Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Quiet.

Quiet.

Quiet.

The word permeated every fiber of my being. It replayed in my head with every step I took, my boots lightly pressing against piles of damp pine needles underfoot. I could hardly dare for my breath to make a sound, much less my feet. Weak clouds of steam rose from where my chapped lips were slightly parted. Sweat beaded on my brow, tracking along my face to meet the high neck of the leathers clinging to my skin – the smell reminded me of long days training alongside comrades who’d grown dear enough to me to regard them as family. I wished more than anything they were here at this moment.

“You will strike me down here, but I am a warrior.”

That voice struck a chord in my heart. I began to run.

Faster and faster pine trees flew by in a blur of peeling bark and needles scratching over my cheeks. I ignored the stinging sensation because I was out of time. I had to save them. Surely, this time I would. This time … this time … I would arrive before their heads were removed from their shoulders and put into boxes. This time I wouldn’t be inside a meeting tent and look up when two plain boxes of pinewood were carried in, their bottoms soaked both from where they’d been found floating downriver … and the crimson blood seeping from the corners. This time I wouldn’t watch the blood form clumps in the dirt with an overwhelming feeling of dread. This time … this time … I would save them.

“Look who came running like the good little pet he is.”

I entered a clearing alongside a river. Within the river’s dark, choppy waters floated two boxes. I fell to my knees among the jagged rocks as I watched them go, my chest feeling like it would split apart with every passing gasp for air.

“Come here, Rhysand.”

I turned my head. Standing atop the rocky riverbank was Amarantha, her naked body coated in smears of thick blood as if imitating a dress with a deep plunging neckline. Her red lips parted in a smile as she beckoned me closer with a curl to her finger. In her opposite hand dangled a long knife, the blue hilt coated with bloody fingerprints.

Two headless bodies holding hands lay at Amarantha’s feet, their pale fingers clasped tight. The back of their dark gowns had been torn open; wounds still oozing blood into the frilled material from where their wings had been ripped from their flesh.

“Don’t cry, darling.”

Amarantha appeared before me, red hair congealed with blood falling limply over her bare breasts. She placed her tongue against my cheek and gently licked away my tears. I didn’t fight; I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. Whatever she was going to do to me … I deserved it. I deserved this punishment for letting them die. For failing them again.

“Like calls to like,” Amarantha cooed, running a bloody finger along my lips. I stared into her pitch-black eyes as the taste of iron filled my mouth.

“You are cursed,” Amarantha said. The inky darkness of her irises spread until her eyes were nothing but empty pits. When she smiled, each of her shining teeth ended in a sharp point. “Like calls to like … a curse calls to the cursed. You will never escape; bound for eternity. My poor little High Lord of darkness and death … you should’ve taken your own life under the Mountain when you had the chance. Dying would’ve been an act of kindness both for yourself and those around you. It’s a shame you’re not the selfless type.”

Something thumped.

The ground rattled. Pebbles shook from the impact, clattering against one another in a low hiss. A second quake sent dark birds scattering from the surrounding trees. No, not just birds – Illyrian warriors with their wings spread wide against the gray sky and quarter Moon. I was so busy watching their retreat I hadn’t noticed Amarantha was gone.

A loud crash threw me to the ground. For a moment I took in the headless bodies and their clasped hands. I reached out, willing myself to be closer so I could put my hand over theirs. If things had gone as they should have … I would’ve been the one lying headless along this riverbank …

And the two of them would still be alive.

“You don’t know that.”

Without having to look I knew the voice belonged to the creator of the massive tremors that shook the earth. I rolled to the side and came eye-to-eye with … a mouse.

“Are you having a nightmare, Bat?”

I blinked. The lingering facets of the dream fell away, the scene scattering like ash in the wind. The environment around me faded to hardwood floors and cream-colored sheets as the familiar sight of my bedchamber materialized. Everything within my quiet townhome in Velaris was just as it had been when I’d laid down earlier that evening … save for the shadow which remained.

The shadow had perched itself atop my knee from where I now found myself sitting up in bed. It was small and had no tangible form, yet I could still sense a heavy level of concern. I lifted the corner of my lips in a gesture to put it at ease.

“Look at you … sneaking into my bedchamber unannounced in the middle of the night,” I said, saturating my voice with a casual tone to mask my heart still thundering in my chest. “We really have to stop meeting like this, Mouse. I think it’ll give your little Autumn princeling the wrong idea.”

The shadow leapt into the air, hovering above the bed as it spun like a whirlwind and grew larger with each passing second. The shadow was now roughly the size of a person, my mattress bouncing from the impact when it shot to the foot of the bed.

With a start I realized the shadow was tangible. That was … something that needed exploring; maybe when I wasn’t dead tired … or mostly undressed. I had to wonder what it meant that this visitor only seemed to see me in this state when I was emotionally compromised.

“It’s been over a month,” the figure said. A set of eyes appeared within the curling shadows making up the figure. They were a blue so dark they were almost black, the same color as the night sky I could make out from the window behind it. Like the sky, a spark shone within those eyes as if lit by the distant glow of stars and street lamps. It was funny how much they seemed at place here despite being attached to a creature which couldn’t be any more foreign.

“Where have you been?”

“I’ve been busy,” I said, keeping my eyes locked with the figure. “This is actually the first night I’ve had sleeping in a bed in weeks. And here I am, after all the hard work I’ve been putting in, being rewarded by a pest coming to disturb me from my much-earned rest.”

A truth, as much as I hated it. My brothers and I had been busy hunting down rogue bands of Illyrians looking to cause trouble. Many of them had tried to take liberties with expanding their territories and undermining my rule during the fifty years I'd been locked away. They had a hefty price to pay for it. Pound for pound; flesh for flesh.

The figure shot to the ceiling, the shadows making up their frame spreading from the impact before reforming into something without a defined shape. It slithered across the wood paneling to stop directly overhead. The image would’ve been disturbing had I not known my visitor committed the act solely for their own amusement. This was the closest they could ever come to flying; on their own, anyway.

“I’ll forgive you for going back on our bargain if it means you picked up something nice for my birthday while you were away.”

I temporarily lost any semblance of the collected demeanor I’d put on as my nose wrinkled. “Your birthday?”

“It’s the day after the Winter Solstice,” the figure said. A shadowy limb reached out to point in my direction. “I’ll be traveling for the occasion, so you’ll have to wait to give me my present until after I come home. I better see you then, or I’m gutting you like a fish.”

This moron.

I realized a second too late I’d allowed my mental shield to slip just enough for that thought to make its way through. It was clear I struck a nerve as the shadows making up the figure coiled and spread like a thundercloud.

“Where will you be going for your birthday?” I asked, looking to cause a distraction before my visitor realized it could shoot up my nose and choke me from the inside.

The coiling shadows slowly shrunk back into itself. It huffed. “The Winter Court,” the shadow said, a smug annotation to their voice. “I was invited.”

“Look who’s popular,” I said. I lifted a leg beneath the covers, propping my elbow on my knee. “I suppose being the hero of Prythian has its benefits. With all your new friends, I’m surprised you’ve put in the work to seek me out.”

“Yeah, me too,” the shadow said, not skipping a beat. The darkness about it converged until it transformed into a humanoid shape. The figure slowly floated down to stand at my bedside. “But … I felt you calling for help.”

I couldn’t fight the urge to frown. “I never called you for help.”

“You just were,” the figure said, tilting the shadows making up its head. “You wanted help for something about boxes. I didn’t see any boxes, though. The only thing I saw was Amarantha, and I made holes in your shield until she went away.”

This wasn’t the first time my visitor had exhibited that skill. The worst part was I hadn’t even trained them in it. Raising and lowering shields, yes, but not breaking them. I had broken their own shield once, and they seamlessly copied the technique to create a new weapon of their own. I didn’t know whether I should be proud or terrified.

I dipped my head, running a hand through my hair. I nearly flinched from the sensation of it being wet. My sheets, too, were soaked with sweat. This hadn’t been the first night since I’d been under the Mountain that I’d had such a dream … although perhaps it’d been the worst. Bad enough for it to echo over the entire length of Prythian, apparently.

“Do you dream about Amarantha a lot?”

I leaned forward, putting on the sort of smile I knew dazzled in the starlight without a need for me to catch my reflection. “Actually, many of my dreams tend to be about a female stunning beyond compare – each curve of her delicious figure visible through a shimmering dress of starlight. Her eyes are alluring, her lips are full, and her movements are filled with a hypnotizing grace. I dream of her approaching me through a crowded street filled with lamplight and laughter amid stars shooting across the sky at her back. And when she opens her mouth to speak … you arrive, and spill wine on my jacket.”

My desired outcome came to fruition when the shadow erupted in laughter. All pretenses of the question it had asked me were forgotten … it didn’t need to know the answer; didn’t need to be burdened with it. It was my weight to bear alone.

“Did you ever think I was doing you a favor?” the shadow asked, its rough form taking on a more defined shape as it settled down. “Maybe I was dirtying your jacket so you’d have an excuse to take it off and impress this female, yeah?”

Something about the comment caused a pang in my gut. I didn’t want to think about what it meant.

“Perhaps,” I said with a shrug.

“My dreams about you aren’t as weird,” the shadow said with a chuckle. “They’re all just of us flying. They make me frustrated when I wake up and realize I don’t really have wings. Tamlin won’t even turn me into a bird when I ask because he’s certain I’ll kill myself on accident. I told him he sort of owes me from the time he changed me into a mouse, but he still won’t budge.”

“I’ll take you flying.” I could practically feel the buzz of excitement from the shadow, my smile widening. “Next time I see you, I’ll show you what it’s like.”

“You better,” the shadow said. It moved away from the bed toward the window, its shape churning and coiling into a black cloud. “It turns out I get sort of lonely without having you around, so don’t say you’re going to visit and then go back on it. After a lot of searching, I finally found the path that gets me here; I can come through whenever I want now and kick your ass if you give me a reason to.”

A chuckle crept upon me without warning. It was almost annoying how my visitor’s presence always had a tendency to make that happen. I hadn’t asked or even wanted it from something as dimwitted, uncultured, or brazen as this fool. And yet somehow, I missed it.

“This city,” the shadow said, their form slowly pulling apart as they drifted into the night air. “It’s pretty. I can see why it means a lot to you.”

With that, the shadow was gone.

I tossed aside my sheets, willing the bathtub in the adjoining wash chamber to fill with hot water. I ran a hand through my hair as my feet rested against the cold floorboards and I took in the sound of rushing water.

“Now I have to go shopping for a birthday present … as if I didn't have enough on my plate.”

With a flick of my wrist a slip of paper appeared in my hand. I materialized a pen in the other and wrote a quick message, knowing I needed to jot it down now so I wouldn’t forget among everything else.

‘Find me after breakfast. I think there might be someone else out there like you.’

I sent the message along in an afterthought. There wasn’t a single doubt its recipient wouldn’t be awake now if they weren’t already. I also had no doubt the message was going to keep them up for the remainder of the night. I felt a little guilty about that … but I knew springing something like this on them without warning would’ve been worse. It was a lot to take in, considering we both believed what I just suggested wasn’t something we’d come across again for a long, long time.

“You don’t make things easy, Jade.”

I rose from the bed with a hum while I contemplated the soonest opportunity I had to take a little vacation.

Chapter Text

“Jade!”

I turned to look over my shoulder. Strands of dark, wavy hair which had come loose from my braid whipped over my tanned cheeks. “Yeah?”

Three figures no taller than a child’s plaything from my vantage point stood at the base of the cliff face. They were up to nearly their knees in fresh snow, four winding tracks trailing behind them to meet up with a small cluster of cream-furred reindeer that huddled together and emitted dense clouds of steam from their snouts. I would’ve felt sorry for the reindeer and my companions bundled in no less than four layers of fur-lined garments had I not known a trace of magic was keeping all of them as snug as if they were lounging beside a roaring fire. I didn’t yet have the skill to figure out such a trick, although growing up in a mountain village meant I was no stranger to the cold. This was a far cry from the person who called my name, who’d spent many years living in a temperate climate and seemed to have no joy being torn out of it.

“Don’t be a fool!”

I threw back my head with a barking laugh before searching for another foothold so I could continue my ascent up the sheer cliff face. I turned twenty-seven years of age today, and Lucien was about twenty-seven years too late to give such a warning.

“We can get the damn thing through magic!” Lucien called. I could imagine his metallic eye narrowing in on me, redness creeping across his golden cheeks from both the cold and frustration. He was responsible enough to be upset over the perilous situation, but not responsible enough to have stopped it from happening entirely.

“It won’t mean anything if I get it through magic!” I shouted, keeping my eyes on the gray rock before me which gleamed with transparent sheets of ice. I did my best to navigate around said ice as I lifted myself higher with a grunt.

The brisk wind rushing past meant I couldn’t make out Lucien’s words as he spoke to the companions at his side. They were the ones who’d told me about the item I was after in the first place, so I doubt he’d garner any support there. On the other hand, there was a good chance neither of them suspected I’d leap from the saddle of my reindeer and climb up the side of a cliff without warning.

“To your left!”

That voice belonged to Viviane, the Lady of the Winter Court. She’d been the only member of the trio below who’d put on an expression tinted with anything resembling support when I had started my climb. Like her husband, she carried the uncanny ability to appear regal despite wearing enough furs to look as if one of the massive white bears their territory had roaming about was threatening to swallow her whole. Unlike her husband, her piercing gaze of electric blue came paired with a glimmer of something impish which threatened to displace Lucien as my favorite companion on this outing.

My gloved hand found a small concave in the rock as I inched to the left. Pebbles skittered free underfoot as I pressed against the cold stone and worked to get myself into a better vantage point. A cloud of hot breath rolled over my cheeks, and I laughed in relief over seeing the glittering object I’d come to retrieve. I gripped my toes into the miniscule cracks making up my foothold, reaching out.

Something cracked.

I froze in a manner that had nothing to do with the weather. I recognized the sound of that crack and had witnessed a few unlucky goats in the past tumble down the side of a ravine as a result of it. It was a good thing I was treading carefully, and didn’t have to worry about –

In the blink of an eye my foothold fell away. My stomach decided it preferred residing in my chest as I dropped. I could nearly see my reflection as I rushed past the ice-laden cliff face – a blur of tan skin and gray furs and probably an expression I’d find humorous if I wasn’t fearing for my life.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I reached out, my glove sliding uselessly against the slick surface as I failed to find a grip. I grit my teeth with a curse.

Lucien is going to stand over my body and say, ‘I told you so.’ At least if he feels smug, maybe he won’t be too broken up about my death.

My view of the gray sky suddenly fell away as something swept across my vision. I slammed into snow at my back, albeit there was enough give for the impact to only sting for a moment. I blinked in the darkness surrounding me as I felt my descent slow. Within a matter of seconds, I was stationary. The snow which had been encompassing me collapsed, leaving behind piles atop my head and shoulders as I owlishly regarded the three figures standing over me from where I was kneeling at their feet.

“You senseless idiot!”

Lucien dropped to his knees, brushing aside the red hair obscuring his vision. He gave me a quick once over before pulling me to his chest. His tight embrace felt as warm as a campfire and a sense of relief immediately washed over me. It was a pity I only felt level-headed when we made contact; I probably kept Lucien on the verge of having a heart attack the rest of the time.

“I’m alright,” I said, shifting my weight so I could half return Lucien’s embrace. “I think I am, anyway – I’m kinda cold so it’s hard to tell.”

“You kept a hold of the flowers.”

I looked over Lucien’s shoulder. Kallias, the High Lord of the Winter Court, had his blue eyes locked on my right hand. I followed his gaze, delighted to see my prize didn’t look too worse for wear considering the tumble.

“Looks like I did,” I said, a grin tugging at my frozen cheeks. “You guys were right – they’re beautiful up close.”

The flowers looked not unlike ruffles of sheer white fabric balanced atop delicate stalks. The petals looped and curled against one another in a manner I’d never seen before in the gardens of the Spring Court or anywhere else. I’d only meant to pick one, but in my scramble I’d yanked the entire plant clean from the rocky soil, it’s deep blue roots dangling from my fingers like icicles.

“You should thank the High Lord Kallias for the fact you’re able to admire them,” Lucien said. He dusted the snow from the crown of my head and my shoulders. His gaze meeting mine conveyed a deep level of relief. Lucien planted a warm kiss on my cheek before helping me to my feet. “It was his magic that softened your landing.”

I shook the excess snow off my furs. With a quiet snap I separated one of the flowers and held it aloft. “Thank you, High Lord. I owe you my life – and this is yours well deserved since its retrieval was only possible with your help.”

Kallias accepted the offered flower with a calculating air. I was beginning to get used to it, since this was the manner in which he regarded me a vast majority of the time. His wife had less reservations, and a spark showed behind her eyes when I offered her a flower of her own.

“For the one person here who encouraged my foolish endeavor,” I said. Viviane returned my playful grin as she gripped the stem.

“And for you –”

“I don’t want one,” Lucien said, cutting me short. “The last thing I need is a reminder of seeing you nearly fall to your death.”

I leaned my head against his shoulder, beaming in response to his stoic frown. “One – I only maybe would’ve died. And two – I wasn’t going to offer you a flower, anyway.”

“Oh?” Lucien said, raising a brow. “Then what was it you were going to offer?”

I gave the brown furs on his shoulder a yank to bring him forward, my lips meeting his. I let the kiss linger for a moment before pulling away. The flush on Lucien’s cheeks which hadn’t been as apparent before was an indicator it stemmed from more than just the cold.

Lucien glanced to the side. He took in Vivian’s mischievous smile and Kallias’s raised brows before clearing his throat. “Right – we should get back on track. Our apologies; we shouldn’t be keeping you two out here for longer than intended.”

“It’s a welcome break,” Viviane said, tucking the flower I’d gifted her behind her ear. She looped her arm through her husband’s as they began to stroll toward our waiting mounts. I joined Lucien’s side in a walk, his gait much slower than usual. It was likely because he couldn’t judge if I’d been injured in the fall and wanted to accommodate me if I had. I admired his sharp profile and the elegant features of his face, appreciating his thoughtfulness wholeheartedly.

“The celebration of the Winter Solstice is the most resplendent occasion we have in this court,” Viviane continued, her voice fresh as if a good night’s sleep was something she never wanted for. Considering the roaring fireplaces and number of dense furs and soft sheets they adorned within their sleeping chambers of the palace of the Winter Court … I had no doubt this held true.

“However,” Viviane said, accepting Kallias’s aid in getting herself situated atop her reindeer. “The planning was more than a little of a pain in the ass. It was the first Winter Solstice celebration since our time under Amarantha’s rule, along with welcoming our High Lord here back to his court after his long absence.”

Kallias gave Viviane’s hands an affectionate squeeze before making his way to his own mount. The High Lord of Winter wasn’t one for much conversation, but he didn’t need to say a single word for it to be obvious how deeply he adored his wife. Viviane’s presence adding a streak of vibrancy to the Fae’s reserved demeanor helped to paint Kallias as being more than just an aloof monarch.

“Spending some time like this where we get to take a step away from things for a bit is a nice interruption,” Viviane continued. Her long silver-white hair billowed in a soft breeze as she smiled. “And Kallias and I both agreed we wanted to join you for the outing you requested for your birthday … even if it is a bit unusual. Is this sort of thing a tradition in human lands?”

Lucien took a position to ride alongside Kallias at our backs. I glanced over as he struck up a genial discussion about the landscape as if he hadn’t just been convinced his lover was going to be nothing more than a splatter over said scenery less than ten minutes ago. As emissary for the Spring Court, he most certainly had a knack for putting on an openhearted demeanor and getting someone even as stiff as Kallias to engage in conversation. It surely was a skill worth being admired.

“Not for all humans,” I said, returning my attention to Viviane. “The people of my clan –”

Or the clan which I used to belong to.

I plowed forward, hoping the Lady of Winter didn’t notice my slight pause. “It’s … part of a tradition. Every birthday signifies surviving another year being victorious in battle. If we happen to be in an area where our fallen brethren are buried, we pay a visit to their resting place so their spirits can grant us their strength and see that we’re continuing on the legacy. It’s been that way since the war five hundred years ago.”

Vivian’s gaze grew soft. “And you consider Ione as one of the fallen.”

I nodded. Ione had been the name of the former captain of the Winter Court guard who’d sacrificed themselves during my final task against Amarantha. I still carried shame for my actions which had happened directly afterward … allowing my own feelings of hopelessness to overwhelm me and give Amarantha reign to twist my desires to match her own. If I had stayed true to my convictions the way Ione had, that wouldn’t have happened.

“Ione never cracked, or faltered,” I said, looking away. “When you told me in passing that the flowers which grew on the cliff face were gifted to those deserving of veneration … I had no doubt in my mind Ione’s memory warranted as much.”

To have such conviction … I prayed I was still capable of it. I had a new body now which was swift, strong, and light. I could disarm Lucien in sparring matches more often than not, and even gave Mitah a challenge when our daggers would sing in a flurry of clashing metal. I was a greater warrior now than I’d ever been … although I couldn’t answer the question over whether I was still a Warrior of Ash – a person of my clan. I would lay down my life to protect humans in a heartbeat, although now I couldn’t imagine how my former brothers and sisters would regard me. By our own teachings, they would set out to butcher me without a thought. Even Myrin … my sister … Would she recognize me?

Would she still kill me, even if she did?

“Are you troubled?”

I flinched in my seat. Not only because the voice startled me, but so had the speaker. I hadn’t noticed Viviane and Kallias swapping places, the former now chatting with Lucien in a lighthearted manner which had something to do with forging armor using ice magic.

“No!” I said, too loudly. “Not at all. Sorry – I was just lost in thought.”

Kallias didn’t seem convinced, albeit I also didn’t take him as the type to pry. I was correct about this assessment when he changed the subject to the topic he’d likely singled me out for in the first place.

“I have a question for you concerning the High Lord of the Night Court,” Kallias said. A quiet whirr from behind me indicated the statement had also caught Lucien’s attention. I could imagine his mechanical eye putting me in his sights; I sat up straighter in my saddle.

“Yes?” I said, holding Kallias’s gaze. The feeling I picked up being near Kallias I found to be the most interesting of the High Lord’s I’d dealt with so far. I could only describe his aura as being still. It wasn’t the calming sort of stillness like being near Tarquin, but the sort that kept you on alert. It was like standing atop a frozen lake and keeping yourself on edge lest the ice was to crack and send you plunging to the depths below.

“Soon before your arrival to the Mountain, a daemati under Amarantha’s orders came to my court and was responsible for breaking the minds and causing the deaths of two dozen younglings,” Kallias said. His statement was so unexpected I couldn’t hide the shock on my face.

“What the hell is a ‘daemati?’” I asked. My shock was reflected back to me as Kallias’s brows rose to meet his tousled white hair.

“It’s … a Fae who can control and break another’s mind,” Kallias said, no doubt wondering how it was I hadn’t been told of this before. “It’s a rare trait – the High Lord of the Night Court is the only one with this skill I’ve been acquainted with personally.”

Eyelashes touched with frost clouded my vision as I peered at Kallias. “Do you think Rhysand killed those kids? There’s no way he would.”

Kallias blinked. He tilted his head. “You sound very … certain.”

“I am certain,” I said, not skipping a beat. “Rhysand is a prick, but he’s not heartless. That time when Amarantha made him kill a member of the Summer Court under the Mountain really rattled him. I honestly don’t think he’d have it in him to kill a single kid, much less over twenty.”

Kallias looked over his shoulder. I had a feeling he was sharing a silent conversation with his wife before he turned back to me. “I witnessed that execution. Rhysand didn’t give me a sense he enjoyed it.”

I shook my head. “No – he didn’t. The situation upset him enough to cause a really bad nightmare I had to wake him out of. Amarantha made him feel powerless; trapped. He said that’s what it was like for all the High Lords.”

Something raw shifted behind Kallias’s unyielding gaze I hadn’t witnessed before. “That sentiment; feeling powerless under her reign … Rhysand was accurate saying he wasn’t the only one to feel that way.”

For someone supposedly well versed in the language of ‘court politics,’ Rhysand sure did have a lot of people he could have reached out to during his time under the Mountain which he didn’t. Tarquin had been one for certain, the High Lord of the Day Court had seemed nice enough, and now Kallias. Why, then, had Rhysand kept such a distance? Had it been a part of protecting his people like he’d said … or protecting himself?

“I’ve heard some people say he’s the most powerful High Lord, like … ever,” I said, accenting the last word with a shrug. “I think Amarantha knew that and took advantage of him the most because of it. I think he was absolutely miserable being stuck down there with all the shit she forced him to do for fifty years. But … even if Amarantha had been to offer him his freedom in exchange for killing kids … he wouldn’t have done it.”

There’d been multiple instances Rhysand could’ve bettered his standing with Amarantha where I’d been involved alone. He could’ve taken me to her after our duel, or when he’d come across me in the shape of a mouse. He could’ve betrayed me at any point during my time undertaking her trials. He could’ve allowed me to kill Tamlin and kept me in line if my loyalty to Amarantha began to waver after she’d warped my mind. All of that would’ve benefitted him … and he’d done none of it.

Kallias continued to study me. He sat back in his seat, looking behind him again. “Perhaps I should offer an invitation to converse with the High Lord of the Night Court himself.”

I nodded in agreement. “I’m sure that would clear some things up.”

As long as Rhysand doesn’t treat everyone else with the same level of assholery as he does me.

It seemed this was a clear-cut end to the conversation as Kallias lifted the reins of his mount and motioned to pull back. I spoke before he had a chance to fall too far behind.

“Thank you for saving me,” I said. “You know, with the cliff.”

Kallias’s cool demeanor didn’t shift. He inclined his head slightly. “Consider it a repayment for what you did under the Mountain.”

Kallias and I didn’t converse directly for the remainder of the journey. Viviane was the one who explained Winter Court burial rituals to me when we finally reached our destination – a series of caves hollowed from an expanse of snow-covered hills. Even the sound of our footsteps through the snow nearly vanished entirely when we set foot upon the ground their people considered sacred. Viviane didn’t speak again until we reached a particular hill and she led us inside. We were greeted by rows of death masks carved from ice lining each wall, all illuminated by fae lights to allow us to take in visages of the deceased which would last for all eternity.

I recognized Ione without much trouble; theirs was a face I could never forget. I knelt before the mask bearing almond-shaped eyes, lean features, and straight, fine hair carved in a manner which seemed as if the miniscule icicles would snap if I dared to touch them. When I offered up the flowers, Viviane aided me with her magic to allow the plant to take root in the frozen soil beneath Ione’s mask. Her fingers delicately brushed the silken petals as she told me the plant would die down here without access to sunlight. However, she added that she’d visit often enough to keep it alive through her magic alone. I offered her a warm smile.

I sat back on my legs, keeping my eyes locked on the mask as I formed my hand into a fist and tapped my forehead, mouth, and chest – mind, soul, heart. The things that made me human … or once did. Now I suppose they just made me … a person. Although sometimes I didn’t feel much like that, either. A person was made up of many things, and I was struggling to find more than one defining trait for myself. Lucien had been helping me with that, because when I looked at him, I knew I wanted to be more.

The trip back to the Winter Court palace thankfully wasn’t as eventful as the trip to the burial site had been. After some time, our route merged with a bustling path flanked by towering pine trees, said trees peppered with enough twinkling fae lights to rival the number of stars in the sky.

Against the fading light the palace itself was a marvel – a sprawling citadel of ice spires and walkways each adorned with evergreen garlands and paper lanterns magicked to resist the elements and cast shadows in the shapes of various flowers and animals across the palace’s surface. This visit left me itching to visit the Summer Court and beyond – curious over what other wonders each court had to offer.

Viviane took stock in my opinions over how to spend my birthday, so in lieu of a ball we opted for a small dinner with the only inclusion to our group being the members of the palace guard. The dinner both began, and ended, with duels between myself and the new captain of the guard since she wasn’t satisfied with the outcome of me disarming her when we’d sparred the day prior.

The captain of the guard caught me by surprise before dinner and sent my sword clattering across the room, earning her a win which caused an echo of cheers and stomping boots from her peers when I’d gifted her with a bow acknowledging her skill. After we’d finished our meal, I took stock in my bruised pride and challenged her again, this time to the end of a different result. We’d put on an impressive display – I beamed in response to a series of whistles and chants of ‘Crown-Cleaver’ resonating off the expansive walls when the captain bowed her head to concede my win. Lucien had once called my new nickname ‘gruesome,’ however I couldn’t help but admit I’d grown fond of my new reputation.

The night ended with Lucien and I enjoying the accommodations our hosts had provided, including access to a small rooftop terrace, the distant sound of singing, and a bottle of oaky wine made from hawthorn berries and something familiar I couldn’t place. We huddled together beneath a pile of furs, gazing at the night sky and the dazzling phenomenon Kallias had described on my first night here as the ‘aurora.’ Ribbons of light in blue, pink, green, and deep purple curled through the night sky to create the most spectacular thing I’d ever seen. I’d watched the display for no less than two hours the first night I was here out of sheer awe.

“How upset do you think Tamlin would be if we said we were moving to the Winter Court because of pretty lights in the sky?” I asked, resting my head on Lucien’s shoulder.

“Forget Tam – I would be upset,” Lucien said, his gaze roving overhead. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s cold. Always.”

“You’re such a pampered little prince,” I said, walking my fingers up his chest before tapping the tip of his nose. “And being near you is like crawling inside an oven – I don’t know what you have to complain about.”

“I’m using a lot of magic to keep myself this comfortable,” Lucien said, looking at me with a raised brow. “I also have to counteract the fact that you’re cold enough to be a corpse.”

I lifted myself onto an elbow. “I don’t have to touch you at all, you know.”

A wry grin grew on Lucien’s face. “Is that so?”

He rolled to the side, placing a hand on my shoulder as he guided me onto my back. He put his face above mine, his red hair reflecting spots of the dim fae lights placed about. “It would ease my burden if you were to generate some heat of your own. Is such a generosity something I could hope to ask for?”

I reached out, running my hand over the back of his head, the curve of his ear, and along the sharp outline of his jaw. “You know I burn quite well under certain conditions.”

Lucien’s hot breath rolled over me as our noses brushed, our lips just grazing one another as he shifted his position to be fully over me.

“I can tell you brought wood for the fire,” I said, smiling as our eyes met. My smile widened as Lucien’s expression fell flat.

“I will leave,” he said, unamused.

“No, you won’t,” I said, wrapping my arms around his neck. “My art of seduction has entangled you wholly and completely. If you belong solely to me as I belong solely to you, then you’re invested for life.”

Lucien’s gaze grew soft. His eyes of russet and gold roved over my face as he gently stroked my cheek. “I was prepared to love you as such when you were human. I would’ve stayed by your side without hesitation for the remainder of your mortal life. I wasn’t sure if I would’ve been able to love anyone again after my time with you … however that thought never deterred me for a second.”

I rubbed my nose against his. “Even if I had wrinkles?”

“I’ve never seen those,” Lucien said. He joined me in laughter. “I wouldn’t think they’d deter me, but who’s to say?”

I released my hold, falling back onto the warm furs. “You sounded so certain a moment ago. Would you really stay with me forever, or are you just stringing me along with your silver tongue?”

“My tongue isn’t the only thing that keeps you coming back,” Lucien said, his smile turning coy. “And of course I’ll remain by your side. I want to …”

Lucien trailed off as he sat upright. He appeared lost in thought as he looked around the terrace. “It’s nice up here, isn’t it? I wouldn’t say it’s a spectacle, though.”

“What?” I said, sitting up to try and determine what was going on behind his deep concentration.

Lucien mumbled something about an orchestra before looking back at me. He took my hands in his. “Jade,” he said, voice solemn. “When we get back to the Spring Court … No, maybe I should just do it now …”

The grip Lucien had on my hands tightened. He cleared his throat, his demeanor suddenly shifting into something anxious akin to how he’d seemed during the Summer Solstice all those months ago.

“I can’t properly describe what it’s like to be near you,” Lucien said, an earnest nature to his voice. “It’s like you give me … purpose. You make me want to be more than what I am; to be better. You outshine every other female, and I want to be able to match your light so you can look at me and feel pride in who I am. And I know you’ll say you do now, but someone like you deserves an equal. I want you to know that I will strive every day for the remainder of my life to catch up to you. You’re my soul, Jade, just as you say I’m yours. I don’t have a title that would suit you such as a High Lord, or even a family name I wish to acknowledge, but if you’ll have me, will you take my hand in –?”

Something chirped. Lucien and I turned our heads in tandem to regard a bird made of snow hopping in our direction. We stared for a moment before Lucien reluctantly loosened his grasp to untie a message tied to the bird’s leg with green ribbon.

“It’s from Lady Viviane,” Lucien said, his voice filled with leagues less vigor than before. “She says she noticed us up here, and wanted to know if we’d like to join her for a sleigh ride.”

I hated to admit a ride through the snow at this moment seemed desirable since my inner body temperature had to be rivaling that of the Sun. Even so …

“N-no, that’s alright,” I said, wondering when my voice had become so meek. “You can finish what you were … what you were saying.”

Lucien looked away with a deep exhale, drumming his fingers over his knees. “You and the Lady of the Winter Court getting along so well is a good thing – you should accept her offer. I’ll stay here. There’s … some planning I need to do for when we return home.”

I noted the slight tremor to Lucien’s fingers. The tension in my shoulders relaxed as I took in the flush to his cheeks and the rigid nature of his posture.

“Alright,” I said, hoisting myself to my feet. I headed toward the door on the terrace’s floor leading downstairs. “Can you write Viviane back and tell her I’m getting changed? And don’t worry yourself too much over whatever it is you're planning … I’m sure you’ll get the outcome you’re looking for whether there are theatrics involved or not.”

Lucien’s expression relaxed. The corner of his mouth tilted up. “I think in this instance, some theatrics are necessary if I want to get a certain point across.”

“Well, you are nothing if not over the top,” I said. I crouched to pull open the door to reveal the short set of spiral stairs leading to the suite below. “And I love every part of the flashy thing you are.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Lucien said, his posture growing familiar as he propped an elbow on his knee. He shot me a wink. “Even if I detected some sarcasm.”

I blew Lucien a kiss before descending the stairs.

Chapter Text

‘Dear Viviane –’

Lucien told me to start the letter off with a more formal greeting considering who I was writing to. I told him to find something better to do other than look over my shoulder while we took a break on our ride home.

‘I’m letting you know that my wrist is just fine, and we made it through the tunnels without issue.’

At least without much issue. The tunnel through which Lucien and I had led our horses had transformed nearly overnight from how I’d remembered it – rough edges had been sanded down, sconces with flickering candles had been placed every few feet, and we’d shared passing nods with a number of travelers heading between the different courts. Every now and again we crossed paths with a Fae or two dressed in fineries in shades of orange, sage green, or warm brown. Each of these were signifiers of the Autumn Court, and the only faces who regarded us with any level of distain. I had returned these looks with enough intensity to encourage Lucien and I to be given a wide berth.

As for my wrist … there’d been a slight incident the day prior.

I had taken up Viviane’s invitation for a sleigh ride, the pair of us having been nestled side-by-side under a number of furs over our laps as glittering lights from the palace had whipped by in the frigid night air. Our lighthearted banter as we left the palace grounds happened to have shifted to my retelling of the conversation Lucien and I were having on the rooftop before her message had interrupted us.

Viviane had yanked so hard on the reins to whip us around that the white bear pulling the sleigh had faltered, the sleigh tipping and sending us tumbling from our seats. Between the furs, soft snow, and the fact that High Fae were resilient in general, we only sustained minor injuries. Before my entire inquiry if Viviane was alright had been out of my mouth, she’d already yanked me to my feet and practically drug me through the snow back toward the palace so Lucien could finish what he’d started.

It wasn’t until I’d winced from where her hand had grabbed my wrist did Viviane stop to take stock in her surroundings. The sleigh landing on my hand would’ve left me crippled for life had I still been human – as a Fae, there’d only been some slight bruising Viviane had been able to soothe with a touch of her magic. By the time the palace guard came running up a moment later, I was the one trying to soothe her distress as Viviane had showered me with no less than a dozen apologies and promises that she’d write to Lucien every day henceforth until he gave me a proper proposal.

‘We’ll be back shortly if you’d like to start sending correspondences.’

I smirked. I’d been ready to refuse the offer until the thought had hit me over how entirely baffled Lucien would be when he’d start receiving said letters. That mental imagery alone had left me taking Viviane’s hands in my own and thanking her for the thoughtful gesture.

‘I also want to thank you and your husband for the birthday gift. They’re lovely, and I’ve already put them to good use.’

I’d honestly been surprised when Kallias and Viviane had offered me a birthday gift upon our parting. Gift giving was a tradition more upheld with victories in battle than it was with birthdays in my culture. The only reason I’d brought the notion up at all with Rhysand was as an excuse to guilt him into a visit rather than me actually expecting anything.

Kallias had presented me with a box of white birch wood, the lid opening up to reveal a set of crystalline bracers settled within crimson velvet. The bracers’ artistry was magnificent – the material forged from a special stone in the region and weaved with ice magic. They felt cool against my skin, and despite their delicate appearance, were made of a substance durable enough to crack through regular armor. I’d learned this fact firsthand when I’d used the bracer on my right arm to hit a naga with enough force to sever its jaw clean from its face.

Lucien and I’s work had begun the second we’d stepped into Spring Court territory. Tamlin had allowed us to take a short trip with the understanding that we’d meet up with the local patrol the second we arrived home. The sentries had been able to handle a vast majority of the faeries still leftover that Amarantha’s influence had tainted, but the likes of Mitah, Lucien, and I remained a requirement to face bigger threats.

One such threat had been a band of over two dozen naga the sentries had trouble tracking after they had laid waste to an entire village. Luckily the villagers had been able to defend themselves and no one had been killed, however most of their livestock had been slain and their food stocks depleted. Lucien’s metallic eye had picked up traces of the naga’s magic, and we’d headed off in pursuit right away along with half a dozen members of the sentry. With his skill, we found the naga before too long; with my skill, we wiped them out.

“I noticed you don’t have ‘Queen-Splitter’ with you, today,” a voice said.

I looked up with a raised brow from where I sat atop a small boulder with my letter in my lap. One of the sentries, Bron, regarded me with a grin. I returned the gesture.

“I only take her out for special occasions,” I said with a wink. “Let me know next time you see a tyrant who needs to be divided in two.”

Bron laughed. He took a drink from his water flask before meandering over to the rest of the sentries splitting field rations. He repeated my comment to another round of chuckles.

Even I consented that the nickname the sentries had assigned my ash sword was rather garish. I was content with leaving ‘Queen-Splitter’ wrapped in cloth in the back of my bureau. I didn’t have any shame over what I’d done to Amarantha, although the sword still gave me some sickening mental imagery I wasn’t keen on replaying. There was also the fact that I could no longer hold the handle without it burning my skin and sapping away my strength. Lucien had offered to have the handle wrapped, but I’d declined. It felt like wielding a sword with an ash core was something I wasn’t quite fit for, anymore.

Instead, the sword that hung on my hip had been a weapon from the Spring Court’s royal armory. Tamlin had gifted it to me months past along with my new title. I had been given the rank of a general among his forces – second in the hierarchy only to his main general, Mitah.

Tamlin trusted me to lead patrols, strategize plans of attack, make arrests, and train the sentries how I saw fit. I’d only been in the role for a little over two months, however transitioning into it felt as natural as breathing. Using Tamlin’s leadership style as a basis for the manner in which I conducted myself instilled a familiar atmosphere which left the sentries following me without question. ‘Crown-Cleaver’ had been a title said sentries had created of their own volition; their whispers of veneration didn’t hurt, so I made no objections to the nickname even when Mitah had laughed while Tamlin had rolled his eyes.

‘Your court was breathtaking. I will still admit it is nice coming home.’

Home. I’d missed the smiling faces of the sentries and the villagers as we’d passed through their towns and helped with any rebuilding efforts we could. The sound of rustling leaves and the smell of damp earth embraced me in the forests and gave me comfort. My favorite sights were the ones I’d take in from atop rolling hills where I could see expanses of rivers, farmland, and fields of wildflowers in every color imaginable stretching to the horizon.

This was home. It included the manor, the gardens, and …

Tamlin.

I've been seeing less and less of Tamlin lately. At first, I took it as a compliment that he had enough faith in my ability to allow me to function with a fair amount of autonomy within his court. I was permitted to patrol any corner of the territory I wished, schedule meetings with any captain or noble, and even use coin from the Court’s treasury to purchase weaponry and armor for myself and the sentries as I saw fit. I had all of these liberties … but spending time with Tamlin wasn’t one of them.

The off-putting part was that I couldn’t decide whether this bothered me or not. Part of me felt a hole in my chest over Tamlin spending breakfast with us less and less and declining every invitation I offered for a spar or companionship on his patrols. On the other hand, during the rare times we were in close proximity during meetings or the occasional dinner … something put me on edge. It was like when I’d first come to the manor and had been on high alert for an attack at all times. For the life of me I couldn’t decipher what was causing it since Tamlin hadn’t been acting differently aside from being quieter than usual.

Anytime I happened to dwell on the thought of Tamlin at all left me drowning in guilt. I’d voiced this concern to Lucien, who chalked it up to the stress all of us were under as we worked to rebuild our court from the ground up. The amount of paperwork Lucien found himself swamped in on a regular basis was testimony to that enough.

I’d moved what remained of my belongings after Amarantha’s people had wrecked the manor into Lucien’s quarters the day we returned from under the Mountain. In the weeks that followed, I’d woken up in the middle of the night on a few occasions to find him pouring over reports stacked upon the small sitting table which he’d commandeered into a desk. It wasn’t until I’d coax him into bed through rather nefarious means would he consent to leave the work until morning.

“How have you only written four lines so far?”

My eyes narrowed as I looked over my shoulder to take in Lucien’s smirk. “Some of us put thought into what’s said before words come out of their mouth.”

“Really?” Lucien said, daring to lean closer. “And who would that be? I don’t see anyone befitting that description.”

A slow smile crept across my face. “Clearly it isn’t you, or else you’d be worrying about me taking your arrows and turning your balls into a pincushion.”

Lucien glanced at the quiver strapped to his horse. While we’d been in the Winter Court, I’d visited a number of shops until coming across an ornamental set of arrows crafted from the bones of the Court’s great white bears and tipped with arrowheads of deep blue sapphire. Lucien had protested profusely when I’d gifted him the arrows during the Winter Solstice, saying the occasion was more befitting of me receiving a gift for my birthday instead of getting him anything.

'I made a promise to myself,' I’d said, after silencing his protests with a kiss. 'I want to help you rebuild the collection of weaponry Amarantha’s Faeries had destroyed. It means something important to you, which means it’s important to me, too.'

The arrows had gone forgotten for a time when Lucien had swept me into his arms and carried me to the bed we’d been sharing in the Winter Court suite. After he’d quite thoroughly used every inch of our bodies to show me his gratitude, he’d presented me with a gift of his own; a sickle around the length of my forearm. It was well known that I labeled Lucien's taste as 'garish' on a good day, so I’d earned an eyeroll from where he’d laid sprawled atop the furs when I’d voiced my opinion that the weapon was actually quite beautiful.

The blade of the crescent-shaped sickle reminded me of the waxing moon. A golden rod spiraled the length of its handle of deep red wood, extending slightly from the base and coiling like the delicate tail of a snake. An adornment of gold and silver fashioned to look like the blazing Sun joined the steel blade to the wooden handle. Smooth, blue gemstones accented the gold plating holding the Sun adornment in place. Drifting leaves had been etched along the edge of the crescent, their outlines gleaming in shades of orange and red when the weapon caught the light and appeared to shine with its own inner flame. I found myself in awe even if the weapon boasted far more embellishments than I usually cared for.

'I’d kept this one hidden,' Lucien had said as I’d been admiring the gift. 'It was the most precious part of my collection because it was something my mother gave me a long time ago.'

My immediate reaction upon hearing the statement had been to give the sickle back. This hadn't been unexpected; I had found myself on the flip side of the situation I’d been in earlier when Lucien had silenced my objection with a kiss.

'I think the most precious person in my life should be the holder of my most precious possession. I doubt it could be in better hands.'

Funny how he can have me swooning one moment then tempting me to destroy his manhood the next, I thought, returning to the present as I got to my feet.

“Is it time to head out?” I asked, folding the letter and tucking it into the pocket of my riding pants. “We need to get back before sundown, right?”

“Far sooner, if we can,” Lucien said. He put his fingers between his teeth to make a shrill whistle. He opted to signal to the sentries scattered about the clearing using hand signs rather than raise his voice.

‘Jade and I are breaking off. Take the horses and join the western patrol.’

Lucien and I grabbed our gear packs. I gave my horse Snowball an affectionate pat on her white mane and a kiss before we broke off from the group. From here on out Lucien was going to winnow us back to the manor, getting us to our destination in a fraction of the amount of time it would take riding or on foot … even if I could now run at a speed outdoing Snowball for a short time. That discovery had been exhilarating, and I’d felt like my lungs had been just about ready to burst by the time I’d collapsed in a random field and laughed until a coughing fit had forced me to catch my breath.

As it turned out, my body was now capable of doing a number of things I used to only be able to experience in temporary bursts. A sparring session with Tamlin had resulted in me throwing him to the dirt; I could now outmaneuver Lucien using my swordplay in an afterthought, and hit a target using a spear thrown from one end of the manor’s massive gardens to the other. No longer did any High Fae’s movements shift fast enough for my eyes not to follow. And if I tried hard enough, I could hear the damn bugs crawling within the grass and leaves.

Of all the new, amazing things my body could do … magic still eluded me. Despite Lucien insisting that all I needed was some time, I still felt a bit of a failure from being unable to do anything most High Fae considered ‘basic’ like moving a small object by a few inches or taking items in and out of the holding dimension they called the ‘in between.’ Winnowing was my main point of contention, having thought I could mimic it with ease after experiencing the feeling on a few occasions. That most certainly hadn’t been the case and had only left me looking like a fool after leaping around the training field for hours on end.

“I’ll drop you off at the manor, but then I need to check in with the emissary of the nearby village before anything else,” Lucien said, using the sort of tone which I knew meant he had no less than a thousand thoughts tumbling through his head at once. How he was able to keep track of almost every little detail going on in our court was a marvel.

“After I answer some questions for her about the upcoming Tithe, I’ll be back,” he said. Lucien took my hand, my fingers interlocking with his as I savored the warmth. “And then we can … get on with the evening.”

Lucien’s disheartened tone was concerning. A line formed between his brows every time the subject of the party being thrown later today was mentioned. Said party had something to do with welcoming an old friend of Tamlin’s back to the Court after a long absence – a subject in which normally I’d expect Lucien to be all-smiles about. The last time it’d been mentioned had been in the company of Kallias and Viviane, so I’d had the wherewithal not to pry; now I had no such reservations.

I gave Lucien’s hand a yank for his attention as he was about to winnow. “Spit it out. I was surprised to learn Tamlin even had other friends, and now you’re telling me you don’t even get along with the only other one he has besides you, me, and Mitah.”

“Tam has friends among the noble families, you know,” Lucien said, falling into his innate nature to come to his High Lord’s defense. “Obviously socializing under Amarantha’s rule was a challenge. And as for Ianthe, she’s … maybe she’s changed. Hopefully she’s changed. She wasn’t even here for the last fifty years, so Cauldron only knows.”

“‘Not here?’” I said, confused. “What does that mean? Where was she?”

“Vallahan,” Lucien said, the word leaving his lips as if it left a bitter taste in his mouth. “It’s a Fae territory in the northwest part of the Continent.”

My eyelids drooped as I regarded Lucien with disdain. “I know. I’m from the Continent.”

Lucien frowned. “And I know you’re from the Continent. I just didn’t think you’d learned much about the Fae territories there.”

“I know their names, and how to read a map,” I said with a shrug. “I was deaf – not blind.”

