clothes that hung loosely from my too thin body, chilling me from the inside out as a bitter numbness spread through my veins. My voice was lost, my mind shattered into fragments of disbelief and horror.

I tried to breathe, tried to make sense of the sickening sight before me—my blood, my hand, the aching nothingness. My head spun. I was going to be sick. 

"Do you think she's learnt her lesson, pet?" she mused, glancing sideways at him, her sharp gaze glittering with amusement.

A touch, light but razor-sharp, trailed along my cheek, forcing my head up. The contact burned, a sick imitation of tenderness as a nail traced the line of my jaw, digging just deep enough to draw blood. I had no choice but to meet her eyes—a wild, predatory gleam dancing there as she looked down at me, a cruel smirk curving her red painted lips. Red lips. Red eyes. Red hair. Red hair. Red hair.

Red hair. A sea of red, flames that seemed to ripple as she moved closer, filling my vision and stoking my fear to a fever pitch. It was all I could see, all I could feel—until she broke the silence.

"Rhysand," she cooed, voice dripping like honey as she called his name, as if it were some cruel melody only she knew. She tilted her head in his direction, her tone lilting with false warmth. "What do you think?"

For a moment, silence. 

I fought to swallow back the bile rising in my throat, struggling to keep the nausea at bay as my body broke out in another cold sweat. My face was harshly turned to face the male. He was stood motionless at her side, his eyes watching. Always watching.  

He caught me eye, his hands slipping into his pockets as he took a step towards the light, though not enough to illuminate his features. He looked at me, and for that fleeting second, his gaze softened—a crack in his armour, a shadow of regret.

"Yes," he replied finally, the word like broken glass as it left his mouth.  Yes.

I deserved this?

"Yes?" She raised a brow, a glimmer of challenge in her gaze, "Is that all you have to say?"

She dropped the hand and my eyes fell to the ever growing pool of red as she sauntered towards him. Her fingers were still stained with my blood as she rest one hand against his chest in a twisted display of affection. Her nails bit into him as she leaned close, murmuring something low that I couldn't hear, though the predatory smirk told me it was another taunt meant to wound.

She leaned into his neck, tracing his skin with her lips as she spoke. Rhysand didn't respond. He stood there, expression unreadable, while Amarantha's laughter echoed against the stone walls, ringing in my ears like the worst of nightmares. I felt my vision fading, the sounds blurring around me as the blood loss crept up, heavy and dark.

"Stop it," I whimpered, fists trying to force the memories away.

A sob wracked my chest as I keeled over, suddenly wishing I was able to crawl out of my own body, my own mind. I hated myself. I hated my body. It wasn't mine. It was ruined. It was dirty. I was dirty. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. 

I couldn't get her words to stop, couldn't get her voice out of my head. I pressed my palms over my ears, attempting to block out her voice, her laughter, the memories that clawed their way through my mind. But they seeped in like poison, and no matter how hard I pressed, her words twisted deeper, digging into every open wound.

Another sob escaped me, raw and guttural. I felt so utterly alone, so suffocated that I just wanted to disappear. I wanted to scream, to cry, to rage against the darkness closing in on me. Instead, I curled into myself, knees drawn to my chest as I sat on the cold, hard ground.

“Mama…” The whisper slipped out, barely a breath, but it was the one plea I’d never stopped calling for, even when I knew she could never answer. "Mama...please."

For a few moments, I stayed there, breathing ragged and shuddering, trying to cling to the faint, distant memories of my mother’s voice, her gentle touch, the warmth she’d bring me when I was young. But the memories were fading now, harder and harder to keep. And the pain, the horrors, the nightmares...Amarantha's memory was stronger than me.

With a final, shaky breath, I managed to push myself to my feet, swallowing back the bile and shoving away the thoughts that tore at my mind. I stumbled out of the alley, needing to get away from the walls that felt like they were closing in, from the city, from the starry eyed male...

I don’t remember the way I took, just the pounding of my heart, the burn in my lungs, and the ground beneath my feet as I forced myself away, as far away as I could. The rolling green of the fields beyond Velaris was a blur, and I barely felt the ache in my legs as I pressed on, ignoring the twisted feeling in my gut.

I somehow managed to mount Mayella, though I couldn't recall the ride back, nor returning her to her stable. By the time I reached the path home, my chest felt hollow, scraped raw. I stumbled up to the old, familiar door, fingers trembling as I forced it open. The silence inside was heavy, pressing against me, the faint smell of worn wood and earth filling my senses.

I closed the door behind me and sank against it, the weight of everything finally crashing down. Here, alone, away from everyone and everything, I let the last of my strength crumble.

And as I lay there, eyes burning, I whispered the only words I still had. "Mama...I don’t know if I can keep doing this."

And for the first time in a long time, that night, as I lay in my bed, I reached out for that darkness in the corner of my room.

But it didn't reach back.

✿ 

Chapter Text

✿ ✿ ✿

I did not regret not selling my earrings to the jeweller in Velaris, but as I approached Ardruan's estate with a little over five hundred and fifty gold marks, I couldn't help but feel that familiar wave of fear.

Move forward anyway. The fear will pass.

I felt that pit grow and twist my stomach, but didn't allow it to deter me. I would not be scared off by two lowly males. They would accept the money I offered, it was more than my father had ever been able to repay before, and I would return in a number of days with the missing gold.

Their little sentries, if that was something I could even call them given their lack of training, stood outside the gates to their estate, grim sneers adorning their features.

How charming.

It seemed as though they were expecting me, since I had barely opened my mouth to inform them of my business when they began opening the gates to the estate.

Not creepy at all...

I stepped through the doors and was greeted by a long gravel pathway. The stones crunched under my boots as I approached, clutching my cloak to fight off the bitter breeze.

The sun had decided that it did not wish to greet us with its presence today, instead the world was bathed in a never ending grey. A few leaves fell from a nearby tree and scuttled along the remnants of snow on the grass.

The estate was about as grand as I expected and lacked all homely warmth. Was a home this hollow really something to be proud of?

I didn't bother think much on it as I approached the bland building, unfazed by its size or the unnecessary gold ornaments that came across as tacky more than anything.