It was now Lucien’s turn to hit me with an incredulous expression. “Your offense has been noted. My point is – I have my reasons to dislike Ianthe, but I don’t want them to cloud your judgment. I’m willing to give her the benefit of the doubt until she gives me a reason to think otherwise. Now – how about we head back so I can at least pretend that I’ll have enough time to get a nap in before dinner?”

I chuckled, giving his hand a squeeze. “Fine by me.”

Chapter Text

As it turned out, Lucien wasn’t the only one who needed some rest.

We’d arrived at the manor while most of the commotion to prepare for the party was happening in the little-used receiving room adjacent to the humbler dining hall, so I’d been able to relieve Lucien of his gear and head upstairs to our room without drawing any attention.

A quick bath paired with collapsing onto a familiar bed of silk sheets in a deep plum immediately knocked me to sleep. It wasn’t until Alis arrived and nearly flipped me onto the rug did I scramble to a state of alertness.

It turned out that everyone had assumed I was still away, no one knowing I was even up in my room since Lucien had been late returning from the village and had freshened himself up downstairs. It wasn’t until he made an offhand remark asking where I’d gone did Alis come storming in and ordered me to dress.

Deciding I should make some effort in looking like I lived here, I’d given Alis free reign to find a dress for this occasion befitting the Spring Court. What she’d come up with was a gown in a blush pink material, a slim-fitting bodice adorned with ruffles circling the low neckline and around my upper arms to make it seem like I was wearing a circlet of hydrangea flowers. The skirt hugged my hips and flared out around my knees to form a short train in my wake. Regarding myself in the mirror as Alis curled and braided my hair back into a low bun made me seem the demurest I’d ever looked in my life. By the time a light shimmer adorned my eyelids and a cheery pink was painted on my mouth, I looked the part of a female who wouldn’t hurt a butterfly, much less split someone in half with a sword.

The celebration was in full swing by the time I made it into the receiving room. It was a space I hadn’t been in often, the curtains having previously been kept closed and nothing but furniture covered in cream-colored cloths taking up the echoing space. It had undergone a complete transformation – the golden curtains drawn back to reveal a pleasing view of the gardens dotted with Fae lights wrapping around the northwestern corner of the manor. With the crystal chandeliers lit, my jaw nearly dropped taking in the ceiling which had been masterfully painted as if it were an open portal to a sky at sunset paired with puffy clouds touched in shades of pink and orange. I nearly toppled into one of the tall, free-standing arrangements of peonies, roses, daisies, and a number of other flowers peppered throughout the room before getting ahold of myself.

Looking around I noticed two things: The first was that no one recognized me, the Fae nearby offering polite nods when our eyes met before looking away. It was certainly a testament to Alis’s skill … or a not-so-flattering reflection of how I upkept myself on most days.

The second thing I noticed was that Tamlin really did have friends since the spacious hall was quite full of guests, and that no less than half a dozen of them were currently sharing what seemed to be a pleasant conversation with Tamlin himself toward the windows.

Tamlin had pulled his golden hair into a low ponytail at the base of his tanned neck. His tight-fitting green tunic embellished with silver thread brought out the sparkling green nature of his eyes flecked with amber. He looked every bit like the lord of this manor and everything surrounding it. He also appeared happy, something which I hadn’t seen much of lately. My mouth lifted in a genuine smile when Tamlin turned his head and our eyes met across the room.

Tamlin’s smile faltered. He stared at me for a moment before breaking his gaze without any form of greeting. That hole in my chest reappeared, and I felt a blend of dejection and resentment which seemed far greater than a simple snub should warrant. My feet felt glued to the floor as if my body couldn’t make up its mind whether I should storm in his direction or turn on my heel and run away. I had to wonder if an indecisive streak had come hand-in-hand with becoming a High Fae, since I’d certainly never experienced anything like this before.

The sound of Lucien’s voice snapped me out of my daze. I spotted a splash of red hair near the dormant fireplace, quickly heading toward the immediate cause of relief washing through me. My fingers bunched the material of my skirt as I lifted it in an attempt to quicken my gait. I had nearly reached Lucien when the tone of his voice caused me to stop dead.

“Do not touch me.”

I leaned around a group of chatting High Fae males to get a better look at Lucien. He had changed into a sage green tunic cut nearly down to his navel, his arms crossed over his bare chest. His perfect features twisted as his nostrils flared and his golden eye narrowed. He seemed furious.

Whoever Lucien was speaking to had their back to me. They looked to be a female with long, wavy blonde hair and dressed in a powder blue robe secured by a silver belt around her small waist. She reached out a pale, slender hand adorned with a number of silver rings to lay her fingers lightly atop Lucien’s arm.

“Apologies,” the female said, her voice soft and sweet like a ripe piece of fruit. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen one another … all I want is for us to get reacquainted.”

“Your manner of getting ‘reacquainted’ isn’t something I’m comfortable with,” Lucien said. His back was to the mantle of the fireplace, leaving him nowhere to go other than shoving the female aside. He tried to take a step away, the female blocking his path.

“I’ve heard some rumors,” the female cooed, a trace of innocence laced with something I recognized from Rhysand when he’d spoken to others using his form of ‘court politics.’ She began to brush her fingers along the length of Lucien’s arm toward his shoulder.

I took a step forward.

“Some say you’re courting the Crown-Cleaver,” the female said. “However, I’d be surprised to find that true. Surely that would be a match better suited between her and Lord Tamlin, no? A High Lord and the savior of Prythian? I think it would be more befitting of her station, and their offspring would be hard to outmatch.”

The rage across Lucien’s face shifted into something uncertain. Whatever he was about to say died on his tongue when his companion yelped.

“Who –?!”

A pair of teal eyes grew wide as my grip around the female’s wrist intensified. I lifted her hand away from Lucien and leaned in to absorb her appearance – delicate, curved brows, a pert nose, and a sensuous mouth. A deep blue tattoo of the stages of the moon had been inked across her brow, disappearing behind heavy golden ringlets framing her gentle features. She was certainly striking, and could seduce almost any male she wanted in this room. I had to wonder why she’d zeroed in on the one who’d made it more than clear he wasn’t interested.

“Jade,” Lucien said, a trace of panic to his voice. He placed a hand on my shoulder. “Let her go.”

“Apologize,” I hissed. I felt something pop beneath my palm as I tightened my hold. The female let out a startled shout which she smothered with her free hand.

“Jade!” Lucien snapped, digging his fingers into my shoulder. “I’m fine – let her go.”

I yanked the female toward me, putting my nose inches from hers.

“Touch him again,” I whispered, keeping my eyes locked with hers. “And I’ll slice off your hands so you can’t touch anything anymore.”

The female backed away the moment my fingers loosened. She cradled her wrist to her chest as she looked me up and down with eyes brimming with tears. I almost had respect for her facing me instead of immediately running away.

“Are you …?” the female said, voice shaking. “You’re … you’re Jade, the Crown-Cleaver.”

“I am,” I said, balling my hands into fists. “And unless you want me to demand that we settle your dishonorable display with a duel, then you better get out of my sight.”

I spat at the female’s feet. Lucien let out a soft curse at my side while a number of the Faeries surrounding us spoke in low murmurs. The sound of heavy footfalls cut through the air.

“What’s going on?”

"A misunderstanding,” Lucien quickly said. He stepped between myself and the female as Tamlin materialized from the crowd. I studied Tamlin as he took in my enraged expression before turning toward the female in blue.

“Ianthe,” Tamlin said, uncertainty in his tone. “Are you … injured?”

“No,” the female, Ianthe, said. Perhaps she had used some form of healing magic, her wrist appearing perfectly fine as she reached up to lift the hood of her robe over her hair. “Like your emissary said, it’s a simple misunderstanding. I applaud how quickly Lady Jade lived up to her reputation and came to the defense of one of your people the moment she believed they were being threatened. I’ve been away from Prythian for so long I’m afraid I may have missed a shift in polite customs. Please allow me to make a formal apology both to you and to Lady Jade.”

My blood boiled.

Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit.

Lucien had been clear. Very clear that he didn’t welcome her form of attention. Saying she’d misunderstood was nothing short of a boldfaced lie.

“My title isn’t ‘Lady,’” I said, voice low. “It’s ‘General,’ and I won’t accept an apology from –”

“You’re right, Jade,” Lucien said, quickly cutting me off. “Here isn’t the place for us to hold such a heavy conversation. Tam, Ianthe – how about we enjoy the festivities and reconvene later? I’m sure we’ve provided enough entertainment for the occasion for one night.”

Lucien flashed the onlookers a dazzling smile before placing his hands on my shoulders. He didn't have the base amount of strength to guide me away unless I willed it – it wasn’t until I caught a glimpse of something pleading did I allow my feet to move. I did nothing to hide the sneer I shot in parting to Ianthe nor the scowl stuck on my face as we headed toward a tall glass door that opened up onto the veranda. Lucien waited to speak until we’d exited the glow of the chandeliers and had a semblance of privacy among the winding hedges of the garden.

“I understand why you acted as you did,” Lucien said, his voice at a simmer which threatened to boil over. He took a deep breath as he rubbed his eyes with one hand. “I know you were livid. I was livid. But you can’t do that, Jade – not in public, not to people like Ianthe.”

“Like hell I can’t,” I spat, wishing I could tear the lower half of my dress off for trying to make me feel just as restricted as Lucien’s words. “You know who else talked like her? Amarantha did – when she’d put her hands all over Tamlin and Rhysand when neither of them wanted it. I don’t give a shit who that bitch is; if she comes anywhere near you again, I’m ripping her to pieces.”

“Jade, stop!” Lucien said, blocking my path. He placed his hands on my shoulders; I could tell he was making an effort to keep his grip gentle. “This isn’t about you or me – this is about the Spring Court, and what we have to do as an example to set a precedent. The people here look to me, Jade, and they look to you. We need to show a united front, and that includes not assaulting one of the high priestesses of Prythian. We need Ianthe, alright? She’s … vile … but we need her support to put the people here at ease and rebuild.”

I slapped Lucien’s hands away, taking a step back. “What the hell are you saying? We don’t need some viper like that slithering through our home. Tell Tamlin what happened and make him ship her back to Vallahan.”

“Tam is our High Lord, Jade, I’m not going to make him do anything,” Lucien said, the anger bubbling up again. “And he and Ianthe have been friends since they were young – her family is one of his biggest supporters. And the high priestesses … their magic can be fatal if they put their mind to it. Getting on their bad side is not something you want to do.”

I scoffed, lifting the corner of my mouth in smirk. “What, so you’re a coward, now?”

Fire burned behind Lucien’s eye. Good – I wanted him mad. I needed him to finally admit that this act he was putting on of this being the sort of situation we could just ignore and sweep under the rug was totally false.

“I guess I’m finally getting a taste of what it was like for Tam,” Lucien said, looking me up and down in distaste. “You’re so hard-headed it’s like talking to a wall.”

The comment pierced me like a knife. I opened my mouth to say who-knows-what when the sound of crunching gravel caused me to pause.

“Ianthe told me what happened,” Tamlin said. He came to a stop between Lucien and I, crossing his arms. From this close I could see he looked … tired.

“She admitted she was a bit … forward … with Lucien because she was under the impression that what she’d heard about him courting you were all rumors,” Tamlin said. “Thankfully, Ianthe hasn’t taken any offense to you confronting her and she’s open to pretending the whole thing never happened. I want you to go in there, apologize, and spend some time in her company. I’m sure you two will get along once everything is cleared up.”

I nearly laughed at the suggestion. “I’m not your damn child – you can’t order me to go in there and play nice.”

“I’m your High Lord,” Tamlin said, an edge appearing to his tone. “And you are my subject – my general. You are a symbol to the people of this court, and there’s no doubt in my mind trouble will follow if anyone is under the impression that the high priestesses and the armed forces of the Spring Court are at odds with one another. So yes, Jade – I am going to order you to seek out Ianthe and do as I said.”

My jaw dropped. I looked at Lucien. A sliver of doubt swam behind his russet eye, but he set his jaw and didn’t say a word. He didn’t speak up for himself over how he’d been treated … he didn’t speak up for me.

I bit the inside of my cheek so hard it bled. I wanted nothing more than to bash Tamlin’s stoic expression into a pulp. Instead, I offered him a listless bow.

“As you would will it, High Lord Tamlin of the Spring Court,” I said.

I turned on my heel without a second glance. I tried to focus on the feel of pebbles beneath my slippers, the sound of distant laughter, and the taste of iron in my mouth – anything beside the innate urge to rip Ianthe’s face off the moment I was within reach.

My first stop after passing through the tall glass doors was the table set out for refreshments. I downed a glass of faery wine in one drink, immediately going for another. A bronze hand snatched the second glass out of my hand before it made it to my lips.

“Considering who you are, I think you have all the courage you already need, hmm?”

Tamlin’s head general, Mitah, patted my back in an affectionate fashion. The ever-present smile on his broad, youthful features was just as cheerful as ever. Wisps of dark strands escaped the braid over his shoulder; the hair reflecting purple in the light brushed my cheeks as he leaned in to whisper in my ear.

“If I had my way, I’d peel every inch of Ianthe’s skin from her flesh over the course of days. But sometimes we have to compromise, and there are other ways of causing harm which don’t involve contact.”

Mitah placed a tanned arm around my shoulders and guided me into a walk. “Let’s have a chat with our dear friend, hmm?”

One wouldn’t know Ianthe had been seconds away from having her wrist broken less than half an hour past. Her cheeks were rosy; eyes alight with vigor as she spoke to a noble couple who seemed to be enjoying her company. Ianthe’s attention sliding to me had her beaming in delight. That smile slipped somewhat when her gaze tracked the arm around my shoulders, and she locked on to Mitah.

“Ianthe,” Mitah said. We stopped at her side, Mitah beaming as if Ianthe’s name was the only form of greeting she was going to get … and deserved.

“General Mitah,” Ianthe said. She smiled and offered a nod to the couple who made their exit before looking back to us. “And General Jade – I’m honored you’ve sought me out despite my terrible display earlier. It’s a pleasure to see you; both of you.”

Ianthe had added on the last statement as if she’d had to catch herself. I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened in the past between her and Mitah. It could’ve been a number of things, considering Mitah probably bordered on being the oldest Fae present at the party, much less in the entire court. I also couldn’t help but find myself awash with admiration toward my mentor for striking a sense of genuine unease in our current company.

“I hope you’ve been doing well,” Mitah said, tilting his head in an innocent fashion. “You look pale.”

“Ah,” Ianthe said, placing a manicured hand to her chest. “Yes, Vallahan is a rather cold territory, so I haven’t been able to enjoy the warm rays of sunshine I’d previously been accustomed to here in the Spring Court.”

“You should really get out more; you seem ill,” Mitah said, keeping his sweet smile. “Just looking at you leaves me quite unsettled.”

Ianthe’s syrupy laughter caused more than a few males to glance in her direction. A few sized Mitah up with suspicion, unaware that their notions couldn’t be any further from what was really happening as a battle raged right under their noses.

“How’s your family fairing, Mitah?” Ianthe asked, her perfect teeth gleaming as she beamed. “The ones from up north – in the Night Court, I believe?”

I regarded Mitah from the corner of my eye. He didn’t so much as blink.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” Mitah said with a chuckle. “I don’t believe I have any members of my heritage who ever considered themselves part of that court. But I must thank you for your thoughtfulness to ask; as for my family here, they’re doing quite well. Jade, especially.”

Mitah gave me a small shake. “The two of us have spent plenty of time training, and I must say I believe she’s my most talented student yet. Anyone else I trained took over five years to defeat me in combat – Jade has done so in a fraction of that time. You should see her spar – there are a number of horrifying ways Jade could rip someone apart if she really had the mindset for it; one could say you received a taste of it earlier.”

Mitah didn’t give Ianthe a chance to speak as he cut her short. “How rude of me – how is your family fairing, by the way? Are they still hiding away in Vallahan? You can tell them to come home – there’s nothing to fear now that Amarantha is gone. Although she did a number of horrid things to the people under your father’s rule after he left them to face her, I’m sure the citizens remaining in that area don’t hold any ill will for it. All water under the bridge, hmm?”

Ianthe’s smile was so wide I was certain it was painful. She inclined her head, her hood hiding her eyes. “Your concern is touching. My family is doing well, and I’m sure they’ll be joining us here in Prythian shortly once the details for the voyage are settled. They’ve made a life in Vallahan, so picking up and leaving isn’t such a simple task.”

“Ah, I see,” Mitah said. “I find that a little surprising considering how quickly they were able to do so during the onset of Amarantha’s reign. A little before that, even; as if your father knew something we didn’t. What luck he had to be able to leave our shores and act in a way to keep himself safe.”

“My apologies, Jade,” Ianthe said, switching gears as she turned her attention to me. “Mitah and I have known one another for some time, and we’ve been dominating the conversation over reminiscing. How is your family doing? Do you have any south of the Wall to speak of?”

The wine churned in my stomach. I fought to keep Ianthe’s steady gaze, having picked up from Mitah that in this form of warfare, doing so was vital.

“I have a sister,” I said, lifting my chin. “We haven’t spoken for some time … but I like to think she’s doing well.”

“Oh?” Ianthe said, a more natural air touching her smile. “I also have a sister – two, actually. Are you the youngest?”

I nodded. Ianthe seemed delighted by the news.

“I could tell – you have that aura about you,” she said with a smirk. “Something mischievous, you know? It reminds me of my siblings … I would love to hear all about your older sister if you wouldn’t mind. We can let poor Mitah here go since I’m sure it would be a bore.”

I had to wonder if Mitah could tell as my heart rate began to rise. He chuckled as he ran his hand over my arm. “It actually wouldn’t be a bore to me at all,” he said. “I already know a fair amount about Jade’s sister, although I feel as if I could never know enough about you, Ianthe. Who knows when such information could come in handy?”

I caught a shift to Ianthe’s smile. It gave me the sense of a hound picking up a trail. “For you to know so much about Jade and her family … I find that intriguing,” she said. “My father once described your actions during the war as horrific. It warms my heart to see you’ve clearly changed your outlook concerning the treatment of humans.”

Mitah didn't flinch, nor did his smile falter. He was too old for that – too practiced in this game of court politics. Instead his calloused fingers squeezed my arm a little tighter. I got the sense of there being something apologetic behind it. Even if every attempt I’d made to pry into his past had been quickly shut down … Mitah was still my friend; my teacher. He’d been the first person from outside the manor to show me kindness when I’d been brought to Prythian, and even though I’d been human at the time, he’d spoken to and trained me at a level conveying just as much respect as any Fae.

“I think Mitah may have been fonder of me as a human than as a Fae,” I said. I emulated the self-assured, lazy half smile I’d watched Rhysand make while conversing with Eris under the Mountain. “I never realized how delicately he used to treat me until I found myself inside a body which could withstand the full force of his training methods. Now, I garner no more care than a training dummy.”

The pat I received to my arm along with Mitah’s lighthearted chuckle conveyed approval. I had picked up a new weapon called deflection and was beginning to see the utility in wielding it.

“Oh dear, what a tragic impression I’ve made,” Mitah said, giving me a light tap on the nose. “Know that I could never be anything but charmed by you, my starlight.”

Ianthe’s attempt to form a rift had been sidestepped entirely. I could practically see gears turning behind her eyes as she played with the rings on her fingers. “I can’t help but notice you two seem rather close. Jade – were the rumors about yourself and Lucien false, after all?”

“They’re not,” I said, probably too quickly. “Those rumors aren’t false.”

“I see,” Ianthe said, her gaze lingering on the arm around my shoulders. “You two best be cautious – certain things may spread considering your level of familiarity. I’ll clear up any confusion when I can, of course, but do be careful.”

“Do you believe there’s something Jade’s doing she should be shamed for?” Mitah asked, toying with the ruffles atop my bodice. “It isn’t unheard of for a female to have a number of lovers – I know of a few like that, myself. I’m sure you’re also familiar with females who prefer the company of a countless number of partners to one end or another.”

Ianthe lifted her chin. I got the sense that Mitah had struck some sort of chord. “I do – and you’re right, there is no shame in it. I simply didn’t want there to be any risk devaluing Jade’s reputation as if she were to be considered nothing more than a plaything to the members of the Spring Court.”

“I suppose it’s a very good thing that no one thinks that way.”

Lucien appeared on my other side. He gifted Ianthe with a charming smile. “I’m glad you and Jade were able to clear the air. I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse us – Jade and I have to return to our quarters and prepare for an early patrol tomorrow.”

Ianthe consented to this with a nod. “Of course. And I’m sure Jade and I will have many instances in the future to get to know one another better. And once again I must apologize for the misunderstanding.”

Ianthe reached out her hands. Mine stayed firmly at my side, my fingers twitching as I fought to keep my composure.

Mitah’s arm withdrew. He took Ianthe’s hands in his own and gave her a firm shake. “Oh, dear – my hands are dirty.”

Ianthe drew back, lightly clearing her throat as she smoothed the purse which had appeared on her lips. “That’s … alright. I’m sure you were in the field earlier, and I don’t mind a bit of dirt.”

“No, my hands were clean until now,” Mitah said. He gifted us all with an innocent smile before turning on his heel. “I’ll also be retiring – I need to wash up.”

Ianthe’s mask slipped as Mitah disappeared into the crowd. It was only for a second, but I could make out something unsightly writhing behind her teal eyes before it sunk back to the depths. It was like catching the tail end of a sea monster after it had decided to spare a ship from its wrath at the last second. I would’ve admired Ianthe’s skill for being able to keep such a chilling persona so well hidden from the world had I not already decided I’d curse her existence until my dying day.

Lucien offered Ianthe a nod in parting before nudging my arm and following after Mitah. I gave Ianthe a final glance over then turned to do the same.

I regarded Lucien’s back, his red hair swaying and catching the light in an almost hypnotic fashion. His excuse about needing to be up early for a patrol had been fabricated entirely, albeit it didn’t mean I was any less exhausted. This was the first day I could recall fighting a number of battles where I hadn’t lifted a finger at all. I felt as if I’d come out on the losing side during several of them … albeit at least I’d gained a little ground thanks to Mitah’s help.

Mitah himself was waiting in the foyer, a wide grin taking over his face upon our approach. “Your beloved has an impressive amount of restraint, Jade. I’m surprised he held out so long before coming to rescue you from my grasp.”

I frowned. Was that what Mitah had been doing? And had he … been trying to make a point?

“Jade’s more than capable of rescuing herself,” Lucien said. His eyes locked with mine as he clasped his hands behind his back. “I knew that Mitah wasn’t bothering you. And when it comes to Ianthe … he’s the only one I’ve ever seen who’s been able to beat her at the games she likes to play. I’m thankful to him for looking out for you … and … I’m sorry I didn’t.”

Mitah was aware it was time to withdraw from the situation. He offered Lucien a nod and a pat on the shoulder in parting before winnowing away. Lucien offered me his hand, and I slid my palm to his as we ascended the stairs.

A bitter taste lingered in my mouth as we washed up and changed in silence. I couldn’t trust myself to look Lucien in the eye out of fear of letting my anger get the better of me again and saying something I shouldn’t. Part of me cursed the fact that my vision had grown exponentially better in the dark since I’d become High Fae, and even snuffing the candles when we’d crawled beneath the covers didn’t give me reprieve from having to face him directly.

“What I said earlier, Jade,” Lucien said, being the braver one among the two of us. “When I said speaking to you was like speaking to a wall … that was cruel; I’m sorry.”

I exhaled, sinking into the bed as if I could lose my shape to it entirely. “I’m sorry I called you a coward; you’re not.”

“I am, in a sense,” Lucien said. He hummed. “While you and Mitah were speaking to Ianthe, I thought about what you said in the garden – about how the way Ianthe had treated me was similar to how Amarantha had treated Tam. I thought it had been ridiculous when you first said it; Ianthe had been forward with me in the past, but never to the point where I felt as if I couldn’t brush her off. As much as I detested her, I never hated her enough to warrant the reaction you had toward her today. But then I imagined that if you had any inclination of her doing something to me like what Amarantha had done to Tam … then it made sense. And I should have communicated that to Tam. I’m going to, tomorrow. I’m also going to tell him that you and Ianthe should keep things civil, but I don’t believe trying to force a friendship between you two would be the best idea.”

I rolled onto my side, Lucien doing the same so we faced one another. “I have a hard time believing she and Tamlin are friends.”

“‘Friends,’ is a loose term,” Lucien said. He sighed, sweeping back his hair. “You know Tam doesn’t open up to a lot of people. Ianthe he’s known long enough that he treats her sort of like a sister who needs looking after. Her presence overall within the court is a positive one – having a high priestess overlook the reconstruction of the temple in our lands and be here to perform blessings is something the people are looking forward to. At least for now, Ianthe is here to stay, and we have to make the best of it.”

“But we don’t,” I said, furrowing my brow. “You, me, Mitah … all of us don’t like her. Is Tamlin really going to dismiss all our opinions to defend someone like that?”

“He is,” Lucien said. He reached out, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Tamlin is a protector, Jade. And when it comes to you, me, and Mitah … we don’t need it. But when it comes to Ianthe and his people, he believes they need it. Tam would go to Hell and back if it meant keeping someone important to him safe. You know how much it affected him when Amarantha cursed this court then kept him trapped under the Mountain. Tam will never allow that to happen again through any means necessary. If having Ianthe here means the Court will grow stronger overall so we can rise to a challenge if another threat appears, then to him, her presence is vital.”

I rolled onto my back, expelling a long puff of air. “Court Politics is stupid.”

My reaction must’ve been unexpected enough to make Lucien let out a barking laugh. He slid his hand into mine, our fingers intertwining. “I suppose living in the Faery realm isn’t quite what you imagined.”

I groaned, covering my eyes. “I’m a general. I shouldn’t have to deal with this bullshit. I just want to be sent out to deal with naga or martax. Hell, I’ll even jump inside another worm.”

“I think you’d be pushing your luck with three,” Lucien said. I didn’t have to see him to acknowledge the smirk on his face.

I drew my hand away, looking deep within his eye of reddish-brown which appeared purple in the dim light. Less and less over the past few months had I caught that hint of sadness I used to see in there, so deep that I worried I could drown in it someday if I let it. I wondered if that sadness was like a lake slowly evaporating until only a puddle remained. It would be too much to hope for it to ever go away entirely; I knew that much from what I carried with me concerning my brother’s death and the deaths of Warin and Ione from under the Mountain. What I could hope for was to bring Lucien enough joy to counterbalance that burden as he’d helped do for me.

“Are you alright?” I asked, taking in his features. “Really?”

Lucien smiled. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against mine before urging me to turn away so he could hold me to his chest.

“I’m more than fine, Jade,” Lucien said. He planted a kiss atop my hair. The arm he wrapped around me glowed with a faint light. “I have you.”

I smiled, closing my eyes. “And I have you.”

“You have me completely.”

Lucien placed his hand on my thigh, slowly drifting over my nightgown until he reached my hip. He waited; offering a silent question concerning if his hand should continue to roam or withdraw. My back arching into his broad chest as I let out a soft hum prompted him to resume his journey as his fingers grazed over the curve of my stomach before settling on my breast. He squeezed as he kissed the length of my neck before moving up to my ear. My ears had become far more sensitive since becoming High Fae, a fact Lucien knew good and well as his teeth lightly grazed their flesh.

I let out a soft gasp. My fingers twisted into the sheets as he toyed with the two areas on my body he knew without a doubt turned me to putty in his hands. It was an incredibly unfair advantage; cruel, even, since I’d yet to discover such a weakness in him. I knew he had a tendency to literally glow in happiness on occasions like this, however that would happen both in and outside our bedroom for various reasons and wasn’t the sort of foothold I needed. In this regard, Lucien was an opponent who outclassed me by a mile.

I felt an increasing hardness against my lower back alongside the growing heat in my core. I pressed myself into it, shifting my hips and causing Lucien to suck in air between his teeth. The hand he had on my breast withdrew and immediately homed in at the apex of my thighs. My breaths grew short as his fingers deftly found their way under my nightgown and he began to mimic the circles I was making with my hips. His touch was unlike anything else I’d experienced from a partner in bed; simultaneously radiating heat and electrifying. That plus what he continued to do with my ear already had me dangerously close to the edge. When he moved my undergarments aside so he could slowly work his fingers inside and out of me in a steady rhythm, I almost came undone.

“Lucien …”

Lucien wasn’t known for being clever for nothing. He could read perfectly between the lines of the name I’d barely been able to get out between soft gasps. Both of our clothes were gone in an instant, his length hard and supple pressing directly against my back. That length disappeared for a moment as he raised my leg alongside the sound of his haggard breathing. A second later he found his target, sliding himself fully inside me from behind with ease from where I’d grown slick as oil waiting for this moment. I found my back once again pressed hard against his toned chest, picking up the vibrations from the low moans he let out as Lucien began to rock his hips. The angle meant he couldn’t thrust particularly deep, although based on the sounds he was making alone indicated what I’d been doing with my hips earlier had been more than enough to bring him well on his way.

I wanted to feel that throbbing between my legs and the radiating warmth that followed when Lucien would fill me with his ecstasy. I wanted to hear his cry of pleasure directly in my ear and feel the shudder that would run through him from head to toe. I wanted to see that light over his skin glow even brighter and wash over me in a wave both inside and out.

“Come for me,” I whispered, digging my fingers into his hip.

“Is that an order, General?” Lucien breathed, kissing the length of my neck. His fingers returned to the area between my legs, and I let out a soft gasp. “I don’t know if that’s a command I can follow just yet.”

My desire to call him an asshole became swallowed up as his thrusts increased their tempo. This was a form of warfare Lucien had far more experience in than I did, and it showed. Gaining the upper hand would be an uphill battle.

“I could have you … thrown in the dungeon,” I said. I was getting close now, heat pounding through my core as Lucien’s drives and fingers moved in tandem.

“I would prefer confinement,” Lucien said between gasps. “If I’m going to be bound and gagged … I’d rather be chained to a bed than to the floor of a dungeon.”

“Such a pampered prince …”

The image of Lucien’s bare, golden body laying splayed atop the sheets filled my mind. The defined muscles in his arms would tense against restraints as I’d run my hands and mouth over every inch of his body. Knowing where to touch, what to suck, and how fast to go based on his writhing and the pulses of the glow over his skin would be my only guide. I liked the picture of being able to turn the tables on him for a change.

As if Lucien could hear my thoughts, he whispered into my ear. “I’m yours to do as you will just as you’re mine. If you want something from me … I know you’re strong enough to take it.”

I certainly was … although I consented to Lucien’s win today. My climax shook through me like a thunderous wave as I screamed Lucien’s name. He was quick on my heels, a series of curses accompanying his explosive release. It took us some time of lying there catching our breath before either of us gained the strength to speak, much less move.

“How fast do you think word will spread when I go to the tanner inquiring about the sort of restraints fit for bed posts?” Lucien asked. I looked over my shoulder to meet his sly grin with a raised brow.

“Word won’t spread at all if I come with you,” I said. “I’ll wear ‘Queen-Splitter’ on my hip, and I think that will be enough motivation for anyone to keep silent.”

The glow around Lucien shimmered as amusement danced behind his eye. He planted a long kiss on my cheek. “Ah… my perpetually stunning lover of both wrath and loveliness beyond compare. I knew there was a reason I kept you around.”

I threw back my head with a laugh.

Chapter Text

Saying things were tense at breakfast the next morning was an understatement.

Tamlin was present, for a change, albeit he ate in silence along with Lucien to my left, and Ianthe to Tamlin’s right and directly across from me. Her tentative glances she’d shoot us through her thick lashes were an indication she wanted to start a conversation but didn’t seem to have the courage to go about it. Breakfast had ended that morning with us all going to perform our collective duties, including Ianthe going to pray in a space Tamlin had converted into a prayer room for her specifically. I had to fight back the urge to gag on the idea of Ianthe having a semi-permanent presence in this house.

Three more days passed in this manner. I nearly lost my appetite entirely every time I had to sit across from Ianthe and pretend a bread roll or a strip of bacon deserved every ounce of my attention so I didn’t have to look up. My wish to spend more time with Tamlin had certainly come true since he was now present at all our meals, although I felt that it was more along the lines of him being present as a keeper of the peace than anything else.

On the fourth day I’d been considering drowning myself in my porridge … when I felt a tug in my gut. My head snapped up, along with the heads of everyone else at the table who sensed the slight shift of magic in the air. I was the only one among them to have a smile on my face as I whipped around in my seat to regard the doors of the dining hall swing open with a cold gust of wind.

A polished black shoe came down on the marble, a wave of coiling darkness following in the steps of the tall figure strolling into the room. Despite being dressed all in black, Rhysand shone like a star, that light brightening when he returned my smile.

I laughed from the pleasant surprise. I shot from my seat in an instant, throwing my arms around Rhysand. He patted my back with one hand, holding a deep blue box to the side with another. “What a welcome reception,” he said. “It’s good to see you too, Mouse.”

I took a step back, putting my hands on my hips. “Did you fly he–?”

My view of Rhysand became blocked in an instant. Tamlin’s back muscles tensed through his white tunic, claws jutting from his fists. I lifted my eyes to find Lucien at my side with a grave expression. His mouth stretched into a thin line as he stared down Rhysand.

“What do you want?” Tamlin said, voice low.

“No need to push, Tam,” Rhysand said. He opened his arms wide. “You’re more than welcome to have a hug, too, if you want.”

Tamlin let out a low growl. “Get the hell out.”

“You’re asking me to leave?” Rhysand said, placing a hand on his chest as if he were offended. “First of all – you should really have your wards inspected. Cauldron knows what other sort of riffraff could’ve strolled in here unannounced. Second – I’m only here in the first place because I was invited.”

“I don’t recall the Spring Court extending you an invitation,” Lucien said, stepping forward to stand beside Tamlin. He kept his voice even – steady. Lucien seemed far more tentative concerning Rhysand’s presence than he seemed upset.

Rhysand leaned to the side to look through the gap between Tamlin and Lucien’s shoulders. He opened his mouth, his train of thought seeming to shift as his eyes locked onto something over my shoulder.

“Ah, Ianthe,” Rhysand said, a trace of something slick coating her name on his tongue as if it left a residue behind. “Seeing you again is an absolute pleasure.”

Glancing over my shoulder indicated Ianthe didn't agree with this statement in any capacity. A pallor had fallen over her face and she appeared on the verge of soiling herself in fear.

“You recall our conversation last time we saw one another, hmm?” Rhysand said, his smile turning feline. “That promise I made to you about what would happen if a certain priestess were to lay her hands on a member of my court … know that it also extends to Jade.”

Tamlin shifted his stance to block Ianthe from Rhysand’s view. A low growl escaped his throat. “What notion do you have to think you have any right to slither into my court and threaten my people, Rhysand?”

“I’d call it more of a reminder than a threat,” Rhysand said. He stepped to the side and I locked on to his glittering eyes of violet. “I’m getting the sense that you didn’t tell them about the alteration to our agreement, Mouse.”

Lucien looked back to me before his eyes returned to Rhysand. “Is that what this is about? Taking her to the Night Court?” The level tone to his voice melted away with every passing word. “I’ll burn you to a husk before I let you take her to that pit of torture and death.”

Rhysand looked to Lucien with a raised brow. “Oh … she didn’t tell you; how embarrassing.” Rhysand turned his attention to Tamlin, putting on a glittering smile. “Jade made a tweak to our bargain – instead of her spending nine days a month in the Night Court, we have the option of me spending nine days here, instead. I’m sure it’ll be fun; just like the good old days where the two of us used to spend time together at the war camps. Do you remember those times, Tam?”

Tamlin whirled around in a flash of green and gold. He was practically breathing down my neck as he towered over me, his face inches from my own as he heaved.

“What did you do?” he growled, speaking through clenched teeth. A storm brewed in my chest as I bared my teeth right back at him.

“I invited my friend to my home,” I said, not daring to so much as blink in the face of those eyes filled with rage. “I figured if there was a choice, you’d rather have him be here than me be there.”

“You do not get to make those sorts of decisions!” Tamlin said, his shout reverberating around this room. “This is my home! You are just –”

I spotted Lucien shift in my peripheral. I held up a hand, stopping his approach. Tamlin and I kept our gazes locked as he stared me down. This was the longest either of us had actually looked at one another in months, and I spotted something similar to what I’d seen in the garden a few nights prior. He was tired, and … something else, something sad I couldn’t quite make out.

“What?” I said, my eyes starting to burn from not blinking. “What am I?”

Tamlin closed his eyes with a dip to his head. The radiating aura about him dimmed, the claws piercing his knuckles retracting. The hole in my chest that was growing used to being empty … filled a little bit.

“I can’t have him in this house, Jade,” Tamlin said, voice soft. “Please … listen to me about that.”

“Alright.”

Tamlin opened his eyes. He met my steady gaze.

“Rhysand doesn’t have to stay here – we can figure something else out,” I said, studying Tamlin’s slack features. “But I’m tired of being kept in the dark; I need to know what the hell happened between you two, because I’m starting to get the impression that everyone else is aware but me.”

A light scoff came from the door. I leaned over to take in Rhysand as he let out a quiet chuckle.

Hey, I thought, pushing the thought across the bond.

Shut the hell up.

Rhysand’s expression shifted. The look of malice he shot me didn’t compare in the slightest to the murderous intent firing between our link. I snapped my shield shut to block out the sensation before looking back to Tamlin.

“Am I going to hear things from you first, or am I going to hear it from him?” I asked, indicating Rhysand with a tilt to my chin. Tamlin contemplated the question for a moment before giving me his answer with a slow nod.

“You’ll hear it from me.”

I was lucky the conversation I was dreading to have had become unnecessary. Tamlin wanted to tell me his side of things in privacy, which I knew meant confronting Rhysand and asking him to behave in our absence. Considering I’d done a pretty good job of pissing him off a moment prior, I had a feeling that things in that department would be anything but easy.

Then Rhysand simply … vanished.

Lucien’s mechanical eye didn’t detect a trace of his magic in the vicinity. No explanation had been given, and I’d met nothing but a solid wall of black obsidian when I tried inquiring through our bond about where he’d gone. Mitah arriving a moment later confirmed Rhysand had winnowed from the manor property entirely. Considering how Tamlin and Rhysand seemed to feel about one another, I had a notion that this wasn’t a gesture done out of respect. I could only hope Rhysand hadn’t disappeared for some sort of emergency.

I tried not to worry too much as Tamlin and I made our way into the garden. We took a seat on two stone benches facing one another, shielded from the Sun by a wooden trellis laden with heavy blooms of wisteria overhead. My knee immediately started to bounce as I leaned forward to rest my elbows on my legs. A feeling hung in the air like lightning was about to strike.

“I considered Rhysand a friend in my youth,” Tamlin said.

He didn’t look at me, keeping his gaze fixed on an empty spot on the bench at my side. I had to wonder how many hundreds of years ago he meant when he’d said ‘youth.’ How many centuries had passed of the two of them despising one another?

“Rhysand and I never quite fit in among the other members of the courts,” Tamlin continued, his tone flat. “He isn’t fully High Fae, and I had a distaste for spending time with my father and the company he kept. After a fashion, he was the only person I ever sought out at court functions because we shared a bond as if all the courts in Prythian were a joke, and only the two of us understood the punchline.”

Tamlin’s broad shoulders dipped. “Then my father took notice. It started out small – asking me to train with Rhysand and report back on his combat abilities. He wanted to know about the shadows Rhysand could wield, and what was true concerning what happened in the battles Rhysand had fought in during the war. After some time, it was clear my father was obsessed. He compared me to Rhysand – berating and beating me during training over his perceived shortcomings in my abilities. That changed when I started to take things seriously; when I asked Rhysand to train me in Illyrian combat techniques so I could turn the tide against my father during our spars.”

A lump in Tamlin’s throat bobbed as he paused to swallow. He made a low hum. “That … was a mistake. My father stopped comparing me to Rhysand; he’d instead started comparing himself. I’d known almost immediately Rhysand’s power was on a level different from any other High Fae entirely. For that reason, I never even entertained the idea of being able to outmatch him. But my father … his pride couldn’t come to terms with the idea. He had a point to prove both to himself and to the side – Rhysand’s side – who’d fought against the loyalists in defense of the humans during the war. In his mind, no other option existed other than to kill Rhysand.”

The bouncing in my knee stopped. I felt a sensation like a drop of liquid hitting my navel, turning the warmth in my blood cold with every beat of my heart. The face marred with pain before me was one I didn’t recognize … yet knew all too well.

“Either Rhysand would die, or I would die,” Tamlin said. He lifted his hand to stare at his palm. “My father had given me that choice. My brothers had stood at his shoulder, smiles on their faces as if they wanted nothing more than his permission to tear me apart; I have no doubt they would’ve. I knew that I could’ve refused, that I could’ve run. But that would’ve meant leaving my mother to them … leaving her alone.”

Tamlin flexed his fingers. “Rhysand had told me where his family would be camping in the Illyrian forests. I led my father and brothers to the spot. It turned out something had happened to delay Rhysand’s arrival, although his mother and younger sister were already there.”

Tamlin closed his eyes, his hand forming into a fist as he took a deep breath. “I stood by and watched as my family butchered his. Rhysand’s sister died first; my eldest brother had picked up some signal from my father and sliced her throat open before I even knew what was happening. Rhysand’s mother fought back … I think she would have escaped if she hadn’t been trying so hard to pick up her daughter’s body. The sound she made when my father sliced off her wing … I still hear it.”

Tamlin slowly lowered his hand. It was shaking.

“My father kept their wings as trophies, and sent their heads down the river in boxes, knowing someone within the Night Court would come across them eventually.”

Boxes.

That dream; that nightmare from Rhysand. He’d been trying to find boxes – to stop them. When I’d followed the tether between us, it’d been like swimming upstream against a current of anguish. I hadn’t seen anything when I’d broken through his mental shield aside from him staring at a river with an expression etched with devastation. But I’d heard the word echoing throughout his mind as if it were a cavern that could only repeat one thing.

Boxes. Boxes. Boxes.

“You fucking coward.”

I was burning. It was worse than the time Amarantha had hit me with her magic and it had felt as if my lungs had been filled with ash and my eyes were melting from their sockets. All I knew was pain.

“You watched them die!” I screamed. I got to my feet, my eyes rising to remain locked with Tamlin’s as he did the same. Fear swam behind his gaze. It was clear he remembered what I’d done to him under the Mountain … how I’d nearly snuffed his life out entirely.

I embraced that feeling.

Tamlin moved out of the way when I moved to shove him back. He held up his palms, sunlight shining in his golden hair as he stepped out from under the trellis. “Jade – stop.”

“You say you’re a protector?” I spat, nostrils flaring. “What a load of bullshit. You just stood there and did nothing while two innocent people were torn apart in front of you!”

“I know,” Tamlin said, still backing away from my steady approach. “I know that. I’m not proud of it. But it didn’t excuse Rhysand for what happened after, how he and his father killed my brothers … and both my parents.”

“I don’t give a shit!” I wanted to slice Tamlin’s green eyes out so he’d stop looking at me with an expression as if he deserved some pity. He didn’t at all.

“You made a choice to be your father’s little bitch instead of doing what was right,” I hissed, my jaw tight. I felt the same power coursing through me as I had when I’d split Amarantha in two … That anger and hatred coiled around every nerve. Everything around me fell away to nothing; it was just me, and the thing in my sights.

“Filth like you doesn’t deserve to live, much less call yourself a High Lord.” 

I raised my fist, building up the power to strike with enough force to hit his ribcage and cause it to collapse. I could do it; I was strong enough. I had the ability to shatter bones like glass. I killed a damn Queen. Tamlin was nothing. No one would miss him. No one would –

My mind didn’t have time to register what was happening before I found my legs swept out from under me. Gravel tore into my cheeks as my face met the ground. I snarled as a strong grip pinned my arms behind my back and kept my head shoved to the dirt.

“That …” a smooth voice said, leaning into my ear. “… is absolutely no way a general of this court should conduct themselves when speaking to their High Lord.”

My gaze locked with a set of blue eyes. The normally sparkling color which reminded me of sun-kissed waves was now a deep indigo like a riptide threatening to pull me under. Mitah held my stare, unblinking.

“Apologize to our High Lord, Jade,” Mitah said. The statement wasn’t a suggestion.

Dirt lined my lips as my breaths sawed out of me. Something about the shock of being pressed against the warm gravel brought me back to myself. I blinked, closing my mouth and forcing choppy breaths through my nose. The world around me dragged back into focus. I could hear birdsong between my rapid breaths, and smell flowers and damp soil. My heart rate which had been thundering in my chest began to slow.

Mitah’s eyes roved over my face. A more familiar nature returned to his features as his grip loosened and he rose off my back.

I remained on the ground for a moment. My fingers dug into the dirt path, curling around pebbles and dry earth. I felt … misplaced. As if for a moment I’d gone somewhere else entirely.

I slowly pushed myself up. I remained on my knees, not daring to raise my eyes past Tamlin’s scuffed riding boots.

“I’m sorry.” I coughed up the dirt in my throat. My hands rested on my knees as I inclined my head in a shallow bow. “I apologize, High Lo–” I swallowed hard. “Tamlin. I apologize, Tamlin. I don’t know … I’m … sorry.”

Gravel crunched. I looked up, following Tamlin’s movements as he stopped before me. He lowered himself onto a knee, placing a hand on my shoulder. “You are … selfless, Jade. When I told you about innocents being killed while I did nothing to stop it, you became rightfully upset.”

Was that all, though?

Something told me it wasn’t … but I couldn’t say what it had been.

“Go inside and get some rest,” Tamlin said. He got to his feet, and I accepted his offered hand to help me up. I did everything in my power to ignore the sensation of my skin crawling.

“If Rhysand returns,” Tamlin continued, motioning toward the manor. “I’ll tell him you’re not up for seeing him right now.”

That spark of anger from before flickered in my gut.

I gave a small nod before turning and heading down the path, a whispered exchange between Mitah and Tamlin following in my wake. I soon heard Mitah’s footfalls on my heels – I’d been given an escort.

Lucien stood ramrod straight in the threshold of the manor. I didn’t meet his gaze as I stepped past him without a word and headed toward our bedchamber.

Chapter Text

I stayed holed away in my bedchamber for the remainder of the day. Not a single visitor knocked on my door as the hours went by, the only sign that life remained outside the walls I’d confined myself in taking form in a plate of food waiting in the hall. Magic had been used to keep it warm; I held off on eating for some time in anticipation of Lucien eventually coming up to join me. When the sky changed from blue, to gray, to a deep black from the low storm clouds blocking the Moon … I gave up on waiting.

I’d barely begun to pick at some roasted chicken when I felt a tug in my stomach. I sat upright in my seat beside the small table where Lucien and I spent nights doing little more than drinking, sharing stories, and enjoying one another’s company until exhaustion or other desires brought us to bed. I found any form of disturbance from the empty seat across from me to be a welcome distraction.

Bat?

“Come up to the roof.”

I looked out the dark window with a wrinkle to my nose.

Is there a door leading up there?

“Do you really need one?”

I scoffed. A peach-colored napkin covered my dinner in an afterthought as I rose from my seat.

My feet were on the ledge of my windowsill a moment later. A slight breeze which carried the promise of rain blew across me as I twisted and pressed myself against the tan brick of the manor’s exterior. Being on the top floor meant I didn’t have to reach far for the stone cresting, pulling myself up to the metallic gray-green roof. I walked up the curved rooftop toward a series of domes around my height at the apex of the manor. It was here I found Rhysand, sitting with his legs stretched out before him and his back leaning against one of the domes.

“Where the hell have you been?” I said, roughly taking a seat near his feet. I leaned my elbows on my knees. “Why did you just take off earlier?”

“Since I’m on vacation, I went sightseeing,” Rhysand said, looking over the garden. “And as for why, someone arrived who I didn’t care to run into.”

“Who?”

“Unimportant,” Rhysand said. His violet eyes slid to me. He hit me with a look bordering on suspicion.