A servant was there to greet me when I reached the entrance, a bored expression adorning their features. They looked somewhere between exhausted and completely fed up. If I worked for two males as sickly as these two, I was sure I'd look ten times worse. Being forced to shovel cow shit with my bare hands sounded more appealing.

I handed my cloak to the servant with little fanfare and they motioned for me to follow them inside. The entryway was cavernous, yet suffocatingly cold, and I found myself wrapping my arms around my midsection as I glanced about the space. The walls were decorated with dark wood paneling and various ostentatious tapestries, with heavy furniture dotted about the space. If their aim was to intimidate their guests upon entry to their home, they were doing a stellar job.

The servant led me through a series of winding hallways, each as cold and bland as the last, until we reached a set of double doors.

"The master of the house will be a moment," the servant explained as they pushed the unlocked the doors. They opened with a low creak, revealing a large drawing room that was dimly lit despite the grand chandelier overhead.

"Oh uh, thank you," I offered a grateful smile, cursing myself internally for stumbling over my words like that. I was not supposed to be nervous. I was supposed to be strong. I was here to pay back a debt and leave. That was all.

The doors shut soon after and I was left alone, doing a slow turn of the space. The room reeked of stale smoke and damp wood, making my nose crinkle in distaste. Thick drapes hung across the windows, allowing only faint slivers of the grey daylight to pierce the gloom. The faint ticking of an ornate grandfather clock stood in the corner was the only sound, filling the silence with an ominous rhythm that seemed to echo in my chest.

I had never been a fan of such dreary furniture. Living in the dark like this was just so...depressing.

I clutched the pouch of gold marks tighter in my hands, my knuckles whitening around the worn leather. Despite the chill of the room, my body felt clammy. I had enough to make a dent. That was all that mattered.

The minutes stretched on, each one feeding the unease curling in my stomach. The oppressive stillness felt intentional, as though the room itself was designed to unsettle and break the resolve of anyone who waited in it. The air grew thick, each breath becoming more difficult as my nerves began to build.

No. I wouldn't get nervous.

I had faced fae far more fearsome than Ardruan and his son. I had survived much more daunting things than paying off a debt. I was fine. I was fine. I was fine.

Move forward anyway. The fear will pass.

The sound of footsteps echoed down the hall, followed by the sharp clack of the doors finally opening. My spine straightened instinctively as Ardruan entered. He was tall and lean, his figure draped in finely tailored clothing that seemed too expensive for the austere, soulless estate he lorded over. His eyes—a cold, pale grey—narrowed the moment they landed on me, his thin lips curling into something that was meant to be a smile but looked more like a sneer.

An unimpressed frown fell on my face as I glanced at the clock in the corner of the room, before dragging my gaze back to the male. "You're late."

His attempted smile shifted into a calculating smirk, his cold gaze appraising me as if I were an insect he might crush under his boot.

"Raine Temples," he said, his voice a silk-coated blade. "A dutiful daughter indeed. Forgive my tardiness, I had important business to attend to."

The implication of his words was not lost on me: he did not deem me or my father's debt to be important to him. I refused to let him see how much his condescension frustrated me. Males.

"I have brought the money owed," I said, forcing steel into my voice. I offered the pouch towards him. "Five hundred and fift—"

He held up a hand, halting my approaching steps. The nerves flared once more but I willed my scent to remain neutral. I would not give him the upper hand.

"And how much did we agree upon, hmm?" He tilted his head, his hand coming to scratch his chin as though pondering his question when we both knew this was just some silly game to him, "Ah, yes—seven hundred marks."

I scoffed, unable to hide my irritation. "The debt was six hundred gold marks."

"Mmh, yes, it was. Until late fees were accrued," Ardruan said smoothly, his smirk widening. "And, of course, the interest on those fees. Surely you didn't think I'd let such a substantial debt sit unpaid without consequence?"

The urge to roll my eyes was almost unbearable, but I kept my expression neutral, my fingers tightening around the pouch of gold. "This is five hundred and fifty gold marks," I said firmly. "That's more than my father has ever paid back in one sitting, and I can bring the rest soon. You can wait a little longer."

"You're under the impression that you dictate the terms here, Raine. I assure you, you do not."

I felt the heat of anger rise to my cheeks but forced myself to remain composed. "I'm not trying to dictate anything. I'm offering a payment, most of the payment, today. Surely even you can see the practicality in that."

His expression darkened, and I braced myself as he stepped closer, his towering frame casting a long shadow over me. "Practicality," he murmured, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper, "would have been your father paying this debt on time. Practicality would have been you bringing me what you owe, not coming here short like a beggar with excuses."

I clenched my jaw, refusing to let his words sting. "You'll take what I've brought, or you'll get nothing at all. You're not foolish enough to turn down this much gold, even if it's not the full amount."

He paused, the room suddenly feeling too small as the silence dragged—then a laugh. His laugh. It bubbled up his throat, his hand landing on his stomach as the sound flooded the room. This was funny to him?

"You know," he began, moving toward a sideboard where an ornate decanter rested. He poured himself a drink, swirling the amber liquid lazily. "I like you, Raine Temples. You're...bold."

"Bold?"

I quirked a brow, lifting my chin to meet his cold gaze. I wasn't scared. I wasn't intimidated. I refused to be either of those things.

"A compliment, I assure," he explained, gesturing with his hand. "Your father's name was a guarantee, once. A craftsman, trusted by Kings and High Lords. But you, dear Raine? You've inherited nothing but his failures."

The blow landed harder than I expected, and I felt ashamed. Not at what he said, I wasn't naive or foolish enough to believe my father garnered the same level of respect he once had—not round these parts, at least. No, I was ashamed that I had allowed the words of someone else to hurt me.

They were just words, no matter how truthful. I shouldn't be hurt, or insulted, or upset by such trivial things as that. Ardruan was merely a bully. He had no real power, and I shouldn't allow him to think he had any over me.

Frustrated with myself for rolling over and showing my belly so easily, I tossed the pouch at him, aimed for his chest. He caught it before it could hit him, a brow raised in question, though his eyes were alight with something akin to anger.