“What the hell is your problem?” I said, narrowing my eyes. “You’re the one who invited me up here – don’t look at me like that.”

Rhysand continued to size me up. “Did Tamlin tell you what happened?”

He didn’t have to elaborate for me to know what he meant.

“He did,” I said.

“And?” Rhysand asked, revealing little of his thoughts. A shield of black obsidian had gone back up in his mind. We both knew I could break through it if he had his guard down; at this moment there was enough reinforcement it would be like trying to punch a hole straight through a mountain.

I opened my mouth … then closed it. It was like my subconscious was made up of two beasts slowly circling one another. Around and around they went, both baring their teeth but neither daring to strike. One made my heart pound and threatened to fill my ears with a deafening roar. It made me want to put my focus on a certain target and tear, break, and burn. The other ... the other reminded me of the smell of flowers, and a feeling of deep admiration for an ability to lead in an effortless fashion.

“I’m … pissed off at Tamlin beyond words,” I said, staring at my open palm. I could sense Rhysand’s tension ease beside me. My hand formed into a fist before I slowly put it against my chest. “He is … still my heart.”

Rhysand was well practiced in the art of ‘court politics;’ the change was subtle, but I could tell when the tense nature about him returned. I stared ahead into the quiet gardens dotted with small bobbing fae lights. When Rhysand eventually spoke … His words were laced with venom.

“How lucky it is for Tamlin to be the little golden boy who will always be forgiven.”

A puff of air escaped my nose in a scoff before meeting Rhysand’s gaze. My eyelids drooped in response to his distant expression. “I take stock in what I see. Tamlin has been trying to get better – to not get so angry and to trust other people. Despite wanting to rip him apart for what he did, I’m not going to abandon him.”

I indicated Rhysand with my chin. “Taking stock in what I see also applies to you. I’ve gotten an earful for some time now about how your court is horrible and full of murderers and corruption and everything bad anyone could think of. But I don’t think that’s true; at least not all of it. Because I know what I’ve seen, and you don’t seem like the type of person who’d care so much about your people if they were all like that.”

Rhysand smiled in a manner which didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe I’m just really good at lying.”

“Maybe you are,” I said, furrowing my brow. “Maybe I’m just a giant idiot and you’ve been playing me like a fool this whole time. But I’d rather be the idiot who believes in something than an asshole who doesn’t trust anything.”

A heavy raindrop hit the crown of my head with a thud. I wiped it away, another taking its place a heartbeat later. Rain didn’t bother me enough to entertain the idea of relocating, especially not from the type of rain that fell in the Spring Court which came down in fresh droplets like stepping under a small waterfall. I was surprised when Rhysand shifted in his seat and I found myself dry.

Our shoulders brushed as Rhysand’s wing materialized from his ever-present aura of shadows and curled overhead to form a makeshift canopy. A light tapping sound accompanied raindrops rolling from the edge to drip across our vision. He looked ahead with his features schooled into something I couldn’t read.

I shifted my weight, noting that his breaths were growing unsteady. “Did you like them? Your mother and sister?”

“I did,” Rhysand said, sounding distant. I hardly heard the last part of his statement over the increasing tempo of the rainfall. “I loved them both; very much.”

I nodded in a slow fashion. I followed his gaze to the fae lights now flickering in the rain. “Do you blame Tamlin for what happened?”

“I don’t know.” Rhysand made a tired sound. He brushed an invisible speck of dirt from his knee. “Since you’ve been here, have you seen any wings around the manor? Ones that look like mine?”

I frowned, taken aback. “No – I’ve been over every inch of this place and haven’t seen anything like that.” My eyes narrowed. “Tamlin said that his father … took them as trophies, didn’t he?”

Rhysand nodded, looking as if he were on the verge of being sick. It was a gruesome image – like someone nailing a pair of severed arms or legs over a mantle.

It was a gruesome image … and not at all something Tamlin would do.

“I can ask what happened to them,” I said. “But I can say for certain they’re not on display.”

Rhysand kept his eyes averted. “Tell me one thing, Jade – was he responsible for ending either of their lives?”

I thought about my answer for a moment; weighing if Tamlin may’ve lied about the events to make himself come off as looking better on the other end. It was a possibility, but …

“I don’t think so,” I said, dropping my gaze. “There’s a good chance he didn’t touch either of them. Tamlin will lash out if he’s angry, but he won’t target someone who he sees as defenseless.”

Can the same be said about myself?

I didn’t know where the thought came from. It was frigid and gripped my heart like a vice. My shudder must’ve come across as me seeming cold, Rhysand’s jacket disappearing off his back and reappearing in his hands. I leaned away when he made to drape the object over my shoulders.

“I’m fine,” I said, holding up a hand.

“And I don’t give a shit,” Rhysand said, putting the jacket on me anyway. “I take stock in what I see – and what I see is a cold dumbass refusing an offer for warmth, so I have to give them a hand since they won’t help themselves.”

“I’m not a child.”

“Not all the time,” Rhysand said. A familiar trace to his smile appeared when he leaned forward to prop his chin in his hand. “I’m also not going to miss an opportunity to piss Tamlin and Lucien off by having you go back in there covered in my scent.”

Rhysand chuckled when I balled up his jacket and threw it over his face. Despite myself, I couldn’t help but feel satisfied to see him in a better mood.

“You’re coming to the Night Court, next time,” Rhysand said as he snapped his fingers. His crumpled jacket returned to its rightful place over his shoulders, not a crease to be seen. “I have to say the hospitality of the Spring Court leaves much to be desired. I don’t even plan on staying a single night, much less nine.”

I shifted in my seat with a hum. “You won’t even try talking to Lucien?”

“I have a very strong feeling things wouldn’t go well,” Rhysand said. “Especially considering where he went.”

The look on my face prompted Rhysand’s brows to rise. “He didn’t tell you? Little Lucien headed off for the Day Court not long after I left. He’s probably in the middle of bending over backwards to get Helion to help him figure out a way to get you out of our agreement. Unfortunately for him, Helion has far more motivation to stay in my good graces than come to the aid of an exiled prince.”

I prickled like a tomcat. “He did that without even asking me? … I’m ripping his balls off.”

“That’s probably why he didn’t say anything about it,” Rhysand said with a chuckle. The glittering in his violet eyes like distant stars suddenly dimmed. “That fire burning inside him can take over his ability to think logically, but he cares about you. My offer still stands to break the bond if that’s what you need for the two of you to be happy.”

The look on Rhysand’s face made me groan. I put my head in my hands, speaking through my fingers. “Don’t make me say it.”

I felt a flicker in my gut … through the bond. It was far from pleasant, and it gave me an indication Rhysand had misunderstood my words entirely.

“You’re so dramatic,” I mumbled. I lifted my head from my hands. “I’ve had brothers, sisters, and lovers, but I’ve never really had a good friend. I mean, there was Bat – the other one – but that was it.”

Rhysand’s face fell flat. “I warned you what would happen if you were ever to treat me like I was a dog again.”

“I’m not treating you like a damn dog!” I snapped, feeling heat rise up my face. “I’m saying that I’ve never had a best friend before! So just shut up already about breaking the damn bond before I break your legs, asshole!”

Rhysand regarded me for a moment without a word. His smile grew warm. “You’re saying I’m the closest friend you’ve had aside from a dog? That’s pretty pathetic, isn’t it?”

I clenched my jaw. “I take it back – get the hell out of my court before I send you out in pieces.”

“Right away, General,” Rhysand said, his tone nothing short of condescending. “But not before I give you this.”

The deep blue box Rhysand had in hand earlier that morning made a reappearance. He handed it to me with a pleased grin. “I searched high and low, but I think I found something fitting; Happy Birthday, Mouse.”

I sized up Rhysand’s sparkling demeanor as I gripped the box. Lifting the lid found me regarding a red, circular object atop a brown paper nest. I frowned as I raised the waxy-feeling item up for inspection. A smell hitting my nose caused me to freeze in place.

“Is this … cheese?”

“One of the Night Court’s finest varieties made from sheep’s milk,” Rhysand said, looking far more pleased with himself than anything should warrant. "A suitable gift for any mouse, in my book.”

The rain had stopped, but a collection of droplets fell over me during the second Rhysand winnowed away before I could slap the wheel of cheese across his face. I stared at the empty space where he’d been for a moment … and began to laugh.

My senses flared the moment something entered my bedroom. Without opening my eyes, I knew it was Lucien. Being High Fae meant I could now pick up miniscule shifts in the air and his scent of campfire and flowers in an afterthought. It also meant I could pick up something being off about his gait, prompting me to sit up in bed with a frown.

A faint blue hue to the sky indicated it was dawn, but only by a small margin. Lucien stopped beside the bed and placed his hands on my shoulders.

“Is Rhysand gone?” he asked, a sense of urgency to his tone.

“He is,” I said, wishing I could get more sleep before having this conversation. “Can we talk–?”

“That food,” Lucien said, looking at the blue box I’d left on the small table. “Did that come from him?”

I paused from rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “Yeah? Why?”

With a snap of his fingers, the box disappeared. My temper flared.

“That was a gift!” I said.

“Get dressed – we’re meeting Tam and Mitah downstairs,” Lucien said, ignoring my protest entirely. He crossed the room, putting his knapsack down on the small table where my gift had once been. With a start I noticed he still had on his riding jacket and boots, having not bothered to remove either. Him winnowing directly into the room like this …

“What’s happened?” I said, my heart rate rising as I flung back the covers. It was clear something more was going on than just Rhysand’s unexpected visit.

“My damned family,” Lucien said, a gleam like molten metal behind his eye. “That’s what.”

Chapter Text

Lucien and I descended the stairs into the foyer. We passed a trio of servants who gifted us with small nods before they disappeared down the hall to our left. We found Tamlin and Mitah mid conversation in the threshold of the dining room.

“… they haven’t detected anything off; neither have I.”

“Good,” Mitah said, his expression solemn. “That means whoever that bastard was didn’t make it close to the house. I’ll have the sentry who spotted them give a more thorough description and distribute that information to our forces and Kallias immediately.”

Tamlin and Mitah turned their heads in unison upon our approach. They looked me up and down as if I might collapse at any moment. My stomach turned as my eyes met Tamlin’s. It was hard to say if it was out of guilt or something I couldn't explain … something I fought to push down as my hand balled into a fist.

“What’s going on?” I asked, forcing myself to hold Tamlin’s stare.

“One of the eastern patrols spotted an unknown individual camping out in the forest two days past,” Tamlin said. His posture and tone conveyed a heavy level of concern, all of which directed at me. That tension inside me wavered.

“The incident was reported, but they caused no harm, so no follow up was warranted,” Tamlin continued. He indicated Mitah with a tilt of his head. “Then Mitah received an urgent message from the captain of the Winter Court guard – an assassination attempt had been made on your life during your visit to their court during the Winter Solstice. Two, actually, if the High Lord’s suspicions are confirmed.”

I felt like the ground had disappeared from under me. “What? Are you sure? I think I would’ve known if someone had tried to kill me twice.”

“When you fell from the cliff,” Lucien said. His golden eye narrowed in on the shock rolling over me. “Kallias himself is going to confirm, but someone may’ve been trailing us that day. He believes the rock giving way beneath you may’ve been due to tampering through magic. He came to suspect as much after finding out about the wine.”

“Wine?” I said, completely lost. “What wine?”

“You left a partially drunk glass of wine on the terrace,” Lucien said. “I’d chide you for your poor manners, but it meant that it happened to be picked up later by a servant who noticed the smell was off. They confirmed with the court healer that the drink had been laced with healmsbane.”

The tension in my shoulders loosened. “Oh … good. I’m alright against that one.”

‘My sister always said to never turn down free booze unless I had a feeling it was laced with a poison I hadn’t grown an immunity to yet.’

I’d said those words to Lucien a few months ago when he had accused Rhysand of forcing me to drink the wine served under the Mountain, needing to confirm that the decision had, in fact, been on my shoulders alone.

It was a common misconception that the thing mercenaries feared the most were Fae – that was up there, of course, but the far deadlier threat tended to come in the form of other mercenaries. People of my clan didn’t balk from solving disputes in face-to-face combat, but not everyone possessed that mindset. When hired to take out the competition, many turned to the way of assassins – utilizing a packet of poison or a dagger across the throat in the middle of the night. It was a safer option, even if it painted them as cowards. My dog, Bat, had been a protection for both my sister and I against the latter threat, and as for the former …

That would explain Lucien’s suspicion about the food Rhysand had gifted me. Although, Rhysand wouldn’t need to resort to something so backhanded if he wished to kill me. Poison doesn’t seem like his – 

I flinched, the tension in my shoulders returning as panic struck and I tracked my eyes over Lucien’s face. “Are you alright? Did they also …?”

“I’m fine,” Lucien said, stone-faced. “We can’t know for certain whether my wine had also been poisoned. Either way, healmsbane grows freely in the Autumn Court – not developing an immunity while growing up in a family like mine would have resulted in me dying long before now.”

“We figured you were also immune, Jade, since you didn’t drop dead,” Mitah interjected, crossing his arms. “You mentioned in passing before you’d worked up an immunity to some poisons. Lord Tamlin’s going to put up a shield; you need to give us a full list so we can know what to look for.”

All ambient sounds cut off in an instant the second the shield was in place. I regarded it in unease for a moment before listing off the various poisons my siblings had ensured I’d grown an immunity to over the years.

“Well,” Mitah said, studying me after I finished going down my list. “At least that’s nearly all the poisons I know of which are effective between both humans and Fae. You’ll be susceptible now to anything which specifically targets our kind. Lucky for us, those are much harder to come by.”

“And I can’t build up a tolerance to those?” I asked, glancing between my companions' faces.

“Fae poisons don’t quite work like that,” Lucien said, humming in a displeased manner. “They affect our magic more thoroughly than our bodies. Certain side effects may be negated with a tolerance, but overall, you’ll be left just as defenseless. The one bright spot is that there aren’t any which are instantly fatal; at least not to my knowledge.”

Tamlin and Mitah nodded in concurrence. My attention returned to Lucien. “Why did you say before that your family had something to do with this? Why the hell would they send a damn assassin after me?”

Mitah actually chuckled. A grin tugged at his mouth as our eyes met.

“Honestly, Jade,” he said, amused. “You’re the only person I know who would forget about being put at the command of an entire court’s army.”

I blinked. That was … right. I’d beaten Lucien’s brother Ivar so badly his shape had changed from a High Fae to little more than a puddle. And the wager for that duel had been command over two respective armies – my command of the Autumn Court’s, and Ivar’s command over the Night Court’s, had he won. Considering all the other shit that had happened …

“There’s no way I have that much power, though,” I said, making a grabbing motion toward my chest before pushing my hands out. “I have a hard time believing I could just … magic … any member of the Autumn Court’s forces into doing what I say without pushback.”

Tamlin, Lucien, and Mitah exchanged tense looks. I got the sense this was something they’d discussed at length before. I knew I wasn’t fit for politics and all the plotting which came with it, but it still hurt to imagine I’d been left out of conversations which centered so heavily around me.

“It’s hard to say how the magic will manifest,” Tamlin said, his gaze returning to mine. “Magic deals in rules and restrictions, one such restriction being the power of the wielder. You haven’t yet developed your own abilities when it comes to magic; later, perhaps, but not now. This means your hold on the Autumn Court’s forces would be an unsteady one at best, or break completely at worst. With time and training, you might be able to develop better results. However, we’re not going to pursue that route.”

I frowned. “What? Like me learning magic?”

“We’ll train you in magic,” Tamlin said. “After we meet with Beron and figure out how to nullify the bargain you made with Ivar. Ivar being dead now will complicate things; a matter which was likely overlooked by whichever of his siblings who sought to take him out while he’d been vulnerable. However, the responsibility for the bargain on the Autumn Court’s end likely shifted to Beron. We can hope this can be put behind us after a meeting or two.”

I wasn’t quite sure what I was hearing. “You want me to just … give that power up? Why would we do that?”

“My court’s relationship with the Autumn Court is tenuous as it is,” Tamlin said, his gaze landing on Lucien. “If things continue, we may be facing an all-out war. I want to avoid that at all costs.”

“All the more reason for us not to break the bargain,” I said, crossing my arms. “The Autumn Court can’t invade us if I can just tell their armies to stand down.”

“Like Tam said, it wouldn’t be that simple,” Lucien said, catching my attention. “War would likely come long before then; before you could be ready. You’ve been a High Fae for less than four months, and they’re already sending assassins after you.” Fire burned behind Lucien’s eye as if he’d be more than eager to set his entire home court ablaze. “I hate the idea of coming to an agreement with my father as much as you do, but if it means your safety and avoiding a war, then I believe breaking the bargain will be our best bet.”

The only one who didn’t seem entirely on board with this option was Mitah. We exchanged a look where I most certainly didn’t need to have any ability to read his mind to know we’d talk about the issue later. He was a general like I was, and likely had just as many reservations over simply handing over a hefty military advantage like the one we possessed for nothing other than goodwill. I acknowledged his look with a small nod before breaking our gaze.

“I want to be involved in all meetings leading up to our talks with Beron,” I said, referring to Tamlin. “And I want to start training with magic now, not later.”

Tamlin’s expression darkened. “No. If the Autumn Court catches wind of it, it could be used as an excuse for them to start rumors of us planning to invade. The last thing we need is to give them fuel to draw in supporters.”

I threw up my hands in exasperation. “Who the hell is going to side with Beron over us? I’m the one who saved this whole continent, and Beron’s just some old asshole looking to start trouble.”

“Our relationship with the other seasonal courts is positive, but where we stand with the solar courts is less steady,” Tamlin said, staring me down. “I’m not looking for an excuse to find out what lengths and promises Beron would go to in order to gain their support against us. It’s my territory which stands between the human realm and the rest of Prythian; if there were any courts eager to justify breaking my forces to gain easy access to the Wall … this would be an ideal opportunity.”

“Then let them!” I said, raising my voice. “Let that bastard try to take us down. We can rally the forces of the Summer and Winter Courts, and the Night Court would help if I asked Rhysand. If Beron wants a fight, then we give him a fight and level them to the ground.”

I expected an immediate protest from Tamlin or Lucien. What I didn’t expect was for Mitah to take a slow step forward, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“You do not know war, Jade,” he said, his tone steady.

An old memory bubbled up to the surface. It was when Rhysand had first come to Tamlin’s manor, and he’d coerced me into a duel. At the time I figured it had been done out of sick amusement; looking back it was clear Rhysand had been trying to spook me into running away for my own safety. Even if he had just been playing a part, a certain statement stuck out in my mind:

'You must’ve been trained by Mitah,' Rhysand had said, regarding my fighting style.

'He’s the only member of Tamlin’s court old enough to have been in the war camps. To have led in the war camps.'

Tamlin and Lucien had been too young to fight in the war five hundred years ago. But Mitah … He’d been in the thick of it just as Rhysand had been. If he was older than Rhysand, probably even more so. And Mitah had been in service to Tamlin’s father, which meant –

I had to wonder if Mitah picked up on the realization when I did. I could practically feel his deep sorrow washing over me like a wave.

Mitah had been on the side of the loyalists. He’d fought … against the humans; against Jurian and the Faeries fighting for their freedom. He’d …

'He was vicious,' Rhysand had said. For someone like Rhysand to have admitted that …

'Even I was wary of him when I was young. I wonder how many humans he slaughtered … too many to count, is my guess.'

“There are two types who start wars lightly,” Mitah said, his gaze distant. “Those who are detached from the soldiers who would risk their lives, or people who are ignorant of what horrors war brings. I thank the Cauldron you are of the latter, since it means you can be shown reason. Beron being a part of the first group means he’s far more dangerous. I know it isn’t something your pride wants to hear, but we need to find balance.”

If Mitah’s mission was to make me feel like a child barely capable of putting on my own shoes, he succeeded wholeheartedly. He gave my hair a light ruffle before walking past. I watched his retreating form with wide eyes as he exited the sound dampening shield Tamlin had put in place and strode toward the door, likely to check if there’d been any further updates on unknown figures prowling the forest.

The shield surrounding Tamlin, Lucien, and I fell away. Mitah’s statement put a definitive end to our meeting.

“Once the servants and the sentries finish their sweep for anything unusual throughout the manor, I’ll dedicate more time figuring out how to approach things with the Autumn Court,” Tamlin said. He locked eyes with me. “Until then, stay within the manor’s wards with either myself, Lucien, or Mitah with you at all times; this is an order, General.”

I looked away, Mitah’s churning, blue eyes and what lay beneath having thoroughly drained the fight from me entirely. “Fine.”

A hand rested on my shoulder. I looked up to meet Lucien’s gaze.

“I know this is a lot to take in,” Lucien said, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “But there’s one more thing we need to discuss concerning your safety.”

Lucien and I returned to our bedroom. He cleared his knapsack from the table, two bowls of hot porridge and cups of tea appearing a moment later with an absent wave. Now that I was paying attention, it came as a wonder how natural the use of magic was to people like Lucien, Tamlin, and Rhysand. I never really saw Mitah or the likes of Alis using it very often, if at all. I pondered why my own efforts to learn such simple things had been so difficult and when I’d finally succeed … if I’d finally succeed.

We sat in silence for a few minutes while we ate. Lucien possessed a level of thoughtfulness about these sorts of things, knowing when to broach certain subjects based on my mood or if I was in need of rest. It was almost a motherly sort of nature he also reflected on Tamlin and occasionally the sentries. I admired his innate skill of being attune with other’s thoughts and feelings on such a deep level. I’d only just begun to really give a shit about how my actions affected him … much less most of those around me.

“Last night … I had gone to the Day Court,” Lucien said, deciding to speak when my bowl was nearly empty. I set down my spoon.

“I know,” I said, taking a sip of tea. I elaborated when Lucien’s golden eye narrowed. “Rhysand told me.”

The way Lucien flinched meant I’d hit a sore spot. He reached for his cup of tea, his slender fingers wrapping around the rim but making no move to lift the steaming cup to his lips.

“How was it he knew about it?” Lucien asked, his tone darkening. “And when did this conversation take place?”

“I don’t know how he knew,” I said, leaning back and crossing my arms. “And we spoke for a short time last night.”

“About?”

"A few things,” I said, noting Lucien’s tightening grip on his cup. “Mostly about Tamlin and what happened with Rhysand’s family. He also mentioned you going to the Day Court to try and find a way to break the bargain we have. I’m not going to lie and say I’m not pissed that I had to find that out from him instead of you.”

“I left for the Day Court within minutes after what happened between you and Tamlin in the garden,” Lucien said, an edge to his tone. “It was obvious you weren’t yourself, and I panicked over what Rhysand’s influence is doing to you. I needed to find a solution for freeing you from the bargain immediately. I had to cut my research short when Mitah contacted me about the assassination attempts, but I have every intention of returning to the Day Court as soon as possible and finding a way to break that bastard’s hold over you.”

I slowly lifted my chin, taking a deep breath to fight down the wave of heat rising from my gut. “There is no one in this world who has control over my actions other than myself. I take orders from Tamlin, and I listen to you and Mitah, but I am not manipulated like a puppet by anyone, Rhysand included.”

“You don’t understand how powerful he is, Jade,” Lucien said, leaning forward in his seat. “He’s a daemati; a Faery who’s capable of twisting your thoughts into making it seem as if the decisions you’re making are ones of your own choosing. Ask yourself, Jade – what use does Rhysand get out of being near you? He used you to help free him from Amarantha’s rule, which happened to be something which benefitted us as well, but we don’t know what else he’s after. He’ll use you to gain information on our Court, on our growing tensions with Autumn, and whatever he feels he can use against us. Whatever offerings of friendship he’s showing you … it comes with a price.”

I bared my teeth. “Oh, is that right? No one would want to be friends with someone like me unless they were getting something out of it, huh?”

Lucien grunted. “Of course not! This has nothing to do with you! It has everything to do with Rhysand and the fact that he’s going to someday stab you in the back and show his true colors just as he did with Tam.”

The dishes shook as my hand slammed upon the table. “Tamlin stood by and watched Rhysand’s mother and sister get butchered! And he’s supposed to remain on friendly terms with Tamlin after that?!”

“Rhysand is also responsible for the death of Tamlin’s own family, including his mother!” Lucien countered. “If we want to discuss there being blood on anyone’s hands, Rhysand is far from innocent. And maybe the killings of Tamlin’s father and brothers were justified after what happened … but murdering his mother wasn’t. And on top of everything, Rhysand rules over a court with a reputation for executing his subjects over the smallest infractions or voices of displeasure over his rule. He’s a monster, Jade. Whatever act he puts on for you is all a farce. I have no doubt in my mind he’ll kill you the moment he no longer has a use for you.”

“He wouldn’t do that!”

“How can you be sure?” Lucien said, eyes narrowing. “There’s no way you can be certain Rhysand wouldn’t take an opportunity to slaughter you the second he suspects you aren’t going along with what he wants.”

“I can be sure, because I can feel it!” I said, pointing to my head. “I can read his thoughts; feel his emotions. The reason we’re friends is because he needed a friend. Rhysand has never asked me a single question about what’s going on here in the Spring Court; I honestly don’t think he gives a shit. And if you really want to know, he’s offered to break our bargain a few times.”

Lucien went still. His eyes roved over my face in a slow fashion as if I’d gone out of focus. “Why would he make an offer like that? What did he want in exchange?”

“Nothing!” I said, forming a circle with my fingers and thumb before shoving my hand forward. “He wants nothing! He made the offer in case our bond made me uncomfortable. I told him it was fine and that it didn’t bother me. It’s just … nice feeling like I’m never alone.”

Lucien didn’t seem to know what to make of me. The scar running down his cheek shifted as his expression twisted into something uncertain. “Do I … Do you feel alone being here?”

“No!” I said, leaning forward in my seat. “Don’t be an idiot; of course I don’t. It’s just … hard to explain. There’s a thing connecting Rhysand and I that’s like … I don’t know … I’m a part of something. That we’re a part of something. I never really had that with a friend, and … I don’t know.”

I failed at finding the correct words to describe the tether I felt linking me to Rhysand. All I knew was that somehow, it was important. Precious; something to be treasured. The thought of taking it away left my stomach in knots.

Something along the lines of dread now tainted Lucien’s gaze. He continued to size me up as if he couldn’t quite be sure what he was seeing. “Jade … you don’t … Do you love him?”

The question was so unexpected, I flinched. “No; he’s an asshole.”

Lucien showed more shock than the time I’d once slapped him across the face. His gaze grew less tentative. “You’re saying you two are connected, but you don’t have feelings like that for him?”

“Why the hell would I?” I asked, throwing up a hand. “Did you see what he gave me for my birthday? It was cheese. I care about him as my friend, but in all honesty, he’s sort of a prick.”

The tension in Lucien’s shoulders relaxed. He looked me up and down for a moment. “Can I ask you something; how you would feel in a … hypothetical situation?”

"A what?” I said, furrowing my brow.

“‘Hypothetical,’” Lucien repeated. “I know you’re well-read enough to know what that means.”

“It’s something … from one of the books I read about healers,” I said, pursing my lips. “And if you’re trying to make me look like a dumbass, I’m cutting your balls off.”

“Thankfully for both of us, I’m not,” Lucien said. He drew his hand over his face. “How would you feel if I had the same sort of mental connection with Ianthe as you do with Rhysand?”

The question caught me off guard. I hadn’t even thought about Ianthe all day, the priestess having disappeared entirely since the moment Rhysand had walked into the dining hall the day prior. I had to admit I hadn’t taken much stock, or even cared, about where she’d slithered off to.

Lucien’s question, however … If I learned that he and Ianthe shared a bond where their thoughts and feelings were connected … I wanted to tear something apart.

“Is that … what it feels like for you?” I asked, raising my eyes from the table. “Although … Rhysand isn’t like Ianthe. She wanted to force you into something; Rhysand isn’t that way.”

“In your eyes, he’s not,” Lucien said, holding my gaze. “In my eyes, he’s like Ianthe, but worse. I can tell from the look on your face whatever you were thinking before wasn’t pleasant. Take that in mind and consider how this link between you and Rhysand feels for me.”

I was … sinking. That comfort; that feeling inside me like there’d always be someone there to have my back when I needed it … it was causing Lucien pain. A small part of me bucked and snarled over the concept – why should I have to change for his shortcomings? For his jealousy, insecurity, and fear?

Because I love him. And because he loves me enough to ask point-blank if I was in love with Rhysand; willing to face the consequences if I’d said ‘yes.’

I had no doubt Lucien wouldn’t take the decision lying down, but he’d been prepared to lose me once when he’d gone under the Mountain. When it comes to my happiness … Lucien would gladly sacrifice himself. That selflessness was something that had drawn me to him in the first place. Lucien was loyal, kind, and thoughtful. Even if he felt jealous and threatened by Rhysand, that wasn’t the main reason he was wary of our bond. It was out of fear … fear of me getting hurt.

“Alright.”

The finality of the word caused my eyes to grow wet. I blinked back the tears before they could fall. “I understand. Rhysand and I … we can still be friends without the link. But that’s where I draw the line – he is still my friend until he does something to make me think otherwise. All these hypotheticals you keep throwing out about who he is and how his court works … I haven’t seen it, and I have a feeling you haven’t, either. I don’t want you, Tamlin, or anyone standing in my way when I go over there to make my own opinions.”

The twitch to the corner of Lucien’s mouth indicated I was correct in that assessment. He gave a solemn nod. “You’re right – I’ve never had reason to travel to the Night Court directly. The next time Rhysand appears, I’ll do my best to conduct myself with that in mind. And I’ll do what I can to prepare myself for when you go to … visit. I’m not going to pretend that I’m happy about it, but if there’s anyone strong enough to hold their own in a place with that sort of reputation, it would be you.”

Lucien regarded me in a reluctant manner. “If nothing else … he did help you under the Mountain. Even if it was all ultimately for his own benefit, Rhysand was the reason you had better living conditions and got out of that cell on occasion … even if part of that landed us in this mess we’re now in with the Autumn Court.”

I hadn’t thought of that. This entire thing was Rhysand’s fault. He’d been the one to propose the original bargain of granting me the command of the Autumn Court’s forces. Had he just picked some low-hanging fruit as an excuse to get their royal family riled up, not thinking of the consequences? Or had there been something more behind his motivation?

“Next time I see Rhysand, I’ll tell him to break our agreement,” I said, letting out a long breath. “I’ll also knock his teeth out for all this shit going on with me getting poisoned and thrown off a cliff.”

“Are you sure you two are friends?” Lucien asked. A trace of his sly smile danced over his features. I couldn’t be sure I was returning the smile, but I tried.

“We are,” I said. “And you’re still the one I love despite threatening to cut off your balls.”

“Multiple times,” Lucien said, wincing from the thought. “I probably shouldn’t have given you that sickle.”

“That was your mistake,” I said, my smile growing genuine.

Chapter Text

Among all the meetings about what to do with Beron and the Autumn Court, there was also a debate about where I would be during the Tithe.

The Tithe was some long-standing tradition with a description I’d partially zoned out when Lucien had explained it to me a few months past. Tithes were uncommon, but not entirely unheard of, on the Continent; most humans were too busy living and dying to spend the time traveling to a local monarch to personally present some form of offering. The fact that Tamlin even bothered with such a thing on top of collecting taxes seemed like an unnecessary chore. My opinion on the matter didn’t come across as welcome so I’d dropped it with a shrug.

In the end it was decided that I’d be seated next to Tamlin … sort of. A golden dais had been erected in the large receiving hall, the carved chair (which was technically a throne, as it turned out) from Tamlin’s study placed at the apex. The steps of the dais were wide and shallow enough for another far less ornate chair to be placed one step down from Tamlin for my own use.

We’d first considered having me absent entirely; locked and warded away at some secret location with a collection of trusted members of the sentry acting as a guard detail. Tamlin had been swayed from this course of action when Mitah and I argued that it would take too long for aid to arrive if something were to happen. Truth be told, I felt like I could handle any assassin the Autumn Court deemed to throw at me; I just didn't want to spend the day alone and bored out of my mind.

Originally, I was supposed to spend my time during the Tithe standing with Lucien and the sentries at the foot of the dais. It was obvious that having me in such close proximity among a throng of near strangers no longer seemed like the best idea. Instead, we decided to set a trap. Being nearly front-and-center on the dais meant I was still certainly within range if anyone were determined enough to go after me. The sentries would remain on high alert for such a thing, along with a few nobles who were members of the auxiliary guard who had no qualms following Tamlin’s orders to wear hidden weapons and keep a close eye on the village emissaries and members of the crowd. We were practically daring an assassin to try anything, at this point.

Mitah had been sent to the Autumn Court border to check wards, direct the border patrol, and enforce background checks for anyone using the tunnel system leading to the Spring Court. I felt a little guilty that my current position meant I couldn’t take on some responsibilities for the mission, although I certainly couldn’t say I envied the mundane work in the slightest.

I changed my tune fairly quickly. When the Tithe began it was – for lack of a better term – boring as shit.

The first two hours had me doing everything in my power to stay hyperaware of my surroundings and play the role of the aloof general and well-renowned ‘Crown-Cleaver’ who saved all of Prythian. As Tamlin’s subjects filled the hall and a procession started of each village emissary coming up to the dais one-by-one to offer up goods, I offered nods and genial smiles. Alis had dressed me in a white tunic, gold vest, and deep green pants tucked into gleaming riding boots. That morning I'd looked in the mirror and felt fit for a military procession. To top it off, on my hip was sheathed Queen-Splitter, the ashwood hilt of the sword receiving a share of wide-eyed glances before onlookers quickly moved their attention elsewhere.

By the time we’d reached the third hour of the Tithe, I’d given up sitting ramrod straight and instead leaned my elbow on the chair’s armrest and crossed one leg over the other. Occasionally I would glance over to take in Tamlin behind me, finding him looking every bit as regal as he had when the Tithe had begun. Today his tunic was a blue green with intricate stitching of leaves in gold thread along the low collar and hemline. Paired with his golden crown fashioned to display a series of blooming roses, he looked the very definition of a High Lord. His posture didn’t slip nor did the amiable smile on his face falter. I wondered if he had undergone his own form of training to be able to pull something like that off.

At the foot of the dais on the opposite side from where I sat stood Lucien and around a dozen of the sentries. The sentries appeared to be dying from just as much boredom as I was. Lucien, however, kept records of the village emissaries and what items were being offered for the Tithe in a vigorous fashion.

I’d previously offered to help Lucien with the task. His skill of being able to tally the value of the offered jewels, crops, and even livestock in his head in a matter of seconds made it obvious his earlier refusal based on the statement of him not needing the help was grounded in fact and not a polite rebuttal. At the very least I had some form of entertainment in watching him work … and how he looked in his form-fitting gray pants and low cut copper-toned tunic while doing it. Every now and then our gazes would meet, Lucien hitting me with a wink as if well aware what trim portions of him I’d been studying.

Ianthe was, quite thankfully, on the opposite end of the hall. She stood near the door and wore her false smile while addressing each emissary as they entered then exited the room. I had to fight the urge not to draw Queen-Splitter and slice off each of those silver-ringed fingers she laid upon every visitor. My patience growing thin as the hours pressed on prompted me to stop looking in her direction entirely to avoid doing something I’d regret.

By the fifth hour of the Tithe, I wished for death. Having an assassin come after me at this point just so I'd have something to do would be welcome. The unsteady looks I received from members of the court indicated the drained expression I was making came off as threatening. The true nature behind it was me fighting to stay conscious as I leaned my head in my hand. Even Lucien’s gaze shifting to worry indicated my efforts were a losing battle. It wasn’t until an unfamiliar slapping sound came from the hall did I feel a jolt shaking me awake.

Into the room walked a water wraith. I had to wonder if it was the wraith I’d spoken to before, or if she just so happened to be nearly identical with her blue skin, slick dark hair, and inky black eyes. She carried a small object wrapped in soiled cloth, the only thing on her even resembling clothing. Her full lips parted in a smile to reveal rows of pointed teeth. It wasn’t Tamlin or Lucien, but me who she addressed first when her webbed feet stopped at the foot of the dais.

“Good tidings, Crown-Cleaver,” the wraith said, inclining her head. “I am honored we meet again after our last bargain which was most advantageous.”

Indeed, it had been; the wraiths in the nearby lake had gotten a hefty meal, and I’d been allowed to live. Considering I’d almost died at least four times during our short encounter, I wasn’t jumping to head into another bargain with their brood.

“I’m glad to see you stomached the naga,” I said with a grin. “I was worried something of that vile nature may’ve left you ill.”

The wraith shook her head, spattering droplets on Lucien’s shoes. I had to cover my mouth to fight down the urge to laugh from his resulting frown as the wraith finally shifted her attention to Tamlin.

“For you, High Lord,” the wraith said, unwrapping the object she had in hand. When a gleam from the wide windows reflected against the metal she had in hand … I couldn’t contain myself. My barking laugh echoed around the hall.

Within the wraith’s palm was the blade of a sword. No handle was in sight, but it wasn’t necessary since I could still imagine the golden handgrip bedecked in a number of jewels which had once been there. So could Lucien, based on the flabbergasted look he wore as he regarded the object which had once been his sword. It appeared the wraiths hadn’t necessarily been kind to it after I’d tossed it into the lake.

The hand Tamlin had over his mouth was a clear indication he was struggling to hide his smirk and maintain his composure. He cleared his throat, looking to Lucien. “Is this … object … worth the payment due for the Tithe?”

A muscle feathered in Lucien’s jaw. His expression reminded me of a cat owner regarding a dead bird their pet had dropped at their feet.

“It’s … a fine blade,” Lucien said, possessing this knowledge fully. “Perhaps it would be enough if the handle were still intact, but as it is, the balance is a little short.”

This was the first instance anyone had appeared without the full balance owed. I turned in my seat to regard Tamlin as he straightened.

“In that case, you have three days to offer what is owed or pay double the next month,” Tamlin said, his tone sliding back into the stately manner he’d been using all day.

“I’m afraid that would be difficult, my lord,” the wraith said, handing the blade off to Lucien before dipping her head. “There are no fish left in the lake. My people barely have enough food, much less the means to pay the remainder of the tithe.”

“I’m afraid there’s no exception,” Tamlin said, his tone steady. “Return in –”

“I got it.”

Tamlin turned to me. I raised my brows in response to his concerned expression.

“I’ll handle it,” I said with a wave. “Whatever they owe – take it from the salary you allot to me.”

Whispers flitted between the onlookers present. Their voices fell away when my eyes danced over the crowd.

“Thank you, Jade, for your generous nature,” Tamlin said, his voice filling the silence. “I’m afraid I can’t condone the offer. Each member of this court must be responsible for their own share of the Tithe – it’s only fair.”

“But I have more wealth to spare than she does,” I said, gesturing to the wraith. “I don’t give a shit – just take the coin out of what you’d pay me in the upcoming month.”

“But what of others?”

Ianthe was either very stupid or very brave to risk gliding across the marble to approach the dais. She stopped at the foot of the gold steps beneath me, her face partially hidden by her hood. I caught a glance of her pink lips pulling back in a frown.

“There are a few emissaries we’ve yet to entertain who are from villages who were more affected by Amarantha’s reign than others,” Ianthe continued, her voice clear enough to reach every corner of the room. “What would you have Lord Tamlin do concerning them?”

“He doesn’t have to do anything,” I said, hardening my expression. “I’ll pay for it – whatever villages who don’t have what they need for the Tithe, I’ll handle the balance.”

Subtilty was forgotten entirely when the gathered onlookers very openly shared their thoughts with one another on the matter. Considering most of them were High Fae nobles, much of it didn’t come across as positive.

“Jade,” Tamlin said.

Ianthe bowed her head and backed away from the dais. I watched her retreat with a heavy frown before turning to look up at Tamlin. His features looked as if they’d been carved from stone, but something dark I hadn’t witnessed for some time lurked within his gaze.

“You do not have the authority to make that offer,” Tamlin said, a rough nature lacing his tone. “I will not accept a single coin from your account when it comes to the payment of anyone’s tithe.”

“Not even my own?” I asked, my boot hitting the step as I uncrossed my legs. I gripped the back of my chair as I sat up straight. “I wasn’t asked to pay a tithe, so why do they have to pay if I don’t?”

More murmurs rippled through the room. I didn’t have to look at Lucien directly to know his gaze was locked firmly on me. I had no doubt he’d clap a hand over my mouth if it would do anything other than make things worse. When it came to Tamlin and I butting heads … At the end of the day, Tamlin was the one who garnered Lucien’s support. His loyalty was a double-edged sword; I had to be prepared to bleed if I wanted to stand up for myself.

“You, Jade, are paid a wage drawn directly from the royal treasury,” Tamlin said with the cadence of speaking to a child. “Those who are paid wages directly from the treasury don’t need to pay a tithe – there’s no point.”

I got to my feet. I kept my eyes locked with Tamlin’s as I unbuttoned the gold vest around my shoulders, shrugging it off and holding it out to my side toward where Lucien stood. “Fine – if you won’t take my coin, then I offer this. Alis said this vest comes from some artisan in the Dawn Court or something, so I’d guess it’s worth a lot.”

Movement in the corner of my eye prompted me to turn my head. I watched as Lucien magicked away the papers he had in hand with a flick of his wrist. The intensity of his stare would’ve caused me to balk had I not already been livid. His eyes never left mine as he raised his arms, hitting his open palm with the heel of his opposite hand.

‘Stop.’

I raised my pointer and middle finger together using my free hand, hitting them against my thumb in a swift motion.

‘No!’

I honestly didn’t care at this point if Lucien could understand everything I wanted to say as I tossed the vest aside and continued to weave signs in an exaggerated manner to convey my displeasure.

‘What about this is fair?! She can’t pay! She is starving! How can he demand coin from those who don’t have it?! This makes him no better than Liar!’

Liar.

That was a term Lucien certainly understood, since it was a motion I’d taught most of the manor to use while under the Mountain as a means to wordlessly refer to Amarantha. His eyes grew wide, a pallor falling over his golden skin as his lips went taught.

“Get … out.”

As it turned out, ‘Liar’ was a word Tamlin also understood based on the rage reflected in his tone and threatening to overtake him entirely. His knuckles had turned white from how hard he was gripping the arms of his throne, his broad chest rising and falling in sharp breaths. There was a good chance every ounce of his will was going into keeping his claws retracted.

My eyes tracked up and down Tamlin’s rigid form. I scoffed, and I could've sworn a piece of the wood beneath Tamlin’s fingers gave way with a quiet snap. The fact that he thought he could scare me into compliance was laughable. Suddenly that crown on his head seemed like nothing more than a joke.

I reached for the sword on my hip. Tamlin tensed, frozen in his seat as I unclipped the weapon from my belt. The sword hit the golden step at his feet with a thud that echoed through the room. I allowed the weight of the fading sound to lie heavy before speaking.

"A famous sword like Queen-Splitter should be worth the balance of at least a few tithes,” I said. I sized Tamlin up before giving him a listless bow. “My lord.”

I turned on my heel, keeping my eyes fixed on nothing else but the open doorway across the hall. I felt like I was back under the Mountain – a gaggle of onlookers regarding me in stunned silence akin to when I’d walked the length of a different throne room while covered in the blood of a prince from the Autumn Court. I put on the same sort of face I’d worn back then; cynical, distant. Ianthe’s expression was the only one I took in from those around me as she stepped back to allow me to pass.

From beneath the light blue hood, I caught Ianthe smile.

Chapter Text

Tamlin had told me to leave, so I did. I exited the manor, threw a saddle on Snowball, and went for a ride outside the wards; prior warnings be damned.

I was armed to the teeth if nothing else – my standard sword, a few daggers, and the bracers gifted to me by the Winter Court all in tow; my weapons bouncing against my thigh as I pushed Snowball as hard and fast as she was able down the winding paths of the nearby forest. Some effort had to be put in to find less populated paths considering the heavy number of travelers coming to and from the manor for the Tithe. After a fashion I found myself with only Snowball as my company as we raced through apple orchards and a field alongside a lake reflecting the blue sky like a mirror. I left Snowball here to drink from the lake when she was tired … taking up the mantle and beginning to run myself.

I ran one lap, then two; sucking in crisp air and reveling in the sensation of my lungs being on fire and how it distracted me from wanting to scream.

Every step I seemed to take forward with Tamlin resulted in a huge leap back. For the life of me I couldn’t understand what was wrong with him. We’d been fine before the Mountain; friends, comrades. Then he changed – being distant one moment then turning around to do everything in his power to piss me off the next. Why the hell couldn’t he just listen to me? Why did he feel the need to fight me on every statement, every decision? I didn’t give a shit about him being High Lord … I cared about him doing what was right, which he didn’t seem capable of, anymore.

“Jade!”

I slowed my gait, chest heaving. The shape of an imposing figure in the tree line caused me to set my jaw and lifted my chin as Tamlin stalked toward me.

“What the hell are you doing out here?!” Tamlin said, his body language and tone indicating he wasn’t anywhere near to having cooled off since earlier. “You’re supposed to stay within the manor’s wards! I’ve sent out every one of the damn sentries looking for you!”

“Since when did I become a prisoner?” I said, stalking in his direction. “I’m a damn general of this court, and I’m going to go wherever the hell I want.”

“And I’m the High Lord of this court, and I’m going to tell you that you can’t!”

“Like hell you are,” I said. I stopped before Tamlin, baring my teeth in response to his flared nostrils and hands balled into fists. “You’re not the High Lord I remember – what the hell has happened to you? Since when do you hear about your damned people starving and do nothing? No, worse than nothing – Lucien told me before about how you’d go and hunt them down for sport if they couldn’t pay their damned tithe.”

“I would never do that,” Tamlin said. His muscled arms beneath his tunic tensed. “It’s part of the tradition, but there’s no way in hell I’d ever hunt any of my people down like they were animals.”

“But letting them starve to death is fine?” I asked, not giving Tamlin an inch.

“That water wraith played you like a damn fool,” Tamlin said. He chuckled in a way that made me want to slice out his tongue. “Those gluttonous things are always ‘starving.’ She had you in the palm of her webbed fingers looking for pity and handouts. You giving her what she needed made me – made my entire court – look weak. And then you threw your damned sword at my feet … If I were my father, I’d drag you back, have you tied to a post, then lashed for that level of insolence.”

I took a step forward. “Clearly you’re not your father – it sounds like he had a spine.”

Tamlin’s canines grew to fine points. I sneered at the display.

“We’re past the point where you can intimidate me to do what you want.” I reached out, giving his chest a shove. With one hand I could force him to take a step back. It was only a single step … but it was a single step more than what I’d ever been able to accomplish as a human.

“Jade,” Tamlin growled. His claws slid from his knuckles. I felt about as threatened as facing a kitten.

“I’m not your pet to be ordered around,” I spat.

This time I shoved him with both hands. Tamlin took two steps back.

“Don’t … touch me,” Tamlin said. His features began to shift into something more lupine. Now I was really starting to piss him off.

“You can’t protect anyone, so stop pretending like you can,” I said. I shoved Tamlin again, returning the resulting snarl. 

“Jade – stop,” Tamlin said, his voice taking on a low growl.

“You stood by as you watched Rhysand’s family die,” I said, ignoring his request entirely. “You stood by as you watched me beat Amarantha’s tasks … You did nothing when I came at you under the Mountain … And from what it sounds like, you did nothing when Rhysand’s father came through and wiped out every member of your family except for you. Under your rule, everything and everyone in this court is bound to crumble into what you are … nothing.”

A wave like an explosion erupted from Tamlin. I had no way to block or counter the overwhelming force throwing me off my feet. I slammed into the grass at the edge of the lake, shaking away the splotches filling my vision. 

Tamlin was now in his beast form. He opened his maw as our eyes locked, letting out a roar which quaked through my bones. A smile tugged at my lips.

Finally.

The primitive, coiling fury behind Tamlin’s green eyes parted. He let out a grunt and took a step back, flinching as if he’d been the one who’d been thrown instead of me. “Jade, are you alri–?”