"You'll accept this money, and in a fortnight—"

"Two day—"

"A fortnight," I reiterated, my voice firm and eyes snapping to his as my magic flared. I could feel it crackling beneath my skin as though it had a life of its own, coiling and thrumming, begging to be unleashed. It was a presence, pushing against me, a hand on my shoulder urging me forward as I stared down yet another bully. I hated using my power in such a manner but he needed to understand. "I will return to your estate with the rest that my father owes. By then, you’ll have a total of six hundred gold, and any and all matters pertaining to my father and your little gambling den will be settled. Do we have an understanding?"

The man before me faltered, his skin growing paler as he swallowed hard. His gaze dropped to the pouch in his hand, then slowly returned to meet mine. The tension in the air was palpable, and I could feel the unease ripple through him as he instinctively moved behind his desk, placing it between us like a shield, hackles raised. 

He took a long, deliberate sip of his drink, a contemplative look on his face, before turning back to the pouch. He tipped it over, letting the gold spill across the desk in a glimmering cascade. His skeletal fingers sifted through the coins, counting them with excruciating precision. Once satisfied, he carelessly shoved the gold back into the pouch, a final gesture of his grudging acceptance.

"You’re lucky I find your boldness so amusing," he spoke, though his voice lacked that level of firm arrogance it had before. "We have an accord, Raine Temples," he agreed, his posture stiff, unwilling to break the barrier of the desk between us.

"Good," I nodded, forcing a tight smile to hide the icy dread that was curling in my stomach.

I didn’t wait for his dismissal. Without a second glance, I turned sharply on my heel, my heart still pounding in my chest as I strode from the room. The servant, standing patiently by the front doors, opened them for me as I approached. I murmured a quick thanks and stepped back into the cold, grey afternoon.

The air was sharp and biting as I walked the path, the crunch of gravel beneath my boots seeming to echo in the silence. The heavy scent of wet earth and decaying leaves lingered in the air, the remnants of a rainstorm that had passed through in the early hours of the morning. It would've been quicker to ride Mayella, but I didn't trust that Ardruan wouldn't have harmed her had something gone wrong, so I had walked.

The land around me was nothing new—fields of tilled earth, orchards that my brothers and I used to steal apples from—but today, the landscape seemed foreign, like a dream I couldn’t quite wake up from. The stretch of land between the village and Ardruan's estate was eerily quiet, the stillness broken only by the occasional call of a bird or the rustle of the wind through the trees.

It was all so familiar, yet none of it felt real as I walked. One foot. Then the next. Then the next. Every step felt heavy, like I was dragging my body through mud, unable to find any kind of relief.

When I reached the edge of the woodland, where the trees grew thick and tall, their branches heavy with rainwater, something inside me snapped. The first tear fell, then another, and soon they were streaming down my face, warm against the coldness of the air. My breathing became ragged, chest tight, as I leaned back against the rough bark of a nearby tree, my hand pressed to my heart as if to hold the pain inside. But it was too much. It was all too much.

I pulled at my clothes. Tight. It was all too tight. I couldn't breathe!

Why did it always have to be me?

Why wasn't any of it fair?

I just wanted peace. I just wanted to be left alone. I just wanted a quiet life; to work on the farm, and have dinner with my father like we used to, and pretend that everything was okay. No Hybern, no mountain, no pain, no red. Just...normal.

Why could the Cauldron, or whatever power or gods presided over these lands—why could they not be nice to me? Why did they never show me kindness? What had I done to offend them so?

I closed my eyes, trying to steady my breathing, but the ache in my chest only deepened, the weight of the world pressing down harder with each passing second.

What had I done to deserve all of this?

My knees buckled, and I slid down the rough bark, my fingers threading through my hair and tugging at my scalp. The sobs came quietly, the way they always did. Silent, strangled things that curled in my chest and stole the breath from my lungs. I pressed my forehead against my drawn-up knees, clenching my jaw to stop the sounds from spilling free. I had done what I needed to do. I had gotten two more weeks. But why did it still feel like I was losing?

A rustling in the trees made me stiffen, and in an instant I wiped my face and forced myself to stand. My shaking hands tucked themselves behind my back as my eyes landed on the two kids running through the woods. 

Arrietty and Aden. 

Relief flooded me at the sight of the twins, though I barely had time to process it before Arrietty let out a gasp.

"Raine!" she exclaimed, her broad smile splitting across her freckled face. Aden, less exuberant than his sister, came to a stop beside her, his dark curls falling into his eyes.

They'd obviously been playing, given the wooden swords clutched in their hands, the mud streaked across their tunics and boots, and the slight flush to their cheeks from running.

Their mother was a friend of mine, in a way. I had only met them recently since their parents occasionally asked me to watch over them when they had to leave town. They lived nearby, their family ran the small apothecary just past the square. Their father had been a doctor before he was blinded in battle over three centuries ago, and their mother had taken up the trade in his place. 

They were sweet kids.

I forced a smile, smoothing my hands over my tunic as if that would help to hide the multitude of thoughts running through my mind. "What are you two troublemakers up to?"

"We're training!" Arrietty declared, brandishing her sword like a true warrior. "Aden's terrible, though. I think I'd have to save him if we ever got attacked."

Aden huffed, crossing his arms. "You only win because you don't follow the rules."

"Rules don't matter in a real fight," she shot back smugly.

A genuine laugh broke from my lips, surprising even myself. "That's debatable." That all depended on the honour of the person you were fighting. "But I suppose it's good to be prepared."

Arrietty beamed, clearly taking my words as validation, while Aden looked up at me with a furrowed brow. He was always the quieter one, more observant. His gaze flickered over me, assessing. "Are you okay?" he asked softly.

"Yeah," I nodded without hesitation. "Course I am."

Arrietty nudged her brother with her elbow. "Aden, don't be rude."

"It's not rude if it's true," he muttered.

I was tired—gods, I was tired of pretending. But these were just children. I wasn't about to unravel my soul to two kids who'd barely lived over a decade. Besides, I'd be fine. So I knelt down in front of them, brushing a curl from Aden's forehead. "Of course. Just a long day, that's all."

"Did someone upset you?" Arrietty asked, her expression shifting into something more serious. "Because if they did, I'll tell Mama, and she'll hex them."

I smiled for real this time as I returned to my full height. "Your mother doesn't hex people."

"She could if she wanted to," Arrietty shot back, crossing her arms. "And Aden and I could help. We know how to make itching powder."

Aden nodded solemnly. "It works really well. We tested it on the baker's son."

My brows lifted. "And how did that go?"

"He chased us through town," Aden said, shrugging. "It was fun."

Arrietty tilted her head, eyes still scanning my face. "Are you sure you're okay?"

I broadened my smile and bent down slightly so we were at eye level. "I'm okay," I told her gently. "But thank you for worrying about me."

She nodded, satisfied enough. Then her expression turned mischievous. "Well, if you're sure you don't need us to hex anyone, you can walk us home instead. That way you don't have to be alone."

Aden nodded. "Mama says it's not safe to be alone when you're sad."

Oh, it was me that didn't want to be alone, was it? Not the two of them getting scared because it'll be dark soon or anything, not at all. It wasn't like they'd pulled this trick on me...I didn't even know how many times now.

"Alright," I murmured, straightening. "Let's go."

We had barely made it back to the path leading to the village before the pair were back to swinging their swords and jogging around me in their own version of a mock battle. I was just glad they weren't using any kind of magic like lots of kids do when they discover how to wield it. Cauldron, that would have been a problem.

Arrietty came running round, standing in front of me while spinning her sword through the air. "Can you show us how to fight properly?"

"I'm not sure your parents would like that," I said, tilting my head.

She groaned dramatically. "They let us play! And you were in a war, weren't you? You must be amazing!"

My stomach twisted, memories clawing at the edges of my mind. I had been in a war, yes. But the battles I had fought...they were nothing like the playful spars these children imagined.

Still, I forced a chuckle, ruffling Arrietty's hair as I walked past. "Maybe another time."

She pouted but didn't argue, jumping right back into her game of cat and mouse with Aden. The road curved, leading us round past the temple just outside the village. It wouldn't take us much longer to get back—why the pair had decided to play so far out was beyond me. 

Suddenly, Arrietty let out a dramatic gasp. "Oh! Let's race back to town!"

Aden groaned. "We always race."

"And I always win," she teased.

"You don't always—"

"Three, two, one—go!"

Arrietty took off sprinting, her laughter ringing through the trees. With a put-upon sigh, Aden bolted after her.

I watched them, shaking my head with a small, tired smile before following at a slower pace. I was in no mood to go running right now. Besides, I knew if I tripped then I would end up in a foul mood and I really didn't want my day to end on a worse note. By the time I reached the village, the twins were doubled over, panting and grinning.

"I won," Arrietty declared breathlessly.

"No, you cheated," Aden shot back.

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Oh, you so did not beat me!" Levi protested as he doubled over on his knees, panting. 

Kegan, sprawled in the grass beside him, had only grinned. "You’re just mad that you've never won."

"You cheated!"

"Did not."

"You tripped me!"

"That’s called strategy, little brother."

Levi lunged for him, but Kegan was already rolling away, laughing as he jumped to his feet and darted behind Ivon. "Protect me, Ivon! He's gone mad!"

"Fuck you all," Levi frowned, turning to me and throwing a sweaty arm over my shoulder. "You're the official judge, Raine. Who won?"

"Ew," I shoved his arm off of me, grimacing at the feel of his sweaty skin. "You all stink."

"Oh, and you don't?" Levi scoffed, lifting his arm and preparing to shove my face into his armpit. 

"Stop! I swear to the gods—No! Don't you dare!" I screamed, dashing away from him. 

Levi chased after me, his laughter echoing through the warm summer air. "C'mere, little sister! Accept your fate!"

"Never!" I shrieked, dodging around Cyrus, who yelped as I nearly bowled him over.

"Hey!" he protested, shaking out his wings.

"Sorry, sorry!" I called, skidding to a halt just as Levi lunged again.

I twisted at the last second, sending him crashing into Kegan, who had been too busy laughing to move out of the way. They tumbled to the ground in a heap of limbs and curses.

I gasped, throwing a hand over my mouth. "Oops."

"Get off, fatass!" Kegan groaned, shoving Levi into the dirt, which only resulted in a brawl breaking out between the pair, each trying to pin the other.

"You know," Cyrus came sauntering over, interrupting their squabble. "I think Raine has a point. We do all smell..."

I didn't like the tone he was using, and I was right not to since seconds later I was thrown over Cyrus's shoulder and my brothers were herding me towards the lake.

Fuck.

A fond smile graced my features at the memory of my brothers. We had always been close, even though our ages were decades apart. 

I kept a close eye on the twins as we ventured along the street towards their parents' shop, unsurprised to find their mother stood out front with her hands on her hips and a stern frown. 

"And where have you two been?" She all but demanded, raising her brows expectantly. 

Arrietty skidded to a stop just short of their mother, Aden almost slamming into her back but managed to stop in time.

"Training," Arrietty answered, lifting her wooden sword as proof.

"We weren’t that far," Aden mumbled.

Their mother, Sylva, sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before shifting her sharp gaze to me. "Raine," she said, exasperation laced with fondness. "I assume you were keeping an eye on them?"

I lifted my hands. "More like they found me and decided I was their escort home."

Sylva huffed, shaking her head. "Those two could charm the stars out of the sky if they tried." She stepped forward, ruffling Aden’s curls before smoothing a hand over Arrietty’s shoulder. "Inside. Now. Wash up before dinner."

"But Mama—"

"Now," Sylva repeated, voice brooking no argument.

With identical sighs of defeat, the twins trudged inside, their bickering resuming the moment they stepped through the doorway.

"Thanks for watching them, stop by for some tea soon won't you?" Sylva smiled.

"I'd be delighted. Have a good night!" I waved goodbye as I turned to make the rest of my journey home. 

Now alone, I released a shaky breath and pressed a hand to my forehead. 

Two more weeks.

Two weeks to find a way out of this.

I could do this. I'd find the rest of the money. I had to. I wasn't about to let Ardruan win, to think that he could bully me and have me lay down and roll over. No, I would not let males like him think they were bigger and better than the rest of us just because they bought themselves power.