I pushed myself to my feet, drawing my sword as I broke into a run. Tamlin met my downward swing with a claw, shoving the weapon aside. I screamed, swinging again. 

“Jade!”

My slash across Tamlin’s shoulder drew blood, red painting the grass along with the edge of my sword. It wasn’t enough. Tamlin had to suffer for what he’d done. I stared deep into those eyes of green and amber, disgust rising like bile in my throat; disgust over what he’d done, what he was. 

A damn monster.

That spark of humanity behind Tamlin’s gaze retreated. Nothing remained of the pious, pathetic trash he pretended to be as he tangled my sword within his claws before his fangs neared my throat. I dipped beneath his maw, allowing the sword to remain caught in his grip as I switched to a dagger and drove it through the golden fur over his chest. Tendons tore and bone cracked as Tamlin let out a piercing sound like a crash of thunder. I rolled away as he thrashed, narrowly avoiding having my skull crushed underfoot like a ripe piece of fruit.

Tamlin didn’t bother removing the dagger lodged in his chest. I dodged another swipe, realizing too late that it was a feint and taking the brunt end of his antlers piercing my flesh when he whipped his head forward. 

My breath caught in my throat as I stared in horror at my left arm pierced clean through in three places. I screamed as Tamlin lifted me into the air, the sound reverberating across the still lake. It may very well be the last sound I ever make as Tamlin made to smash me into the ground as if he were a blacksmith and I a hammer against an anvil. If the impact didn't kill me, then enough bones would be broken and organs twisted that I’d wish for it, anyway.

I rushed toward the ground in a blast of wind whipping past my ears. I held my breath … and just before the impact, I changed.

I hit the ground in a much softer blow than anticipated. My body was the absence of light, coiling and churning in a mass only an inch or so off the ground. I could feel pieces of myself snaking through the grass like a fog. In a panic I fought to bring myself back together before I dissipated entirely.

I was back to normal in a heartbeat, the shock leaving both Tamlin and I staring at one another for a moment. My senses returned like a kick to the ribs and I reached for another dagger in my belt. This spurred Tamlin into motion and his attempt to counter was deflected by my bracer as I grabbed the dagger and got to my feet.

Kill him. Kill him!

Tamlin has to die!

The voice screaming in my subconsciousness caused bolts of electricity to run over my skin. I moved forward in a blur of light, my blow aimed at Tamlin’s throat missing the mark when he shifted his head. A spray of blood and fur erupted from his chin as he pushed me aside. I cursed my bad luck as I tumbled away, changing my tune when I spotted my sword in the grass. I swapped weapons in time to avoid being bitten in half, using the trajectory of my dodge to slice through a thick chord of muscle along Tamlin’s leg which left him staggering to keep his balance.

Now!

He was open. I could aim at the spot directly before me – the space between his jaw and ear. It was where I’d once stabbed a martax and watched it choke on its own blood. The result with Tamlin would be no different. I’d bleed him dry, allowing his life force to trickle through the pebbles lining the shore and stain the water until the entire lake reflected red. This was the fate Tamlin deserved. A monster like him deserved.

My sword came forward, brushing golden fur … then stopped.

Red. My vision was red. It wasn't the same color as blood, it was bright and blinding as it coiled and churned around me like I was caught in a whirlpool. Hands wrapped around my arms, pinning them to my side. I screamed, thrashing against the arms and the burning red around me as I plunged into swirling darkness. The wind whipping about my face swallowed my cries laced with curses as the endless void somehow moved. With a start, the darkness fell away, and I found my feet on solid ground.

The arms wrapped around me didn’t let up. I felt a shift in my body, my form drifting apart like fog for less than a second before coming back together. Finding myself free of my assailant’s grasp, I turned on them with my sword.

That kill … that kill had been mine!

Where I was hitting the creature of swirling red, I didn’t know, but my sword clashed again and again against something like limbs. I cried out in anger and frustration amid a shower of sparking metal as I used every ounce of my will to push past this thing’s defenses and sever its head-like form from its shoulders.

“Rhysand!” a voice said, the sound high and shrill. “Get her off me before I smash her into a paste!”

Darkness filled my mind. I could still see, and hear, and breathe, but everything inside of me was just … shadow. It was like every thought and emotion I had was being smothered into a dark void. Externally, I didn’t move a muscle; internally, I screamed and cursed and fought with all my might.

Vile, burning hatred rolled through me like a wave. It was old – older than my own existence by years; decades. That hatred burned like a molten knife against bare flesh and hot ash filling my lungs. I embraced it, allowing the desire to take the world and shatter it to pieces to ring through my veins like a siren’s song. Within that boiling pit I heard a voice:

“What started this?! What the hell did that bastard do to you?!”

The screaming in my head transformed into a roar. My resulting shout through the void caused it to thrum as if I were capable of breaking reality apart with nothing more than my wrath.

Tamlin dared to cage me; to challenge me! 

The voices in the darkness surrounding me screamed promises of pain and slow torture. My thoughts twisted and entwined with the intoxicating chorus.

I won’t stop until I have his fucking head! Tamlin is a monster who needs to die! 

For a moment, nothing happened. I remained floating in that void of hurt, anger, and disgust. Then … the chorus faded. The ocean of raging hatred remained, but it slowly receded as if the tide were going out. I chased it, finding it retracting further out of my reach as other emotions took its place.

Wariness. Apprehension. Uncertainty.

The song within the darkness returned, singing a different melody. The void began to close in; smothering and suppressive. It was trying to calm me.

The anger burning inside me flared to new heights. I imagined a set of canine-like teeth snapping shut, my mental shield falling into place. I now had enough of myself back to stagger to the side, blinking as the world outside my head came into view. My sword clattered to the floor from my limp fingers as I took in my surroundings.

The first thing I noticed was that the red thing was gone. The second thing I noticed was the quarter Moon visible in the pale blue sky.

Wherever I was had no walls or windows, the ceiling of the wide, circular room carved from some type of white stone held aloft by tall columns. Sheer curtains billowed in a slight breeze, partially hiding the scenery of snow capped mountains beyond. My jaw hung slack as I slowly turned to take in the mostly empty expanse save for a few seating areas and freestanding glass lanterns. I discovered there was in fact a single wall behind me which brandished a threshold leading to a set of stairs. It was against this wall Rhysand leaned, arms crossed as he peered at me with narrowed eyes.

“Where the hell am I?” I asked, stunned.

“More importantly – why were you and Tamlin trying to kill each other?” Rhysand asked. He pushed himself from the wall, sliding his hands into the pockets of his black pants as he made a slow approach. The calm expressed through his facial features and body language was countered by the rolling shadows leaking around Rhysand as if they were the last defense keeping his rage in check.

“I was going over reports, then nearly fell out of my chair when enough murderous intent washed through the bond to almost make me puke up my lunch,” Rhysand continued. “I didn’t want to risk starting another incident, so I sent Mor to check things out. I need you to collect yourself so you can enlighten me on why she had to tackle you like a rapid animal and drag you all the way here to keep you from slicing Tamlin’s throat wide open.”

The mention of Tamlin’s name caused my blood to boil. I snarled, turning on my heel and snatching my sword. “Take me back – I’m not finished.”

“Oh, you are quite finished,” Rhysand said, not moving so much as a muscle other than to follow me with his violet eyes. “I’m not sending you back there to murder a High Lord – not a good look for the ‘Hero of Prythian.’ If that bastard crossed a line he shouldn’t, trust me when I say I have other ways for him to face judgment.”

“You just want it for yourself!” I spat, baring my teeth. “His death is mine.”

Rhysand kept his stone faced expression as his eyes roved over me. He lifted a hand from his pocket. With a snap, the sword in my grip turned to nothing but black mist.

“Hey!”

I went for a dagger. Another snap, and it drifted away into nothing.

“Jade,” Rhysand said, his voice echoing simultaneously through my mind along with my ears. The effect held my attention like a vice. “You said he caged you – what does that mean? Did he try to imprison you?”

“No,” I said, frustrated over having to explain myself. “Yes, sort of. He tried to control me – that piece of shit. I won’t fucking let him! I’m stronger than he is!”

Rhysand stared at me with an expression I couldn’t decipher. I clenched my teeth, taking heavy breaths through my nose. I could feel his presence once again in my mind, poking and prodding at my shield as if searching for a crack in which to slither through. I could sense he was angry – furious – but that anger was like a river being held back by a dam. Rhysand was waiting for a signal to let that anger and unbridled destruction loose. And the explanation I’d given … wasn't good enough.

“Fucking send me back!” I shouted. “Send me back so I can finish him!”

Rhysand exhaled sharply. He slid his hands into his pockets. “No.”

“Fuck you!” Tears of frustration built up in my eyes. I felt like I’d been closed inside a small box, the walls pressing in and in until I couldn’t catch my breath. I needed to break out.

“Send me –!”

“I’m not giving you a choice,” Rhysand said, his expression so still he may as well have been carved from a rockface. He sized me up before turning toward the stairs. “I’ll show you to a spare room where you can lie down.”

That statement was unexpected enough to knock the rest of my senses back in a jarring manner. I became aware of the smell of jasmine, and the pain running through my left arm where a series of jagged scabs lined my skin, the wounds already healing. I sensed a warm breeze and my head felt foggy like I’d gone too long without water. And my pants … they were torn, with splatters of blood and … golden fur. My breath hitched.

“I’m not at liberty to stand here all day, Jade.”

I slowly lifted my eyes. My gaze locked with Rhysand’s indifferent expression. Slowly, painfully, I opened my mental shield.

“When you see yourself in a mirror, you’re going to agree with me that you should wash up and get some rest.”

Rhysand tilted his chin as an indication to follow as he headed toward the stairs. I focused on the sound of his footsteps fighting for dominance over the pounding in my ears. With every echoing step he took, I became aware of my sawing breaths and how I couldn't get my hands to stop shaking. I balled them into fists as I watched his casual, straight-backed retreat. 

I took one step, then another. My feet felt like slabs of granite. I corrected my unsteady gait with a grunt, trailing after Rhysand to wherever he deemed I should go.

Chapter Text

A steaming bath waited for me in a wash chamber attached to a room Rhysand led me to. So were Nuala and Cerridwen, much to my surprise. I probably looked far more shocked to see them as they did me – part of it being their appearance had shifted exponentially. I didn't even offer Rhysand so much as a glance when he closed the bedroom door behind me as I only stared ahead in shock.

I couldn’t help but gawk at Nuala and Cerridwen’s matching features as they helped me undress and get into the tub. Where nearly every part of them had been completely covered in shadow, they now looked like any other High Fae with sharp features, lithe frames, and pointed ears. Their dark skin shone with a hint of gold, straight black hair falling over Nuala’s shoulders, and tied back in a braid down Cerridwen’s back. If asked, I wouldn’t be able to articulate how I knew the difference between the two. I would say the difference was in their eyes, but they were both the same shade of gleaming ebony. Perhaps the difference was in their glances more so than their eyes – Nuala had a calm, level nature to her gaze which put me at ease. Cerridwen possessed a curious spark which gave me an impression she took note of everything around her. To that end she had disappeared from the wash chamber for a moment, a steaming kettle with something smelling warm and rich sitting on a small table near the bed when I stepped into the bedroom.

Where I’d thought the wash chamber had been impressive with its pool-like bath giving an extensive view of the mountain, the bedroom was like walking into a space made for a monarch. The windows were wide open and didn’t have any glass that I could see. More sheer curtains billowed in a breeze that felt warm despite wherever this place was being nestled atop a mountain range. The bed was easily large enough to sleep five people, dressed in cream-colored sheets with a few golden pillows as adornments. My lips pulled into a fine line as I glanced around and took in the small collection of tall potted plants among the furniture – one of which being a lemon tree bearing fruit.

“This is the Night Court?” I said, asking no one in particular as my eyes roved over golden lamps hanging from the walls. “I was expecting more … death.”

I didn’t stand a chance the second I sat on the bed. When I awoke sometime later, I wouldn’t have been shocked in the slightest if Nuala and Cerridwen had told me I’d lost consciousness before my head had even hit one of the dozen or so pillows.

I noted that the afternoon Moon was long gone, the Sun’s position in the sky an indication that I’d slept through the night and well into the next morning. The teakettle Cerridwen set out had remained on the nightstand; I took a few sips of tea which was still piping hot before rising from the bed. 

I slipped into an outfit consisting of long teal pants made of a loose material which swayed about my ankles like a skirt, along with a simple white shirt that cut itself short around my navel. I eyed up the bracers laying on the bedside table for a minute before deciding against sliding them on. This place may be the Night Court like I suspected … but I trusted Rhysand. If this was the sort of place where Nuala and Cerridwen could walk freely without issue, then so could I.

I left the room, following Nuala and Cerridwen’s direction to go up a few flights of stairs to reach the landing I’d been on before. My pace slowed as I neared my destination. The way Rhysand had been looking at me … that had been different; new. I was having a hard time deciphering what it meant. If I didn't know that Rhysand was the most powerful being in Prythian, I would've thought it was fear. Obviously that couldn't have been it. Now that Rhysand was free and his powers unrestricted, someone like him had nothing to fear, especially me.

I was still deep in thought as my slow, silent steps approached an open doorway. The sound of voices caused me to pause a few feet down from the threshold.

“She can’t be here, Rhys; you know how this looks. This is only going to add fuel to Beron’s fire.”

I didn’t recognize this voice. It seemed feminine and had an air of firmness while still coming across as graceful. Although … It sounded oddly familiar. It took me a second to realize that it was the same voice as the red creature which had brought me here in the first place. It sounded far less hassled than before, but I was certain it was the same.

“And where should she go, Mor?” Rhysand’s voice said, sounding agitated. “I’ve already reached out to Tamlin and received no response. I don’t know what the hell happened between them, but whatever it was, he doesn’t want her back to address it – at least not yet.”

My blood turned cold. With a start I put up my mental shield, not wishing to give my presence away. I didn’t want to give Rhysand the impression I’d heard what he’d said. His tone alone conveyed it was probably something he’d word differently to my face.

Tamlin doesn’t … want me back.

Part of me felt proud of the fact. I’d spooked a High Lord – been powerful enough to have killed him if Rhysand’s companion hadn’t stopped me. And he would’ve deserved it – Tamlin most certainly would have deserved it …

Right?

I shook the thought away.

“Send her to Summer,” the other voice – Mor – said. “You said she’s friendly enough with Tarquin, right? Have her stay there until Spring figures out what the hell they want to do with her.”

“And what, have her be assassinated?” Rhysand said, raising his voice. “You heard what Azriel’s report said – Beron is out for blood. Tarquin’s palace isn’t as secure as we are here, and I know Varian sure as hell wouldn’t welcome her with open arms. Jade is staying right here under my protection for the time being until we receive word that the Spring Court wants her back.”

“And what if they don’t send word, Rhys?” Mor asked, matching Rhysand’s volume. “What if we never receive a message from Tamlin? I was there – she almost killed him. He may have survived a strike like the one she was about to make … but he may not have. There’s a very good chance no one is coming to take her back. If her lover was her mate, he might. But not only do we know that he isn’t, but that emissary is loyal to Tamlin to a fault. He won’t be coming for her.”

I blinked. Once … twice.

Lucien … won’t come?

Lucien and I weren’t mates – that hadn’t bothered me; I hadn’t cared. But Lucien … I’d never asked how he felt about it. I assumed he didn’t care either since he’d made it more than clear that he loved me and wanted to stay by my side. Had he said those things, hoping that someday a bond would click in place? Had he grown disappointed when it didn’t? Would he … take this as an opportunity to let me go?

“Mor,” Rhysand said. I felt a chill run through the air. I clutched my bare arms with a shudder.

“I never want to hear say anything of that sort again,” Rhysand continued. “I don’t give a shit what your intentions were, but you will not speak like that anywhere near where Jade might be able to hear you – understood?”

“Calm down – I get it,” Mor said. They sighed in a weary manner. “I don’t mean anything cruel by it; it’s simply an element we need to be aware of. And I’ll be civil – I promise. There’s just something about her that rubs me the wrong way. It’s like she’s … wild. And not in the fun way, in the ‘I-need-to-keep-my-fingers-outside-the-cage-so-I-don’t-get-bitten,’ kind of way.”

Rhysand let out a huff. “Let’s just say you met her under … less than ideal circumstances. She normally isn’t like that.”

Something made a tapping sound, like a utensil clinking against porcelain. I felt like this might be a good time to make my entrance when Mor spoke again.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright with her here, Rhys?”

I furrowed my brow, confused. There was a heavy nature behind that question I didn’t understand. Rhysand already advocated why he’d want me to stay, so why even ask?

“I’ll be fine,” Rhysand said. He sounded tired, as if this may’ve been a conversation he’d had before. “I told you; the bond hasn’t clicked into place for me, so things have been no different than normal. Even if whatever is happening could be considered normal. I can tell that her half of the bond is there when I’m in her head, although it’s like she simply passes it over without a second thought. It goes against every other instance I’ve heard.”

“And you’re certain?”

“Positive,” Rhysand said. “There’s nothing else it could be. Maybe … things will change when – if it falls into place for me as well. Until then, things will go along just as they have been.”

“Except for her now attempting to kill another monarch,” Mor said.

“Mor.”

“What?” Mor said, sounding offended. “It was a joke – lighten up.”

The sigh from Rhysand gave me an image of him being on the verge of pulling out his hair. It was at this moment I took a deep breath, dropping my shield and stepping through the threshold.

Rhysand was sitting at a long glass table on a veranda attached to the wide, open-spaced room I’d been in the day prior. He had his arms and ankles crossed as he leaned back in his seat and stared over the mountaintops. My approach caused him to turn his head, prompting his companion sitting across the table to do the same.

The female High Fae was nothing short of stunning. Half tied-back golden-brown hair fell over her shoulders in thick waves, stopping just shy of a sizable bosom. Her large brown eyes took me in, her full lips gifting me with a dazzling smile. If I hadn’t seen that smile reflected on Rhysand enough times, I may have thought it genuine.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice full of cheer. “How did you sleep? I’m Morrigan, by the way – you can call me Mor for short.”

“Or I could call you nothing,” I said, taking a seat. “Because I don’t give a shit who you are, and I don’t really care to.”

Mor looked at me like a deer caught in a hunter’s sights. I broke our gaze with a scoff before pouring myself a glass of water.

“I … apologize for before,” Mor said. I watched her shift in her seat from the corner of my eye. “I may’ve been a little rough when I brought you here; did I injure you?”

“Your voice injures me enough,” I said, sliding my eyes to meet hers. “So shut your damn mouth.”

The air shifted as if lightning were about to strike. Mor’s features grew taut, her eyes darting to Rhysand across the table. I wasn’t invited to whatever private conversation the two seemed to share before Mor rose from her seat.

“Well then.”

The semi-sheer red dress hugging Mor’s figure swayed with every assured step she took as she strolled away from the table. I listened to the sound of her footfalls as they reached the stairs, her gait shifting to something heavier as they grew out of earshot.

“You know that I’m going to have to deal with the aftermath of that, right?” Rhysand asked, sounding less than content. “I know you may not be pleased with how Mor treated you when she brought you here, but that was uncalled for.”

I took an indifferent sip of water. “I’m getting sick of people trying to force me into liking the asswipes in their court. First it was Tamlin with Ianthe, and now it’s you and that bitch.”

“That ‘bitch’ is my cousin,” Rhysand said, taking the glass of water out of my hand to grab my attention. “And Mor is nothing like Ianthe, thank the Cauldron. And you’ll do well to keep two factors in mind:

“One – Mor is the third in command in my court, and I won’t tolerate you speaking to her with that level of disrespect again. Two – I honestly don’t care whether you and Mor are friendly or not as long as you don’t try to pick a fight. Mor can and will kill you. Don’t take that as a challenge – take it as a warning.”

I watched Rhysand with a flat expression before he handed my water back to me. He didn’t say another word as I filled my plate with the various fruits, meats, and cheeses that’d been set out. It wasn’t until I’d nearly finished my meal did he speak again.

“You’re going to have to tell me what happened, Jade,” Rhysand said. He crossed his hands over his stomach as he sat back in his seat. “The way Mor described it, you were close to striking Tamlin with a fatal blow. What the hell happened for things to get to that point?”

I set my utensils down with a swift exhale. “I’m not … sure if I can really describe it.”

“You can show it to me instead.”

I peered at Rhysand, studying his relaxed expression. “Is that sort of like how you saw the memories about my clan before?”

“In a way,” Rhysand said with a shrug. “It’ll take a little longer, since I’ll be watching more than just flashes of images and feelings. We can stop anytime you’re uncomfortable. You can also omit things you don’t want me to see.”

I drummed my fingers against my thigh. The concept of Rhysand wandering around in my mind hadn’t bothered me once I’d grown used to it, but now the concept left me with some hesitation. What I’d overheard Rhysand saying before … about some sort of bond in my head he could see that I didn’t know about … it didn’t sit right. There was a chance he was talking about the bond from our bargain, although I felt pretty aware of that. Is that what he meant? And … At what point should I ask him to break it?

I sat up in my seat, taking a deep breath and working a pretend kink out of my neck to mask my discomfort. “Alright – we’ll start with the Tithe.”

What happened next gave me a sudden shock of vertigo. I was sitting simultaneously in my chair at Rhysand’s table, and in the chair on the steps of Tamlin’s golden dais. I was aware of being in both places at once, although any efforts made to flex my fingers or shift my feet were only successful at the table. The scene at Tamlin’s manor played out as if I were an observer incapable of making the ‘me’ in my memory so much as blink in a way that hadn’t happened.

The part of me present at the table peered at Rhysand. He remained leaning back in his seat, eyes closed as if he’d dozed off. Considering we’d fallen asleep in the same room a couple times, this was the first time I could recall him actually looking the part. The level of relaxation on his face was new – and now that I had a moment to notice it, so was the tanned nature to his skin. He’d looked downright sickly under the Mountain in comparison to how he looked now. The corner of my mouth tugged up in a smile.

A wave of emotion that wasn’t mine rippled inside me. I turned my attention back to the scene replaying in my head.

A low simmer of irritation bubbled from Rhysand as my interaction with Tamlin and the water wraith played out. That irritation turned into disgust when Ianthe stepped up to the dais and made her case to me about the other Faeries who may not be able to pay the Tithe. Rhysand had only spoken to Ianthe before in passing; the feeling I had now conveyed that saying the two of them not being on good terms was an understatement.

Rhysand’s emotions retreated when the me in my memory stormed from the receiving room and headed out on a horseback ride. Even when Tamlin had arrived and we’d begun to argue, Rhysand kept his thoughts to himself.

That all changed the second I’d pushed Tamlin.

There was shock; surprise. That feeling intensified when I’d pushed Tamlin again … and again.

That agitated feeling remained as Tamlin and I had begun to fight. I witnessed a few details I’d forgotten until replaying the memory like this – there was more blood than I remembered, and I’d narrowly avoided dying more times than I thought; Tamlin had been fighting in a lethal manner just as much as I had been. To be fair, I would’ve felt insulted if he hadn’t.

Then came a moment I hadn’t thought about since it happened – when Tamlin had skewered my arm with his antlers, whipping his head down to slam me on the grass. I’d hit the grass in a much softer fashion than intended, since I’d simply … lost my shape.

I picked up a spike of intense focus from Rhysand; his physical body showing signs of paying close attention as his mouth grew taut and his eyes shifted under his closed lids. I pondered if he was familiar with what had happened to me when I’d suddenly gone from being my usual, solid self, to a mass of what I could only describe as coiling smoke. The closest thing I’d seen to it had been how Nuala and Cerridwen had appeared to me while under the Mountain, although their forms still felt stable despite looking like little more than creatures of shadow.

The end of the memory grew near. My focus back then had been so honed in on my sword and where I’d aimed it at Tamlin’s neck, I hadn’t noticed much else. Least of all Tamlin’s eyes, and how the green in them had been twisted with pain, fear, and rage. It was possible my eyes had looked the same.

Rhysand withdrew himself from my mind when the memory reached the point where Mor had arrived to winnow me away. He didn’t open his eyes at first, his features a pillar of concentration as he made a low hum. A single eye cracked open, Rhysand peering at me with an air of detachment as if he really had been asleep.

"A warrior knows when to pick their battles,” Rhysand finally said. He sat up in his seat with a groan. “And you … chose poorly, Mouse.”

I bristled. Rhysand absorbed the gesture with a dismissive wave.

“I’m not saying Tamlin didn’t deserve it,” Rhysand said. “He’s been in dire need of his ass getting handed to him for a few centuries. And how he acted during the Tithe … I would’ve been inclined to knock him down a peg or two, myself. Although, it seems like you both let your tempers get the better of you.”

I opened my mouth, feeling insulted. What had happened wasn't just my damn temper. What it had been was … was … 

I didn't know. All I knew for sure was that I was right. Killing Tamlin … making him pay for what he’d done … he deserved it.

Rhysand held my gaze, waiting for me to speak. A ghost of a frown traced his lips when I closed my mouth and decided to stay silent. He exhaled sharply.

“You also played right into Ianthe’s hands,” Rhysand said, sounding irritated. “She goaded you into butting heads with Tamlin, and you went right along with it. I’m going to go out on a limb and assume the two of you don’t get along very well, do you?”

The face I made was answer enough. Rhysand nodded.

“Ianthe is a snake,” Rhysand said. He leaned his elbows on the table, interlacing his fingers. “She uses lies and seduction to get what she wants. And you may be hard headed – but you’re shrewd, so I’m going to assume her manipulating you the usual way with false kindness didn’t work out, so she had to find another route. Separating you and Tamlin means she’ll have more sway over him and his court without anyone shouting over whatever whispers she puts in his ear. My guess is she’s going to do everything in her power to keep you away from the Spring Court until the hooks she’s placed in Tamlin settle in nice and deep.”

I made a flippant gesture. “She can do what she wants – if she crosses a line, I’ll start by taking a finger, then an entire hand if she doesn’t get the message.”

“I admire your initiative,” Rhysand said with a wink. “But not every issue can be solved with slicing off an appendage. Knowing Ianthe, she’d be able to spin the narrative to make herself a martyr and gain even more support. Defeating someone like her means learning how to fight a battle without lifting a finger.”

‘Sometimes we have to compromise, and there are other ways of causing harm which don’t involve contact.’

Mitah had said something similar. I’d stood at his side and watched him wage a war without so much as taking his hand off my shoulder. There’d been no question then about me having been outclassed entirely.

Mitah … Would he come for me; want me back? After what happened with Tamlin, both he and Lucien … Who will they stand beside?

“Here’s the situation, Mouse.”

I blinked, returning my attention to Rhysand and the level look he was hitting me with.

“Your spat with Tamlin pulled me away from an important mission I’m in the middle of right now,” he said. “I don’t have time to babysit, and neither does Mor, so you’re going to have to keep yourself busy here in the Moonstone Palace until either I complete my mission, or the Spring Court sends word, whichever happens first. And … know that you’ll have my support concerning whatever Tamlin decides.”

I furrowed my brow. What the hell did he mean by that? Did he think I’d be subject to some sort of punishment? Everything that had happened was Tamlin’s fault – why would I face any sort of consequences for that?

Rhysand rose from his seat. He paused with his fingertips on the table, studying me for a long moment. “Nuala and Cerridwen will cater to what you need. You’ll have full access to the palace to keep yourself occupied, so just do me a favor and don’t break anything or fall off a cliff.”

I fought the urge to take what was left of the food on my plate and throw it in his face. “I’m not a child.”

“No,” Rhysand said, beaming. “But according to my sources, you did almost fall to your death off a cliff not too long ago, so my warnings aren’t entirely invalid.”

My eyes tracked Rhysand as he took a step back. “That wasn’t even my fault.”

“You were the dumbass who chose to climb the cliff in the first place,” Rhysand said, his wings materializing at his back. His grin widened. “So, I respectfully disagree.”

My chair squeaking across the floor as I shot to my feet prompted Rhysand to back away, keeping his devilish expression. He stuck his hands in his pockets and began to stroll toward the edge of the veranda.

“Hey!” I said, getting the impression he was about to winnow. “Do you know what happened to me back there, when I became that smoke thing? Is that normal for High Fae?”

“Not at all,” Rhysand said. He gave no further explanation, only offering a wave over his shoulder in parting before hopping over the railing lining the veranda with the sort of carefree manner most wouldn't exhibit in the face of falling hundreds of feet to their death.

Rhysand disappeared from sight for a moment before his form shot into the sky with a gust of air that blew back the curtains and rustled the pants around my ankles.

My irritation fell away as I watched Rhysand’s retreating form. This was the first time I’d seen him fly … and it was nothing short of magnificent. My heart pounded in my ears over the idea of being able to follow him; of swallowing the crisp air among the clouds and feeling unbound from everything entirely. He’d promised me before he was going to take me flying, and I was going to make him follow up on that no matter what.

I watched Rhysand disappear among the clouds touching the mountaintops. The only company I had now were swaying curtains and a handful of sitting couches. I turned to look at the expansive, open room behind me with a sigh.

“What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

Chapter Text

Having just finished breakfast, there seemed to be no motivation for Nuala nor Cerridwen to materialize from wherever they’d vanished off to. All I could think to do was walk, so I began roaming this place Rhysand had called the ‘Moonstone Palace’ as if I were haunting the halls like a ghost. I entered every room which wasn’t locked, finding them all to be designed from the same blue-white stone with open windows and splashes of lush foliage, golden adornments, sheer curtains, and breezes which seemed far warmer than they should be considering the weather outside.

I found no less than three libraries, two studies, more bedrooms than I cared to keep track of, a council room at the top of a tower with a large black table, and a few sitting rooms with plush furniture angled just so for a perfect midafternoon nap. Everything about this place was … elegant.

And empty.

Which wasn't what I needed. What I needed was something to fill that void – to keep me distracted from the thoughts tumbling through my subconscious which caused a twinge in my gut. Door after door opened in hopes of stumbling across a scene or an object to keep me from picturing a russet eye crinkled in laughter and the possibility of never seeing it again. 

One room filled with bronze mechanisms used for navigating via the stars kept me occupied for a short time. After a few minutes of leafing through books and running my fingers along polished metal, I had to make a hasty exit. All I could think about was how I would describe this room of tall bookshelves and intricate telescopes to Lucien, and the way he would watch me in a similar manner as he did with all my stories as if he were entirely enraptured. I could hear the tools within the room rattle from the force I used to shut the door behind me.

I resigned myself to going back up the stairs to a large balcony I’d previously come across sporting a number of practice rings. It seemed a little out of place for a palace of such elegance to have an area specifically designed for combat, but the Fae seemed the type to meld opulence with violence. At least more so than humans, anyway.

Cool stone slid against my fingers as I made my way toward a set of stairs I could see at the end of the hall. The open-aired windows to my right illuminated the smooth wall to my left in shades of blue, green, and pink. The glare was strong enough that I would've missed something being off entirely if a silent click didn't interrupt the sound of my echoing footsteps.

I turned on my heel. Where there had once been solid, white stone was now an open doorway. I stared at it for a moment with a frown. A quick glance over my shoulder indicated no sort of alarm had been tripped, giving me the impression whatever I’d stumbled upon didn't violate the wards that were put up to protect this place. I turned back toward the doorway with a hum and stepped through the threshold.

The iridescent white hall at my back fell away to gray stone. Sconces lining the walls on either side of a staircase burst into light. I blinked down at the door at the bottom of the stairs for a moment before heading toward it. In a few short steps I found myself facing the wooden door which had no handle that I could see, my brows coming together as I took in the intricate ironwork framing the pointed threshold which spread over the surrounding gray stone like a cluster of vines. I placed my hand on the door without much thought as I studied the flowers crafted within the sculpture. I yanked it back a second later when the door swung inward without warning.

Behind the door were more stairs, leading down into darkness broken up by small clusters of candles every few feet. I glanced over my shoulder for any sign of … anyone. When nothing happened, I turned and took a step.

My only company was the sound of my echoing footfalls as I continued to go down a staircase that spiraled into darkness. After I started walking for long enough that I wondered if I should be concerned … I began counting my steps. I told myself I’d turn around and go back up if I reached five hundred … which I did, and decided to keep going anyway because I was invested at this point. I’d nearly reached four times that amount when a larger than normal cluster of candles became visible in the gloom below. I picked up the pace, nearly falling over myself in anticipation when I came across another door similar to the one I’d seen before. Like that door, this one didn’t have a handle, but swung open at my touch.

I found myself stepping out onto a small balcony. To my right a narrow walkway connected to the spire of a tower. Ahead of me …

My jaw dropped.

Sprawling beneath me was a city. An entire damn city in the center of the mountain. Buildings carved from dark stone reflected shades of blue, green, and burnt orange in the haze of the various fae lights and torches spread through the enormous cavern, stretching further than I could see. 

The architecture was like nothing I’d taken in before – the buildings donned roofs which came up to points and displayed windows crafted from stained glass or adorned with swirling coils of iron in the shapes of gnarled trees, star-like flowers, or snarling animals. In the distance was a square peppered with fountains spouting curtains of water backlit to be every color imaginable. A number of people walked among the wide, tidy streets which reflected their refined clothing in a perfect mirror image in the gleaming stone at their feet. They wore furs, suits, and sleek gowns with a focus on numerous layers and opulent accessories such as hats with a number of feathers or gloves and canes encrusted with gemstones. Their style of dress seemed excessive compared to the more revealing clothing I’d witnessed in Prythian so far. Their bodies may not have been on as much display, but their wealth certainly was.

The sound of horseshoes clopping over a smooth surface and the hum of life below brought me back to the larger cities over on the Continent – to Bharat, the city which had been near the foot of the mountains I’d called home and had visited with the other orphans when we’d go to the market to sell our village’s wool. It had remained one of my favorite places to stay even after I’d become a mercenary and seen nearly everything the human territories had to offer. Everything about a trading city like Bharat had buzzed with sound, light, life, and purpose.

And this place … this place made a tingle rush over my skin. I jogged across the narrow walkway, scrambling around the tall spire of whichever building it was a part of to find a way to get below. I found a door small enough I had to crouch to get through it, opening up the metal hatch and ducking inside.

A narrow staircase led me to a small alcove at ground level. I wound through darkened alleyways lined with crates and stacks of metal furniture before making it to the streets proper. I couldn’t stop a smile from spreading over my face as I joined the throng of Fae moving together down the sidewalk as if we were fish in a current. The architecture of the surrounding buildings was even more interesting up close, many depicting scenes from what could possibly be stories about gruesome battles and vicious monsters swallowing Fae whole. One gilded statue in an alcove between a tailor and a tea shop showed three Fae performing a sexual act which caused me to tilt my head to just get an idea of what exactly was going where. The taste in art of wherever I seemed to have found myself was interesting, to say the least.

Few of the Fae around me shared any form of conversation, their eyes remaining fixed ahead as they traveled to whatever their destinations were with resolve on their features. The only spark of emotion I received were frowns when I muttered a quick apology to exit the crowd and stand before the wide windows of a shop crafted from glittering gray stone. 

Within the shop's display setup were pieces of silver jewelry, tableware, sconces, and weaponry. It was that last category which tugged at my chest as I stared at daggers inlaid with black gemstones along the handles, and a spear which seemed to have an entire battle between High Fae and Lesser Faires intricately carved over every inch of the weapon. I’d never seen such detailed artistry. The lack of having a single coin on my person didn't deter me one bit from stepping into the shop. This place was within Rhysand’s court, and I could probably work out some sort of deal with his account and pay him back later. I may not have known where I stood with Lucien at the moment; this didn’t mean I wanted to shy away from an opportunity to attain another piece for his collection.

The shop was crowded enough that I had to squeeze between a trio of males studying pocket watches and a couple admiring a case of loose jewels which were likely to join the collection they had pierced through their eyebrows, noses, and lips. It was hard to tell which of the High Fae within the shop were customers and which ran the shop proper based on dress alone. Even the shopkeepers wore outfits in the same dark, luxurious materials as their clients and adorned their ears with a number of jewels and delicate chains in silver and gold. A male with blond hair and glittering powder gracing his eyelids gave himself away as he appeared a little too eager to coo over how a necklace with a sapphire roughly the size of my palm sat atop the collarbone of a female dressed in a gray suit and wearing more rings on each finger than should be physically possible.

Fate seemed to agree; one of said rings fell from the female’s finger as she fanned herself with a lacy black fan, the heavily jeweled article rolling near my feet before coming to a stop.

“Here.”

I picked up the ring, noting how ridiculously heavy it was. I couldn’t help but ponder the strength this female must have acquired in her fingers for the sake of fashion alone. She didn't seem bothered as I held the ring out, her cool gaze remaining fixed on her reflection in the mirror the shopkeeper was holding before her. She continued to eye up the sapphire on the chain around her neck as she held her hand to the side. It took me a moment to register what she was implying – that I was expected to slide the ring back onto her finger myself.

She must be kidding.

“Do you want this back, or what?” I said, waving the ring about. It was at this moment the female finally looked at me, her pinched features puckering together as she sized me up. The casual manner in which I was dressed clearly made me stand out; probably not in a good way.

“Why wouldn’t I?” the female said, a line forming between her delicate brows. “What sort of simple-minded question is that?”

“Then take it,” I said, growing irritated. I clenched my teeth, willing my new-found strength not to crush the ring to dust. “And maybe you shouldn't call people– ”

“Give it to me,” the woman said, cutting me off. She flicked her fingers in an impatient manner. “Hurry up.”

That did it. I opened my hand, the ring dropping to the floor. I held the female’s stare as her pretty lips pulled back in disgust. The shop fell silent, the only sound being the ring spinning on the floor before it came to a stop between our feet.

“Fire her,” the female said, not skipping a beat as her eyes darted to the shopkeeper at her side. “Fire her now, or I’ll never set foot into this establishment again.”

“I don’t work here,” I said. I took a step forward, gently resting my foot over her ring. “How about we start with you apologizing for talking down to me like I’m some brainless worm?”

The woman scoffed. The gesture drained my last ounce of patience and I brought my foot down. Hard. the purple stone inlaid in the ring smashed in a satisfying fashion underfoot. I beamed as the female’s expression twisted into one of shock. 

“I’ve got nothing to lose,” I said, putting on a grin as I lowered my voice to a husky tone. “So maybe you better apologize before I tear your pointed ears off.”

The female … laughed . I nearly lost my composure and smashed her nose in; this was the first time I’d been regarded with such disdain since becoming High Fae … from a stranger, anyway. Not so much as a trace of fear graced this female’s features. It was an interesting combination of infuriating and refreshing.

A sneer curled the female’s full lips as fire burned behind her eyes. “Looking at the rags you’re wearing, my guess is you don’t have money to pay for a fraction of what my ring was worth. I’m sure the warden of the dungeon is going to relish in finding something especially hideous for you to take part in when the Darkbringers drag you away.”

The female’s eyes glanced over my shoulder. I turned to catch a glimpse of a slight female with auburn hair bowing before turning and disappearing behind a curtain at the back of the shop.

“My own personal guard is outside if you’d like to try running,” the female continued. She studied her manicured nails as if she caught a glimpse of something unsightly before her level gaze returned to me. “I invite you to try – it’ll make things interesting while we wait.”

She was right – it would make things interesting. I rolled my head on my shoulders, finally managing to crack the female’s icy exterior when I stepped well into her personal space.

“I don’t fear your High Lord,” I said, unblinking as I kept my eyes locked with hers. “What makes you think I’ll fear you?”

I grasped the female’s arm. She tried to yank free, a trace of fear finally snaking its way into her gaze as she found herself trapped.

“It was probably a mistake leaving your guards outside,” I said, a smile crawling up my cheeks. “You’re going to need help long before they can get to you.”

Something soft wrapped around my free wrist. The surprise of having anyone sneak up on me was enough that I actively fought the urge to fling whatever it was across the room. A frown tugged at my lips when I turned to see nothing over my shoulder; not until I dropped my eyes, anyway. Staring up at me was the first Faery youngling I’d seen aside from the brief introduction I’d had with Alis’s nephews a few months past. 

Great. This bitch has a kid with her. Even so, I –

Every thought, feeling, and sensation in my body dropped away as I took in the youngling’s appearance. The child’s sleek black hair, pale skin, and glittering green eyes burned into my vision as if I were staring at the Sun. They didn’t seem distraught, angry, or even scared. They only stared, just as I stared, because I knew this child.

‘If you like, I can give you something … but I also have to take something away.’

My lips parted in wonder; in horror. The pale, impassive face was exactly the same as it had been over a decade past, their image permanently burned into my memory like a brand. I knew I wasn't mistaken – even if I had over a million years of life left on me, I knew I would never, ever be mistaken concerning who this child was.

This was, without a doubt, the child who had taken away my hearing … and cursed me all those years ago.

Chapter Text

I stood frozen in place, feeling nothing less than if my soul had risen out of my body. I took in the child who I hadn't seen for over a decade – the child who I’d saved from traffickers and made a bargain with completely by accident. This child – who was really a Fae youngling – had taken away my hearing, triggered the circumstances which led to my siblings’ and I’s hatred of Faeries and our quest to grow stronger, fueled my will to prove myself in a way which led to my brother’s death and my journey across the Wall, and caused everything which had happened thereafter. I felt as if I had been stricken dumb as I could do nothing more than stare at them in absolute disbelief.

When the child pulled on my wrist … an unseen force like a series of threads woven through my bones urged me to follow. I didn’t speak a word as they led me around a counter and wide-eyed shopkeepers to the back of the shop. The sound of the female with the ridiculous number of rings screeching for me to come back fell to the wayside of my thoughts. Whatever the hell I’d just been speaking to her about meant less than nothing, now.

The youngling and I passed through a cluttered workshop, ducking under chains and passing by a number of tools and loose gemstones. They opened the backdoor to the shop and I followed into a quiet, narrow alley that seemed to run the length of the entire block. We walked in single file as the youngling led me with purpose and I didn’t dare to object.

The youngling picked up our pace when shouting could be heard from the busy street. We turned a corner, meeting the backside of more buildings to our right and a cave wall to our left. Within the wall was a dark opening the youngling disappeared into. I followed, my eyes quickly adjusting to the gloom. It was a good thing they did, since we immediately began to descend a set of stairs. Landing after landing went past as we continued to go deeper and deeper. I thought I heard a raised voice from above when we ducked through a low doorway and found ourselves on a wide ledge.

A deep ravine bisected the cave before me, scattered lights within the gloom below illuminating narrow walkways and empty thresholds. Although there were similarities to the city I’d seen above, this area was unhurried; relaxed. Archways with intricate designs had been carved straight from the side of the cave, glowing orange and green from the soft torches and fae lights lining the walkways and stairs carved from the same material. There weren't as many Fae among the walkways here as above, but a genial hum echoed through the air as snippets of conversation could be heard. 

The youngling tugged me to the right and I followed. We squeezed between a few bystanders as we went up a wide set of stairs and picked up our pace under an archway lined with linens hung out to dry. We went down more steps, hooked a left, then scurried across a constricted bridge which seemed a hairs-width away from crumbling underfoot. Glancing over my shoulder I caught a glimpse of a figure in grayish armor before we whipped around a corner and I had to pull in my stomach and thank the Mother I hadn’t been born with too full of a bosom to be able to fit through the opening the youngling had us squeeze through. I let out a swift gasp for air when we exited the alley and the youngling placed their hand on a simple door before pushing it inward.

Although I was now gifted with seeing in the dark, I still needed to blink a few times to be certain of what I was seeing. We were standing inside a small room which appeared to be a storage closet, said closet filled with the smell of must and a number of crates and burlap sacks. That part wasn’t too striking. What left me in utter confusion was the large, round room the closet was attached to and how a full-blown tree seemed to be growing in the center of it.

A trunk with a bark pattern as if it’d been twisted in a whirlpool stood like a column dead center. I took tentative steps forward, finding myself picking through gnarled roots snaking through uneven floorboards and around furniture as if the tree itself knew where it should and shouldn’t go. My eyes wandered over a thick canopy of frilled black leaves blanketing the entire ceiling. Nestled among the branches were blue, tulip-like flowers streaked with white.

My thigh bumped into the side of a table, my hiss of frustration mixing with the sound of tinkling glass. I’d been so busy gaping at the tree I hadn’t noticed much of anything around me, including the fact that the youngling had disappeared. I froze as I took in the rest of my surroundings.

The best way I could describe the remainder of the room was like being in a healer’s shop. The air was stale; glass bottles of every shape and size lined shelves built into the walls – holding liquids, herbs, flowers, sticks, bones, feathers, and other baubles in a myriad of colors. A number of freestanding shelves stood heavy with books, an assembly of mismatched tables with many more lying open along with a collection of objects from the bottles strewn about. It was hard to see precise details in the dim lighting coming in through the grimy windows, although I was able to catch a glimpse of writing in one of the open books using symbols I felt were familiar.

Voices from outside drew my attention to the wide, clouded window. Without warning the youngling was at my side again. They tugged at my wrist and urged me to get to the floor. I did as they suggested, lowering into a crouch as gray splotches moved across the murky glass. I held my breath until the distant voices fell away.

My companion and I didn't seem to be the only ones doing so as something exhaled softly to my left. I spun about, coming face-to-face with a figure under the table at my side. They let out a shout, glass vials tinkling as they banged their head on the underside of the table.

The youngling put a finger over their lips, making a shushing sound.

“I’m being quiet!” the figure – a male – hissed. He rubbed his unruly brown hair over a spot where a lump was very likely going to form. “Don’t look at me like that; she scared the daylights out of me.”

Unlike the Faeries I’d seen earlier who were wearing nothing but fineries, this male wore more practical clothes in the form of loose trousers and a high-neck blue shirt which hugged his lean muscle. I had to wonder how someone residing in a place like this had that sort of physique, considering most of the healers I’d known in the human territories were generally average in build, if not grown feeble from age. Although, there was something else unusual about this Fae which struck me as an obvious attribute I hadn’t yet seen since entering Prythian.

As the male crawled out from under the table, muttering as he rubbed his head again, I took in his round, gold-framed glasses. His mouth frowned above his square jaw as I studied the lenses bordering his deep brown eyes.

“Tril?” the male asked, his eyes flicking between myself and the youngling. “Who the hell is she and why is she here?”

“Her name is Jade,” the youngling – Tril – said, shaking their head to get the dark hair out of their eyes. “She was going to get into trouble at the shop, so I brought her home.”

I stared at Tril. The child remembering who I was shouldn’t have struck me as much as it did; perhaps it was how casually they spoke as if we were old friends. In a way, I could argue this kid had ruined my life. But in another way … the opposite argument could be made.

“So that’s what my wards went off for?” the male said, looking aghast as he stared out the window. “What in the Mother’s name did this female do to get the Darkbringers coming after her like that? Is she a thief? Did you bring a thief here? Again?!”

“I didn’t steal shit,” I said, putting a hand on my hip. The male seemed under the impression I’d gut him if I got too close. I purposely moved faster than I needed while sweeping back my hair, grinning as I made him flinch.

“Jade helped me from the box,” Tril said. They climbed onto a chair nearly as tall as they were, dark pant legs swishing together as they swung their feet. “I also helped her from the box. Or … I tried. She’s almost out.”

The male and I exchanged glances. We both seemed to hope we could decipher if the other knew what Tril meant; both of us appeared to fail.

The male took a sudden step back. He sized me up in wonder. “Hold on … Tril said ‘Jade.’ Are you the human who saved Tril? That was … a little over a decade ago. But … you can’t be; you’re not human.”

“Anymore,” I said. I glanced at Tril, who watched me with a blank expression as they continued to swing their feet. “I’ve been a High Fae now for a few months. And when I was a kid, I ran into this one here. And honestly … I don’t know whether I should thank you for what you did or not.”

Tril only shrugged. I guess that was that.

“Oh, goodness. You’re …!”

The male didn’t seem to know what to do with himself. He settled on bending at the waist and sweeping his hand in a low bow. “Please forgive me for my lack of hospitality, Crown-Cleaver. I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for saving Tril all those years ago, along with freeing us from Amarantha’s reign. I – we – are truly grateful.”