The house was empty when I arrived and dinner was quiet, my father only making an appearance shortly before midnight and helping himself to a bowl of the stew that sat over the fire.

He slumped into his armchair with a grunt, spoon in hand as he began to eat. He ate like nothing was wrong, like had hadn't sold us out, like—

"I paid off most of your debt," I spoke and watched as his hand froze on its way to his mouth.

"To Ardruan?"

"We have two weeks to attain the remaining fifty marks," I explained.

He lowered the spoon slowly, his gaze snapping to mine, dark and unreadable. For a moment, he said nothing—just sat there, the firelight casting deep shadows across his weathered face.

Then he scoffed. "And how in the hells did you manage that?"

"I sold what I could, traded old jewels and silver cups from the cupboard," I shrugged, almost dismissively, like it was no big deal, like I hadn't spent hours crying over the lost items. My stomach twisted at the mere thought of pawning them away, of letting those last remnants of my family slip through my fingers.

His expression twisted, something ugly flashing in his bloodshot eyes. "You did what?"

"It was either that or let Ardruan drag you through the streets for not paying him and then take the house," I shot back, arms crossing over my chest. 

His spoon clattered into the bowl. "You think I wanted you to do that?" His voice rose, slurred at the edges. "Those things weren’t yours to sell, child."

I stiffened. "They weren’t yours to waste, either."

His chair scraped against the wooden floor as he stood abruptly. "You’ve got some mouth on you."

I forced myself to hold my ground, even as his looming frame cast a long shadow over me. "And you’ve got a debt. I’ve paid most of it off. You don’t get to be angry about how I did it."

His lips curled back. "You think you’re so gods-damned clever, don’t you? Females and your little minds, always thinking you're better than us."

"No," I denied, shuffling back from the growing anger that flared in his eyes. I was just so tired of it all. 

Why couldn't he be the father I grew up with? Why couldn't he love me? Why couldn't he just...just not. For once, could he just not?

I took the slap, barely flinching at the sting that burned my skin, at the cruel words he threw at me, at the flare of power that filled the room. He was angry. He was always angry.

I apologised, though I couldn't remember what for. Nothing. Everything. All of it. None of it. I just wanted him to stop. Wanted all of this to stop. I was so tired of it all. 

"You'll never fill their place, Raine," he glared. "Never. No matter how much you try to fix things."

Those words hit harder than a slap. A familiar wound, reopened.

I swallowed down the sting, eyes downcast as I stared at the mud his boots had tracked across the floor. I'd clean it tomorrow. I was too tired to do it right now. 

The room was silent for a moment, the air heavy with the unspoken words between us. My father’s eyes flickered, a trace of something—maybe shame, maybe guilt—passing through them. But it was gone as quickly as it came. He sneered, slumping back into his chair, turning his gaze away from me as if I was no longer worth his attention.

"We still need the fifty marks," I reminded him.

"Get out," he muttered, his voice barely audible.

So I left.

✿

Chapter Text

Azriel's PoV
༄ ༄ ༄

I stood in the corner of the room, listening as Rhys and Cass discussed the training in the Illyrian Camps. Cass had gone to visit Windhaven the other day to see how the females were being trained, only to discover they weren't being trained at all.

To say he was outraged was an understatement.

The conversation had been going on for a while now, the two of them figuring out ways to handle the Camp Lords' insubordination alongside killing off their rogue bands elsewhere. The bands were still around, though their numbers had significantly dwindled as of late. I knew better than to offer my perspective on the situation in the Camps since I still believed we should simply instigate new leadership throughout the Camps as a whole. 

A few moments later Cass stood and made his way from the room, probably headed out to go and find himself some breakfast. I remained behind to speak with Rhys regarding the most recent attack in Sangravah. Cass normally would have stayed but he wasn't in the right headspace to handle that kind of conversation, especially not right now.

The females we saved from Sangravah had been taken to the library at the House of Wind and Mor was there now speaking with them, ensuring they were being well looked after. I was sure Rhys planned to go join her after his multitude of meetings this morning. I wasn't sure of the details, but I'd heard some of the other Counsellors in Velaris were eager to meet with him more frequently following his absence.

I did not envy him.

I had been so busy handling the situation in Sangravah and monitoring our other Temples, alongside my other duties, these last few days, that I hadn't even had the chance to go out to visit Raine. I didn't know what it was about the female, but I enjoyed her company more than I was used to with others.

Most individuals would begin to frustrate me after a while, or have that obvious look of criticism on their face when I opted to speak only a few words to them, but not Raine. She never looked at me with pity, or discontent. She made me want to talk and never once wore any kind of judgement for what I said.

She was a good friend, if I could even call her that considering our initial meeting was under...peculiar circumstances.

"Everything okay Rhys?" I asked as I took the seat opposite him. He looked to be in deep thought, chin resting in his hand as he mulled over whatever was spinning through his mind.

He got like this a lot.

He was not the same as he was before Under the Mountain, not that we had expected him to be, and though he'd mentioned small pieces of what occurred, I knew he would never divulge the worst of it. He never was one to allow others to shoulder his burdens.

I could scarcely imagine what he went through, what he was forced to endure while he was trapped there. My shadows came to me some nights, informing me of his distress, but he always brushed it off as silly nightmares when I asked. I soon stopped asking as much, but made sure to frequently remind him I was here to talk should he need it. I knew better than anyone how annoying it would become when someone pushed you for information.

"Hmm?" He hummed, looking up to me with a newfound darkness in those violet eyes of his.

"Are you alright?" I repeated, feeling my shadows swarm closer to him, as though they'd sensed the darkness in his mind and had gone to offer him solace.

He was silent a moment, his brows creasing, before he spoke, "Under the Mountain, there was this female..."

He fell back into thought and I waited for him to continue. He rarely spoke of it, and I was all ears any time he ever wanted to. I always would be.

"She was locked deep in the mountain, bound in chains. Amarantha used to use her, for what—I didn't know. I still don't. But this female used to come and sit with me, offer me food and comfort, or company if I so wished. She did not have to do it and if she had gotten caught..." he paused, as though imagining what would have happened if that scenario occurred. His jaw tightened, the muscles feathering, but he continued, "she ignored the rules and came anyway, and...she never asked for anything in exchange, never asked to be healed or for food or water..."

He swallowed thickly, the words seeming to be caught in his throat.

"She used to talk to me, help me get my mind off of what was going on down there. Her voice was so gentle...and when I asked her about herself, she didn't say much—she only really gave me information. Information that I could use to help others who were trapped there, to help people who couldn't help themselves. She fed me that information, not caring if anyone there found out, or the consequences she would face if they did. I don't even know how she got her hands on it but she knew everything that was happening before it did. She knew details about those who were trapped with us, about their plans and schemes to overthrow Amarantha and free us all, and she told me so that I may protect them. I did what I could, but..." he paused, brows furrowing, eyes staring at the wood of his desk, tracing the grain, "I never saw her after Amarantha was killed. I believed her to be dead too..."

I remained silent, watching him closely as I processed his words. I did not pity him, I would never pity my friend—my brother—who had sacrificed himself to save us all, who had serviced a female to keep us all safe for almost fifty years. My fists curled at the thought and I noticed my shadows sharpen. They were not too pleased by the notion either.

They had always felt...perhaps 'protective' was the wrong word for how they felt towards Rhys. It was something deeper, something more instinctual. They did not belong to him, nor did they bow to him as they did me, but there was an understanding between them, a quiet kinship. My shadows were darkness given sentience, and Rhys...Rhys was darkness in every form, both light and terrible, gentle and cruel.

Rhys did not command them, but they never shied away from him either. They curled near him like a cat brushing against an old friend. If I was not their master, I sometimes wondered if they would have sought him instead—drawn to the power in his veins, to the ease with which he wielded the night.

They were kindred in a way I did not entirely understand. Darkness recognising darkness. Shadows recognising something just as infinite, just as consuming. 

I released a heavy breath, knowing that working myself up over something like this would do me no good. There was no point in allowing that dead bitch to rile me up, she didn't deserve to have that kind of power over me.

"But yesterday, when I took Feyre to see Velaris, I saw her again," he spoke just above a whisper, sounding astounded, as if he couldn't believe his own memories. "I couldn't believe my eyes. She was stood before me, and she was alive. She was in Neve's shop, selling these." He reached into one of his desk drawers to pull out a folded piece of cloth. He placed it on the wood between us, pulling back the corners to display a small collection of jewels, the light catching on the various metals and precious stones.

My brows drew together as my gaze landed on a familiar ear cuff. Silver, shimmering even in the dim light, with delicate etchings forming the shape of a shooting star. At its centre sat a small blue stone—deep and endless, like the night sky itself. 

I knew that piece.

She wore it every time I saw her.

A sharp tension coiled in my chest, my shadows curling tighter around me as if to shield me from the realisation creeping in. No. It couldn't be. It had to be a coincidence. That's all it was, a coincidence.

I forged it with my brother, she had once told me, her voice soft with the memory. 

It wasn't hers, though. It couldn't be hers.

My mind scrambled for another explanation, some logical reasoning—anything to deny what my instincts whispered. Was there a chance that someone happened to have forged the same exact piece?

It wasn't an impossibility. The Night Court revered its stars, its endless sky. Our night sky was famous across all of Prythian. Shooting stars were a common motif, a symbol of Starfall, of wishes made in the dark. Someone else could have crafted the same design. Someone else could have worn it.

But my shadows recoiled, whispering secrets I did not want to hear.

Because that meant...that would have meant she had been Under the Mountain...

The breath in my chest turned to ice.

"Do you wish for me to locate her?" I asked, my body suddenly feeling too warm, my clothes too tight.

He couldn't have meant Raine. He just couldn't. She wasn't under that mountain with him. She couldn't have been.

"I..." he hesitated, falling back into his memories once more. I couldn't begin to even imagine what he was thinking about, what could have been going through his head. "She did not seem keen to see me yesterday and left the shop rather abruptly. I do not want to torment her, or force her to see me if she does not wish to do so."

I nodded, understanding his thoughts but also struggling to make sense of my own. Perhaps she had forged a cuff for a friend and that was who had sold it yesterday, or maybe she had made hers based off of an existing design she'd seen at a jewellers. This was all just a coincidence. A coincidence.

"I never got the chance to thank her for what she did," he admitted, sounding almost ashamed of himself.

"She knows, Rhys," I spoke now, shuffling in my seat, unease creeping into my chest. "She knows."

"I didn't even go back to find her," he shook his head, voice laced with guilt, "I was too busy—"

"Do not blame yourself," I interrupted him before he could spiral, before he could force the blame onto himself when he had nothing in the world to be sorry for. "You did not trap her there, or anyone else. You are not to blame for what happened Under the Mountain, nor are you to blame for what happened to this female."

"Raine," he supplied and my brain stilled, every fibre of my being halted. Even my heart momentarily forgot to beat.

Surely that was just a coincidence too. But I knew, deep in my very core, I knew that it wasn't.

Raine Temples.

Raine Temples had been Under the Mountain. She had been tortured for fifty years—suffered at the hands of Amarantha for fifty years!

I knew it was her, I did, but some part of me had hoped I was wrong, had hoped that the cuff was indeed just a coincidence. But hearing Rhys say her name had only confirmed what I already feared, and suddenly I felt dizzy.

"Raine Temples," I corrected, watching as his head snapped up to face me, his eyes burning with curiosity. "You sent me to speak with her father regarding the weapons Hybern are using."

I felt sick, my shadows skittering in unease, chanting, calling for me to leave, to go find her, to make sure that she was safe.

"You know where she lives?" He asked, that glimmer of hope appearing on his face.

"I do," I confirmed. He fell back in his chair, releasing a breath, and looked back down to the jewels.

"Do you know why she wished to sell these?"

I stared at the jewels a moment longer, assessing.

"No." 

I was surprised she had parted with the cuff, especially given its sentimental value. Was this a matter of needing coin? Or had she simply decided she'd had enough of them? I doubted it was the latter.