The male raised his head. He grimaced when he took in my dumbfounded expression.

“Did I do that right?” he asked, radiating nerves as he straightened. “It’s been so long since I’ve thanked anyone – they don’t really do that down here. If that was bit … much … sorry.” He flinched, his eyes going wide. “Hold on … you are Jade Crown-Cleaver, right? Did I make the wrong assumption? I mean, you were getting chased through here by the Darkbringers, so maybe I did make a mistake …”

“You’re … fine,” I said, holding up a hand before my companion rattled something loose. “You’re not mistaken. And you’re welcome, I guess?”

The male’s shoulders slumped in relief. His eyes darted between myself and the rest of the room. “Uh … food? Would you like food? I believe that’s something you offer guests. By the Mother, it’s been a few centuries …”

“Are you a hermit or something?” I asked, amazed I’d run into anyone more socially inept than Tamlin.

“No!” the male said, offended. “I have customers and clients all the time! I just don’t usually have guests.”

I hooked a thumb in Tril’s direction. “Not this one?”

“Oh, no – not Tril,” the male said. He waved in an absent manner as he headed toward a shelf along the back wall. “I made Tril, so they’re not a guest at all.”

I glanced at Tril before looking back at the male. “That’s a weird way of saying they’re your kid.”

The male made a contemplative sound, grabbing at the air as if trying to collect scattered thoughts. “That’s not quite right,” he said. He snatched up a bundle of something wrapped in brown paper before heading back in my direction. “Tril is made up of parts of me, but also parts of a couple different things. Their eyes and hair are actually from Stryga, who … ah … that’s another topic. I had just finished working on Tril when Amarantha seized power and I had to flee the Dawn Court. The High Queen had been rounding up as many of us tinkerers and alchemists as she could for her own twisted purposes; fleeing across the Wall to make it to the Continent seemed like the safest bet. Or it would have been, had Tril not run away.”

The male’s pout seemed downright juvenile as he stared daggers at Tril. The youngling – or whatever the hell it was – didn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

“I had to find Jade,” Tril said. “The threads told me I should.”

The male made a tired sound, lifting his glasses and running a hand over his handsome features. “Yes … I’m sure the ‘threads’ did, Tril. And it was completely justified for you to abandon me in human territory for nearly a week while I was beside myself with worry over trying to find you. I had nearly convinced myself you were dead, when – poof! There’s Tril rolling up in a cart with the front seat covered in blood! And absolutely no explanation other than ‘threads’ and ‘boxes’ and ‘give and take.’”

As I studied the frazzled male, I suddenly felt … warm. As annoyed as he sounded, it was clear he felt a heavy level of relief. That decision I’d made all those years ago to act in a manner like my brother, Tazar, would’ve done … I’d helped return Tril to someone who cared about them. My actions back then hadn’t been a mistake. Even if looking the other way and not helping Tril would’ve meant me never being deaf, and Tazar being alive today … my brother wouldn’t have been happy with that outcome. He would be proud of me for what I’d done.

Would he be proud of me for how I am now?

The question felt like ice flowing through my veins. I shook the thought away.

“Jade’s here for the snake,” Tril said, catching my attention. They held my gaze, unblinking. “She’s going to look at it without her head.”

The male walked up to Tril, placing his hand atop the youngling’s head and ruffling their hair. “You are … so, so bizarre. Fascinating, but bizarre.”

“She’s also here for the flowers,” Tril said, tilting their head to look up at the male through his fingers. “You have to take her to the flowers tonight.”

This was something the male seemed to understand. He held Tril’s gaze for a long moment before slowly looking up at me. “You’re here … for us?”

“What?” I said, completely lost.

“The Crown-Cleaver …” the male said, regarding me in awe. His expression slowly started to brighten. “Yes, yes! Tril, you’re right! She could be it! She could be the push we need!”

The male laughed, running his hands through his hair and seeming beside himself with joy. I could only try to contain my eyes from popping out of my head as I swam in a sea of bewilderment.

“You are what we need – what we’ve been waiting for!” the male said. He clasped my hands, shaking them in earnest. “You’ve been sent here by the Mother – or Tril, who knows – to shed light upon this darkened place. I hate, hate, hate, having guests, but this makes it all worth it!”

My eyes tracked our hands bouncing up and down. “Yeah … I can tell you’re not great at entertaining.”

“Really?” the male said, dropping my hands. “Is it really so obvious?”

I sighed, moving a pile of papers off a nearby chair before taking a seat.

“Alright,” I said, leaning my head in my hand. “Let’s start with your name.”

Chapter Text

Over some cured jerky using a meat I didn’t care to ask about, I learned my host’s name was Hembran, and that he was a former member of the Alchemists Guild in the Dawn Court.

The Alchemists Guild had been disbanded when Amarantha came to power around fifty years past. The High Lord of the Dawn Court, Thesan, had encouraged his people to scatter in order to avoid Amarantha taking hold of spells and inventions which she could twist to be used to torture, enslave, and kill. Hembran’s shoulders dipped when he mentioned how he was only aware of a handful of his guildmates making it out of the court alive before being killed or captured.

Hembran summed up his own tale of trying to flee across the Wall with Tril in tow. After Tril’s almost-kidnapping and their sudden return, Hembran had decided trying to flee Prythian entirely was too risky and to instead take a boat up the coast. He’d heard rumors that the Night Court was the only territory left mostly untouched by Amarantha’s influence due to her favor for their High Lord. He’d made his way here hoping to disappear into the shadows.

“Which … I did,” Hembran said, looking about. His gaze through his glasses grew bittersweet. “This place has become our home over the years … but the Court of Nightmares lives up to its reputation.”

I learned that only High Fae were permitted to live in Hewn City – the place we were in now and the heart of the Court of Nightmares. Lesser Faeries were turned away entirely or arrested and sent to the dungeons never to be seen again. And even among the High Fae, a class system had developed concerning who had the ‘purest bloodline’ devoid of any hints of there being an ancestor who wasn’t High Fae, who wasn’t from Prythian, or even had once been members of the Seasonal Courts such as Autumn, Spring, and Winter. Anyone who didn’t meet these absurd requirements were considered of a lower class and became limited in the types of occupations they could have, where they could live, and who they could marry. I listened to the entire explanation in shock.

This is … Rhysand’s court?

I honestly thought the entire thing might be a joke. Rhysand wasn’t a saint, but he was kind. And everything about what I’d heard from Hembran countered what I’d imagined the Night Court to be. The most confusing part had been what I’d seen in Rhysand’s subconscious – a thriving city bisected by a glittering river and filled with color, laughter, and starlight. I tried describing this to Hembran, who only shrugged in response; he’d never heard or seen such a place.

When I asked Hembran about Rhysand specifically, his expressive features revealed a surprising level of loathing. I was told that Rhysand was just as bad as, if not worse than, Keir – Rhysand’s uncle and the steward for the Court who ran the city when Rhysand was away … which was most of the time.

Hembran certainly wasn’t saddened over Rhysand’s frequent absences. He said the High Lord didn’t regularly address the people of the city, but when he did, he only acknowledged the ‘upper classes’ who lived in the levels above and supported Keir’s ruthless practices concerning allowing violence and prejudice to run rampant through the city. Rhysand didn’t seem to have even so much as a passing thought about the people here who suffered being beaten, starved, and shunned for nothing more than their lineage. The words had caused a storm to brew in my gut.

‘I’ve actually been called ‘Bat’ before … the context was never kind.’

Rhysand had said that to me during our conversation at Tamlin’s manor before I’d gone under the Mountain. I considered it the first time we’d willfully opened up to one another, even if only by a sliver. His words had given me the impression he’d been shamed at some point in the past for his wings – for being different. For the life of me I couldn’t understand how someone like Rhysand who understood what it was like to be judged for something he couldn’t control would allow actions like this to be happening in his own territory, in his own court, right under his nose.

“What happens …” I asked, watching Hembran in a wary fashion “… when people who are being treated like this try to leave? What reason do they have to stay?”

Like Hembran, a fair number of the Faeries who lived in Hewn City and were considered ‘lower class’ had immigrated in during Amarantha’s reign. Their homes had been destroyed, leaving nothing and no one left for them to return to. And for a vast majority, any of the horrors they’d face here were preferable to what they heard happened to those rounded up by the horrendous High Queen. A few of these Faeries left after I killed Amarantha some months ago, but a vast majority had built families and connections over the decades they didn’t wish to part with. Hembran didn’t voice his own reason, although clearly something was also here which prompted him to stay.

Had I … been deceived?

Only a few days ago I’d sat at Rhysand’s side on the rooftop of Tamlin’s manor, telling him that I took stock in his character and didn’t believe he was the monster everyone had made him out to be. And even beneath the surface, I’d felt it – an almost overwhelming feeling of love and pride in his city and his people. Had that … all been fake? Lucien had mentioned before that Rhysand was capable of twisting people’s thoughts and perceptions into what he wanted them to see, feel, and think. Had Rhysand fabricated a city of starlight and all those happy, laughing faces to make him seem sympathetic and worthy of my trust? Was this place a reflection of who Rhysand really was?

Had I fallen out of the grasp of one monster, only to find myself in the claws of another?

Hembran made an effort to be a decent host when I was informed we were approaching dinner. It was impossible to tell if this was true without the Sun, so I simply took his word for it as he used magic to heat a pot with a stew he seemed to create by materializing a number of ingredients from … Cauldron-knows-where. The only thing that kept me from having any reservations over eating the ‘stew’ placed in front of me was my list of poisons I was immune to and the way Tril happily gobbled down the food without a care.

I ate in near silence. I was seeing this place with my own eyes and yet couldn't believe it; couldn't believe that this was Rhysand's court. It was possible Hembran was lying; possible that the interaction I had on the upper level just so happened to fit his narrative concerning how people behaved down here. It had to have been, right? Even if I knew one High Lord who seemed to become a totally different person when a crown was on their brow ... that didn't mean Rhysand was the same. If he were to sit upon a throne carved from black rock like Amarantha had done, would his features twist into a similar visage of disdain and cruelty? Could a person change so much going from being imprisoned to now having the power to imprison others? My chest ached at the thought.

Hembran quickly cleaning up after dinner and heading for the door made it clear he didn't plan to have me stay here. I got to my feet and closed the distance between us as he lent me a hooded cloak spun from a sparkling, deep-green material which was nothing short of resplendent.

“Not standing out here means you need to stand out,” Hembran said, swinging a cloak of a shimmering material the same color as amethysts around his shoulders. “When we get to the upper levels, walk fast as if you have somewhere very important to be – more important than anyone else’s destination. Make no apologies if you run into anyone or block their path. Don’t show kindness or accept any offers in return. When the Darkbringers are bored, they’ll use that as an excuse to round people up and imprison them over unfounded suspicions of bribery, theft, or spying for an unknown enemy. If something happens and you want to get away unscathed – start a fight. Not physical, but scream and complain enough until you and the other party make enough empty threats to be satisfied and go on your way.”

I had to close my mouth from where it had drifted open during Hembran’s explanation. “Is that … is that what it’s always like, here?”

“On the upper levels,” Hembran said. He looked around his home with a sigh. “Down here on the lower levels, it’s almost like any other place. We have to look out for one another the best we can. If we don’t, then one day we might find ourselves in a situation where someone who we depended on has been locked in the dungeon and we’d have no one to turn to for aid. Our community is small … but strong.”

The clarity behind Hembran’s gaze and voice at that last statement nearly had an effect of transforming him entirely. The way he gazed ahead with such ferocity gave me a picture of the motivation for an alchemist to go out of his way to strengthen his body along with his mind – to look out for the people he’s come to call a family. To look out for his home. Even if I was far away from my own … I related wholeheartedly.

“Can I ask you about the glasses?” I said, offering a grin when Hembran looked at me with a flinch. I’d seemed to have taken him out of wherever he’d been, finding his owlish expression endearing. “You’re the only Fae I’ve seen wearing them – I figured your kind – uh, our kind – didn’t need them.”

“Oh, we don’t,” he said. Hembran removed the glasses, cleaning off any smudges with his cloak. He then reached over to delicately push them onto my nose. "A friend of mine crafted these as a prototype. She’s a tinkerer, and her specialty is making various body parts. We were still in touch back when she was contracted to make an eye around fifty years ago. These were a test to see if the lenses she had designed worked as they should.”

The scene before me was now so different I almost felt as if I’d been winnowed to another place entirely. Every item in every bottle, each flower on the tree, and even a few of the words written within the open books glowed with an inner light. I stepped toward the shelves, taking in how the liquids and stones within seemed to shift and sway as if they were enveloped in iridescent smoke.

“What … is this?” I asked, turning to look up at the flowers overhead and the way miniscule pieces of glowing dust fell from each petal like a light snow.

“Magic,” Hembran said, putting his hands on his hips and appearing quite pleased by my reaction. “Our eyes don’t quite make out every layer of magic saturating objects around us – at least not all of us. I think High Lords and perhaps some of the more practiced healers have the ability, but not many others. I can craft medicines, enchant objects, and read spells with far greater ease using these than I can otherwise. It’s a pity the material is so difficult to craft – Nuan, the tinkerer who made these, is the greatest among us and even she had trouble replicating their effects into that eye I told you about. These glasses and that mechanical eye are the only of their kind as far as I know. A real pity.”

I couldn’t help but agree. Seeing the world in such a way was wondrous. Even Hembran and Tril’s features like their hair and eyes glowed as if lit by an inner light through the lenses. Part of me was curious over how I looked.

Mechanical eye.

The way I was seeing the world now … could this have been …?

Hembran cleared his throat. He waited for me by the door to head out to whatever destination he had in mind, seemingly too polite to tell me to hurry the hell up outright.

I gave Hembran’s residence one final sweep with the glasses before I handed them back. With that, we headed into the streets of Hewn City.

Chapter Text

“We have to travel up to go down,” was what Hembran had said.

Although it made perfect sense that traveling through a mountain wouldn’t be easy, it was still annoying that we had to walk among the upper levels in order to just go back down again after traveling (what I’d been told) was west for some time. We wore our cloaks with the hoods up during our stroll, Hembran having me loop my arm through his and hold Tril’s hand with the other to give the appearance of a family enjoying the evening. With his glasses tucked in a pocket and a stern expression, Hembran melted seamlessly into the sea of disinterested faces. I felt that Tril and I stuck out like sore thumbs – their wide-eyed expression likely matching my own as we took in the intricate carvings, spiraling towers, and expansive bridges cresting a series of waterways which flowed through, under, and sometimes over the lower levels.

Our stroll took us through a place Hembran explained as being a popular destination – the moonflower gardens. Us slowing down as we walked through the numerous rows of flowerbeds seemed unnecessary, however I didn’t have the heart to call him out on it when I took a good look at the way Tril’s face morphed into glee.

The garden was a large square, the flowerbeds in the shapes of elongated diamonds coming together to converge at an enormous fountain at the center. Hembran explained that from above, the entire garden was meant to emulate the shape of a moonflower. Said moonflowers grew in abundance within the flowerbeds; their white, trumpet-like shapes glowing of their own accord as if lit by moonlight. They looked nothing short of breathtaking. I told Hembran their beauty was only rivaled by the frost flowers of the Winter Court, to which he spoke of the medicinal purposes for both flowers and ended his brief lecture by producing a pair of small clippers and taking a few flowers for himself to tuck somewhere within his cloak.

“And one for you.”

Hembran smiled in an earnest fashion as he tucked a flower behind my ear. I tried to fight back the embarrassed flush from having someone so close as his warm hands brushed the side of my face. Hembran didn’t seem to notice as he helped to adjust my hood before taking Tril’s hand and leading us away from the garden. I gave the moonflowers a final glance, wondering if they would look any different through the lenses of Hembran’s glasses and if there would ever be a chance for me to see them again to ask.

When we descended again, it wasn’t as far down as it had been before. After only two flights of stairs our small band entered a street which looked closer in architecture to the top level, albeit in minor states of disrepair. At this point Hembran returned his glasses to their proper place, leaning over to inform me that we were now in a neighborhood considered the ‘upper of the lower’ class. We were safer here than before, and could lower our hoods, although we still had to be cautious concerning what was said in public areas. For this reason we remained mostly silent, Hembran holding Tril’s hand on one side and mine on the other until we reached a street of identical, steepled houses. Hembran released his grip to knock on the door of the fourth house in.

“Yes, yes.”

I didn’t expect to recognize the person who opened the door. It was the shopkeeper of the store I’d been in where Tril had found me, his feathered blond hair falling lightly over sharp cheekbones and his eyelids still heavy with glittering powder. The gold chains dotted with jewels along his ears swayed as he tilted his head to take me in. His gaze seemed to land somewhere to the side, taking me a moment to realize he was regarding the flower tucked behind my ear. The shopkeeper’s attention moved to Hembran in an almost lazy fashion, the pair sharing some sort of silent conversation before the shopkeeper stepped back and invited us inside with a wave.

“Welcome to my little party. Please, make yourself at home.”

Hembran didn’t make a move to remove his cloak when the door closed behind us. I followed his lead, keeping behind the shopkeeper as we walked down a hallway of gleaming gray marble before our host opened a door leading to … a basement. I frowned, starting to grow a distaste for stairs as we once again descended into yet another dimly lit space.

“You’re the last to arrive,” the shopkeeper said. The corner of his mouth quirked up as he looked at me over his shoulder. “This one caused a scene in the shop earlier – I like her. I wouldn’t say no to her joining us in my bedchamber after the meeting if you’d be up for some company, Bran.”

I stopped dead. This sure as hell better not be what this was about. A testament to Hembran’s well-read abilities came in the form of him being able to perfectly decipher the look on my face with nothing more than a frazzled glance.

“No, no!” Hembran hissed, putting his hands on the shopkeeper’s shoulders and turning them toward a door which appeared out of nowhere on the back wall. “By the Mother, Izen … I didn’t ask her about that yet; and that’s not why she’s here. And there’s a youngling present!”

“That thing isn’t a youngling, and you know it,” the shopkeeper – Izen – said. He gave a flippant wave. “It’s just creepy.”

“Izen!”

Whatever else Hembran was busy frantically whispering to Izen fell away as we stepped into another room. No, not a room – a damn coliseum.

The space was larger than should’ve been possible considering it was attached to a basement. Whatever manner of magic being used to keep this area here undetected was something I couldn’t even fathom. What was more, a majority of the seats were filled with chattering High Fae wearing fine cloaks, suits, or gowns as if they were all here for a theater performance. Perhaps they were, considering a large platform sat in the middle of the stadium.

“Alright,” Hembran said. He produced a moonflower from his cloak, tucking it behind his ear. “Izen, sit with Tril, will you? I’m going to introduce Jade before she goes up to speak.”

“Huh?” I said, not getting out much else before Hembran took me by the hand and started to lead me toward a group of Fae making up the bottom two rows of the stadium who all wore moonflowers tucked behind an ear.

Wait … Tril had said something about flowers before, didn’t they?

“All we ever do at these meetings is talk,” Hembran said, glancing at me over his shoulder. “It’s time we actually did something. I believe you can help us with that, Jade Crown-Cleaver.”

“Huh?!” I said, losing any and all of my weak grasp I had on the situation.

Hembran let go of my hand when we reached the bottom of the stairs, speaking frantically with a curly-haired Fae who also had a moonflower tucked behind her ear. Her eyes went wide and followed Hembran’s finger when he pointed at me. Even with my enhanced hearing, I could only make out snippets of my name and something about Keir from around the thrum of the crowd. A moment later the female Hembran was speaking to motioned toward the center of the coliseum with a nod.

What in Cauldron’s name is happening?

The chattering of voices fell away as Hembran stepped into the center of the stadium, tossing his cloak aside in an absent manner before climbing up the short steps of the platform.

“I’m going to get to the point,” Hembran said, removing his glasses and allowing his fiery gaze to rove over the gathered Fae. “We’ve been here before – all of us. Many times, over and over again. We’ve talked about being thrown in the dungeon and left to starve for minor infractions, about being drugged and coerced into doing sexual favors for those who could ruin our livelihoods, and being beaten and crippled by those of the ‘upper class’ for little more than their own amusement. And all of us here have chosen not to walk away because there’s a part of this city we love – the part that has all of us in it. We know that if we were to leave, someone else would fill our place and have to tolerate what we have gone through, and that they might not be as strong as we are. Because we are strong, we just have to show it. 

“We’ve tried reaching out to the council; talking to Keir. We’ve tried to send word to our ‘High Lord’ who only sneers down at us and doesn’t care about the pleas of his people. We’ve done everything we can in a manner that’s ‘safe.’ It’s time for us to actually change our fate – to unravel and reweave what we’ve been given. And fate has given us the means to do so.”

Hembran turned to me. He held out his hand, motioning for me to approach. The earnest, almost pleading nature to his features was the only reason I didn’t stay put and shake my head at the offer. This fight, these people, they were strangers to me. I didn’t …

Isn’t this what you’ve done? What you’ve always been doing?

I’d been helping people, yes, but not like this. My form of offering aid included hacking and slicing until there was nothing left standing in my way. It was nothing like this … nothing like asking others to fight; leading. That had been Tamlin’s gift – inspiring his soldiers to follow by example. He spoke with purpose, led with courage, and –

And I almost killed him.

I took a step forward, then another. I kept walking, shifting my thoughts with every step.

He deserved it. He deserved it. He deserved it! I’m not a creature to be caged, to be ordered around and go along with things that aren’t right. That goes for Tamlin and Rhysand alike. What these people are going through makes me sick.

I stepped atop the platform, stopping at Hembran’s side. I kept my expression as stoic as possible as Hembran motioned to me with a wave.

“This is Jade Crown-Cleaver!”

A ripple ran through the crowd. Many of the Fae shifted in their seats to get a better look at me. I met as many of their gazes as I could. These people were no warriors – most of them didn’t look back at me with hardened expressions waiting for orders. I realized that giving orders to the squadrons I’d been in charge of at the Spring Court had been like commanding a set of toy soldiers. All of those sentries would follow my direction without question not because of me, but because of Tamlin. I didn’t inspire, encourage, or create a will to follow. All of that had been done for me. This would be the first time trying to build that on my own.

“I only know how to fight by myself,” I said, not certain where else to start. I was terrible at lying, so speaking the truth was the only option I had, inspiring or not. “My shield has only reached as far as what I could do alone. I think that may have helped me, when facing Amarantha – I stood before her alone. I didn’t have to keep track of anyone else when I fought her; nor was anyone wielding a weapon at my side when I faced the Fae she’d set upon me. Even when I followed … I was still just myself.”

I balled my hands into fists, recalling when Tamlin had taken me to the borders, and I’d had to learn how to take orders and be a part of a unit. Even then, I had to stay so focused on making sure I didn’t die that I had little time to watch out for much else. And before that even, before Prythian, it had been just my sister and me. Myrin could look out for herself better than I could, so we trusted one another to act independently when we faced a threat. Our people were an entire clan, but we never felt the need to depend on them. We always felt strong enough to stand alone … but maybe there was some merit to standing with others.

I brought my fist up, tapping it to my forehead.

“In our minds, we must dream of a better future,” I said. “The only way that can ever be achieved is to take action and stand up against oppression.” I brought my fist to my lips, pushing away the pang in my chest when the motion reminded me of Lucien.

“In our soul, we must be brave, cunning, and show kindness. It seems that the last part is something only the people like you all show, here. You need that in order to be a voice for each other.”

I glanced at Hembran, offering him a nod as he smiled.

“Then … then there’s the heart.” A moment of hesitation passed before I brought my fist to my chest. I swallowed hard. “You all don’t need to be reminded of mortality, but that doesn’t mean life should be taken lightly. You should all still be using your time to grow strong and protect what’s important. Otherwise … what would even be the point?”

Another murmur among the crowd. Someone near the back got to their feet.

“What the hell are we supposed to do against someone like Keir?!”

I contemplated the question as whispers echoed from the tall ceiling. At this moment I wished I had a knack for ‘court politics’ and could say things in a more elegant manner. I took a deep breath, plowing forward with what arsenal I had.

“Get off your asses!” I shouted, sweeping my hand in front of me. “There’s no use in you all bitching and moaning about how terrible life is for you here if you’re going to do nothing about it! Have you seen those pompous assholes? A damn breeze could knock them over. If this place is all about taking what is yours, then take what is yours.

“Slit the throat of anyone who keeps you crushed beneath their heel! Raid that damn dungeon and free anyone in there who shouldn’t be, taking down every guard in the process! You don’t have to fight them one-on-one, you can overwhelm them together and show them what happens when you treat the people who are supposed to be your neighbors like garbage. Hit them where they’re vulnerable – when their guard is down, and they believe themselves to be safe up there in their towers and so far above you that they’re untouchable. Prove to them they’re not.”

I brought my fist to my forehead, my lips, then my heart. A few Fae in the crowd mirrored the motion, watching me intently.

“Go to that council and make them listen,” I said, baring my teeth. “And if they don’t … then turn them into an example of what will happen to those who cross you! You are more powerful than they are! What they fight for are for things – jewels and clothing and houses on the upper levels. All of you are fighting for something real, for your families and friends and every single person here. All of you will fight harder than they ever will!”

The crowd got to their feet, stamping their feet and shouting as more of them now brought their fists to their foreheads, lips, then chests. Those who’d come armed lifted daggers and short swords into the air. I added my roar to theirs, giving into the feeling of burning up from head to toe. I gave myself over to the feeling that if anyone – if anything, got in my way … it could all burn.

A ripple appeared in the air; then another. More ripples appeared one after the other until a number of figures clad in gray and white armor appeared. They drew swords from their hips, brandishing the weapons in the faces of the gathered crowd whose shouts turned to ones of fright.

“I think you may be lost, Crown-Cleaver.”

Hembran and I turned at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. Striding up to the platform was a High Fae with fair skin, blond hair, and brown eyes. Despite the warm coloring of his sharp features, his gaze was anything but. The plates of his gray armor clicked together with each steady step he took.

Hembran’s surprise shifted into something dark. “Keir.”

“You’re the last thing I expected to find when I heard whispers of an assembly of terrorists which needed to be suppressed,” the male – Keir – continued. The steward of the Night Court looked up at me as if we were meeting under far less dire circumstances. “I have the strong feeling our High Lord is unaware you’ve found your way down here. I think for all our sakes, it would be best for you to ascend to the top of the mountain.”

I turned to face Keir fully. I made a point of staring down at him with my chin held high.

“I don’t think I have to do a damn thing you say,” I said.

“If you want the people here to live, you do,” Keir said. He shrugged as if my decision made no difference to him either way. I glanced over my shoulder, taking in the masses of Fae huddled together by the armored guards who I assumed were the ones the others had referred to as the Darkbringers.

Fuck this.

“If I’m going to die, it won’t be as a coward,” I said. I jumped from the side of the platform, straightening as I kept my eyes locked on Keir who looked down on me in contempt. “I won’t tell these people to throw their lives away – what they choose to live and die for is their choice alone. But what I’ve chosen is to defend them, and at the very least I’ll tear you to pieces before going down.”

A shout came from the crowd followed by the sound of clashing metal. More shouts – a smile grew on my face as Kier’s expression etched into one of concern. He’d been expecting me to back down – to selflessly sacrifice myself for the sake of the poor, defenseless people at my back. What he didn’t expect was that the people behind me weren’t so defenseless; that I’d stirred up a deep well of rage which bubbled and churned until finally overflowing to drown everything completely.

“Fight if you can!” I shouted, directing my message to Hembran as he wavered on the platform. “Stay behind me if you can’t!”

I rushed forward, dodging a swipe from Keir’s sword before sweeping his legs. He dodged my attempt, but only by a margin. The fact that he was able to do so at all indicated he was skilled and experienced with combat. At the very least he’d be an opponent who could offer me some entertainment.

“Spilling your blood here would be a problem,” Keir said. The pair of us circled one another like wolves searching for an opportunity to strike. He kept his sword raised, eyes fixed on me all the while as he spoke. “You’ve handed me an opening to kill everyone here and take out any witnesses of your presence. I’ll repay your generosity by making sure I don’t squander the opportunity I’ve been given.”

I met my opponent when he rushed forward. I leaned around Keir’s attempt to pierce me in the gut, realizing a second too late that this had been a feint when he grasped my arm and we winnowed into darkness. A second later Keir was gone, my environment now devoid of all life as I stared down a flight of stairs.

I cursed into the silence and made to descend. An invisible wall stopped me, sending me stumbling back. A low growl escaped my throat as I flung myself at the barrier. My cries turned into screams of frustration as I banged my fist against the barrier again and again.

Hembran; Tril! I can’t leave them down there! I have to fight!

I spun on my heel, finding the stairwell continuing up into the gloom. These certainly weren’t the stairs I’d taken to get down, but they went somewhere. And somewhere was better than standing here doing nothing.

I flew up the stairs in long strides. Eventually I’d reach the Moonstone Palace and find another way back to Hewn City. As long as they all held out just long enough …

I reached the top of the stairs, flinging a nondescript door open. What I was expecting on the other side were shining pillars in stark white and sheer curtains drifting in a soft breeze … what I found instead was a wide platform open to the elements. At least partially, since I wasn’t freezing, but a dusting of snow blew across a surface of red tile at my feet. I slowly moved forward, leaving footprints in the light snow as I approached a tall object covered in some sort of brown tarp.

Whatever it was, the object was circular. I caught the occasional glimpse of something bronze as the light wind caused the canvas to flutter. With a frown I gripped the canvas, digging my fingers into the stiff material before yanking it down.

The thing that stood before me was a mirror, the frame crafted to look like a serpent devouring its own tail. I ran my fingers over the oiled bronze of the frame and was intrigued to find it warm. After a moment of inspection I raised my eyes to the mirror. The glass, or whatever it was, was pitch black and reflected my confused expression perfectly. After a moment all I could do was grunt in frustration. Being trapped on some platform with a damn mirror of all things wasn’t going to help myself or anyone else.

I caught a glimpse of something in the mirror as I turned on my heel. A bony, gnarled hand reached up from the side of the platform, broken and bloodied fingernails gripping the tile as whatever the hell this thing was worked to pull itself up from the side of the mountain.

My eyes landed on the spot where I’d seen the hand the second I turned my back to the mirror. I may not have been armed, but –

I frowned. There was nothing. The only sight I was met with was the same scene of swirling snow as before. I slowly turned back to the mirror.

My own image was gone. In its place was whatever had clawed itself up, unseen by normal means. Its gray, wrinkled skin oozed clots of black blood and pus from cuts covering the length of its body, leaving a dark streak in its wake as it clawed its way forward on its belly. Its entire back was nothing but chords of exposed flesh, the curved spinal column of the creature entirely exposed as it popped and snapped like a log twisting in a fire. All of this was fully visible because a bleeding stump only remained where the creature’s head had once been. Yellow and green pus spewed from the creature’s neck, opening up a hole which allowed it to scream.

The sound dug into me like a spike in a wall of ice. Every second of that shrill wail slammed into the spike lodged in my mind and caused it to splinter. It wasn’t until pain shot through me from where my nails were leaving bloody tracks across my neck did I realize that I was the one screaming. Whatever creature I saw filled me with more pure terror than I’d ever felt before. I watched as broken, grotesque, disfigured wings sprouted from the creature’s back before they were ripped apart in a shower of bone and tendons. 

I screamed, and screamed, fighting to use my nails to tear through my throat and rip out my vocal chords just so I could make it stop. Blood flowed over my fingers as my nails raked through my flesh. I could feel my pulse and the contraction of muscles as I continued to wail between rasping gasps. When my fingers dug into my throat down to the first joint, my screaming grew to a gurgle as I began to choke on blood.

A final swing like a hammer caused my mind to shatter to pieces. I fell to my knees, no longer screaming because I had forgotten how. Blood flowed over my chest, around my teeth, and dribbled from the corner of my mouth. When I coughed, I couldn't remember the color of the tile, or the blood spattering over its surface. Cold, white powder seeped through my pants. That cold powder … It reminded me of a woman. She had dark eyes and hair and … I loved her. What was … her name …? My … sister …?

I fell forward, my body racked with pain as my breaths grew short. The thing I saw in the black glass continued to drag itself forward, making a sound which shook me to my bones.

I remembered being held close, warm breath across my ear as I saw a vision of a city with a countless number of stars. The person who had held me … who had shown me that place … I felt guilty. I think that person had been very beautiful, but I’d forgotten their face. Even so, the thought of never seeing them again filled me with despair.

Then I wanted … something. Someone. Their name, their face … it was gone. Blood only frothed around my mouth when I tried to speak. All I could do was the last, small thing I recalled from a language that didn't involve sound. What was left that I could really, truly remember was an eye the color of warm russet as I shifted my arms to form an ‘X’ across my chest.

My arms were crossed, I didn't know why. My heart rate began to slow. Darkness creeped in. What was there … to worry about? I watched as the last pieces of myself fell apart, losing a semblance of every memory save for my name. My name was Jade. That was … all I was. No, not even that was right. I wasn’t Jade – I was something else. Something wrong.

A jolt ran through my body. I flinched, clutching myself around the middle and curling into a ball as I felt another jolt. They came in rapid succession, and when I had enough of myself back, I realized what I was feeling were the pieces of my mind snapping back together. How such a thing was possible …

“Close your eyes and look away from the mirror!”

The voice was filled with enough urgency to make me follow the order without question. I heard the rustling of cloth and I was pulled into a sitting position as the last few pieces of my mind clicked back into place. I tried to take a deep breath, hacking as blood blocked my airway. My hands were shoved away and another pair wrapped around my throat. A tingling sensation forced my airway open; I bucked forward, coughing up blood before taking a deep, racking breath.

“Breathe, Jade! Don’t you fucking die! Breathe!”

I did as the voice asked … as Rhysand asked. The darkness around my vision receded to a red haze. My breaths escaped me in sawing gasps as I stared at the tile, the snow, and Rhysand’s black dress pants all coated in my blood. I coughed again, blood and bile coming up to drip over the glowing hands Rhysand held against my throat. 

“How the hell did you get here?!”

The question must have been rhetorical since there was no way Rhysand could expect me to answer him in this state. I took a few deep breaths, taking in the smell of citrus and saltwater before slowly moving my eyes to meet Rhysand’s. His eyes brimmed with more worry than I’d ever seen; he looked on the verge of tears. Those eyes … how could those be the eyes who condoned the terrible things happening beneath our feet?

Hewn City, I thought, holding his stare. They need help.

It was the last thing I recalled before losing consciousness.

Chapter Text

My return to the conscious realm was anything but smooth. 

Gnarled branches scratched at my cheeks. My dreams conjured dark, winding forest trails which offered no escape from the thing I’d seen in the mirror. That horrible, broken creature screamed and clawed at my heels as I ran down narrow hallways which broke off in turn after turn with no doors in sight. I found myself swimming through murky water, my head dipping under during a terrifying struggle against a bony hand wrapping around my leg before I could break free and suck in air between my haggard screams. 

Between each change in scenery, for only a moment, that creature would disappear behind a solid, calming wall of darkness. Even so, it never stopped hunting me. The creature only continued to get closer and closer until –

“Ah!”

I bolted upright, covered in a layer of sweat. It didn’t help my resulting panic when I looked around to find my surroundings unfamiliar.

I was sitting in a large, plush bed made up of cream and sage colored sheets. Around the room of dark wood panels were pieces of furniture crafted with simplicity, but still elegant in their precision. Two windows across from me were open enough for a slight breeze of cool air to kiss the room, the sheer white curtains revealing a peek at a blue sky streaked with thin clouds.

The room was peaceful, even if it was fit for a grandmother.

“Fourteen hours.”

I nearly leapt out of my skin. Looking over my shoulder I found Rhysand, his blank features seeming every bit like he’d been chiseled from stone as he leaned against the wall near the bed with his arms crossed. His ever-present aura of shadows twisted and turned around him as if threatening to swallow him whole.

“I leave you alone in the Moonstone Palace for fourteen hours,” Rhysand said, staring me down. “You almost die, and you join a damn rebellion. In the time I was gone, you somehow managed to come across the two worst things that Cauldron-forsaken mountain has to offer – the Court of Nightmares, and the Ouroboros. The only reason I’m here and not helping Mor deal with the disaster I heard you had a hand in is because I have to keep stopping you from trying to claw through your own throat on top of making sure your mind isn’t going to shatter again. I’m not going to risk making anything worse by flipping through your memories, which leaves me struggling to fathom how it’s possible for you to have fucked up as much as you did.”

I could tell through the link that Rhysand was furious, and … terrified. He flinched when I brought my hand to my throat to take stock of the healing scabs. I frowned as my fingers ran over the jagged tracks covering every inch of my neck. I hated to think about what it looked like … how they would become scars I couldn’t take pride in because I’d done it to myself.

I opened my mouth to ask about that thing in the mirror, the words dying on my tongue. My mind still felt jumbled, as if everything had been put back but not in their usual place. I shook my head as I tried to grasp the pieces.

“The people,” I said. The muscles in my throat contracted in a painful fashion. My voice was hoarse, my screams and nails having torn through the insides of my throat entirely. The fact that I could even speak at all, much less now, was a miracle. 

“The people down there … being attacked by Keir … what happened to them?”

Rhysand pushed himself from the wall. He kept his arms crossed, taking slow steps in my direction as he peered down at me. “If you mean the members of Hewn City who Keir is actively fighting as we speak, then they seem to be doing alright for themselves. More than alright – it’s only been a few hours and the updates I’m getting from Mor and Azriel are that a band of terrorists have been successfully driving a number of my citizens from their homes. The council down there is in shambles without any idea of what to do. I’d relish their anguish if this wasn’t a mess I’m expected to have a hand in cleaning up.”

I threw back the covers. My new outfit being a nightgown caused my lip to curl; it made me far less threatening than desired. I decided to power through anyway as my bare feet hit the warm wood and I stormed up to Rhysand, shoving him in the chest with all the might I could muster. Rhysand took half a step back, narrowing his eyes but making no move to uncross his arms.

“How the hell could you do that to your own people?!” I shouted, fighting past the burning sensation in my throat.

The statement caused far more alarm to cross Rhysand’s features than the shove. Apprehension flashed behind his eyes as he studied my face. 

“Save your voice. And what do you mean by that?”

They’re suffering! I thought, weaving my hands into signs to match the shouting in my head.

Those people were being oppressed, starved, and beaten! They’re being treated that way all because of some stupid rules someone made up about pure bloodlines or some bullshit. How the hell can you say you love your people when you allow things like that to happen to those who did nothing to deserve it?!

I witnessed something that I’d honestly never imagined to be possible. I’d hurt Rhysand. His eyes grew wide and he looked far more distressed than any other time I’d seen him. Through our link I picked up a feeling of a pit of despair opening and threatening to swallow us whole. I didn’t want to allow Rhysand the opportunity.

Do something!

I grabbed the lapels of his dark jacket and shook them with force. 

Don’t you dare let those people die! They’re good. All they want is to live in peace and not be crushed by the ‘upper class’ of that damned city by Keir and his council members. If you really give a shit like you say you do, then you’ll get over there and help them!

I released my hold on Rhysand, taking a step back as my shoulders heaved. The two of us stared at one another for a moment as Rhysand’s expression shifted in thought.

“Your mind,” Rhysand finally said, shaking his head slightly. “If I leave … I don’t know if you’ll be alright. You looked into the Ouroboros, and that usually breaks a person’s sense of self entirely. It’s possible the pieces won’t stay –”

I clutched a hand around my throat, speaking through the pain. “I don’t give a shit!”

And you shouldn’t either, because those people are supposed to be what you care about more than anything else! If I lose my mind, so what?! I’m an idiot anyway, so it won’t make a damn difference!

“Jade –”

If you don’t get over there I’ll tear you to fucking pieces!

The last thing I expected was for something tender to flow through the link. Rhysand’s expression didn’t change, but he stared at me for a long moment before finally letting out a small nod. He looked to the side and his eyes went somewhat vacant. I tried to piece together what the hell he was doing, flinching when Rhysand suddenly blinked and he seemed to come back to himself.

“I know better now than to leave you unattended, so Amren is on babysitting duty downstairs if you need anything,” Rhysand said. He let out a long exhale through his nose, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Just … try not to burn down Velaris while I’m gone – I only have the energy in me to save one city from ruin today, Mouse.”

Rhysand sized me up a final time before winnowing away in a blink of shadow. The absence of his presence was like a weight lifting from the room. My shoulders slumped now that I no longer had to make a show of appearing intimidating.

Where the hell even am I?

I slowly looked around, taking in my surroundings. The quaint furniture reminded me of the upscale sort of inns common in the eastern end of the Continent – the sort of place I failed to see often since trouble didn't tend to target green fields dotted with sheep or riverside farmhouses. Unlike the quiet, sleepy views from the windows of those inns, the view I took in through the polished glass consisted of a portion of a small garden with a dormant stone fountain, all framed by brick structures ranging in color from reds, to browns, and even a few greens. I absorbed the view for a moment with a pinch to my lips before turning away to study the rest of the space.

Attached to the bedroom was a washroom with a generously sized clawed bathtub. I padded over the cool, gleaming tile, running my fingers over the brass features of the tub and making the decision to draw myself a bath. I undressed a moment later and sat in the steaming water with my knees pulled up to my chest. I focused on the warmth of the water and the slight pressure from its weight. Anytime my eyes closed for more than a second, I saw that damn creature from the mirror. I fought to keep my mind away from the horrifying visage which threatened to send me into a state of panic. My limbs locked up for long enough that it wasn't until the water ran cold did I finally gain the will to sort my thoughts into something cohesive.

Are those people … Hembran, Tril, even Izen … Are they all really fighting? And is Rhysand actually going to help them?

My heart nearly stopped when I exited the washroom to find Nuala and Cerridwen waiting by the bed. They dutifully fell into a routine of drying me off and helping me dress – the outfit being a tight-fitting pair of black pants in a fur lined material and a gray sweater with a high neck to cover my scabs. I would normally say that I felt like I was dressed the part of a grandmother to match the decor of my room. After taking a good look at my companions … I didn’t dare to speak a word in objection.

Nuala and Cerridwen had exceptional abilities when it came to hiding their thoughts, so the fact that I could pick up at all that they were upset meant I was on thin ice. Going to Hewn City clearly wasn’t something I was supposed to do; there was a good chance they received some of the blame for it. The way the sisters continued to glance at my neck solidified me feeling like a total piece of shit for causing them trouble. I had to make sure to talk to Rhysand and convince him that none of what happened to me was their fault.

Feeling uncomfortable staying in the bedroom, I stepped into a long hallway. Wherever I was wasn’t anywhere nearly as large as the Moonstone Palace, the sunlit hall lined with a plush rug, half a dozen doors, and a tall window. I turned away from the window, placing my hand on a wooden banister and thanking the Mother that I’d be going down a set of stairs where I could clearly see where they led a single story below.

I caught the tail end of a conversation as I began to descend. Looking around gave me the impression that I was in a townhome, an unusual sort of building that I honestly never expected to see in Fae territory with their predisposition for extreme luxury; especially not from a High Lord like Rhysand. I stepped silently onto the bottom landing and turned toward where I’d heard the voices.

Two figures – a male and a female – were in what appeared to be a sitting room with a number of bookshelves. It immediately struck me as odd that although the pair had been in conversation, they were on the opposite ends of the room from one another. The female High Fae sat with a book in her lap and a steaming cup in her hand. The male stood in a stiff fashion near a crackling fireplace with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Welcome, girl,” the female said. Her straight, black hair bobbed just shy of her shoulders as she motioned for me to approach. “Take a seat – we won’t bite. At least Az won’t.”

The female seemed to find her joke more amusing than her companion. I very pointedly stayed where I was, sizing up the male who regarded me on high alert.

The male had enough physical similarities to Rhysand that I had to wonder if they were related. He had tanned skin and a slender build, his wavy dark hair short and falling slightly over one side of his face. A set of wings like Rhysand’s were folded in tightly against his back. The similarities between the two continued as my eyes traced the coiling shadows outlining a battled-toned physique.

The male’s hazel eyes bore into me with an intense focus as if he was at the ready at any moment to take me down. From the muscle tone I could pick up through the black-scaled armor nearly covering him from head-to-toe, I was certain he wouldn’t be an easy challenger.

Wait … I’ve seen him before.

“Azriel,” I said, my voice a croak. I succeeded in causing the male to flinch.

“You two have been acquainted?” the female drawled. She took a sip from the steaming cup, a red tint lining her lips. “Interesting … especially since you zeroed in on Azriel here being more of a threat worthy of your attention than I am. A mistake, but a fun observation.”

“I’ve seen him in Rhysand’s head,” I said. Pain didn't pierce through my throat if I kept my voice at a whisper. I was grateful Fae possessed a level of hearing where my new companions could still hear me without much trouble. I angled myself to keep both of them in my sights. “He’s his brother.”

The icy exterior around Azriel thawed slightly. The corner of his mouth twitched. “We’re not related by blood,” he said, his voice clear and firm.

“What does that matter?” I asked. I tilted my head in response to Azriel’s raised brow. “I’m not related to my sister by blood, either – she’s still my sister.”

The air about Azriel’s apprehension shifting into something which felt less deadly allowed me to turn to the female being swallowed up by a large armchair. She wore a plain gray top and tight black pants, the simple outfit accented by a blue sapphire hanging around her neck which was so huge I had to wonder if it affected her posture. Lips and teeth touched with red gleamed brighter than that stone as she smiled. The smile didn’t bother me half as much as what was above it.

“Your eyes are glowing,” I said, staring at the shifting silver resembling bottled smoke. “How do your eyes glow like that? Is it magic?”

“Few have dared to ask me that question,” the female said. She closed the book in her lap, setting the mug she had in hand aside. “And the answer is both yes and no.”

The smell alone left me almost certain she was drinking blood. Spiced blood dishes weren’t entirely unheard of where I grew up near Bharat, although it was usually only the wealthy who partook. It was an interesting note to see a human custom like that had traveled here to Prythian from across the sea.

“I wasn’t originally High Fae, but found myself trapped in a strange body, just like you,” the female said. She rose from her seat with the grace of a cat, her slim figure moving with deadly elegance as she approached. It was a testament how she was able to intimidate me despite being almost a head shorter than I was. I’d once read about a creature known as an anglerfish, the grotesque-looking thing using the innocent seeming ball of light attached to its head to lure in unsuspecting prey. By the time the anglerfish’s quarry got a real look at what it was up against … it was far too late.

“Although,” the female said. I backed away slightly when she reached out, stilling when she made a shushing sound and lightly gripped my chin. Her silver eyes bore into mine, their thrumming, coiling color being absolutely mesmerizing.

“There’s something off about you,” the female said. She released my chin, placing a hand on her slender hip. “I can’t quite put a finger on it. All I know is that I’ve never seen anything like it before, not even with Miryam. I don’t know what you are, girl, but at least that makes you interesting. Come – sit with me.”

Not knowing what else I would do, I hesitantly followed the female’s direction, sitting in an open armchair across from hers. At this moment Azriel shifted his weight and stepped forward.

“I’m heading back,” he said, watching the female as she took a seat. “Remember what Rhys said – keep her here, and watch for any signs of her mind breaking.”

“Yes, yes – I’m aware,” the female said, shooing Azriel away with a wave. “You can tell our High Lord to rest assured that she’s in good hands. The fireplace is quite comfortable, and I have no intention of moving from it or the girl anytime soon.”

The look on Azriel’s face conveyed he was less than convinced on both accounts. His hazel eyes returned to mine, sizing me up again as the shadows about him stretched and writhed at his back. He took a step backwards, the darkness swallowing him entirely. It was like he had winnowed … but hadn’t. I frowned as I stared at the space he had been, trying to decipher how I found a sense of familiarity within those shadows.

“So,” the female said, swirling the blood in her cup. “Did you see anything in Rhys’s head about me, too?”

I settled myself in my seat. “No – I would just assume you’re the one he said is ‘babysitting’ me. I … don’t remember the name he said.”

The female let out a barking laugh. She took a sip of blood before setting it aside. “I’ll have to have a word with His Darkness concerning why he bothered to tell you about Azriel but not more about me. I am his second in command, after all.”

I couldn’t say I was surprised. If this female had been able to detect something off about me, then the same could be said for her. I’d assessed Azriel as more of a threat when I’d first entered the room based on what I’d been reading from his body language more than anything else. When it came to power, though … the fact that Azriel had kept himself at a large distance from this female spoke volumes enough on that.

“You can call me Amren,” Amren said, her red-lipped smile a stark contrast to her shining white teeth. “And do you prefer Jade, or Crown-Cleaver? Your rather violent reputation gives me the impression of the latter.”

I huffed in response to Amren’s sly smile. The chair beneath me let out a soft squeak as I propped my elbow on the armrest and leaned my head into my hand. “You can call me Jade. And maybe you should take stock of my reputation and watch what you say.”

“Ah – threats,” Amren said, her smile growing wider. “Rhys did mention you weren’t too bright.”

“Eat shit.”

Amren laughed as if the words had come from the mouth of a toddler. It was clear this was about as threatening as I came across to her, at least in this moment where my voice rasped and I was bundled in an oversized sweater like an old lady.

“You have a filthy mouth like Cassian,” Amren said, amusement dancing in those unnatural eyes. “Although, I’d pin you as more of a fool.”

I let out a soft tsk. Amren only continued to regard me with a smile tainted with a condescending nature as I sized her up. 

“I feel like I would’ve remembered you from under the Mountain,” I said, certain now that this was our first meeting. “Nuala and Cerridwen are the only two people here I recognized seeing from back then.”

“That’s because I wasn’t under the Mountain,” Amren said, a biting nature to her tone as if resenting the fact. “None of us were; Rhys made a point of it. He has the aggravating habit of playing the martyr.”

Her features flickered with something like … hurt. She shifted in her seat with a sigh before looking me up and down. “At the very least it seems Rhys was successful in piecing your mind back together. Unless you’re normally not this brazen?”

I knit my brow. Taking stock of my own mind was a challenge I never imagined I’d have to do. I started cycling through names and memories … anger burned a hole in my chest when I thought of Tamlin, frustration and confusion churned concerning Rhysand, worry gnawed at me over Hembran and Tril, and Lucien …

My chest feeling like it might cave in on itself was proof enough I recalled everything I needed to about Lucien.

“No, I’m normally an asshole,” I said, bringing myself back to Amren and the sitting room around us. My eyes landed on the dancing fire and the faint feeling of warmth tingling over my skin. “Rhysand called this place Velaris. Where is it? Are we still in the Night Court?”

“We are,” Amren said, watching my knee as it began to bounce. “It’s a place very special to our High Lord, which he’s fought hard to keep a secret from the outside world as did those who came before him. Considering what he had to go through these past fifty years, especially … I can tell you, girl, that I won’t tolerate any attempts you may make to destroy it as well.”

I threw up my hands with a frustrated sound. “I wasn’t trying to destroy Hewn City!” I coughed, ringing myself back in as my throat tightened. “I mean – that wasn’t why I went down there. I just found it, then shit happened, and the assholes in charge there are horrible and deserve what’s coming to them.”

“Even Rhysand?” Amren said, raising a thin brow. “He’s one of those ‘assholes’ who’s in charge there, you know.”

I made an irritated grunt. I didn’t have the words to express how I was feeling; what I wanted to say. I took my pointer finger and placed it on my chin.

‘Disappointed.’

I was disappointed in Rhysand. My perception of him had been of someone so much better than a ruler who would allow such hardships to fall on innocent people. And he oversaw the people of Hewn City, condoned what was happening. Rhysand had …

“He fooled me.”

I slowly lowered my hand into my lap, staring into the fire. “Rhysand played me like a fool. All this time I thought he was a good person, and it turns out he’s the monster that everyone says.”

Amren hummed. Her manicured nails drummed over the armrest of her seat as she absorbed me with those eyes of curling smoke. She untucked her legs and brought her feet to the carpet. “I’d be inclined to punish you for speaking so ill of Rhysand, but I can tell the conclusion you’ve drawn is tearing you up as much as my hands could. Come, girl – let’s go for a walk.”

Hesitation swam through me as I watched Amren take a casual sip from her cup before rising from her seat. If there was anything I learned from what had just happened to me … it was to ask damn questions before agreeing to go somewhere unknown; no matter how much curiosity coursed through me.

“I’m sure you want to know where I’m taking you,” Amren said. She hit me with a smile laced with a warning. “And the answer is, girl – you don’t need to know. Nor do you have a choice, since where I go, you go. I have some shoes you can borrow, so no point wasting time.”

Well … I can at least say I thought about trying.

I stood from my chair, giving the crackling fireplace and the room around it a final glance before following after Amren.

Chapter Text

Despite Azriel’s warning to stay put, I wasn’t about to argue with an excuse to distract myself from the thoughts threatening to pull me under. I accepted a pair of black boots Amren summoned with a wave of her hand and followed her through a glass door leading into a foyer. When the front door opened to reveal a neighborhood of quaint townhomes and a light dusting of melting snow … I was hit with a sense that I’d been here before.

The place I’d seen in Rhysand’s mind … that was Velaris.

Amren and I walked side-by-side, her hands deep in the pockets of her thick, dark blue coat threatening to swallow her whole. The two of us didn't say a word as we strolled through neighborhoods filled with High Fae and Lesser Faeries alike, many of a variety of heights, skin tones, and wing shape I'd only previously read about back in the Spring Court. Clouds of steam rose from the mouths of those who passed us by while they laughed or ate warm pastries from a nearby bakery. Houses fell away, small shops with quaint storefronts taking their place. When the street dipped down the side of a hill, Amren paused in her step to take in the city sweeping below us. 

Structures in a myriad of shapes and colors were bisected by a massive, twisting river dotted with boats boasting just as much color and variety as the buildings, their outlines shrinking to nothing more than dots on the horizon as the river reached into the mouth of a delta in the far distance. Everything I'd seen about this place so far thrummed with liveliness and contentment. It looked breathtaking on the surface … but so had Hewn City.

“Does this place also have a class system?” I asked, keeping my eyes fixed on the boats I could make out coming in and out of the harbor. “Is there also a subset of people here treated like trash for being different?”

“The opposite,” Amren said, following my gaze. “Rhysand has made it a point of making Velaris a safe haven for anyone regardless of the type of Faery they are or what creed they follow. He takes pride in that, and so do I. I would rip apart anyone who tried to threaten it.”

“So why is Hewn City different?” I asked, looking down at Amren. I kept my expression level as her haunting silver eyes slid to mine. “Why are the people here protected, and they’re not?”

The corner of Amren’s mouth quirked up. “You’re not going to like my answer; neither is Rhysand, for that matter.”

I set my jaw, waiting for her to elaborate.

“The truth of the matter is,” Amren said, her smile widening. “My High Lord made a mistake. You see – the Hewn City used to be where the High Lord resided, but the people there never accepted Rhysand when he took power due to his lineage. Rhysand found it simpler to allow his enemies within the court to govern themselves in their own little corner while he worked to cultivate a place of his own designs here in Velaris. Perhaps if he hadn’t been locked away these past fifty years, he would’ve noticed … but Rhysand, and Mor, for that matter – both assumed everyone in Hewn City was of the same putrid, detestable stock and chose to treat them accordingly. It sounds as if they failed to scratch beneath the city’s surface and discover there's actually a group of people there worthy of sympathy and attention. So, if anyone is a fool, girl – it isn’t you, but Rhysand.”

I exhaled sharply through my nose. “That’s a pretty damn big mistake.”

“Rhys is a High Lord,” Amren said. She began to walk down the hill, and I matched her stride. “The only type of mistakes he can make are the damn big ones.”

Whether it was the exercise, the crisp air, or being in someone’s company, the rolling rage inside me settled with each passing step. I was still on edge  – we walked for hours past shops, restaurants, galleries, theaters, parks, and the bustling seaport without stopping once until I realized it was getting close to an entire day since I’d last eaten. Even though my throat had already healed to a point where speaking was no longer an issue, I felt hesitant over the concept of solid food. 

Amren had us stop at a place called Rita’s where I was given broth from a spiced lamb soup. The unexpected richness paired with flavors that left a tingle to my tongue reminded me so much of the food from Bharat I nearly choked up. I gave Amren a decent laugh when I mixed some of the warm blood from her cup into the soup and helped myself to what had been considered a delicacy in my childhood.

“You’re a curious creature,” Amren said, the two of us walking back to the townhouse as the streetlights around us blinked to life on their own accord. “I don’t normally get a reaction like yours when it comes to drinking blood.”

“It isn’t that unusual,” I said, admiring the sight of the lights reflected in the river as we crossed a wide cobblestone bridge. “I’m also accustomed to you guys doing weird things. My friend Alis doesn’t really eat food at all – she just has water and tea most of the time.”

“I’d call you open-minded if you didn’t refer to it as ‘weird,’” Amren said, a devilish smile on her red lips.

I shrugged. “It is weird to me. That doesn’t mean it’s bad – there are plenty of things about me that are weird, too.”

“Such as?”

“Me being a Fae is pretty weird,” I said, looking up at the sky as the stars started to blink into existence. It was an interesting sight, the endless number of stars here being spattered with different hues such as ruby and amethyst. The latter left a bitter taste in my mouth as they reminded me of a certain pair of eyes. 

I lowered my gaze. “I’m still not used to it. The idea that I’m going to live forever is sort of terrifying.”

“Interesting,” Amren said, her sleek black hair reflecting the light of the streetlamps. “I figured that would be something a former mortal would consider a perk.”

I pursed my lips. “Maybe … I don’t know. So much of who I was involved giving my life to save others. I always figured I’d die in battle one day. Now … I’m not sure what the hell I’m going to do with myself.”

Amren chuckled in a quiet fashion. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, girl. I’m sure you’ll be told shortly that an opportunity to gloriously throw your life away in the heat of battle will present itself soon enough.”

Before I could ask Amren to follow up on her statement, I felt a nudge in my subconscious. My feet slowed to a stop as I turned my attention toward the shadow hovering in the forefront of my mind like a glare left behind from glancing at the Sun. The presence waited patiently as I contemplated whether to invite it in or block it out entirely.

I took a deep breath.

Speak.

The air before me twisted into a flickering shadow, Rhysand appearing with his hands in his pockets. His eyes roved over my face for a moment before he tilted his head to look over his shoulder.

“I’m pretty sure Az asked you two to stay at the townhouse,” Rhysand said, addressing Amren. The slight Fae in his sights only shrugged with a grin.

“And I’m pretty sure I outrank Azriel, so I can ignore him when we disagree,” Amren said.

“This is why he doesn’t like you, you know,” Rhysand said, sounding unamused.

“Oh – there are far more reasons than that,” Amren said. She offered Rhysand a slight nod before turning on her heel and making her retreat. “Sleep well, High Lord. I’ll see you in a few days after Cassian’s return.”

Rhysand and I watched Amren go until her small frame disappeared behind a group of Fae exiting a tailor shop. Her black hair gleamed in the orange glow of the shop’s windows for only a second before it was gone.

“She likes you,” Rhysand said, turning to look down at me. “I don’t know whether that should worry me or not.”

I brought my brows together. “She didn’t even say goodbye. How does that imply that she likes me?”

“She’s familiar enough with you to feel like a parting comment is unnecessary,” Rhysand said. He exhaled sharply through his nose. “The fact that I received one myself is an indication she’s livid.”

Rhysand stepped past me in a casual manner, heading back toward the wide bridge Amren and I had crossed earlier. I watched his steady retreat for a moment before moving to follow. I soon copied his position when Rhysand leaned his elbows on the wide stone railing, looking out over the buildings curving alongside the river. Even when lit by nothing more than bobbing fae lights, the buildings still seemed to glow on their own accord and brandished a rainbow of colors reflected in shimmering streaks along the water like strokes from a paintbrush. I wasn’t an artist, but I had a feeling that picture with the endless sea of stars above would make an impressive painting.

“I want to point something out,” Rhysand said, keeping his gaze fixed ahead. “As you can see, I obviously didn’t gut you after you gave me a command to ‘speak’ as if I were a dog. I hope that alone conveys the sort of humbled state I’m in.”

I couldn’t say I appreciated Rhysand’s attempt at humor. I narrowed my eyes at his stoic profile. “What did you do in Hewn City?”

“Nothing,” Rhysand said. Not a hint of distress ran through his violet eyes when they landed on me, even in the face of my spark of anger causing me to pull back my lips in a scowl.

“Officially, I did nothing – neither did Mor,” Rhysand continued, not backing down from my gaze. “I reminded Keir and his council that their autonomy is a double-edged sword – they get to run the inner workings of the city how they see fit, but have to clean up after any messes which may occur on their own. And that class system they supported created a big mess. I also have no motivation to help Keir in any manner whatsoever when I pieced together that he was the one who sent you to the Ouroboros in an attempt to silence you without bloodying his own hands.”

The rage coiling through my veins nearly sent me back to the time under the Mountain when Rhysand’s similar feelings toward Amarantha were deep enough to drown an army. The look on my face must’ve given Rhysand the impression I was getting the blunt end of his thoughts, the rage receding like fog dissipating in sunlight.

Rhysand straightened, brushing something off his jacket before sliding his hands in his pockets. “Unofficially, Mor and I sourced a number of healers posing as enemies of the Night Court. We used tunnels only the two of us know about to get them in to offer aid to members of the group rising up against Keir and his supporters. A few trusted members among my councils here in Velaris are also in the process of evacuating any of the citizens from either side who wish to flee to safety, and relocating them among the smaller cities. And before you ask – no, I’m not going to send support of any kind in the form of weapons, armor, or soldiers. I’m already walking a very fine line along a bargain Keir’s family and mine made centuries ago; too much of my interference would mean breaking an ancient bond which could wreak havoc on myself and Hewn City in an unimaginably frightening way.”

“Then send me back.”

“You’re one of my people, Mouse,” Rhysand said, offering a weak smile. “You stumbling into Hewn City by accident is very different from me sending you there with a purpose. Our bargain counts enough to that end where it would be interpreted as me offering you up as military aid against Keir.”

I opened my mouth … then closed it. The thought flew through my mind so quickly Rhysand wasn’t able to fully grasp it, although the small smile disappearing was an indication he’d picked up the feeling none-the-less.

For a fraction of a second, I’d contemplated asking him to make good on his previous offers and break our bargain. It was a request I needed to make from him already, anyway. All I had to do was simply ask. Just three words, and I’d solve two problems.

“It’s really cold,” I said.

Pinpricks of starlight reflected in Rhysand’s violet eyes and a more familiar lift appeared to the corner of his mouth. He offered me his elbow. I accepted it and we began to walk in tandem.

“I’ve used up a lot of energy today, so I hope you don’t mind walking a few blocks,” Rhysand said, a bobbing fae light catching a cloud of his breath as we passed.

“Are you getting worse at lying?” I asked. I tilted my head up to take in the clear sky. “You could just say you want to see the stars.”

A half smile graced Rhysand’s handsome features. “Can you really blame me? The nights here are spectacular. Some citizens awaken at sunset to go to bed at dawn just to live under the starlight.” His smile slipped a fraction. “And if we’re urging one another to be truthful, you could just say you want to break our bargain.”

I flinched, causing Rhysand to chuckle.

My fingers dug into the silken material of his jacket as I strengthened my grip. “I’m worried about some of the people there. Will they be alright if you can’t send me over to help?”

Rhysand glanced at me from the corner of his eye. “I don’t know what the hell you said over there, Mouse, but the rebels are out for blood. Keir is having a considerable amount of trouble maintaining order even with his Darkbringers. Not to mention this whole thing has only been going on less than a day. Considering their numbers, it could take a while, but the rebels certainly have a chance of forcing Keir and his council into passing laws to better their circumstances.”

I felt a nudge in my mind.

“Show me anyone I should have my people be on the lookout for.”

I set my jaw in concentration, willing the sharpest pictures I could to appear in my mind. First, I thought of Tril, my clearest image of the youngling being when the two of us were crouched on the floor of Hembran’s residence hiding from the Darkbringers. A presence like feeling someone hovering over my shoulder indicated Rhysand committing their likeness of untidy dark hair and vibrant green eyes to memory.

The next memory I pulled up was of Hembran. The closest we’d been to one another was while we’d walked through the moonflower gardens. His tousled hair and kind brown eyes had all been very visible when he had leaned toward me to slide a moonflower behind my ear with a soft smile.

The memory melted away after the entire thing shook like there’d been an earthquake. I blinked until I found myself back in the present. I glanced up at Rhysand.

“What the hell was that?” I asked.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Rhysand said, hitting me with a sly smile.

I frowned. “But you saw them, right? Tril and Hembran?”

“I did,” Rhysand said, something lacing through his tone I couldn’t decipher. His smile grew wider as if there was some sort of joke I was missing. “I have very clear pictures of them both. I’ll be sure to pass along your well wishes, along with a message or two from myself which won’t leave anything up for interpretation.”

My frown deepened. “Like what?”

“Certain things for Hembran, specifically,” Rhysand said, looking ahead. “Don’t concern yourself with it too much.”

Rhysand raising an eyebrow made it clear he could fully interpret my feelings concerning being dismissed. He let out a low hum. “I did some poking around inside your mind just now. To my knowledge, I think I managed to put everything back together that the Ouroboros tried to shatter. Let me know immediately if you ever feel anything is off.”

I grunted as I studied the tightness appearing in Rhysand’s jaw. The mental shield he proceeded to put up meant he was probably blocking me from the rage which had come over him earlier concerning that damned mirror. I was getting the idea that whatever this Ouroboros was had to be some sort of weapon used for driving people insane. I’d certainly nearly fallen victim to it; I couldn’t begin to describe the repulsive, vile, and pitiless thing I’d seen. I had to fight not to see its headless form crawling toward me every time I blinked.

“Don’t concern yourself,” I said, looking away. Admitting I was afraid of anything was a challenge. Lucien was the only person I’d ever felt comfortable with doing so. The warmth and light he radiated when we touched … somehow it succeeded in making all my fears seem like something I could handle.

“I think I’ll stay up for awhile tonight,” I said, my eyes tracking across doorways I found familiar as we neared Rhysand’s townhome. “I might walk some more. The idea of sitting still makes me want to rip something to pieces.”

Rhysand lowered his mental shield. I felt something along the lines of pity … and understanding.

“Sleep will help your mind settle naturally,” Rhysand said. “Don’t worry about the nightmares – I’ll take care of those.”

I recalled the nightmare I’d had before waking up in the townhouse; how the creature chasing me would occasionally disappear behind a shroud of darkness. Had that been Rhysand?

“I owe you, anyway, for when you helped me with the same thing under the Mountain,” Rhysand said. Our stroll through the winding neighborhoods slowed to a stop. He reached out to unlock a simple gate lining the small garden of his townhome. We stepped past dried bushes and grass touched with frost as we approached the front door, still arm-in-arm.

“I’ll be fine,” I said, pulling away to tuck my hands into my pockets. I didn't need his help; didn't need his worry. I was High Fae, now – I had to get better at looking after myself. Leaning too heavily on Rhysand would only set me back.

“You go in,” I said. “I think I'll walk some more. Thanks for coming back to tell me what’s going on.”

Rhysand paused, his hand hovering over the handle leading to the foyer.

“Is it safe for me to assume I’ve done enough to make it even a fraction back into your good graces?” Rhysand said, defaulting into the sort of smile which I was beginning to think of as something he’d put up in defense. Rhysand didn’t let me into his mind nearly as much as he wandered through my own. Even with our link, he tended to keep himself at a distance. I wondered if it was out of that fear I’d felt swirling through him before when I’d shattered his mental shield; the fear of losing what he held dear. Now that he was back to full power, though, I couldn't imagine why he still clung to it.

“You really fucked up,” I said, raising my brows.

“You’re right,” Rhysand said. Melancholy swam through his gaze. “I did.”

“How could you even let it get that bad?” I asked. “Amren said you just left them to govern themselves; why the fuck would you do that? Aren't they still a part of your court?”

Rhysand exhaled sharply, picking at something I couldn’t see on the cuff of his jacket. “Mor and I always treated ruling over the Court of Nightmares like an occupation; keeping it as separate from our regular lives as possible. We’d been doing it to protect ourselves, but it’s clear now someone was still paying the price. I would take all of it back if I could.”

I pursed my lips chapped from the cold, sizing Rhysand up. “This ‘deal’ you have with Keir … What is it? Why not break it?”

I tilted my head to take in the light from the foyer highlighting Rhysand’s near perfect features. It hit me that he’d been out here all this time wearing nothing more than his regular attire of a dark fitted suit; something unfit for the crisp winter air at all. The pink hue to the tip of his nose and ears indicated he hadn't been using magic to keep his body temperature regulated, either. Rhysand was the type to be unconcerned about his own comfort in the face of others. Amren had called this idiot a martyr, and she’d been right.

“Keir’s lineage is old – even by our standards,” Rhysand said, his breath forming a cloud and quickly dissipating. “They’ve promised their loyalty and influence to my family for generations in exchange for their own slice of power. Things only got worse when I became High Lord and had to choose between giving Keir even more leeway, or dealing with a damn coup. I was a ‘half breed,’ and without Keir’s backing, I would've lost any control I’d inherited over Hewn City without question.”

‘People tend to speak two languages.’

Rhysand had told me that. How fear was one language, and wealth was the other. Fear was easy for Rhysand with all the power he possessed. That came easy for Keir as well … for what little good it was doing for him, now. As Rhysand had said – wealth held more influence. 

The people of the upper class in Hewn City had wanted wealth in the form of riches and power. The people of the lower class wanted wealth in peace and stability. And Rhysand was like them; just like them. I had no doubt that the people who used to call him ‘Bat’ in a manner which was anything but kind must have come from the council members of that place.  Rhysand had also fought using his own form of battle; giving up some of the fear he held over Keir in order to achieve a balance. The problem was …

“You sacrificed them,” I said. “You sacrificed the people there to help those here in Velaris.”

I didn’t need any sort of mental link to tell that what I’d said had stung. Rhysand simply seemed less. I wasn’t about to take back what I said; it was the truth, and I was terrible at lying, anyway. I didn't have the same sort of skill I'd seen Rhysand use under the Mountain.

"Make a bargain with me." I pulled my hand from my pocket, holding Rhysand's gaze in a steady fashion as a hard line formed between his brows. "If you lied to me about what you just said concerning the rebellion, or if you ever tell me something about it in the future that isn't true, then you have to take me back to Hewn City and allow me to seek my own form of justice - consequences be damned."

Rhysand's eyes gleamed as he set his jaw. "A lot of my people could be hurt if that bargain were to be broken, Jade."

"A lot of people are already getting hurt," I said, keeping my hand raised. "And all you have to do is confirm you've been telling me the truth, and that you'll continue to do so."

Rhysand made no move to remove his hands from his pockets. "A bargain involves an exchange - what is it you're offering?"

"My trust."

Rhysand blinked at that. He exhaled sharply through his nose. I got the sense he was about to say something unkind ... then second guessed himself.

"For the love of the Mother, please don't go around making bargains," he said, an assured nature growing to his tone. "If I had agreed to that, I would have had your trust. For everything; always. And I don't want that - not unless I earned it."

Rhysand pulled his hand from his pocket. His resulting grip on my fingers was cold, but not much worse than my own. 

"Instead of a bargain, I agree to a promise," Rhysand said. A tingle immedietly ran up my arm as if I'd been hit with a churning wave of warm water. The startling sensation was Rhysand's power, and only a fraction of it, at that. I tried not to feel too intimidated by it.

"I promise to adhere to your terms, and face the consequences if I don't. I stake it on my word as the High Lord of the Night Court."

We stood like that for a moment, hand-in-hand as I stared into those eyes of gleaming amethyst. As the seconds ticked by and it was clear I wasn't being winnowed away to Hewn City ... I allowed some of the tension in my chest to release.

“I'm still pissed," I said.

Rhysand's hand fell away along with the glint of hope in his eye. 

"But," I said, the word slow on my tongue. "You’re trying to make things better.”

I placed one hand on the door handle and took Rhysand’s elbow with the other. I opened the door, pulling him behind me because I knew he would stay out there in the cold if I didn't go inside. I glanced at him over my shoulder. “Trying still means something,” I said.

The smile I got in return was natural, and just as tired as my own. Rhysand offered me a nod before we stepped over the threshold.

Guilt seemed to be the breakfast of choice the next morning.

Despite my voice being back to normal, I had a hard time forcing out my question to Nuala and Cerridwen concerning if they’d been reprimanded for my unplanned trip into Hewn City. Neither needed to say a word for me to decipher that the thin line to Nuala’s lips and the slightly cold nature to Cerridwen’s eyes meant ‘yes.’ After a hasty apology, Nuala was nice enough to inform me their ‘punishment’ wasn’t severe considering no one could’ve predicted that I would’ve been able to pass through the wards put in place keeping the stairwell connecting the Moonstone Palace directly to Hewn City locked.

Nuala shrugged when I asked how she thought I got through; Cerridwen had a theory it was my bond with Rhysand which somehow granted me access. Rhysand had been able to bypass a spell before acting as my ‘representative’ due to the bond, so it was possible that in the instance with the wards at the Moonstone Palace, things may’ve worked in reverse. Thinking about possessing an ability like that was more than a little daunting.

A simple note informed me to meet Rhysand on the rooftop after I’d been dressed, Nuala and Cerridwen deciding that another high-necked sweater in golden yellow paired with brown leggings and matching boots should be the outfit of choice. The material of the sweater was softer than anything I’d worn before, but I was still hyper aware of it rubbing against the healing scabs over my neck with each step I took up the short flight of stairs leading to the roof. More likely than not, the scabs would be gone by the end of the day. Even so … I had a feeling the scars wouldn’t be. The jagged pink lines coiling across the width of my neck like a collar were something I didn’t care to think about.

“Have any trouble sleeping?” Rhysand asked, turning away from the cityscape to hit me with a broad smile.

“No.” I tugged loose strands of hair from my ponytail to cover my ears and crossed my arms to ward off the chill. I had a feeling Rhysand had interfered with my sleep even though I’d asked him not to; I’d slept like the dead. I couldn’t recall a semblance of a dream or a nightmare – just being enveloped in darkness that soothed and numbed every thought and feeling until all that was left was sleep. Despite feeling more well rested than I had in recent memory, I also felt empty. The cold, horrifying terror in my mind had been taken away with nothing positive left to replace it. A kernel of warmth attempted to sputter into existence when I’d think about a curving smile and a warm eye of russet … only to be doused by an echo of Mor’s voice ringing through my head.

‘He won’t be coming for her.’

“Second question.”

I raised my eyes, having not realized I’d been staring at the terrace’s wood paneling beneath our feet.

“This is to make sure your memory is working properly,” Rhysand said. A playful brush came through the bond, and I got the sense he was trying to lift my spirits. I debated whether I should let him or if I’d rather spend the morning brooding.

“What’s the most humorous thing I’ve seen in the last century?” Rhysand asked. My resulting frown caused him to chuckle. “I’ll give you a hint, Mouse." He withdrew his hand from his pocket, holding his thumb and forefinger about three inches apart. “Despite only being about this big, it thought far more highly of itself than it had any right to considering its tiny stature and pitiful nature.”

Despite myself … I couldn’t fight back the smile creeping up my face. “Easy – that happened this morning when you dropped your pants to take a piss and looked down.”

Rhysand’s hand fell limply to his side. “I should throw you off the roof.”

“That would be ill advised,” I said, crossing my arms within my wide sleeves and strolling up to him in a lazy fashion. Rhysand had succeeded in making me feel better, even if not by the design he’d hoped. “I would survive a fall from this height, then come back up here to beat the shit out of you.”

A coy nature crossed Rhysand’s features. “I see. So, what I’m hearing is …”

Darkness coiled and spread around Rhysand’s shoulders, forming into solid masses of dark brownish-gray skin pulled taut to create a set of massive wings. The weak sunlight peeking through wispy clouds turned a shade of red through the membrane as the wings stretched wide. Black talons the length of my hand gleamed like obsidian, holding my attention like a magpie attracted to shiny objects as they settled above Rhysand’s shoulders.

“… If I want to prove a point,” Rhysand continued, looking giddy from the concept. “I should drop you from a much higher distance.”

“You’re … going to take me?” I asked, my heart already pounding in my ears. My eyes darted between Rhysand’s face and his wings. “You’re going to take me flying? Really?”

“I think you’re a little too unconcerned about the ‘dropping you’ part,” Rhysand said. Despite the statement, the amused glimmer to his eye drew me to his side.

“Where do I get on?” I asked, ducking around his wing. “Do I jump on your back?”

Rhysand’s wings folded slightly so he could turn to face me. “What do I look like, a horse? And if you haven’t noticed, my back is already occupied with the things that would keep us airborne.”

Realization hit me like a bolt of lightning. My eyes grew wide as my smile stretched. “You’re gonna carry me?”

“Like the most annoying sack of grain Prythian has to offer,” Rhysand said. A sinister nature drew across his smile. “Or … I could take a leaf out of Tamlin’s book, and transform you into something smaller and more manageable.”

“Whatever that would be,” I said, stepping into his open stance and putting my arms around his neck. “I would bite you.”

“You could bite me as you are now.” Rhysand lifted me into his arms, hitting me with a wink. “But I think the context and my reaction would be very different from what you’re imagining.”

My retort was swept away by a single beat of Rhysand’s wings. In a rush of air, the cityscape below shrunk with every passing second as we soared higher and higher. A shield rippled around Rhysand to keep the majority of the wind and the frigid winter air at bay. Even so, a cloud of breath still floated about my face as I gasped.

The view was unlike anything I’d seen. Even looking down upon a city from a mountaintop didn't compare. Being able to see for miles in all directions … soaring directly over hundreds of Fae and the distant sounds of music and chiming bell towers … I was speechless.

With a powerful snap of Rhysand’s wings, we made a sharp bank to the left, facing a series of high red-rocked mountains partially hidden within low-hanging clouds. The jolt caused my stomach to leap into my throat. I let out a shout which immediately morphed into a fit of hysterical laughter.

“Here I was thinking you were going to regret this the second we were up here,” Rhysand said. “I expected more screaming; I must not be trying hard enough.”

My eyes were too busy being glued to the rolling cityscape below to take in his expression. The bond meant I didn’t need to, besides; Rhysand’s pure elation rivaled my own and bubbled inside me like I’d taken a sip of sparkling wine.

“Up here …” I said, fighting to form words around the joyous cascade filling my mind. I tightened my hold around Rhysand’s neck. “Everything looks so small. It’s like you don’t have to worry about anything. Right now, I just … am.”

Rhysand pulled me tighter to his chest. It was unusual for me to register his body heat, but at this moment I couldn’t help but appreciate the warmth of his silky jacket and the feel of his cheek against my temple. I felt the low rumble in his toned chest as he spoke.

“We’re on our way to a meeting, but I think I’m willing to submit myself to a lecture on punctuality from Az if we take a detour. What sort of High Lord would I be if I didn’t take my honored guest on a thorough tour of my fine city, besides?”

“You could fly us over the ocean for all I care,” I said, marveling at the endless expanse of water in the distance. “I just like being up here.”

Rhysand chuckled. “You remind me of myself when I was young – I used to sneak out of the house at night to go flying all around this city, the Sidra River, and the sea. My father wouldn’t have approved if he knew, so I took measures to make sure he never found out. My mother caught me on occasion, but more often than not, the two of us would end up flying together until dawn.”

Rhysand had unintentionally given me a glimpse of one of those flights not too long ago – his mother’s wild, beautiful face radiating joy when the two of them had joined hands and spun about one another in an aerial dance. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that she’d been the reason Rhysand loved flying so much. After his mother’s death, this was probably the clearest piece of her memory he had to hold on to.

“You just made the mistake of saying we could stay up here for hours,” I said, shouting over the wind as Rhysand took us into a shallow dive. We leveled out over the Sidra – a dark, winged silhouette mirroring our movements in the glittering water as buildings rushed by on either side. “So, I expect you to show me every nook and cranny of this place.”

I recognized the wide stone bridge coming up ahead as the one we’d strolled over the night before. My stomach flopped as Rhysand dropped until we were so close to the water the toes of my boots created a sparkling spray along the surface. Darkness filled my vision for a fraction of a second, gone so fast my eyes didn’t have time to adjust as we swooped through the gap between the stone columns holding the bridge aloft. The sound of excited chatter from pedestrians fell away at our backs as Rhysand beat his wings and thrust us back into the sky.

“We’ll refer to that as ‘nook number one,’” Rhysand said. “We have a couple hundred to go, so make sure you’re keeping track.”

“Showoff.”

A hint of something mischievous brushed my mind like a cat rubbing an ankle. Rhysand banked around a clock tower to fly in a wide, slow circle around a collection of buildings in all shapes and sizes.

“We’ll start with this area, because it’s the dearest one to me,” he said, his sentimental tone reflecting the statement. “The is the artist’s quarter – full of galleries, studios, tailors, specialty shops, and theaters. We refer to this section of the city as the Rainbow of Velaris.”

Chapter Text

I looked up from my desk the moment I felt a tingle in the air; an imbalance like the world had grown slightly heavier before righting itself. This information told me two things: The ward around the house had been breached, and that whoever had done so had to have been one of three people permitted to winnow in and out of the shield. I immediately bolted to my feet, snatching the crescent-shaped sickle sitting on the edge of my desk and attaching it to my belt before heading for the door.

I was nearly at the bottom of the stairs connected to the foyer when the towering twin doors opened and the person who I’d been expecting walked through the threshold.

“Master Lucien,” Mitah said in greeting. I nearly stopped dead – he was smiling. Mitah’s usual, cheerful demeanor hadn’t made even the slightest appearance over the past few days. Hope bloomed in my chest and threatened to tear it apart as I took in his youthful expression.

“Is it Jade?” I asked, knowing that I was failing wholeheartedly at keeping the desperation out of my voice. I had to bite back a relieved gasp when Mitah nodded.

“Is Lord Tamlin in his study?” Mitah asked, already headed in the room’s direction. I met his quickened gait with my own, our boots clicking in tandem as we hurried down the hall.

“He is.” I was hard-pressed not to find Tamlin in his study over the past few days. Whatever had transpired during Jade’s kidnapping had rattled him enough to flip his usual habits entirely. Gone was the blinding, roaring beast of rage which used to leave furniture shredded and windows blown out in their wake. I’d been more than expecting the entire damn manor to be torn to the foundation in the aftermath of Jade being snatched away from right under his nose. However … that hadn’t come to pass.

My hand stilled as I made to knock on the door of Tamlin’s study. I fought to swallow against the choking dryness in my throat. “Please, Mitah … Tell me what you have to say is that Jade is on her way home.”

I didn’t dare to turn my head away from the door. Mitah’s hand gently landing on my shoulder prompted me to close my eyes as my heart sank.

“Not yet,” Mitah said. I thanked the Cauldron our fool of a general had enough tact to refrain from testing my patience as he normally did. He’d been nothing but respectful since the day of the Tithe; the day Jade had fought with Tamlin and gone out for a ride and not come back.

It turned my stomach to think about how I’d felt that day, how I’d been preparing to bombard Jade with a lecture about taking her responsibilities as a representative of this court seriously and learning to conduct herself with tact. I was going to tell her how it was going to take months – years – for her argument with Tamlin to be forgotten among the members of the court. I had planned on describing in detail the meeting I’d had with Tamlin directly after the Tithe where I had to convince him not to strip her of her rank. All of that had seemed so important at the time … until Tamlin had come limping back to the manor, broken and bloodied as if he’d gone toe-to-toe with a bogge, and said that Jade was gone.

“Jade has been … busy,” Mitah said. He removed his hand and hit me with a grin. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked. My eyes followed Mitah as he took it upon himself to open the door to Tamlin’s study without knocking. The bold gesture would’ve been something worth chiding him for if I hadn’t been certain that we’d already made our presence quite well known to the study’s sole occupant.

Tamlin sat at his desk, his face more of an unreadable mask than it had ever been during the forty-nine years he was under Amarantha’s curse. That sort of thing had never come easy for Tamlin – he wasn’t much for the nuances of the courts and the battles fought with words instead of steel. I held a hefty amount of respect for him for it; things such as lying, manipulating, and backstabbing were beneath him. The only time Tamlin gave two shits about his reputation was when it had to do with the overall wellbeing of his court; his people. 

That sort of outlook had been foreign to me when we’d first met during a formal hunt held at the Summer Court centuries ago. The flippant bastard I used to be had almost immediately dismissed the High Lord of Spring as being naive and simpleminded. A conversation later around a fire and over a few glasses of Summer Wine had led me to the striking notion that a High Lord could actually say damn it all to reputation and do what was right by his people … to make them feel happy, fulfilled, and wanted. After that conversation, I’d found myself longing for nothing more than that.

“What’s happened?” Tamlin said, keeping all annotations of emotion from his voice. The scar along his chin wasn’t the only thing marking something different. Tamlin hadn’t been angry, depressed, or even frustrated. He’d just been empty. My pleas for him to talk about it – to tell me what truly happened when Jade had been taken – had been returned with nothing but a blank stare and a shake of his head. If it had been anyone else, I would’ve rattled them through any means necessary to extract even a shard of information about the state Jade was in and the identity of the Night Court bastard who stole her away. Because it was Tamlin, my High Lord … instead I sat alone drinking and suppressing the urge to burn the entire manor down to nothing but ashes.

“I suspect something must have happened concerning whatever control the High Lord of the Night Court has on Jade,” Mitah said. He stepped up to Tamlin’s desk, folding his hands behind him in a rigid stance. The formality of his address faltered as he smirked. “According to a contact I have in the north, Hewn City is in upheaval. The people are revolting and attempting to overthrow the High Lord’s council and his acting steward. And the symbol for this rebellion …”

Mitah withdrew a slip of weathered paper from his pocket. He unfolded it, placing it upon the dark wood of Tamlin’s desk and sliding it forward. Penned on the yellowed paper was a simple illustration of a crown adorned with a star-like pattern. A crown … broken in half.

“Crown-Cleaver,” I said, stunned.

“That’s right,” Mitah said, his smile widening. “Our little Jade is working from the inside to tear the Night Court to pieces. I never got around to having any younglings of my own, but I do believe this is what pride in an offspring would feel like, no?”

Staring at the symbol made me want to leave the manor immediately and burn a trail straight to the Court of Nightmares. I’d travel through every damn territory on foot if I had to, even chancing the dangers across my father’s court if it meant getting to Jade.

And when every damn thing that tried to stand in my way crumpled … when I’d see her … behind the female I love there’d be a path of destruction she’d created in her own wake to return to me; to return to her home. She was fighting against that bastard Rhysand – she was winning against Rhysand. Jade, my Jade, could look in the eyes of the most powerful High Lord ever known to exist in Prythian and show no fear.

“Master Lucien.”

My gaze darted to Mitah, the vision in my left eye magnifying on instinct as I read his mischievous expression.

“You’re glowing,” Mitah said, gesturing to me with his chin. With a start I found this to be true – a faint light covering my tanned skin. I cleared my throat and shifted the flow of magic within me to dim the light.

“I’m beginning to suspect the true nature of the High Lord Rhysand’s former correspondence,” Mitah said, clapping me on the shoulder before looking back to Tamlin. “Perhaps he felt his hold over Jade slipping and thought it wise to feign ignorance and return her before she became more than he could handle. It’s clear now that whatever he attempted to do to suppress her failed. My suggestion is to winnow a small group of forces into the Day Court’s territory, asking Helion for forgiveness later over the sense of urgency, and crossing the border on foot to avoid detection so we can approach through –”

“No.”

Tamlin’s stone-faced expression hadn’t moved a fraction since we entered the room. He reached for the paper, flipping it over and placing his palm atop it as if he needed to hide every trace of the simple illustration.

“We will not …” Tamlin said, a gleam of something calculating behind his eye as if searching for the right words. “I will not take that risk; not for my soldiers who could be captured and brutally butchered, and not for the risk of starting a conflict with the Night Court.”

I couldn’t stop myself before something sparked in my chest and escaped my mouth.

“Tam – we’re already in conflict with the damn Night Court!” I said, fighting a losing battle at keeping my tone even. “Not only have they attacked you, but they’ve kidnapped Jade – one of our generals! That alone would be enough cause for us to call a gathering of all the High Lords and demand their aid in storming the Night Court for what they’ve done! I know you don’t want war – none of us do – but we’re well past the point where we can just wait and pray that Jade is able to make it back here on her own.”

Movement caused my attention to shift to Tamlin’s hand gripping the armrest of his chair. His white knuckles shook from the effort. For a heartbeat, I felt satisfied to have finally riled him up enough for a glimpse of his anger to come through and encourage him into action. That was … until I looked back at his face.

Tamlin’s demeanor nearly caused me to take a step back. The expression saturating his features was something I hadn’t seen in decades; centuries. It was something I hadn’t seen since Tamlin had finally been able to let go of the hold his father had once had over him, even years after his death.

What saturated Tamlin now was crushing, raw fear. That level of fear didn’t even make an appearance when Rhysand’s repulsive presence had slunk into our household. Tamlin feared Rhysand as we all did since he wasn’t a fool. Even so, that fear still shone with defiance and anger. This fear … it was drenched with panic and shame as if he were back to being a youngling with the ever-present dread of being beaten by his father within an inch of his life for any small misstep. But the source of this fear … It couldn’t be …

“If you are not willing to risk lives, my Lord,” Mitah said, snatching my attention. He looked the perfect picture of a general as he placed a hand over his chest and offered a shallow bow. “Then allow me and me alone to handle the task. I have some familiarity with the territory near the –”

“I said no,” Tamlin said. His voice … shook. I could hardly believe what I was hearing.

“Tam,” I said, taking a step forward. I took a steadying breath and flexed my fingers. “I think it’s high time you tell us what happened when Jade was taken. Whatever it was seems to be swaying your judgment.”

Tamlin broke our gaze. He stared into the corner, slowly raising his hand and brushing his tanned fingers against the still healing slash over his jaw. I’d never seen him so still – so pensive. If I had been so bold as to make a demand along the lines of what I’d just said anytime in the past, I would’ve risked an outburst of shouts, claws, or both.

All of that had begun to change when Tamlin came back from the borders.

There’d been no hesitation from Jade to tell me about the time she and Tamlin had spent together on the Summer and Autumn Court borders less than a year past. She described every encounter with Amarantha’s faeries, her training, and her interactions with the sentries of the Spring Court. A part of that was how she’d gained a kinship and better understanding of who Tamlin was and what he stood for. It was to my understanding that it had been at that time she’d begun to think of him as her ‘heart’ – as a friend and mentor she could confide in and look up to. Any spark of jealousy that had ignited quieted when I’d realized how she saw Tamlin was how I saw Tamlin – a High Lord worthy of respect and veneration.

But Tamlin … he’d never spoken a word about that time on the borders. All I knew was what I suspected, at least what I had suspected when the two of them had returned. I had been looking for any signs back then that the curse may be broken – that perhaps one heart which had been shattered at my own hand and another which had been turned to stone had found one another and began beating in tandem.

I’d nearly been certain that had been the case when I’d hovered at the edge of the clearing marking the area for the Summer Solstice celebration months ago and listened to the song Tamlin had written for Jade. That song had been filled with yearning, hope, and love. I knew of the song even before Tamlin had played it on the fiddle, seen it in his eyes when he’d reached out to kiss Jade’s hand and insisted he would find her later. I knew then without a doubt that ‘later’ would be the culmination of everything I wanted and hated all at once. The curse over the Spring Court would be broken for a price which would shatter me to pieces.

It was for that very reason I had sought out Jade alone after I’d heard Tamlin’s song. I had every intention then of saying goodbye – of drinking in blue eyes that matched the night sky and a smile that ignited a feeling inside me which I never thought I could have again, just one final time. And Jade … that deceptively clever thing … had used my own magic against me to pry my true feelings from deep within my heart and nearly damned us all. I’d never felt more relieved or ashamed in that moment; relieved because I’d been able to properly voice my love for her, and ashamed that the feelings of a single exiled prince from the Autumn Court would be the downfall of the last brick standing against the destructive force which was Amarantha.

And then the following day Rhysand had appeared and gave me good reason to feel hate that rivaled what I felt for my father. I’d been unable to defend Jesminda, to save her, when my father had sliced through her wings, her wrists, then her neck and left her to bleed out like an animal for slaughter. And even if Rhysand was the most powerful High Lord known in Prythian’s history, I’d die a thousand times over by his hand if it meant sparing Jade from that fate. I’d known full well that going after Rhysand with my blade meant that a swift death would follow. I hadn’t cared – all that had mattered was if I could change the horrific end of the one I loved … even if it meant damning myself.

Then by some miracle from the Mother, Rhysand had lost interest and let us be. After Jade’s wounds had been tended to and my panic subsided, I’d joined Mitah in reinforcing the wards about the manor to ensure that, for at least the few days we had left together before the Spring Court was to be called to the Mountain, we could be at peace. 

I’d given up all hope then on the curse being broken. Witnessing Jade risk her life made me realize I could no longer hide or deny that I loved her with every fiber of my being. I had been prepared to bow at Tamlin’s feet and even take a beating if he felt it warranted for condemning his court … but I knew then I couldn’t lie anymore.

It had been there at the edge of the manor’s shield, where I stood in a small glen near a pool of water which had glittered like starlight, did the curse break. I’d simply known that all I had to do was reach up to remove that wretched fox mask and it would fall away without issue. I’d known that, and yet I’d hesitated. 

The part of my mind screaming in triumphant delight over my court’s freedom had included a chorus of a heart-wrenching wail signaling what I’d known must’ve happened; that Jade had confessed her real, undying love for Tamlin, and that he had returned it. It meant that the kiss Jade had planted on Tamlin’s cheek during the Solstice, and the way Tamlin had returned after all those months away at the borders with only a whisper of what his temper had once been, had meant something as important as I’d come to dread had occurred.

I’d stayed in that glen for a few minutes, staring into that pool of starlight. It was all the time I’d allotted myself to weep and mourn before falling back into my role as court emissary and putting my own wants and desires aside for the sake of the Spring Court – for the sake of my people. Because that’s what Tamlin would have done, what he always did, for the sake of the people he’d chosen to protect.

But Jade didn’t need Tamlin’s protection. She didn’t need it … and that might be why he’d choose to abandon her.

“Jade was taken by a Fae using a glamour I couldn’t decipher in the seconds it took for them to restrain her,” Tamlin said. His gaze slowly slid back to mine. That empty, emotionless wall behind his green and amber eyes had returned. “I believe bringing back Jade now would herald more harm than good. Clearly, she’s capable of taking care of herself. We have other issues to focus on – rumors of Hybern stirring up activity on the Continent, and –”

I slammed my hands on the desk, causing an inkwell to jolt from the side and shatter against the floor in a shower of crystal and black ink. Smoke rose between my fingers, the smell of burning wood filling my flared nostrils.

“She did not abandon you,” I hissed, speaking between clenched teeth. “Jade risked her damn life countless times under that Cauldron-forsaken mountain to free you and bring you home. How can you, her High Lord – her heart – sit here and dismiss her when she needs your help? How can you call yourself a male with any form of integrity?!”

I waited at the ready. I was prepared for Tamlin to rise from his chair with a growl, for claws to protrude from his knuckles and his power to build into a blinding fury which would release itself in an explosion of destruction. Even Mitah, as powerful as our head general was, stared in wide-eyed anticipation as he likely ran through a number of scenarios where he would need to save my ass from getting torn to pieces. We both waited for that storm to build and lightning to strike. We both waited … and it didn’t come.