Rhys nodded, thoughtful, though seemed stuck on what to say next, so I spoke for him. "Would you like me to ask her if she would like to meet with you?"

I didn't know why I offered. Maybe it was a reason to go back and see her again, to speak with her, hear her voice. Or maybe I genuinely wanted to help Rhys get some kind of closure for whatever history lay between them. I wasn't sure what motivated me to ask, perhaps both, but I waited for a response nonetheless.

"It is her choice whether she wants to see me."

It was always someone else's choice. It was never his choice. Never what he wanted. He never allowed himself to choose what he wanted. Never.

I nodded, and within the hour I had finished my meeting with Rhys and travelled to Raine's home once more. The air was still cold, though milder than it had been, and the snow that once presented as a white carpet had since melted into the earth.

The sun was high in the sky, blaring down through the layer of clouds as I approached the entrance to the forge. Today was a forge day, if I remembered correctly.

I raised my knuckle to the wood, knocking once. Twice. Three times. And I waited, but there was no answer.

My shadows reached out, searching, though came back empty. She was not here.

Furrowing my brows, I continued my search, letting my shadows stretch further beyond the forge and toward the surrounding fields. Still nothing. The muscles in my forehead twitched, causing my brows to furrow as a creeping sense of unease grew in my chest.

I stepped back, considering my next move. My shadows coiled restlessly around me; look around, they seemed to whisper. It was unlike her to just disappear, especially given the work she always seemed so immersed in.

With a quiet breath, I decided to walk around the property, my boots barely making a sound against the damp earth. I checked the small garden first, its neat rows undisturbed other than a few of the chickens pecking around at some of the shrubs, then the nearby shed where she sometimes kept extra materials, but every corner was still and empty. The scent of forge smoke and fresh metal lingered faintly, but it was clear she hadn't been here for some time.

"Where are you, Raine," I muttered under my breath, feeling an unfamiliar pull in my chest. Not quite worry—not yet—but something close. Something unsettled. My instincts whispered that something was off, that she should have been here, or at least left some sign of where she'd gone.

The wind stirred, ruffling my hair, and my shadows responded instantly, stretching out like threads of darkness, searching. I didn't need to command them—they moved of their own accord, slipping through the cracks in the walls, curling around corners, seeking. I had control over them, yes, but they had always possessed their own will, their own awareness. And now, that awareness was on edge.

This was highly unusual, not to mention dangerous. Hybern was becoming more bold in its attacks, its forces slipping into Prythian's borders unnoticed far too easily for my liking. Rhys and I had been tracking their movements, but they were unpredictable, striking where they knew we were weakest. What if they have gotten wind of Rhys' plans? What if they'd come to find the forge themselves?

A flicker of something sharp and cold sliced through me, my shadows reacting to my emotions as they tended to do. I exhaled sharply, forcing myself to think rationally. She could just be running errands around her village, or making deliveries to the town north of here. Maybe—

The wind shifted and a soft gust of blew through. It was faint, barely noticeable beneath the crisp afternoon air, but my shadows caught it first—lavender and ash. I'd recognise that scent anywhere.

My body went still, my pulse a quiet drum in my ears. It wasn't strong enough to say she was close, but it was recent. Faintly, just beneath it, something metallic lingered, and that made my shadows tighten around me.

I didn't hesitate. I followed the scent.

My shadows eagerly guided me towards the edge of the forest where I found a narrow path hidden by overgrown trees and shrubs. Her scent grew stronger the deeper I went, the path winding and twisting until it opened up to a small clearing I hadn't known existed.

And there, sitting on a fallen log with her back to me, was Raine. She was staring at something in her hands, completely unaware of my presence.

"Raine," I called softly, making my footsteps audible as I stepped into the clearing.

She flinched, her head snapping up, eyes wide with surprise. Her expression relaxed when she saw it was me, but I didn't miss the way her hand instinctively moved to her pocket, hiding whatever she'd been holding.

"What are you doing out here?" I asked, trying to keep my tone neutral even though I felt anything but. In actuality, I wasn't entirely sure what I was feeling, which emotion had won out and pushed me to come here. I just...I just did.

"I needed some air," she said quietly, not meeting my gaze. "It's a nice day so I thought I'd come out here and clear my head."

I approached her slowly, noticing the tension in her shoulders. Something was wrong—something more than just a need for fresh air. My shadows swirled around me, brushing against her lightly, but they found no darkness in her thoughts—just sadness, and something I couldn't quite name.

"Besides, father hates it when I play the flute indoors," she added, motioning to the instrument resting on a nearby stump.

While that may have been true, she wasn't playing when I arrived, nor had I heard it on my approach. She wasn't lying, that much I could tell, but she was hiding something.

"You play the flute?" I asked, eyeing the wooden contraption as she went to grab it. She offered it to me and I took it, assessing the varying sizes of the holes carved into the wood.

There was a rounded mouthpiece at the top which curved into the body of the instrument; two long sticks curved and sanded to perfection. Strips of leather held them in place, decorated with feathers and beads. And there, just before the main body of the instrument, carved into the wood just under the mount piece, was a shooting star.

The same star as the one on her ear cuff, it's blue gem glinting in the light that still managed to stream through the tree canopy. The same symbol as the one on the cuff in Rhys' office.

"My mother used to love music," she said, her voice softening. "She taught me to play when I was barely six years old. I've picked up a few instruments over the years but the flute is definitely my favourite. This is her old flute that she taught me with."

And suddenly the wooden instrument felt so much heavier in my hands, yet more delicate than any jewel or blade I had ever wielded.

"Do you play?" She asked.

"I can't say I do," I denied, offering the instrument back to her before my hands somehow ruined it. They had a tendency to ruin precious things.

"Here, I'll show you," she beamed, taking the instrument from my hand and holding it in her own.

She explained it's components as she set up, pointing out where each finger went and how to make different sounds. I listened, though knew I would never use this information. I had no interest in learning to play a flute, nor did I have the dexterity in my fingers for such fine movements. The scar tissue was too firm and built up to allow such things.

It had taken me years to be able to hold a blade again and wield them as well as I could now, let alone attain the level of dexterity I had. I appreciated her confidence in me though.

"See? That why when you play, you get it to sound like this," she brought it to her lips and played a short tune, the two sounds swirling together so beautifully.

The melody was light, almost playful—like a breeze catching the first leaves of autumn, dancing across an open sky. The notes rose and fell in gentle arcs, each one flowing into the next, creating a seamless and soothing rhythm. I could only imagine what a full piece would sound like on an instrument like this. Mesmerising, I was sure. 

"You can also get single flutes, or short ones, or even rounded ones if you like," she continued with a shrug, the smile still bright on her face as she slipped the instrument back into her pocket—the same pocket where she had hidden something before. "It all just depends on what kind of sound you're looking to make. I've always wanted to try..."

My shadows stirred, urging me to look, to allow them to take a peek at what was in there. It couldn't have been anything big, nor sharp since that would likely tear her clothes. It didn't look heavy, given that it didn't tug on the fabric or pull it taught with its weight.

Curious.

"...though, they are incredibly expensive so I have debated making one of my own..."

I took a step closer, my shadows curling at my feet, brushing over Raine's form like whispers of ink against parchment. They hummed with interest, ignoring my warning as they crept towards her pocket. The little shits.

Raine was still talking, but I saw the slight flicker of hesitation in her physique—the way she deliberately shifted, subtly angling herself away from me. A quiet, practiced defence.

My eyes dropped, sparing a brief glare at the shadows as they curled at her hip, slipping round the folds of fabric like a silent breeze before darting into her pocket. 

A screwdriver.

She had a screwdriver in her pocket. My eyes flickered back to hers, brows furrowing slightly, but I said nothing. It was small, and carried no rust, so I knew it must've been new. 

Why did she need a screwdriver?

There was nothing around us that would require its use. No broken object, or forged piece she could have been tinkering with. I listened, to see if I could hear the whir of a mechanism, perhaps something hidden nearby, but beyond the rustling of leaves and the slow, steady rise and fall of her breathing, there was nothing.

Strange.

My shadows retreated, carrying nothing but a swirl of her scent as they scattered. Her hand moved, fingers brushing over her pocket for the briefest of moments, as if ensuring whatever was inside was still there. Had she noticed my shadows?

"So," she took a step back, her feet crunching the dried leaves beneath us. "Why is it that you have come to my neck of the woods? I doubt you came all this way just to ask about my flute?" she asked, a thread of amusement in her voice. "And if you're here about the prototype, it'll be another week at the least."

I considered lying. It would have been easier to say yes, I had come to check up on the progress of the prototype. That perhaps I was just passing through and had decided to stop by for a casual chat.

But I didn't.

"I spoke with my High Lord this morning," I answered.

She stiffened, so subtly that most wouldn't have noticed.

Most.

Her voice was careful when she asked, "Oh?"

"He wishes to meet you," I said, knowing better than to mention the Mountain and the details Rhys had told me that morning.

No matter how much my mind spiralled, how much I ached with the need to understand her, to know the truth of what had happened, I refused to ask for it wasn't my place to know. She hadn't told me, so it was improper to even know she had been there in the first place. The questions sat heavy in my mouth but I swallowed them down. 

She would tell me if she wanted me to know.

I let the silence linger between us, filled with nothing but the soft whistle of the wind and the occasional flutter of leaves. The breeze caught the strands of her hair, scattering the sunlight across her face in golden shards.

"Your High Lord wishes to meet me?" She repeated back, a hint of humour in her tone, or perhaps it was disbelief. "Now, why would he want to do that?"

I studied her carefully, reading between the lines of her words. I had spent centuries learning to read people, to watch for their tells, to decipher their intentions and determine their every emotion, to read them like a book of my own design. Raine was...difficult, like a book written in a language I had never known existed. 

I could see in her eyes the way her guard went up, and yet I could read nothing else, nothing more.

"He is eager to meet the person responsible for this research," I answered simply, though it was only half the truth. 

A slow, measured blink, then a wry smile was tugging at her lips."Does he make a habit of personally meeting every tinker in Prythian?"

No. But she already knew that.

I didn't respond immediately, only watching as she shifted her weight, fingers trailing idly along the edge of her pocket again. That screwdriver.

I chose my next words carefully. "He mentioned you two used to know one another."

I watched for a reaction, but she didn't give one. She didn’t flinch, didn’t react. She merely nodded, as if the words had little weight to them. But I could feel her withdrawing, putting up more barriers, retreating into herself. 

I noticed the way she had begun to poke her stomach. A nervous habit perhaps.

"Ah," she nodded, turning to me with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Such a time must have slipped my mind." She shrugged, before moving her weight to a single hip and folding her arms across her chest. "I am getting old, you see."

I couldn’t hide my smile. "You? Old? You don't look a day over two hundred."

She laughed now, a real laugh that lit up her face and had my shadows flaring at the edges of the clearing. I could feel them curling round my wings, as though trying to get a peek over my shoulder at the female.

"Is that what you say to all the young maidens this side of the Sidra?" she teased, one brow arching as she tilted her head at me.

She was dodging the question.

I held her gaze, waiting, watching, but she only lifted a hand to rub her thumb over her knuckles, a movement as absentminded as the way she prodded at her stomach.

A nervous habit, indeed.

I resisted the urge to step closer, to bridge the growing space between us. "You don’t want to see him."

Raine sighed, tipping her chin to the sky for a moment, as if the answer she sought was written in the clouds. "It’s not a matter of want, Azriel," she murmured, almost too softly. "Some things are just...better left buried."

Still not an answer.

Instead, I asked, "And what of you?"

That got her attention. She turned back to me, brows furrowed. "What of me?"

"Do you bury everything? Or just the things you can't face?"

She stilled and, to my surprise, offered a small, humourless smile. Her fingers continued to poke at her stomach, now in a steady rhythm. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. 

"You like your questions, don’t you?"

"I like answers more."

She huffed a soft laugh, shaking her head. "And what would you do with them if you got them?"

I didn't have an answer to that, but it seemed I didn't need one.

"It was nice speaking with you, Azriel." A dismissal.

"And you, Raine." 

With a low bow, I disappeared back to Velaris.

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