“The way you two are looking at me …”

I tensed as Tamlin rose from his seat. He moved in a slow, deliberate manner as if Mitah and I were wild stallions in danger of being spooked. A vague wave of his hand cleared the mess of the broken inkwell, the stains of dark ink included.

“I’ve learned what it means to be on the receiving end of such … rage,” Tamlin said. Something along the lines of pity swam behind his eyes as he looked between Mitah and I. “I don’t … want either of you to ever feel that sort of fear toward me. I don’t want to be a monster. I don’t want to become … like the thing I’ve seen.”

I dared to glance to the side, sharing a stunned reaction with Mitah. Our general swallowed hard before his bright blue eyes returned to Tamlin.

“My Lord,” Mitah said, sounding meeker than I’ve ever heard him speak. “What is it that you’ve seen?”

“I don’t know,” came the quick reply. Tamlin covered his eyes with his palm, rubbing his temples. “We’re not speaking on this subject again unless I bring it up. For the time being, Jade stays where she is. Both of you are dismissed.”

I shook my head, not sure what to make of anything that was happening. “Tam …”

“I am your High Lord, and I say you are dismissed,” Tamlin said. He returned to his seat, his attention latching onto a stack of papers which had gone askew during my outburst. “I will not repeat myself again, emissary.”

I set my mouth into a thin line. My hair flowed over my shoulders as I bowed, creating a curtain which hopefully hid the fire I could feel burning behind my eye. “As you wish, High Lord.”

Mitah and I turned in tandem. With a wave over my shoulder, the door to Tamlin’s study opened and shut in our wake as we stepped into the hall. Our matching footfalls echoed about the marble and the ornate fineries which seemed less familiar and more sterile with every step. This manor had been my home for so, so long … yet with Jade missing, it began to feel less so.

The sound of our matching footsteps wasn’t the only thing Mitah and I shared; where I burned, he boiled. Servants and sentries alike darted out of our path as we crossed the foyer, their gazes snapping to the floor with hushed apologies. Only one figure standing near the threshold of the manor dared to keep their chin up.

“Blessed morning, Master Lucien – General Mitah,” Ianthe said. She clasped her hands before her chest in a show of docile concern, the silver bracelets on her wrists jingling together in a light melody. With the light from the morning sun shining through the windows at her back – she looked the very picture of a pious maiden. I had no doubt she’d planned it that way.

“I was in the middle of offering up a prayer for Jade when I received word of there being news,” Ianthe continued, eyes brimming with tears. “Please, share with me if my prayers have been answered for her safe return.”

Ianthe was beautiful. She was well-spoken, intelligent, and charming. Her connection to the holy magic where the Mother was concerned was undeniable; she was a welcome presence among the pious and provided comfort to the more devout members of the Spring Court. Ianthe was all of these things.

But Ianthe was not good.

I didn’t need an eye forged from magic to see it, but it had come in handy a few days past – when Ianthe had been at my side on the front steps of the manor helping me to usher the last stragglers from the Tithe off the property. Tamlin had returned to the manor then with his clothes in little more than shreds and his hand over a still-healing wound in his chest. I’d been so shocked from the sound of his haggard breathing and the sight of caked blood covering him from head-to-toe that I’d almost missed the miniscule movement from the corner of my eye. For a fraction of a second – the moment we’d first spotted Tamlin and taken in his disheveled state – Ianthe’s true emotions had shone through.

She had smiled.

“I’m afraid we can’t share that information,” Mitah said. I thanked the Cauldron then for Mitah and the hand he placed on my shoulder. In my heated state I’d been ready to tear into Ianthe and make it more than clear we didn’t believe her false sense of worry for a second. Mitah’s presence was like tossing water over a fire and dampening my rage down to a smolder. I wondered if there was a chance I’d still have both my eyes if our general had accompanied me on the day I’d gone to parlay with Amarantha under the Mountain all those years ago.

“All you have to know is that Jade is keeping her adversaries on their toes,” Mitah said. He urged me into a walk, holding Ianthe’s falsely sallow expression as we passed. “Only an enemy of hers should be concerned over how she’s fairing.”

We descended the front steps of the manor without a backwards glance. I heard the door close behind us as we headed toward the far gate. I had a feeling Mitah was just as certain in his destination as I was mine … which wasn’t anywhere at all.

“May I ask what’s on your mind, Master Lucien?” Mitah asked. He clasped his hands behind his back, the carefree glimmer which had appeared when he’d been addressing Ianthe retreating into the depths.

“Other than wishing I could shove Ianthe in a crate and ship her back to the damn Continent …” I said, knowing full well the nearest sentry was out of earshot. “… I think you know. It’s the same thing always on my mind.”

A smile that lit up my heart. Hands that weaved signs through the air in a mesmerizing dance. A gentle touch with an unimaginable amount of strength thrumming behind it. The scent that still lingered on my bedsheets of violets and the air before a storm. Eyes of deep blue which glowed with such sweetness and love it made me want to melt entirely.

“I’m thinking about Lord Tamlin,” Mitah said. He stopped when we reached the gate, staring ahead. “And how he is our High Lord.”

Dangerous. A key was being presented to open a door which should always stay locked. Accepting it was something I couldn’t do.

“He is,” I said, keeping my tone level. Even if I refused to accept the key … I still wanted to know where the door may lead.

Mitah closed his eyes. When he opened them again … something had shifted. I had to wonder if it was a glimpse of what others had seen during the war, during the time before I’d even been born into this world and the Fae at my side had waded through a sea of bodies knee-deep, both human and our own. I’d always taken those rumors as nothing more than that … but not now.

“Jade is also my friend,” Mitah said, keeping his gaze fixed on the tree line.

I followed his line of sight. I fought back the desire to burn down every single one of those trees until I had a straight path to the Night Court. “She is.”

Mitah slowly nodded. His unsettling gaze shifted to meet my own. “I am at the High Lord’s disposal … as I am yours, Master Lucien.”

No; I wasn’t being offered a key. I was the key. I was the thing required for Mitah to pass to the other side … to open the door and follow a path which could lead us to the thing we desired at the risk of destroying everything left behind.

I didn’t balk from Mitah’s stare. I held it while feigning a certainty I didn’t possess. He didn’t move a muscle until I offered him a slow nod.

Mitah winnowed away in a wave of darkness and a rush of cool air like passing near a waterfall. I stared at the spot where he’d been, knowing the short exchange was all we could dare to make here on the manor grounds.

We would speak more freely at another time.

Chapter Text

“Is she alright?”

“Give her a minute,” Rhysand said. He sat at the head of a long table carved from wood in a rich, deep mahogany. Each of the chairs lining the table were of the thin-backed type designed for Illyrians, Rhysand taking advantage of this entirely as his wings remained half-folded at his back. “She’s a bit thick-headed and needs time to process.”

“I’ll rip off your ears and feed them to the crows,” I said, pacing the length of the stone room. Our destination after our flight turned out to be a place Rhysand called the ‘House of Wind.’ It was a palace of sorts carved from the side of the large red mountain range lining Velaris, and the location of the meeting place Rhysand had mentioned earlier. His prediction about Azriel being cross over the very blatant disregard for punctuality had also been true when we’d come across his brother waiting for us on a wide balcony with golden lanterns, his arms crossed and a scowl marring his striking features.

“She’s oddly good at coming up with insults, though,” Rhysand said. He leaned his head into his hand. “She’s like a savant. Pity she can’t channel that energy elsewhere.”

My contemplation over whether or not I should throw a chair in Rhysand’s direction appeared to come through loud and clear. Rhysand only smirked and looked away as I continued to absorb the mountain of information he and Azriel had piled in my lap only minutes ago.

We were at war. Or … we would be soon. Hybern, the country to the west where Amarantha had come from, had been gearing up to retake the human lands both south of our wall and to the Continent in the east. Apparently the Faeries in Hybern had been holding a grudge concerning giving up their hold over humans five hundred years ago and were looking to rectify the fact. I felt that this was a clear indicator that being able to cling to such senseless things for centuries was a surefire sign that nothing should ever live that long.

The second Rhysand had paused to take a breath after conveying this information, I’d asked a question:

‘What do you need me to do?’

Rhysand’s resulting smile had bordered on being smug; sharing said smile with Azriel who had only shrugged. I’d gotten the impression that there may’ve been some disagreement between the two over what level I wished to be involved in the conflict.

Rhysand had proceeded to explain that the King of Hybern had used Amarantha as a tool to weaken Prythian, who would be likely allies for the humans in the upcoming war. A combination of untested High Lords, broken courts, and high priestesses seeking control would be used to cripple our forces from the inside and find a way to shatter the Wall dividing Prythian from the human territories. In order for us to stand a chance, we would require cooperation from each High Lord. Upon inquiring whether I thought Tamlin would join the fight, I quickly answered that he would; for nothing else other than to change the subject.

“So, you want me to fight,” I said. I crossed my arms, continuing to pace as I studied Rhysand.

“Yes and no,” Rhysand said. He shifted in his seat, flexing his wings. “Az and I fought in the last war, and I think I can speak for both of us when I say that we have no interest in seeing a full-scale slaughter like that again. It’s good to know I can depend on you if it comes to that – you’re a symbol who can rally support among all seven courts. However, I’m curious to see if you may possess any abilities which could aid us in avoiding conflict entirely.”

I came to a stop, raising a brow. “Like … what?”

Rhysand only shrugged. “You’re like a weapon forged by Amarantha’s hand – she was a monster, but she was a powerful monster. Have you tried testing yourself to see what you can do?”

“Of course, I have.” I shifted, feeling embarrassed in a way that I hadn’t experienced since being a child. “Well … I’m stronger than all the sentries in my court now. Faster, too. But the thing is … I can’t really do magic. I’ve tried a few things – moving stuff, winnowing, using elements … you know. None of it really works.”

“Well,” Rhysand said. Something devious snaked through his smile. “I wouldn’t say none of it works.”

For the life of me I couldn’t decipher what the look exchanged between Rhysand and Azriel meant. Whatever it was, it didn’t leave the latter looking too pleased.

“I’m sending you on a mission, Mouse,” Rhysand said, returning his attention to me. “Amren is still pissed off enough at me that she didn’t want to meet us here, but she did convey some interesting information concerning who we could speak to in order to confirm some suspicions I have about preventing this war entirely. I want you to be the one to get information from the contact.” He gestured to the side with his chin. “And Az here will accompany you.”

I exchanged a look with Azriel, sizing up his rigid posture and the inky blackness hovering about him like he existed in his own personal void. The calculating air in his hazel eyes gave me the impression he was taking stock of me just as I was him.

“Why are you not going with me?” I asked, regarding Rhysand as he rose from his seat. He waited to answer until after he adjusted the lapels of his black jacket.

“Because some of us actually have responsibilities,” Rhysand said. He stuck his hands in his pockets, approaching with a lazy stride. “Az and I were both on a mission taking out rouge Illyrian war bands when your spat with Tamlin called me away. I made a valiant attempt to return to my duties the following day, then suddenly got word of chaos erupting in Hewn City. I had to leave my general Cassian there to handle things himself while Az and I worked damage control. Now that I can hopefully leave you out of my sight for more than a day, I’m going back to give Cassian a hand and wrap things up. Just … for the love of the Mother … please don’t destroy anything or kill anyone while I’m away; at least, don’t do the last one unless the bastard really deserves it.”

At this, Azriel chuckled. It was a shock to discover our somber companion could do such a thing.

“You sound like you’re speaking to Cass,” Azriel said. I found the small smile on his face jarring and preferred if he’d go back to looking like someone had died.

“Amren also said I reminded her of him,” I said, putting a hand on my hip as I looked up at Rhysand. “I guess it’s something about being a general.”

“No,” Rhysand said, stopping at my side. He hit me with a wicked grin. “I think it has more to do with being a hard-headed fool. I’m already collecting bets on which of you two are going to be left standing after your first meeting.”

My eyelids drooped. “Get fucked.”

“Only if you buy me dinner first,” Rhysand said with a wink. He turned to Azriel, taking an inhale of breath when the click of heels from the hallway caused him to pause.

My focus had been on Azriel when Rhysand had turned to address him, so I happened to catch a flash of his eyes growing wide and his lips parting a fraction. Something I could almost define as tender washed his features before every ounce of emotion drained until nothing but a stoic mask remained. Curious over who the hell could cause such a reaction, I turned to face the figure walking through the threshold.

I froze. Heat rose up my neck the moment I locked onto a set of brown eyes which emulated warmth in color but not in practice. Rhysand’s cousin Mor was dressed in a tight-fitting red gown similar to what she’d worn when I’d first seen her. She appeared as the definition of grace and beauty. I made a point of wrinkling my nose as if a rancid deer carcass had rolled through the door.

“Sorry I’m late,” Mor said, addressing Rhysand. “Keir’s bitching and moaning over the rebellion ran long. As if that bastard’s lifestyle behind those high gates has even been affected …”

Mor’s eyes slid to mine. She appeared to steel herself by taking an ample breath before speaking. “You’re the one who shed light on what was really happening in Hewn City; thanks for that.”

I scoffed. “Rhysand didn’t notice because he was locked up for fifty years – what’s your excuse?”

Mor’s slender fingers formed into fists. I raised a brow, giving her a look which dared her to make a move. She may have had the upper hand when she’d caught me by surprise earlier … that wouldn’t be the case here.

“Look,” Mor said, speaking through clenched teeth. “I can see why you’d be pissed at me because of how I brought you here against your will. But you’ve had plenty of time to cool off and realize I did you a favor by stopping you from murdering a damn High Lord. At the very least I think we could call it even considering you’re currently not being hunted down by all seven territories for a public execution.”

I tilted my head with a smirk. “Actually … that has nothing to do with it. I just think you deserve to have that pretty nose of yours ripped from your face for sticking it in other people’s business.”

A substance like red steam began to rise and coil from Mor’s skin. Her painted lips pulled back in a flash of white teeth. “There’s something … wrong about you. I don’t know what the hell it is, but you can’t control it. I don’t give a damn if that thing swallows you alive. However, I will kill you if it means stopping you from infecting the people I care about.”

I took a single step forward. I didn’t make it any further for two reasons – the first being a hand on my shoulder from Rhysand. The second being a dagger at my throat from Azriel.

I locked eyes with Azriel, stunned that he’d been able to get directly beside me without a single breeze in the air, sound of movement, or scent of magic to give him away. His still presence was like a part of the environment I’d failed to notice, as if I had found the knife instead of the knife finding me. And even though the cool blade against my skin only brushed the underside of my jaw, I felt an echo throughout the flesh and tendons of my throat as if Azriel were somehow able to convey a promise of what was to come. For the first time since being under the Mountain … I felt fear.

“Azriel.”

A single word from Rhysand was all that was needed for Azriel to withdraw the dagger and sheath it at his side, taking a step back with a casual air. He continued to peer at me with no more interest than he had before Mor’s arrival when there’d been no reason for him to hold a weapon to my throat. The detachment in his eyes was deadlier than the dagger by tenfold.

“Let me make something clear,” Rhysand said. His eyes fixed on Mor, Azriel, then myself. I had a sense that the ripple of dark power I felt pulsing through the room had a greater reach than just through our mental link.

“Each one of us here are on the same side,” Rhysand said, his voice dangerously soft. “I don’t give a shit if you like each other, but I do give a shit about threats. Not a single one of you is to raise a hand against one another for any reason; breaking this command would result in your punishment being doled out by me directly, and I have no intention of playing nice now that you’ve had a formal warning.”

I held Rhysand’s stare. Despite his words, despite knowing the extent of his power, I wasn’t afraid. At least, it wasn’t the sort of fear stemming from being beaten or tortured. What I feared most was having the only thing I liked here being taken away. Flying over the streets of Velaris had only reminded me of how much I didn’t belong; how much I wanted to leave this glittering city which I felt nothing for. And Rhysand was the only thing I had left to give me a semblance of feeling like I belonged somewhere.

Rhysand’s grip on my shoulder loosened. He studied my face for a moment before sliding his hand into his pocket. “Az – fill Mor in on the temple attack in Cesere. I’m taking Jade back to the townhouse; come by to collect her in the morning.”

Azriel’s only response was a steady nod. He didn’t so much as look in my direction as I gave him a final glance over my shoulder before I turned to follow Rhysand’s gait toward the balcony. We passed next to Mor, her golden locks brushing along her shoulders as she turned her head away.

“How certain are you that your brother isn’t going to gut me like a fish the second he has the chance?” I asked. Rhysand acted as if he hadn’t heard the question at all as he lifted me into his arms and spread his wings. We shot from the balcony in a blast of cold wind, my eyes watering until my rapid blinking paired with Rhysand’s shield softened the discomfort.

“If there’s one thing I’m certain Azriel would never do, it’s go against my orders,” Rhysand said. He kept us at an altitude just above the hazy cloud line as if hiding the sweeping view below was a punishment for my earlier behavior. Despite the only real thing of note to look at being the icy expression across his face, I chose to keep my gaze locked on the gray mist churning and breaking against his shield as we traveled.

“I need you to understand something,” Rhysand said. “The members of my inner circle are more than just colleagues in a council – I consider them all as family whether blood relation is relevant or not. And what happened today isn’t anywhere near the sort of conflict we’d need for our bonds to break. But if something – if someone – were to keep pushing, to keep hammering at any flaws in that bond until it was broken … I’d stop that force before irreversible damage was done – through any means necessary.”

I scowled at the passing clouds. “I thought you said no threats.”

“I think it’s pretty obvious that rule doesn’t apply to me, since my statement about no threats was a threat in and of itself."

I expelled a puff of air from my nose as we began to descend. My proximity to Rhysand now felt entirely too close and I wanted nothing more than to land. “Why not just send Azriel to talk to your contact alone? Why the hell do you need me there?”

“Because like them, you’re also one of my people,” Rhysand said. We sailed over rooftops, tipping from side to side as we swayed between smoking chimneys crafted from metal and brick. The sight of the townhouse grew alongside a twisting feeling in my gut. I tightened my hold around Rhysand’s shoulders, suddenly backtracking my previous thought of wanting to be left alone … wanting to be unnecessary.

Leaves from the dormant plants lining the terrace of the townhouse scattered in the wake of his beating wings. We made a soft landing, Rhysand sighing deeply before lowering me to my own two feet.

“I need you, Mouse, just as much as I need them,” Rhysand said. He reached toward me, hesitated, then slid his hands into his pockets. “I was held under the Mountain for nearly fifty years. I was tortured, beaten, and fucked until only telling myself who I was and what I had to protect kept me from trying to find a way to end it. And … I almost had. I’d been on the verge of shattering my own mind to dust when you first came to see me.”

My breath caught in my chest. I reached out, but Rhysand closed his thoughts off, likely to keep me from feeling any semblance of the despair I’d sensed inside him before. My body grew cold for a reason that had nothing to do with the weather.

‘I like being in this place much better than where I’m usually locked away.’

That had been what Rhysand had told me during our first meeting. Where we’d somehow found one another between minds, through shadow and half a continent's worth of distance, for me to unintentionally offer Rhysand a miniscule ray of hope.

‘You don’t want to know at all what my prison is like. But if you’re curious … I invite you to visit anytime.’

He had invited me back. Rhysand had invited me to speak with him again because he’d decided that there would be a next time for us to do so. I fought back the tears forming at the edge of my vision.

Rhysand regarded me with a soft smile. “Everything that I went through, that I had to endure, I’m trying to prevent from happening again to Prythian. You may be the greatest weapon we have against the growing threat of Hybern. If what you require while you’re here is an outlet for that simmering rage I keep picking up through our link, then I’ll be more than happy to assist. There’s an endless list of ilk I can direct you to and give my absolute permission to tear to shreds. The Night Court has no shortage of enemies in that regard.”

The way Rhysand was speaking to me was like I was an untamed animal. As much as I felt insulted, deep down I knew his reasoning wasn’t unfounded. My sense of unease and restlessness grew within me every passing moment. I broke our gaze, wiping at the corners of my eyes in a rough manner with my wrists. “I already said I’m going to help you with this. I’m not going to back out.”

I dug my nails into the material of the sweater over my crossed arms. I couldn’t work up the courage to look Rhysand in the eye. “Do you ever feel like you want to tear everything down? Like the thoughts inside your head aren’t going to stop until everything around you just goes … quiet?”

A cool brush of silk slinked through my mind.

“All the damn time.”

A single beat of Rhysand’s wings sent him skyward. I remained on the terrace and watched him go until he became nothing more than a pinprick in the sky devoured by clouds.

Chapter Text

Nuala and Cerridwen weren’t present when I awoke the next morning, the neatly folded stack of clothes on a chair near the bed indicating I was expected to get ready on my own. It was honestly a relief even if I had the feeling the pair of them weren’t far. Since the second I’d entered Velaris, I’d felt as if I was being watched, if not by Rhysand, Amren, or the two servants brimming in shadows … then by whatever the hell that creature from the mirror was that lived behind my closed lids. How something that didn’t even have a damned head could relentlessly keep me in its sights, I couldn’t say. All I knew was that the scarf made of an unusual, metallic fiber which Nuala had insisted I wrap around my neck before bed had come in handy to keep me from tearing my throat open in my sleep.

Once again I was grateful the outfit allotted to me had a high collar, hiding the twisting scars running across my neck. The long-sleeved black armor was the thinnest of its kind I’d ever worn, hugging every curve of my body from my neck to my ankles. Its lack in bulk was deceptive; an attempt to so much as scrape it with the dagger which had been left beside the armor was fruitless. I had to wonder if this material was of the same make as what Rhysand had worn during our duel when I’d attempted to stab him through the heart. I hadn’t been able to get a good look from the small section peeking around his shirt, although the scale-like pattern running the length of my armor did spark something familiar.

I equipped the pair of shoulder and shin guards accompanying the armor, adjusting and tightening the leather straps until the gleaming metal held the correct placement. It was clear as day the armor and accessories were brand new, and I had to wonder if Rhysand had them custom made. I figured this had to have been the case since a posh little townhome in an upscale part of the city didn’t seem much like the type to have a stockpile of used armor lying around. It was an indication that Rhysand must’ve been quite certain of my willingness to cooperate with his plans long before I’d said yes. And even if I’d said no, Rhysand was well aware he’d probably be able to change my tune after offering me such a fine set of armor, besides.

I raised an eyebrow at the long, slender sword leaning against the wall; its handle of rigid black metal connected to a holster meant to be worn down the length of the wielder’s spine. I kept the sword within its sheath until the holster was in place on my back. I soon found drawing the blade from that position came less natural to me than from my side; practice was certainly needed to make the act seamless.

After taking stock in the weight of the sword and a few slices through the air, I returned it to my back. I paused when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror through the open bathroom door. I quickly looked away, finding a distaste for seeing my reflection as of late.

Even if I didn’t like it, there had been one interesting thing of note I’d picked up from the sight.

The placement of the blade on my back mirrored the tattoo running the length of my spine. I was never given any sort of explanation for the shape and location of my tattoo marking my bargain with Rhysand … I felt that the next time I saw him might be the time to ask.

The last piece of equipment I donned wasn’t one which had been provided, but something I’d brought with me. I slipped on the bracers from the Winter Court and noted the color of the crystal shifting to a deep gray over the pitch-black armor. I ran my fingers along the smooth, cold stone with a half-smile before steeling myself and opening the door.

The knee-high black boots beneath my shin guards dampened the sound of my steps. There was a good chance I’d be able to sneak up on just about anything shy of a Fae on high alert. As I tied my hair behind my ears while descending the stairs, I had to wonder what, exactly, I was meant to face today just as much as who.

As if Azriel had a designated spot, I found him standing near the fireplace in the sitting area as he’d been the first time we met. His hazel eyes tracked me with indifference as I entered the threshold, no sign of animosity toward what had occurred yesterday. Not on the surface, anyway. It gave me an unsettling feeling.

“Breakfast has been set out for you in the kitchen,” Azriel said, his tone just as level as his gaze. “We’ll depart after you eat.”

I sized Azriel up, noting our outfits were nearly identical down to the swords on our backs and the daggers attached to our thighs. The only differences were his armor showing far more signs of wear than my own, and a glimpse of something blue I’d caught on his wrists before he’d shifted his hands behind his back. I had little doubt the decision of what equipment I should be allotted had come down to Rhysand; despite seeming unbothered, the dagger to my throat the day before spoke enough on how much trust I had earned from Azriel.

I found Nuala and Cerridwen in the large yet humbly decorated kitchen down the hall. I didn’t bother taking a seat at the long table dividing the space as I finished the porridge and water they’d set out. Nuala gifted me a soft smile and Cerridwen nodded when I gave them my thanks before I headed back to the sitting room. Breakfast may’ve been quick, but it was all the time I’d needed to assess the situation.

“Who’s this contact?” I asked, meeting Azriel’s gaze. I could’ve sworn he hadn’t moved a muscle during the time I was gone, as if somehow sitting on any of the worn furniture was a luxury he wasn’t permitted. Even his wings making the armchairs inaccessible wasn’t an excuse when it came to the couch or the trio of Illyrian-style chairs on the opposite side of the fireplace. I had to wonder if he was always on edge in this regard or if the behavior stemmed solely from my presence.

“They’re known as the Bone Carver,” Azriel said. I’d stopped my approach near the threshold, Azriel shrinking the distance with a relaxed stride. “We’re to ask the reason behind Hybern’s targeted attacks on temples throughout Prythian, and how the King is planning to revive Jurian.”

My thoughts ground to a halt. I pulled my lips back in shock. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“There’s rumors the King of Hybern wishes to return Jurian to life,” Azriel said, as if the explanation were nothing short of mundane. “He believes Jurian can help him find weaknesses within the Wall and strategize against the human forces.”

My mind was reeling with questions. The first one tumbled out without warning. “How the hell do you know this?”

Azriel shrugged. “I’m a spymaster; I’d be letting my High Lord down for anything less.”

This guy officially put me on edge more than Amren had. I made a note to never let him out of my sight for the duration of this mission. If he could sense my muscles tensing as he stopped at my side, Azriel didn’t show it.

“That plan makes no sense,” I said, growing hyper aware of Azriel’s movements down to the swirling shadows over his skin. I wouldn’t be able to express why if I were pressed, but despite Azriel’s blank expression, I picked up a heavy level of contempt. I set my jaw as I peered up at him. “Jurian would never help the bastards looking to slaughter humans.”

“You didn’t know Jurian,” Azriel said, holding my gaze.

The statement had me ready to damn whatever hold of intimidation Azriel had over me. A flash of my teeth did nothing to rattle his expression. “I’m a piece of his legacy and a keeper of his will. You don’t know shit.”

Azriel raised a brow. “I actually knew Jurian, so I think you’re the one who’s mistaken.”

Azriel was making a very good play at topping the list of the people I’d come to hate since arriving at the Night Court. So far Amren seemed like the only person Rhysand kept around him who wasn’t a total piece of shit. It was no wonder Rhysand wanted my help – everyone else was insufferable.

“I don’t give a shit if you know the fucking Mother,” I said, voice low. “If you imply again that Jurian would do anything to hurt my people, then I’ll skin you alive sooner than I’ll go on this mission.”

The lack of a response made me want to stick a dagger between Azriel’s legs just as much as if he’d spit in my face. He seemed to be contemplating something before letting it go with a weak shrug.

“There are three things you need to know,” Azriel said, changing the subject entirely. “The first is that the Bone Carver is an inmate in the most secure prison in Prythian; staying alert while there is advised. Second, only speak to the Bone Carver with true statements … you don’t want to know what will happen otherwise. Third, the Bone Carver will only offer information as an exchange. He generally requires knowledge you have that no one else does. Rhysand said you’re the only known High Fae who became as you are from being transformed by the hands of another – you’re to use the information describing that experience as what we need for the trade.”

I stiffened. That experience … The pain, anger, confusion, and fear … Looking through Amarantha’s eyes as if I had become her. I never wanted to dwell on those thoughts again. I didn’t give a shit if that was the best thing I had to offer … I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell anyone about what I’d felt then, much less a stranger.

“Let’s go.”

The shadows around Azriel stretched and churned into a portal leading to a void. I hesitated as my eyes darted between it and his stony expression.

“You don’t need to be afraid,” Azriel said.

Fire burned in my core to rival the heat coming from the fireplace. I came forward, shooting a glare at Azriel before my vision filled with nothing but darkness.

Although I could see jack shit, I found that what was happening as my body flowed through whatever channel propelled us to be leagues more comfortable than winnowing. With winnowing, it was like everything went cold down to my very thoughts. This form of travel felt like I was flying without having to deal with mist filling my nose or a frigid wind whipping across my skin. It reminded me of when I’d gone to visit Rhysand’s mind in my dreams, where my body didn’t have a particular form and I’d been able to move in any direction through the air or even across the ceiling as I’d wished. That type of freedom felt refreshing both then and now.

A pinprick appeared in the distance. It grew larger and brighter with every passing second until suddenly I had limbs again and found myself taking a step on solid ground. Damp grass squashed underfoot as I turned, taking in a sloped plain dotted with little more than gray boulders and shrubs. The mist on all sides swallowed up most of the scenery, but the sound of crashing waves and the heavy scent of salt spray gave me an indication the ocean was somewhere nearby. Azriel turned his head toward a looming shadow in the fog which hinted this prison was located on some sort of mountain in the distance.

“Why didn’t you bring us closer?” I asked as we began to walk. I kept myself half a pace behind him so he’d stay in my line of sight.

“The magic wards around the Prison won’t allow it,” Azriel said, addressing me from the corner of his eye. “No one can winnow or fly in, either. We have to walk.”

Great.

I could already feel the dampness of this place seeping into my hair and exposed skin. At the very least the armor was well-crafted enough to keep me mostly dry on the outside. On the inside … a heaviness pressed down on my lungs as if someone had placed a boulder on my chest. I doubted I’d be able to move at a pace faster than a trot even if I wanted to. If this island housed a prison … perhaps there were more things at play to keep anyone from getting out than met the eye.

“You traveled well,” Azriel said. He slowed his pace to match my stride. “Most people feel disoriented when I take them through the shadows. Have you done it before?”

Azriel was making conversation. It didn’t make sense. Back at the townhouse he’d strung more words together in five minutes than I’d heard him speak during the time he and Rhysand had been explaining the makings of a damn war. That I could understand him doing out of obligation, but this? We both knew we wanted nothing to do with one another. What the hell was this asshole after?

“With Nuala and Cerridwen,” I said, picking my words carefully. “They used shadows to move us through walls a few times when I was under the Mountain.”

His lack of a reaction gave the impression this was something he already knew. How much about me did this bastard already know?

“Have you ever done it on your own?” Azriel asked, giving no hint of this conversation being anything more than satisfying his benign curiosity. “Have you ever traveled through shadow, or felt as if your body lost its shape?”

Rhysand. Rhysand must’ve told Azriel about what he’d seen when I’d fought Tamlin. I felt a jolt of betrayal as I had back when I’d been under the Mountain and had learned that Rhysand had told Amarantha about my sister. Even if he’d only given that information up because he knew she couldn’t do anything with it … I’d still felt the sting of not being warned about it.

Exchanging information.

This is what Azriel had told me about the Bone Carver; perhaps I should get some practice in.

“Tell me something, first,” I said. I rejoiced as I took in the line forming between Azriel’s brows marking his annoyance. “Rhysand said he went off to fight rogue Illyrian war bands. What the hell is an Illyrian, anyway? I know Rhysand is half of one, and I figured you must have at least some of that in you as well because of the wings. Although … you don’t have pointed ears like everyone else. Is an Illyrian just another type of Feary, or something different?”

The reaction I received was more than I had hoped for. Azriel’s stoic demeanor shifted as if he’d tasted something bitter. Somehow I’d stumbled upon a sore spot without even trying, and I fought to keep a pleased smirk off my face.

“Illyrians aren’t a type of Feary,” Azriel said. It was almost as if he’d created his own personal pocket of night from the way darkness curled around him. We were close enough I could pick up traces of it – quiet. Dead quiet. I hated my familiarity with it, fighting the urge to grow the distance between the two of us so I didn’t have to be reminded of the half of my life where I’d gone without hearing a single sound. It disgusted me that Azriel seemed to call this quiet darkness to himself; embraced it. Only someone who hasn’t suffered through that silence would ever desire such a thing.

“Illyrians are just Illyrians,” Azriel continued. “They live mostly detached from the dealings of everyone else in Prythian within camps among the mountain ranges here in the Night Court. They're ruthless, backward people who care more about breeding warriors and creating the strongest fighting forces than anything else; even basic rights for their own citizens. I only met a few I didn’t hate.”

It was safe to assume Rhysand was one of the few. I found it interesting that the way Azriel described these people didn’t come across anything like how he and Rhysand conducted themselves. I wondered if maybe they’d left the camps when they were young; or never went there at all.

“Other than the wings and their magic working differently, that’s the only other thing of note,” Azriel said.

‘They.’ ‘Their.’

Azriel spoke as if the Illyrians were a group he didn’t have any part of even though just looking at him countered the fact. His references of them being ruthless and backward gave the impression of little pride in his heritage. Rhysand didn’t seem to have much either, for that matter – having glossed over telling me about Illyrians back when we’d plotted Amarantha’s downfall in Tamlin’s manor. Perhaps this had something to do with why, out of all the people I’d seen walking the streets of Velaris, none of them had the same bat-like wings as Azriel and Rhysand.

Azriel grew silent, waiting for me to make good on our deal as the ground beneath our feet began to shift into a steeper slope. I decided to make him sweat for a moment as I feigned adjusting my footing as the grass fell away to a rough, gray outcrop.

“I guess I’ve done it a few times – the ‘shadow’ thing,” I said, unsure of what else to call it. I pulled back a lock of my hair which had come loose from the increasing wind filled with salt spray blowing about us, tucking it behind my ear with some effort. It was annoying how long it was taking me to get used to the pointed ears. “I get the impression Rhysand told you about what happened with Tamlin. Otherwise, it only ever happened when I was asleep. I was actually like that when I first met Rhysand; back when he’d been trapped under the Mountain.”

The shadows shifting over Azriel grew alongside his darkening expression. “While you were still human?”

I couldn’t decipher whether Azriel was intrigued or offended. I invoked a rare show of patience to take advantage of the fact.

“If the Illyrians keep to themselves, how is Rhysand half?” I asked. “And how is their magic different?”

It was clear I was wearing thin on Azriel’s patience. I figured he may’ve contemplated dropping the subject all together as our path met a sheer cliff face. We climbed in silence, hoisting ourselves up using mossy footholds before scaling the edge. I dusted gray dirt and pebbles from my armor before straightening. I dared to take a moment to look over the coiling gray sea I could make out between the mist. Paired with the sound of crashing waves and the smell of salt spray and damp grass … This place had its own form of beauty in its emptiness.

“Rhys’s parents were mates.”

I turned to Azriel. He indicated for me to head up the trail with a tilt of his chin. His steps moved to match my own as I passed.

“It’s a tradition for Illyrians to clip the wings of females when they reach maturity,” Azriel said. Something vacant passed behind his eyes before he came back to himself. “They’re considered laborers and homemakers who have no requirement to fly since they don’t go into battle.”

The image I’d seen in Rhysand’s mind of his mother soaring through the sky came to mind. Not only did I feel confused over having witnessed something that contradicted Azriel’s statement, but I felt livid. Oddly so. I wondered if it was an echo of Rhysand’s feelings akin to what I’d picked up when he had shared the layout of the Mountain all those months ago. That aside, there was no question if my own feelings were also in play. Purposely taking away something so wondrous, so empowering, all because they were female …

“The males should have their dicks sliced off,” I said. A large boulder lay in our path ahead. With a running start and two swift kicks off the side, I scaled to the top and looked down. “I’d like to see how they would react when having to face an important part of them being taken away, too.”

The corner of Azriel’s mouth twitched as he pulled himself up. It could’ve been a squeamish reaction to a statement that would technically involve him as well … although it could’ve also been a suppressed smile. For the first time, it seemed we actually saw eye-to-eye on a matter. I couldn’t decide if I liked it.

“It was when Rhys’s mother was about to have her wings clipped did she meet his father, the High Lord of the Night Court,” Azriel continued. His tone had settled, somehow. As if it were more natural. I hadn’t noticed anything off before, which was a testament to how well-practiced he was at making himself appear unassuming. Or perhaps this was the ruse to get my guard down. My head started to hurt – I hated damn politics.

“Rhys’s father had been in the Illyrian camp getting things organized for the upcoming war,” Azriel continued. “They were mated at first sight, and he took her to Velaris where they were married. That’s how Rhys is half Illyrian.”

“And his parents hated each other,” I said. I studied Azriel to determine if I’d been told the truth. It still seemed hard to swallow considering how so many Fae seemed over the moon to sing the praises of this ‘mating bond.’

“I can only attest to what I saw,” Azriel said. He broke our gaze for the first time since coming to this place. A whisper of animosity crossed his elegant features. “And from what I saw, there was little love between them.”

Our ascent up the mountain continued to grow into a near vertical incline. I took up Azriel’s suggestion for me to go first and for him to climb in my wake. My reluctance to have him out of sight wasn’t as strong as it had been before since I figured his wings gave him a better chance of catching me if I were to fall than the other way around. If he would catch me. I no longer thought he was going to actively try to kill me, although it was up in the air whether he would help me in the case of an accident.

“Are we almost at this prison?” I asked, looking down at him from over my shoulder. Pebbles fell from my toehold, clinking against the armor on Azriel’s shoulder as he peered up at me through the dark hair whipping around his eyes.

“This is the prison,” Azriel said, as if I should’ve figured that out by now. “We’re taking the route where I know the cells are the furthest into the mountain so we won’t be overheard. It’s the most treacherous, but here we should be concerned more with keeping information safe than anything else.”

This son of a bitch.

“There’s an easier route?!” I said, contemplating letting go so I could tackle him and drag his ass down to the freezing water below. This was the sort of messed up bullshit I expected from Rhysand, and I didn’t appreciate a single part of it.

“I wouldn’t be telling you what you wanted to know if I thought we were being listened to,” Azriel said. His eyes drifted upward. “We should keep moving – it might rain soon.”

I turned away with a grumble. The family resemblance between him and Rhysand was now loud and clear in the way they both seemed able to annoy the shit out of me without even trying.

“Tell me about how you were able to visit Rhys in the form of a shadow,” Azriel said. I seriously contemplated taking the risk to lose my footing so I could kick him in the face.

“Tell me about Illyrian magic, first!” I barked, cursing when the rock I grabbed crumbled beneath my fingers. I swayed, sprawling flat against the rock to keep my balance.

“I told you something, now you tell me something,” Azriel said. “That’s how this game you’re playing goes, doesn’t it?”

Shit. How long ago did he figure that out? Had he known from the beginning? Probably. Damn … I wish I was better at this. I could stop talking entirely, although now I had a burning sense to quell my curiosity over a past which Rhysand had been doing a fairly good job of keeping mum about. I couldn’t say why, but for whatever reason I had the feeling it was important.

“The only time I visited Rhysand during my dreams on purpose was around the Winter Solstice a few weeks ago,” I said, raising my voice to accommodate a frigid gust of wind. I grunted as I pulled myself up a few feet. “Before that, it just happened at random. The first time I had no control, as if I was being pulled to him by a string. After that I was able to see more of what he looked like and what was around him. The last time it happened while I was human, I’d been able to reach out and touch him; I slapped him across the face.”

“You slapped him?”

“Of course, I did!” I crested the top of the cliff to reach a wide ledge. A puff of air and a frustrated sound escaped my lips as I regarded the jagged rock face. I turned, reaching over the side to offer my hand. “He was wallowing in his own self pity like a damn child, and it had really pissed me off.”

Azriel only stared at my hand. He seemed to be studying it with far more concentration than warranted.

“I’m freezing my damn tits off,” I said, fighting the chatter to my teeth. “I promise you’ll only earn a slap too if you keep me waiting, so just let me pull you up.”

Azriel lifted his hand, hesitated, then clasped my own. I pulled him up without much effort, noting his hand somehow seemed to radiate warmth despite the bitter wind howling around us. How the hell everyone else seemed to be able to figure out such a simple trick while I couldn’t was frustrating beyond comparison. I followed Azriel’s lead to rise to our feet.

“Put your hands over mine for a minute,” I said, bringing my palms together and holding them out. “You’re the one who made us take this damn route, and my fingers are about to fall off.”

Azriel’s eyes darted between my face and my hands. Seconds ticked by as he didn't move a muscle. I was on the verge of making a threat to cut him open so I could warm myself with his blood, when he finally shifted to envelope his hands over my own. The blue stones attached to the portion of his armor over his wrists began to glow in a shimmering light as if reflecting water.

My hands suddenly feeling akin to warming them next to a fireplace caused my brows to rise. Something about my reaction prompted Azriel’s mouth to stretch into a thin line. I wasn’t sure why – his hands had some scarring, but he was also a damn spymaster, so walking around with signs of a former injury wasn’t surprising. More likely than not it had to do with what was on his hands then the hands themselves.

“What are these stones?” I asked. His reaction made me think he’d probably hate the question, but I decided I’d earned the right to be an ass after what I’d gone through.

Azriel’s hazel eyes drew away from our hands to study my face. I had to wonder how much I was stretching his patience considering how long he stared before answering.

“They’re called siphons,” he said, sounding somewhat distant for a reason I couldn’t place. “Illyrians don’t channel magic in the same way High Fae do, and not all of them even have it. Without a conduit, the magic is wild and difficult to control in a precise manner. Siphons are used to allow Illyrian warriors to control their magic and shape it to their will. They can be utilized to make shields, weapons, and do minor tasks like healing or … produce heat, I suppose.”

“Where do you get them?” I asked, tilting our hands so I could get a better look at one of the stones. It was oval in shape and nearly large enough to encompass the entire back of Azriel’s hand. Unlike the rest of his armor, it was without a single scratch along the cerulean surface. “I’m having trouble with magic, and maybe this could help.”

Azriel withdrew his hands. He dropped them to his side. “It wouldn’t work – you’re High Fae. The way magic flows through you can’t be shaped using siphons. The ones Rhys tried using in the past exploded when he’d made an effort. That could be a special case considering how powerful he is, but I doubt your results would be much different.”

It had been a fool’s hope, but I couldn’t deny being disappointed. I shrugged. “It was a thought, I guess. Anyway … thanks for warming my hands; we can keep going up this Cauldron-forsaken mountain, now.”

Azriel gave me an odd look again. He flexed his fingers. “You’re … welcome.”

A thought fell into place as my eyes darted between his face and his hands. I’d dismissed the notion, but …

“Do your hands bother you?”

The speed in which Azriel seemed to withdraw into himself was jarring. The now detached gaze was like he’d been replaced with a doppelganger in the blink of an eye. And … that answered my question entirely. I felt like a bit of an ass as guilt turned in my stomach. I would’ve laughed at the notion only a few weeks ago, but I now knew what it was like to have scars that brought shame.

“My sister’s hands are pretty messed up like yours,” I said. I raised my own hand to regard my palm. Mine once also had scars – burns, cuts, scrapes, and cracked nails had amounted to those. Amarantha had erased each one.

“I had to throw a sword at her once when we were facing down a martax,” I said, keeping my eyes lowered. “She had a choice to catch the sword by the blade or not at all. She lost the tip of the ring finger on her right hand, but that was the worst of it after she regained feeling in the rest of her fingers. One time we were caught in a fight between some noble bastards and their hired men tried to spring a trap on us with hot oil. I noticed the string and the smell before Myrin did, and pulled most of her out of the way so only the back of her hand got splashed. Changing those bandages later wasn’t pleasant.”

I glanced up. Azriel hadn’t moved, but the look behind his eyes was lighter as if a door had been opened by a crack. Even if he gave less than two shits about my feeble attempt to make amends for my remark, I was feeding him information about myself unprompted. Amren and Rhysand and whoever the hell else he reported to would probably be aware of everything coming out of my mouth by the end of the day.

“My sister has a lot of scars,” I continued. “On her hands, her face, her arms and legs; pretty much everywhere. Each one makes her more beautiful. Any of the injuries behind them could have broken her, but she kept going. She’s a much stronger person than I am.”

I used to have scars like Myrin – reminders of who I was and where I’d been. Now I just had the jagged ones across my neck I didn’t like to think about. I hated those scars – that sign of weakness. My sister’s scars couldn’t be any more different. Even now, even with everything I’d become … I still felt myself unraveling, not knowing how to hold myself together. Myrin would never do that.

Azriel turned to walk toward the back of the ledge where it met the mountain. He paused as I made to follow, looking over his shoulder. “You said before you’re not related to your sister by blood. How did you two become siblings?”

“We chose to be,” I said, not feeling like delving into the entire backstory of my clan under the circumstances of my location and company. Although perhaps Azriel was a better spymaster than I had thought, since I felt less reservations over the idea of telling him about the Warriors of Ash in a setting which involved heat and chairs. And food, as it struck me that I was now starving.

Azriel reached into a small pouch at his side, pulling out an object which looked like a glass vial. Based on the color of the liquid within, I was pretty certain it was blood. I pursed my lips in trepidation as Azriel drug his free hand against the side of the mountain, pausing when he reached a tall boulder nearly triangular in shape. He threw the vial without warning, the object smashing against the stone and leaving a dark stain behind like splattered paint.

“I did, too,” Azriel said. He indicated for me to come closer with a tilt to his head. I had the impression he had returned from where my question about his hands had made him withdraw to. “Rhys and Cass are my brothers because I chose for them to be.”

It struck me that the tang of blood in the air smelled familiar. For some reason, I knew without a doubt that it belonged to Rhysand. 

The blood coating the boulder disappeared as if the stone drank it in. With a shimmer, the boulder was gone, leaving only a gaping maw of solid darkness in its wake. It was an unassuming enough entrance to give the impression of it being an opening not used often; probably because only those as shrewd my companion felt the need to take this route. I set my jaw as I stared into the depths.

“Stick close, and don’t speak to anyone here other than the Bone Carver,” Azriel said. He sized me up as I stopped at his side in the threshold of a place I could already feel reeked of misery and despair. “Are you ready?”

“It doesn’t matter if I’m not,” I said, stepping into darkness.

Chapter Text

I would rejoice if I never had to go down another damn set of stairs in my life.

Azriel could probably pick up on my displeasure, adjusting the blue light shining from his siphon to be slightly brighter and the air about us to grow warmer as if I were in need of comfort. It was peculiarly empathetic and I figured it had more so to do with making sure he wouldn’t have to drag my ass back down if I tried to turn around and leave than it had anything to do with sympathy.

I whispered a few questions into the dark as we continued to descend. The answers I received were terse when I asked how many prisoners there were, if there were any guards, and how long the sentences tended to be here.

‘A lot,’ ‘yes,’ and ‘for life,’ were all I was given. It seemed Azriel’s desire to share any form of conversation had dried up entirely. Perhaps it was because he’d gotten the information he wanted, or because I wasn’t being nearly as wary of this place as I should have been. It was dark, sure, but darkness by itself didn’t bother me that much. Especially now that I could hear and hear well. I wasn’t picking up much beside the sounds of things I’d expect – pacing, scraping, scratching, and a muffled voice or two. What there was to be afraid of I couldn’t say. Hell, things within my own head scared the shit out of me more than anything here did at this rate.

“So, no one gets out of here?” I asked, running my fingers along the wall. The stone was dark, smooth, and uneven as if the very rock had been turned to glass. The blue light emitting from Azriel’s siphon illuminated our figures to create twisting shadows as if we were being stalked by giants.

“Only one,” Azriel said. We turned a corner, the wall to our right pulling away to reveal a cavern with enormous stalactites hanging from the ceiling. Somewhere I could hear water dripping in a rhythmic pattern; I could imagine having to listen to that sound forever being its own form of torture.

“Amren is the only known being to escape,” Azriel said. He didn’t elaborate; I fought the urge to shove him down the stairs for it.

“Are you serious?” I hissed, fighting a losing battle of attempting to catch his eye around his wings. “How the hell did she do that?!”

“That isn’t a conversation to be had here,” Azriel said. He glanced at me before looking ahead. “Too many ears.”

I made a mental note to ask Amren about the prison next time I saw her. For her to have somehow gotten herself put in this place then escape it … I couldn’t help but admit I was impressed. At least at the moment until I knew exactly why she’d been put in here. Considering she was in Rhysand’s inner council, it couldn’t have been that bad. Maybe.

Down and down and down we went. The stairs went from going between straight landings, curving clockwise, counterclockwise, through narrow hallways and expansive caverns, and broken up by passages again. After what felt like hours, I was so bored I wanted to scream just to listen to the sound of something different than our footfalls for a change. I had a pretty good idea that I’d go insane within a day of being locked up in this place.

“Here.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin from the sound of Azriel’s voice. It had been so long since he’d last spoken, I hadn’t been expecting it. He regarded me as if I really had lost my mind for a moment before turning to the wall at our side. With a brush from his scarred fingers, the stone rippled and vanished to form a doorway.

The door looked like it was made out of some sort of white stone, etched with images of sceneries such as fields, open sky, the ocean, and a number of animals and flowers of varying sizes. I pursed my lips as I found the sight familiar.

“This is like that ugly door from under the Mountain,” I said, recalling the hideous thing that had graced the doorway to Amaratha’s personal chambers.

I heard a laugh as the door swung inward. It didn’t come from Azriel.

“The former High Queen was a fan of my work, and requested I create something for her personally,'' said a voice from the darkness within. Just as Azriel’s presence seemed to swallow light, the presence of whatever was inside seemed to swallow virtue and sympathy. Now I most certainly didn’t want to go in there, but trudged after Azriel when whatever creature within beckoned us to enter.

Blue light illuminated a figure sitting against the far wall of the small, dark cell. They were … young. Even for creatures like Fae who lived forever, the girl in my sights seemed as if she were barely old enough to have undergone her first maiden’s blood. She had tanned skin, thick dark hair which fell over her plain smock, and dark eyes in a color I couldn’t quite make out above a striking nose. Her features were jarring in just how oddly familiar they were. When she got to her feet, I noticed she had a set of Illyrian wings folded against her back, the sharp talons over her shoulders glowing blue in the light. 

“You’re … just a kid,” I said, dumbstruck. What the hell did a kid do to get themselves stuck in here?

“Don’t be fooled,” Azriel said. He stared ahead with a tightness to his jaw which hadn’t been there before. “The Bone Carver appears differently to everyone who sees him. In reality, he’s just as ancient and vile as you imagine.”

A sly smile stretched over the girl’s face. “Do you care to share with Jade what it is you see when you look at me, Shadowsinger?”

It was hard to determine if Azriel had taken offense to being called ‘shadowsinger’ or if he hadn’t planned on answering in the first place. Either way, he remained silent. All Azriel did was pull an item out of a pocket and toss it in the Bone Carver’s direction. I watched the small item roll to a stop at their feet.

The Bone Carver squatted with a squeal of delight. A sound like that was more than a little jarring considering the nature of the creature who made it. Slender fingers picked up the gleaming white object. I frowned as I realized what it was.

“That’s all that’s left of her,” Azriel said with a sense that he was satisfied with the fact. “The rest of Amarantha was turned to mist.”

I’d realized the object was a finger bone, but I was shocked to discover whose. I glanced at Azriel as the Bone Carver inspected the delicate item. “How the hell did you have that?”

“From my people who were under the Mountain,” Azriel said, never taking his hardened eyes from the Bone Carver.

“You had people under the Mountain? Who the hell were they?”

Once again Azriel decided to fall silent. I turned from him with a displeased hum. I may not have likened him to trash anymore, but that didn’t mean he annoyed me any less.

“How interesting for this to have once been a part of a fair queen,” the Bone Carver said, a sing-song nature to its – his? – voice. “However … this isn’t the last of her. Oh, no. More is left of Amarantha than that.”

The Bone Carver tucked the bone away in a small pocket of his smock before lifting his head and tossing dark hair away from his face. The thing with the appearance of a girl graced with striking features smiled in a fashion I’d label as warm if it came from anything else.

“Jade,” the Bone Carver said. He rocked onto his toes as if that helped him to get a better look at me. “Jade … It’s been an age since something like you has come into this world. And you are new – so fascinatingly new – yet old, all at once. A first of your kind. What information have you come for today, Jade?”

“What is it you want?” Azriel said, not giving the Bone Carver an inch.

“So shrewd,” the Bone Carver said, regarding Azriel with a gleeful grin. “I do like when you come to visit, Shadowsinger; you always have the best secrets. Although, this one alone already answered my question.”

I frowned. Looking to Azriel for clarification, I found none; he seemed just as puzzled as I was.

"A mind, but not a mind,” the Bone Carver said. He hugged his elbows, walking in a circle as he spoke in a dreamy fashion. "A soul, but not a soul. A heart … but not a heart – thrice made, thrice born. Lost, then found, then lost again. A very interesting journey indeed. Yes, truly, you’ve answered my question. Please ask away – whatever you like, however many questions you have.”

I felt like this had to have been a trap. There was no way we’d be facing down whatever the hell this thing was for it to just give us information for nothing. I looked at Azriel, lost on what to do. He seemed to contemplate for a moment before speaking.

“If there were no body, but only a small piece of a person and their bound soul …” Azriel said, using the steady sort of tone I’d come to recognize as his ‘false’ one. “… would it be possible to give them a new body and place their soul within?”

The Bone Carver hummed. “Not in particular. Anything shy of the Cauldron’s power couldn’t do that.”

I didn’t know much about the ‘Cauldron’ other than it being an object the Fae regarded as the thing all life and magic had once come from. A scene painted on the walls of Tamlin’s study had shown as much, with Fae, animals, plants, and swirling symbols representing magic spilling forth from its brim. As I listened to the Bone Carver describe its ability to do just about anything, I found myself within the presence of the first thing I’d met who actually seemed to believe this thing had once been real and not just used as a common slur. And not only did the Bone Carver believe the Cauldron to be real, but he described it falling into the hands of someone who’d used it to create horrible, wicked things.

“Like what?” I asked, wondering how much of this was true and how much of it was simply madness this creature had developed after being locked away for so many years.

“Like me,” the Bone Carver said, flashing a grin. “And my brother, and my sister … but we’ll get to that. What matters is that the Cauldron was stolen back with great cost, and hidden. They didn’t dare to break it – oh no. For it created all things, and if it were broken, all things would cease to exist.”

“Where is it?” Azriel asked, not skipping a beat. “Where is the Cauldron hidden now?”

Either Azriel was making a grand show of humoring the Bone Carver, or he too believed this Cauldron wasn’t just fiction. Considering how seriously Azriel was taking this … That thought made me a little nervous.

The Bone Carver shrugged. He explained the Cauldron had once been hidden at the bottom of a frozen lake before vanishing. At some point the three feet holding it aloft had been broken off in an attempt to cripple its power. They were hidden at three temples, two of the names being unfamiliar, but the third ringing a bell.

Cesere.

Rhysand had told Azriel in passing to fill Mor in concerning an incident in Cesere. The look on Azriel’s face indicated he clearly recalled the memory as well.

“If the three feet have vanished, it means someone is amassing the Cauldron’s full strength,” the Bone Carver said. He flared his wings with a playful smile as if adding emphasis for a stage performance. “Would you like to know who it is that has the Cauldron now, Jade? Just ask me and I’ll tell you, Crown-Cleaver.”

Now this thing knows my nickname. And I’d thought Azriel was scary for knowing so much.

“Who?” I said, making a point of sounding unamused.

“The King of Hybern,” the Bone Carver said, rocking back and forth on his heels. “But you already suspected that, didn’t you, Shadowsinger? So does your master – you two simply wanted to confirm.”

Azriel’s silence was confirmation enough. He remained that way as the Bone Carver mused, as if almost to itself, what other things the King of Hybern could be planning to do with the Cauldron’s power. Resurrecting the dead sounded like child’s play in comparison to the Bone Carver describing the Cauldron’s ability to shatter the Wall dividing the Fae and human realms from one another. He admitted that this would take some time and study – something the King had likely been doing over the past five hundred years since the war. My heart began to sink with every passing word. If this was real … This was bad. This was very bad. Azriel beat me to asking the burning question on my mind.

“How do we stop it?”

"A book,” the Bone Carver said. I was shocked to hear such a quick and simple answer.

“The Book of Breathings was shaped from the same ore used to forge the Cauldron,” the Bone Carver explained. “Within that book are the spells needed to negate or control the Cauldron fully. It was split into two right after the war – one went to the Fae, the other to the six human queens as part of the treaty. It’s humorous since the Cauldron had been lost for millennia by then and it was essentially a decoration.”

The Bone Carver’s gaze landed on me. Something glinted within those dark eyes. “Another thing about the book … only something which has been ‘made’ can read the spells between the pages. Like calls to like. Something forged, then reforged, then reforged again … Yes, it might be possible. If you get the two halves of the book from the High Lord of Summer and the mortal Queens … They are well hidden and protected by more spells than most could name, both in shining palaces by the sea. Different seas. And the half of the book held by the mortals must be given over freely by one of the queens for it not to melt into a useless puddle. How crafty humans were – how crafty they still are, I imagine.”

The Bone Carver looked into the middle distance, lost in thought. I cleared my throat to get his attention back.

“So we put the two halves together, then read the book,” I said, placing my hands on my hips. “That’s it? That’s all it takes?”

“It isn’t that simple,” Azriel said. I raised a brow at his stern expression.

“Or perhaps it is?” the Bone Carver said. He waved his hand in a flippant fashion. “I suppose you can only try and see. I wish you luck in doing so before the King amasses what he needs and shatters the Wall.”

I regarded the Bone Carver with a scowl. “Asshole.”

The Bone Carver giggled in response. “I don’t have one of those.”

“Is there anything else we should know?” Azriel asked, his tone impatient. The Bone Carver’s message seemed to have struck a sense of urgency in him – I couldn’t say I blamed him in the least for it. We were standing on the precipice of a moment concerning a war that would involve the entire world, not just the mortal lands below Prythian. Saying the two of us were on edge was an understatement.

“Just some advice,” the Bone Carver said. He pulled the bone from his pocket, fiddling with the object. “It would be a pity for you to lose your sanity before things are said and done, so I urge you to come to terms with the ‘true self’ that you’ve seen in the Ouroboros.”

I felt as if I’d been turned to stone. I could only stare at the Bone Carver in the shape of a young girl, his beautiful face alight with amusement as he studied the bone in hand as if he’d never witnessed anything nearly as marvelous. How had … he known? And what did he mean by ‘true self?’

“It seems no one told you,” the Bone Carver said. His eyes returned to mine. I had seen the face he was wearing somewhere before; I was certain of it. He looked so much like someone I knew. Where? Where had I …?

“The Ouroboros shows you your true self, Crown-Cleaver,” the Bone Carver said. He held the fingerbone like a baton, pointing it in my direction. “I know about the scars you hide beneath your collar; your nightmares and your fear. Funny how you cared so much about being feared, then balked when you turned upon yourself. Your path will be difficult since what you are inside gives pause to even something like me. Horrible thing … foul thing. Your purpose is both your downfall and your salvation. As wondrous as the gift you brought me today is, it’s far too small for me to carve the majesty of your death. No, I’ll have to find another purpose for this one. Perhaps your death, Shadowsinger?”

I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath until Azriel gripped my hand. My chest began to heave, my eyes blinking rapidly as the wetness on my cheeks and clouding my vision informed me I’d been crying.

“Come on,” Azriel said, pulling me from the room. The Bone Carver wished us well, his request for a bone of a larger size being cut off as the door slammed shut at our backs. It felt like a weight lifted at the lack of his presence. I roughly wiped my face with my wrist, hoping to destroy any trace of tears … any trace of truth behind what the Bone Carver had said. If what I’d seen within the Ouroboros had been truly me … then what the hell was I?

“What did you say before about scars?”

I turned my head. Azriel’s hand was still in my own as he looked down at me with an expression softer than what I’d seen him make before. If this was also false … It sure as hell was convincing.

“You said something about how your sister was still beautiful with her scars,” Azriel continued. The hand in my own tightened its grip as if feeling the calloused skin drove home the fact. “Being reminded of the memories behind them may not be pleasant. I don’t believe that ‘moving on’ always has to involve forgiveness or acceptance – you can be angry and spiteful over what happened in the past for as long as you want; it’s unfair to dismiss those feelings. But if you linger in that time when someone – something – had a hold over you … you’ll never be able to change what the ‘you’ on the inside looks like.”

That thing … Can I change it? Where would I even start?

My chest rose and fell in a deep sigh. “Even if you’re only putting on some front … and don’t mean a word of what you just said … Thanks.”

I gave Azriel’s hand a weak squeeze. He nodded in acknowledgement before releasing me and taking the lead for our ascent back to the surface. We traveled in silence the rest of the journey.

Chapter Text

“Why didn’t you tell me about the mirror?”

Rhysand didn’t answer for a moment. Somewhere below us a clock tower struck seven, the echoing ring of a bell floating through the streets far below. Velaris was just waking up for the day – vendors setting up their storefronts and children chatting in clusters on their way to school. I’d already been up for hours – wandering the streets near the townhouse in the dead quiet of the early morning before any such life had been blown into the city. I’d had trouble sitting still after only sleeping for a trivial time, my sweat-soaked self taking a bath until the water had run cold. I'd then ventured out into the dawn.

“I didn’t think it would help you recover,” Rhysand finally said. He held me a little tighter to his chest, his fingers digging into my sweater. “Whenever you recall what that damned mirror showed you … I can feel your terror. I didn’t want to risk your mind shattering again if you couldn’t grasp the fact that what you saw was yourself.”

The fact that I could feel his sincerity behind the statement left me irritated. He hadn’t lied to me, exactly, but he’d certainly omitted information that was important.

“Why does it … look like that?” I asked, unsure of how much I actually wanted to hear the answer.

“I can’t see it,” Rhysand quickly replied. “I believe that’s how the Ouroboros works – only you can see a reflection of your inner self. Whatever it is you see in your dreams, know that there’s no part of it that can hurt you. Without the mirror itself that reflection is nothing more than a memory. If you would feel as if a visit from a healer would help, I can have that arranged. And the offer still stands for me to clear your thoughts while you sleep.”

I curled into myself, feeling more and more like a child in his arms. This thing … it was just another monster. I’d faced a countless number of those. It didn’t even have a physical form. Why the hell did it leave me so petrified?

Damn it.

“I’ll figure it out on my own,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”

I felt Rhysand’s presence linger in my mind, standing just outside the door leading to my subconscious. A simple push was all he would need to see further – to see past the steadfast front I put up. He lingered in that place of limbo for a moment … before withdrawing.

“About the Cauldron,” I said, looking away from his strong profile to the low-hanging clouds ahead. “Please tell me you’ve already been doing something.”

Rhysand took us higher in the sky with a strong beat of his wings, the balcony connected to the House of Wind growing in the distance. It’d taken me two days of pacing the length of the townhouse like a madwoman before Rhysand finally returned home and I could unload my unfiltered panic about the entire damn world being on the verge of ending. It was amazing how much Rhysand had already known and been taking the whole thing in stride. I would’ve pulled all my hair out for much less.

“The moment I even suspected Hybern might be the ones with the Cauldron in their possession, I started playing both sides,” Rhysand said. My jaw dropped; flabbergasted. Rhysand grinned in the face of it.

“As far as they know, I was loyal to Amarantha up to her death. The challenge on that end is that those Hybern bastards remember which side I fought for during the war; they may ask me to commit something atrocious to prove I’ve switched loyalties, and there are certain lines I won’t cross no matter the long-term benefits.”

I nodded, being able to surmise that said tests of loyalty likely had something to do with a number of humans meeting a terrible fate. I slowly shook my head. “What about the book?”

“I gave Az orders the moment he sent word,” Rhysand said. He took us into a wide, slow glide through the chill air as he prepared to land. “He’s already been dispatched to garner information concerning the layout of the mortal Queens’ palace. The likelihood of us being invited there is low, so we’re also trying to figure out a neutral area south of the Wall we can utilize as a meeting place. That endeavor will be a little more difficult.” We made a smooth landing on the balcony, Rhysand placing me down.

“I can help with that,” I said, feeling a little insulted that he hadn't asked for my help with anything concerning the human realm in the first place.

“How?” Rhysand asked, smoothing out his jacket. “No offense, Mouse, but you don’t really have a homestead or any connections we could use.”

“I could send word to Myrin,” I said, taking offense despite his words. “I know she could get us something.”

“You mean your sister, the wandering mercenary who’s a member of a clan hellbent on killing as many Faeries as possible?” Rhysand said, doing nothing to hide the sarcasm saturating each word. “That one, or do you have another I don’t know about?”

Heat rose up my cheeks from the indignation. I cut Rhysand’s path off as he made to step into the House of Wind, his brows rising from the bold gesture.

“My sister is still my sister,” I said through clenched teeth. “And she will help us. I know how we can contact her – I just need to get to an area that’s about a two-day ride south of the Wall.”

“Or around half a day of flying,” Rhysand said. He put an arm around my shoulders, guiding me inside. “I’ll take you there personally to deliver the message. I know I’m not in a position where I can refuse any possible avenues, and I certainly won’t risk the ire of someone who may actually be able to read the book.”

I raised a brow at him as the glass doors separating the dining room from the veranda opened on their own accord. “One – you do a real shit job at not ‘risking my ire.’ And two – why the hell do I have to read it?”

“Because you were ‘made,’” Rhysand said. We headed through the dining room, making our way toward a wide set of stairs which he’d previously mentioned led to an expansive balcony used as the palace’s training area. The red rock surrounding us on all sides made me imagine we were in the belly of some sort of animal – the doors closing on their own accord and Fae lights bobbing into existence with no effort from Rhysand only adding to the impression of this place being alive.

“Remember what the Carver said,” Rhysand continued. “According to Az, he confirmed it has to be someone like you or Amren who reads the book. I’m assuming what’s written inside would look like nonsense to the rest of us at best, or melt our eyes from our sockets at worst.”

I pulled back my lips from the ghastly visage. “What the hell? I don’t want to read that thing – if Amren can also read it, make her do it.”

“Unless you want the world to end,” Rhysand said, strengthening his grip on my shoulder. “You may not have a choice.”

I glanced to the side. Rhysand’s expression being the very picture of calm may not have been all it was cut out to be. I tried worming my way in through our link to see what he was feeling; I found the way blocked. “What about the other half of the book at the Summer Court?”

“Also working on that,” Rhysand said as we began ascending the stairs also carved from the mountain’s red rock. “In all likelihood, we’ll personally be paying them a little visit to conduct a search. If Az or any of his contacts were to get caught searching for its location in secret, things could get very bad – not just between us and Summer, but between us and all the courts. Lucky for me, I happen to be hosting someone the High Lord of Summer has found himself infatuated with and the chances of him agreeing to play the gracious host are favorable.”

My jaw dropped. “What? Me?!”

“Trust me when I say I’m just as surprised as you are,” Rhysand said, hitting me with a wink as we crested the stairs. 

I picked up the scent of leather and oiled steel; the training area opening before us in a space at least four times the length of the expansive dining hall. Weights, rope ladders, wooden posts, punching pads, and a number of other pieces of training equipment lined the wall to my right. To my left, across a series of practice rings marked with white chalk, were an assortment of sheathed daggers and swords mounted to the red rock. Their design being identical to the weapons I’d been provided for my trip to the Prison gave the impression they were Illyrian.

While I surveyed the space, Rhysand only looked forward with a grin. “Ah … and here’s your sparring partner.”

“You’re late, you bastard.”

A winged figure turned to face us from where they’d been looking over the edge of an open air balcony spanning the length of the training hall. I recognized them immediately.

Cassian.

Cassian had been the other brother of Rhysand’s I’d seen when I’d forced my way into his head while under the Mountain. He had the broadest build between the Illyrians I’d met so far – powerful, muscled biceps easily visible through his fighting leathers as he crossed his arms. Half tied-back black hair brushed his shoulders, slightly longer than it had been within Rhysand’s memory. Like Azriel, his skin was a golden-brown paired with hazel eyes that sized me up as Rhysand and I approached. Unlike Azriel, his features were less delicate and had sharper edges as if his squared jaw and strong cheekbones had been chiseled from stone. The way Cassian’s eyes danced over me was also different – the look contained a casual air and a glint of something which caused a flash of heat across my face.

“I take it you’re Jade Crown-Cleaver,” Cassian said, hitting me with a broad, open smile. “I’ve only been back home for less than a day and I’ve already gotten an earful about you. When you came up over dinner last night, I had to split up a fight between Mor and Amren before things got physical. Then when I thought everything had finally cooled down, Amren dragged Az into it, and him just being neutral about you set Mor off again. I had to drag her drunk ass kicking and screaming to throw her in her bedroom like she was a youngling having a tantrum. If nothing else, having you around certainly isn’t boring.”

“I’m glad you’re having fun, Cass,” Rhysand said, his smile conveying wholly that he wasn’t. “I have to be the one who cleans up every mess she makes – including the rebellion still raging in Hewn City.”

Cassian threw back his head with a barking laugh. “Ha! I forgot about that. Those pricks on the council must be getting their asses handed to them. And here I was thinking I’d really messed up that time I accidently destroyed a building at the Summer Court.”

“You had really messed up – that’s not up for debate,” Rhysand said. He withdrew his arm from my shoulders, giving my back a pat. “Get warmed up, Mouse. You’re going to take Cass on in hand-to-hand. I want to assess where you are in skill level and see how we can make improvements.”

I returned Cassian’s dubious expression with one of my own; sizing him up until I received an impatient nudge in my mind from Rhysand. With a low hum I turned to walk toward a long bench against the wall of training equipment.

Rhysand had asked me earlier to wear something fit for sparring – I’d opted for the bottom portion of the Illyrian fighting leathers, their matching boots, and a thick sweater. The idea had been for me to remove the sweater down to just my chest wrap the second I was out of the cold. 

I’d had some trepidation this morning to leave myself so exposed like I normally did during training. I’d felt like a coward … such a damn coward … when my hands started to shake and a line of sweat appeared on my brow simply from catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. It took nearly an hour of pacing in my darkened room to work up the nerve to turn around the full-length mirror and simply stare back at myself; stare at the scars lining my neck and attempt to feel anything aside from disgust and fear. After replaying Azriel’s words from the other day in my head a few times, I’d decided to screw it and throw on the sweater before I lost my nerve.

Rust-colored rock filled my vision as I reached the far wall and pulled the sweater over my head. I stared at the soft purple material in hand and focused on anything and everything I could to distract myself from the feeling of the cool breeze from the balcony hitting the scars across my neck. They still hadn’t healed all the way … or perhaps they had, and this was what they’d always be like. Maybe I would be aware of their presence for the rest of my life; aware of the thing I’d seen in the Ouroboros. That thing that crawled after me in the dead of night made up of oozing blood and cracking bones and somehow screamed without having a head.

“Shit.”

I tossed the sweater aside, finding my breaths had grown short and sweat was already beading on my brow. My eyes darted about – I spotted a spool of cloth on a nearby bench and snatched it up to begin wrapping my knuckles. I made the binding tight; using my teeth to secure the knots as muscle memory allowed my attention to slip into something familiar – something safe. With a deep exhale I moved away from the wall; loosening my muscles and doing everything I could to return my focus to the present.

I fell into a warmup routine stemming from the Autumn Court – their combat style focusing on peak control of every movement to allow easy misdirection. Flexibility of both mind and body were important; I shifted between offensive and defensive stances – moving between each one in a precise manner as if taking part in a dance. I’d been taught that the idea was to emulate a forest in autumn; bright, shifting leaves catching the eye in all directions and leaving an opponent uncertain where their focus should be. The fighting style of Autumn meant being able to strike from any position at any angle. I transitioned into poses balancing on one foot, the other, then lifting them high to hold myself steady with both hands, before adjusting to only one. I took long, steady breaths through a set of push-ups for each arm before spreading my legs for balance and bringing myself down.

The focus on balance and flexibility for Autumn directly countered to the rigid nature of the Spring Court. I only used that sort of style when taking a hit or when I had the time to wind up for a strike. Becoming tense, solid, immovable … it took a lot of strain, but was worth it when the moment was right. Much of this stemmed from strengthening my core – I remained in a plank position for a few minutes before getting on my hands and knees.

I was about to take a few more poses for core strength when I stopped. My stomach churned when I was hit with a sudden thought of the two males who trained me in the Spring and Autumn techniques. I cut the current portion of my routine short and pushed them into the back of my mind.

The next style of both wind and water focused on being swift and striking with deadly accuracy. The Summer Court had been one of these influences, and I began to suspect that the other must’ve come from here, the Night Court. My heart still aches to think about Mitah, but it isn’t anything nearly as turbulent as what tries to creep up when I think about the other members of my court. I could still focus on the memories of him adjusting my form and teaching me how to zero in on every shift in the air; to sense the smallest change and know what your enemy was planning before even they did. I transitioned from one defensive stance to another, being aware of every vulnerable point on my body and running through a number of scenarios on how to counter a strike to each one.

My final step of my warmup came from something passed down through my clan for ages – breathing. Keeping an even breathing tempo and my breaths coming in through my nose and out through my mouth during combat was key. Admittedly, I didn’t practice it outside of training as much as I should have.

Mind, soul, heart. Align each one and keep them in balance like a stack of stones upon the shore. Remain solid against the crashing surf. For five hundred years we have stood strong – we will stand strong for five hundred more.

I repeated the mantra, clenching my teeth. No matter how hard I tried, that stack of rocks within my mind crumpled again and again. I couldn't keep them steady. It was so damn stupid – they were just imaginary rocks. All I had to do was picture them staying upright against the waves representing … what? My anger, my frustration? My fear? Fuck … why was this so damn hard?

“Are you sure you want us to spar?” I heard Cassian ask. The tone of his inquiry broke my concentration. I turned to see him rotating his shoulder as part of his own warmup as he addressed Rhysand.

“She’s a general of another court,” Cassian continued. He’d lowered his voice, but not nearly enough for me to not hear it. “If I hurt her by accident, and Spring comes to get her, that’s not gonna bite us in the ass or anything, is it?”

A wide smile crept up Rhysand’s face. I could practically see stars sparkling in his eyes when he turned to watch my steady approach. He didn’t need to search within my head to tell the comment had struck a chord to a tune Cassian was soon going to regret. Beating the shit out of something would be a very welcome distraction, and Rhysand had offered me an acceptable victim.

“I need this idiot, so I simply request that you don’t kill him,” Rhysand’s voice said in my mind. “But by all means, take him down by a few notches. It’s been too long since Cass here has been humbled.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that, Cass,” Rhysand said aloud. “I’ve collected a few bets riding on the outcome of this match, so I don’t want either of you to hold back.” He hit me with a wink. “Considering how things devolved last night, Cass here is mostly in the dark about your abilities, as you are his. I’m looking forward to seeing you two feel each other out.”

“You know we’re not at the betting rings, right?” Cassian said. In a flash of red, the armor on the upper half of his body sucked into the siphons on the backs of his hands as if being yanked down a drain. Cassian flipped the two red stones into his palms and let out a whistle before tossing them to Rhysand.

I couldn’t deny he had the most defined muscle tone out of any of the males I’d seen since coming to Prythian – even Tamlin came in second to a rigid stomach which I could already tell was going to be like punching a wall. Swirling tattoos in a similar pattern to Rhysand’s graced his shoulders, arms, and the upper portion of his solid chest. A spattering of smaller scars along with a large one above Cassian’s left pectoral indicated that he was, at the very least, vulnerable to something. I still had to consider how much I should be worried going up against the general of the Night Court unarmed.

“Start off at whatever pace makes you comfortable,” Cassian said. He raised his fists and bent his knees into a basic stance. The corner of his lips came up in a crooked smile which I assumed was meant to be non threatening … as if I were afraid and had to be goaded into facing him. I immediately pushed my thoughts through the mental link.

I’m killing him.

“As much as it’s going to feel crowded having two idiots at this court, I’m going to once again ask you to avoid the temptation.”

No promises.

I didn’t bother taking a stance before I kicked off the floor. Cassian being a decent amount taller than I was meant that I needed to bring him down to my level. I started out with a kick to his ankle to shove his feet closer together. I took the opportunity of him correcting his balance to circle around his back and slam my elbow into his jaw, using both my momentum and his own as he swung his head around to face me. His reaction to aim a blow directly at my face was quick enough for me to assume it had been ingrained on gut instinct. I ducked, wrapping one arm around his stomach and another under his thigh. I hoisted Cassian off his feet with a roar, the sound echoing from the red stone walls and combining with the force of his back slamming against the floor as I threw him down with all my might.

The air left Cassian’s lungs in a whoosh. “What the fu–?!”

I dropped behind Cassian the second he rolled onto his side to get up. Getting him into a chokehold around his wings was a bit of a bitch, but I managed to wrap my arm in a manner to pin the bicep he didn’t have sprawled out under him to the side of his face. His hand flailed uselessly to get a grip on me as I squeezed and cut off his airway. Wide hazel eyes locked with Rhysand’s amused expression from where his brother was taking a seat on a bench at the other end of the room.

“Ah, right – I think I forgot to mention something,” Rhysand said, holding Cassian’s distressed gaze. “You remember Mitah? Jade’s his prized student.”

A snap of Cassian’s wing swept my knee out from under me, allowing him to roll me over his shoulder and toss me aside as if I were little more than a doll. I softened the landing by curling up and allowing my side to take the brunt force. Nothing felt like it was in bad shape when I sprang to my feet a second later.

“Prince Mitah?!” Cassian said, rounding on Rhysand. “You mean the one who trained us, Mitah? He isn’t dead?!”

“Nowhere close,” Rhysand said, leaning his back against the wall as he stretched his legs over the bench. “And I would advise that turning your back on Jade isn’t the best idea.”

Rhysand wasn’t wrong. Even if the move had been little more than a knee-jerk reaction, Cassian had brought his wings into play, which signaled to me that they were fair game. I struck him hard in the area where his left wing connected to his back, Cassian letting out a curse that echoed across the expansive room as I felt something like bone shift beneath my fist.

“That … was a dirty move,” Cassian said, flipping around to face me. His stance was much lower than he had it before after he’d finally seemed to grasp that I’d been using our height difference to my advantage. Instead of closed fists, he kept his palms open. His plan was probably to get me grappled since there was a good chance he could overwhelm me by strength alone. I had to ensure I kept out of his grasp no matter what.

“Knocking me over with your wing was a dirty move,” I said, keeping myself at the ready as we assessed one another. We were too close to the wall – I took guarded steps to the side to get more open expanse at my back. Cassian hadn’t gone directly on the offense yet, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t take an opportunity to pin me down if he saw it.

“Fair enough,” Cassian said, regarding me with a grin. “Just know that hitting me in the wing is the equivalent of kicking me in the balls.”

I returned the smile. “Good to know I have more weak spots to choose from – thanks.”

Cassian chuckled. An excited spark shone in his eyes. If Rhysand had told me that Cassian needed to be humbled, there was a decent chance I was the most skilled opponent he’d faced for some time. It was nice to see he appeared more excited over the fact than frustrated. It meant he wasn’t going to lose his head and make stupid mistakes – this was good, since I wanted to test myself against his full strength. I needed to push, and to be pushed, to the point where all other thoughts could be quieted, and I could just … be.

In a blur of speed I hadn’t been expecting, Cassian came forward. I dodged and deflected one strike after the other, bobbing and weaving around punches aimed to find a weak spot in my defense. A knuckle grazing my cheek would’ve left my nose flat had I not dipped to the side. I ducked under a potential dislocated shoulder, then had to forgo a blow to Cassian’s gut to avoid having my ankle broken as he made to sweep my legs. He succeeded completely in keeping me on the defensive; I could only move backward until sunlight streamed down and wind whipped across my ears as we stepped onto the uncovered part of the balcony.

Every move I made to dart to the side became blocked by a wide sidestep or a snap of Cassian’s wings. If I had a sword, I would’ve sliced a hole straight through the membrane to create an escape route. Barehanded, all I could do was punch, clasp, and twist the taught skin and curved bones in a manner I hoped hurt like hell. If it did, Cassian didn’t show much beyond a wince before snapping his wing in and continuing to push me back until my heel nearly slipped over the edge of the balcony.

Cassian hit me with a sweeping kick that he knew I couldn’t avoid unless I wanted to go tumbling to land somewhere a few hundred feet below. The only thing I could do was allow the kick to make contact, tensing the muscles in my torso amid a distinct noise like a series of small cracks popping along my ribs not unlike a log in a crackling fire.

I wrapped my arms around Cassian’s thigh as his kick shoved me away from the edge. The fact that he’d swept his leg to the side and hadn’t tried to kick me straight off the balcony was a show of sportsmanship. I acknowledged the chivalrous gesture by tightening my hold, using his momentum and my own to swing him through the air … and chuck him clean off the edge.

A grin broke across my face as I watched Cassian’s figure disappear into the low-hanging clouds. The shadow of his outline faded in an instant.

Wait, I thought, being struck by a flash of realization. I landed a lot of hits on his wings. He can still fly … right?

I rushed to the edge with a curse. One second, leaning over the side had me only meeting clouds. The next, a fist erupted from the cold mist and hit me hard enough across the cheek to send me skidding from the balcony and back into the room. Spots danced over my vision as Cassian’s enormous, winged outline momentarily blocked out the Sun as he leapt on top of me. 

“You’re nothing but dirty moves, huh?” Cassian said, flipping me onto my stomach. He pinned one arm down with his knee and pulled my other back.

“Yield – or I break it,” Cassian said. He gave my arm a hard enough pull to drive home the threat.

“Break it.” I turned my head to lock eyes with him from over my shoulder. I spat away the blood pooling in my mouth from my busted lip before letting out a snarl. “Break my arm, and let’s see what’ll happen to you next, dickwad.”

Cassian raised his brows. He increased the pressure of his hold and I started to breathe heavily through clenched teeth. I kept my eyes locked with Cassian’s all the while, preparing myself to slide out of his grasp the second he’d let up after breaking my arm. Without that hold I could turn onto my side and–

“She yields,” Rhysand said. My eyes snapped ahead as he waved in our direction. “This will go on until every bone in her body is broken if she lets it. Cassian is the winner, and Amren is going to be on the warpath later when she and Az have to pay up.”

Shock rolled through Cassian’s voice. “Hey – hold on. Amren I would expect, but Az bet against me?”

“I believe he thought it would be funny,” Rhysand said with a chuckle. “And he was right.”

Cassian scoffed. “How could that little –”

“I don’t yield!”

Cassian’s musings fell away alongside the smile slipping from Rhysand’s face. I kept my eyes locked with Rhysand’s as I pulled my lips back to bare my teeth. “I don’t yield! I don’t give a shit if he breaks my arm, I still have more than a good chance to take him down.”

I heard Cassian let out a soft whistle. Regarding him at this point wasn’t important – Rhysand had shifted into being my new opponent. We stared one another down, my chest against the cold floor rising in shallow breaths as Cassian’s weight pressed on top of me. Rhysand taking so long to respond prompted me to reach out with my mind.

I don’t give a shit about my arm – my bones will heal. I can win.

“Winning wasn’t the goal,” came Rhysand’s reply, his eyes narrowing. “The longest anyone has lasted against Cassian in the Illyrian rings lately has been less than thirty seconds. You made him struggle, and you both know he only won through taking you by surprise. Everyone in this room is aware things could go very differently the next time you two face off, so how about you give yourself the opportunity for that to happen, instead of us all having to waste our time waiting for a healer to arrive to stick you back together.”

I showed my displeasure by spitting a glob of blood in his direction. Rhysand only watched me as if I were a freshly painted chair he was waiting to dry. My cheek touched cool stone as I laid my head down with a frustrated groan. “Fine – I yield.”

Cassian’s weight was off me in an instant. I reveled in the feeling of being able to take a deep breath before pushing myself onto my knees.

“I can see why Rhys thought it was appropriate to give you an Illyrian tattoo,” Cassian said. He offered his hand, holding my gaze in an expectant manner. I accepted it with some reluctance and allowed him to pull me onto my feet. My distaste over losing our spar dampened somewhat as I took in what Cassian had just said.

“You mean this thing?” I said, hooking my thumb toward the portion of the sword tattoo visible around my chest wrap. “I noticed when seeing Rhysand’s before that it was similar, but I didn’t know if it actually meant anything.”

Cassian’s rugged features lit up as he smiled. Unlike Azriel and Rhysand, he seemed open; warm. I got the feeling he would talk to me freely and not cloud his words to hide his opinions behind vague statements. My new acquaintance felt like the closest thing to an equal I’d met while being here.

“This right here,” Cassian said, turning his back to me. I took a moment to study the tattoos running the length of his spine between his wings. The sharp, swirling lines over his defined muscles were marred from the spot where I’d hit him a moment ago, his bronze skin already shifting into a nasty purple and green bruise. A flicker of guilt turned in my stomach.

“We get the tattoos when we’re initiated as Illyrian warriors – for luck and glory on the battlefield,” Cassian said. He turned back to face me, his smile turning coy. “I’m sure Rhys saw you take out that Middengard worm and knew you had the heart of an Illyrian through-and-through.”

No … that wasn’t right. Rhysand had given me the tattoo going down the length of my spine long before then. The only times he’d seen me fight up until that point had been against the three Faeries at Calanmai, then when the two of us crossed swords at Tamlin’s manor. It had happened even before he knew that I’d come from a clan of warriors in my own right. Had I really reminded him of his people that much?

“Yes and no.”

Rhysand swung his legs from the bench and stood in a graceful movement. He brushed something off his jacket before sticking his hands in his pockets upon his approach. “The symbol of our bargain is a manifestation of the magic’s will along with my own. It recognized you as a warrior as much as I did, then took a shape to match both our perceptions. It was a surprise that you’d been gifted with an Illyrian-style tattoo; I almost didn’t believe it the first time I saw it.”

The memory of holding two halves of a book over my private parts while cursing his name caused my eyelids to droop. “You mean when you watched me run naked from the study?”

"A precious memory I’ll never forget,” Rhysand said, hitting me with a wink. He may not have understood when my hands weaved the sign for ‘pervert,’ but the feeling through the link made my intention loud and clear.

“Oh …” Cassian looked between Rhysand and I with raised brows. “So, you two are …?”

“We’re not.”

“Ew.”

Rhysand looked back to me with a hard line between his brows. “Do you really have to go ‘ew?’ I have feelings, you know.”

“So do I,” I said, growing aware of the blood now drying on my lip from where the wound had already closed. I wiped it away with my wrist. “And you act like an asshole toward me all the time.”

Rhysand placed a hand over his chest as if offended. “I would never.”

“You threaten to drop me almost every time we go flying,” I said, counting off on my fingers. “You ignored me until after the Winter Solstice, you still call me ‘Mouse,’ and you got me a damn wheel of cheese for my birthday –”

Cassian burst into laughter. He shared Rhysand’s glowing expression before looking back to me and clearing his throat. “Ah … sorry.”

“And you …” Rhysand reached out to place his hand on my shoulder, putting his sly expression inches from my unamused gaze. “You’re well on your way to creating a string of messes across all of Prythian that I have to clean up after, you fight me on every damn thing I have to say, and you gave me a nickname based on your dog. I think we can call ourselves even.”

I scoffed. “Hardly – maybe if I get a chance to kick your ass.”

“Oh, you’ll have your chance,” Rhysand said. He snapped his fingers as he took a step back. Gone was the tailored black suit, replaced only by a pair of Illyrian leather pants. His strong, confident stance was where his similarity to Cassian shone through. The twisting tattoos over his shoulders and upper biceps shifted as he crossed his powerful arms and looked down at me with a smirk. “I didn’t see an ounce of anything resembling magic during your previous spar. It’s time to see what you can do.”

Chapter Text

As it turned out, the answer to the inquiry of ‘what I could do where magic was concerned’ … was jack shit. 

Rhysand honestly didn’t know what did or didn’t get passed on to me from Amarantha, so he tried a number of tactics to call forth the elemental magic attached to the different courts.

Fire seemed like the easiest starting point since the simmering pit of anger and frustration which had been continuously growing inside me ever since I’d come to the Night Court needed an outlet to boil over. That avenue only resulted in both Rhysand and I coming through the other side covered in bruises caused by nothing more than us beating the shit out of one another with our fists.

For the life of me I couldn’t replicate my body dissolving into a cloud of shadow as it had when I’d faced Tamlin. Even when Rhysand used our link to demonstrate the different varieties of darkness magic, because somehow there were different types of darkness, nothing clicked. 

We took a break after that for my pride to recover more so than my body. Cassian unceremoniously took a seat on the bench beside me and tossed one of the two small towels he had in hand in my direction. He struck up a conversation as if we’d been acquainted for years while wiping away the sweat gleaming on his brow and down the side of the bronze skin on his neck. We chatted about being generals – nothing specific came up like the numbers of our forces or formation tactics, but I could empathize with the mundane nature of equipment inspections and being frozen to the bone after conducting drills in the rain.

Everything about Cassian befitted his station – he had an air of effortless physical intimidation which simultaneously drew me in and gave me pause. His neutral expression had the perfect amount of curve to his lip to give him an approachable sense. I found myself thinking he was just as dangerous as his brother Azriel; probably even more so, in my sense. Someone as closed off as Azriel would be easy to keep at a distance, while Cassian’s openness could lead me to slip and lower my guard if I wasn’t careful.

Cassian requested the story of my fight against the giant worm since he hadn’t heard it in its entirety. The tight nature to his wings loosened as I described the cold, stinking mud of the trenches and how I killed the first martax. He appeared entirely engrossed by the time I got to the point where I faced down the worm, my back receiving a hearty clap alongside an unbridled laugh as I recounted leaping into the worm’s mouth.

In return I was given a story from when he was a teenager and he, Rhysand, and Azriel had to climb the ten thousand steps leading here to the House of Wind as a punishment for some misdeed or another. The stitch in my side that developed from how hard I was laughing hurt more than any of his punches had as Cassian recounted constant squabbling and used graphic detail to describe the three of them throwing up all over one another. It wasn’t until Rhysand appeared irritated over me bursting into laughter every time we made eye contact did he snap at us to get back to training.

Cassian and I proceeded to try and evoke other elements from me through sparring; being swift, unfeeling, and precise for Winter. Focusing on staying alert, bold, and resourceful for Day. Taking an open stance to be flexible, calm, and relentless for Summer. I had the most success with this last style in terms of leaving Cassian cursing in my wake as he failed to land any solid blows. However, not a drop of water magic was to be seen even when Rhysand tried pouring water through my hands and had us spar in a literal puddle.

“Magic or no – how the hell did you learn to fight like that?” Cassian asked, exasperated as I handed him the water flask Rhysand had used earlier. He took a long drink, taking what was left and dousing his face to clear away the sweat. I caught myself tracking the trickles of water down the front of his broad chest and quickly looked away before Cassian could notice.

“I heard the Spring Court’s emissary is from Autumn,” Cassian continued, seemingly unbothered that I was studying a rope ladder against the wall as if my life depended on it. “But I never heard about there being someone from Summer. Were you taught to fight like that under the Mountain?”

“Did you already forget?”

Rhysand sat on a nearby bench with his elbows on his knees, all signs of the previous bruising I’d given him gone. A devious smile graced his handsome features touched with the soft glow of sweat as he regarded Cassian. “She trained under Mitah – his style has evolved since we last saw him, taking elements from both the Illyrians and the warriors of the Summer Court. Even when I went up against Jade as a human, it was like fighting a cyclone. The fact that Mitah only continues to improve scares the shit out of me.”

Cassian balked. “That’s right … How the hell did I not know Prince Mitah was still alive?”

“Easy,” Rhysand said, baring his toned chest as he leaned back on his hands. “Name a single other member from the Spring Court other than its High Lord and this one right here.”

Cassian glanced at me as if we were children in a classroom and I could somehow communicate an answer to help him avoid being lectured. I only gave him a smile with a raised brow, curious to see how much the general of the Night Court actually knew about my home.

“There’s … the emissary,” Cassian said, causing my stomach to flop as the image of a russet eye and wry smile danced through my mind. “I remember hearing that Amarantha took his eye when he told her to ‘return to the shithole she crawled out of.’ I couldn’t help but respect him for that, despite which court he’s attached to. Now what the hell was his damn name …”

Lucien.

I didn’t dare to say the name aloud. The word hadn’t passed my lips once since coming to the Night Court because I knew what would happen the moment it did. It would be like hurtling a boulder through the wall of a castle, allowing every feeling I’d been trying desperately to keep at bay to come rushing in. A crack in the wall large enough for a few of these feelings to squeeze through had already formed from Mor’s words. 

‘He won’t be coming for her.’

Every passing day … every passing hour … caused that crack to spread a little wider.

I glanced to the side, noticing Rhysand regarding me as Cassian continued to muse to himself. He offered a smile which would have been comforting if his violet eyes showed even a semblance of a glimmer. I wondered if he could feel how out of place I felt at his court; how my heart still yearned to go home, even if I had to deal with whatever bullshit Tamlin would try to throw at me. Like the endless plants and flowers and trees that crossed the territory, I’d put down roots in the Spring Court. It didn’t matter if the Night Court wasn’t anywhere near as awful as it had been made out to seem – I could never feel as at home here as I did there.

Rhysand turned his attention to Cassian, a more natural appearance taking over his smile as his general mumbled something about ‘Larson.’ “You do know that you simply could’ve said ‘Mitah,’ right?”

Cassian looked up with a frown. “Yeah, well, I’m still not convinced Prince Mitah isn’t dead, so I don’t think he counts.”

Rhysand looked to me, raising his brow as an invitation to speak. I accepted the welcome distraction from my thoughts.

“This is proof,” I said. I lifted my right hand, brandishing a mark of a sword inlaid in a circle. The tattoo on my wrist in blue ink was so small it could pass as a birthmark. I tapped it with my finger. “You remember that story I just told you? Where I summoned a sword to kill a martax and that giant worm? Mitah gifted that weapon to me. I haven’t used it again since being under the Mountain; I don’t really want to mess with it since it’s sort of like a keepsake … and I wouldn’t know how to put it back, anyway. But the fact that I’m not martax or worm shit is an indication that ‘Prince’ Mitah is very much alive.”

Cassian drew a hand through his hair with a chuckle. “I don’t know about that – you’re resourceful enough in combat to make me think you still could’ve thought of something.”

“And Mitah is part of who to thank for that,” I said, my spirits lifting as I took in Cassian’s inviting smile. I placed my hands on my hips with a grin. “Tell me something – why do you keep calling my court’s head general a ‘prince?’”

“Because he is one, technically,” Rhysand said, gesturing with an airy wave. “Mitah is like me – half Illyrian. His mother was a princess of the Summer Court who went out sailing one day and got caught in a storm that pushed her far north. Her boat came ashore here in the Night Court, where she came face-to-face with an Illyrian war band out on a hunt. As fate would have it, the leader of the band, who also happened to be the king of their tribe, was her mate. The king was already married, but the untamed princess and equally uninhibited king enjoyed one another’s company in the carnal sense on the occasions the princess grew restless of her palace life and needed an escape. Eventually she fell pregnant, hiding her condition from anyone outside the royal family before leaving the baby with the Illyrian king. I don’t know all the details about the next few years, but at some point, the princess and the king went out sailing one day and never returned. Whether they died or left for adventure in places unknown … no one knows.”

As someone who’d also grown up without parents … the comment hit deep. It hurt to imagine Mitah’s ever-present chipper expression and how anyone would choose to leave him behind. I wasn’t even his family, and just thinking about never returning to the Spring Court to see my friend and mentor again still hurt.

“Prince Mitah was raised in a manner considered unusual for bastards,” Cassian said, cutting in. “Before he left, his father gave him the title of prince, although it was clear this was only a manner of ensuring he didn’t have to suffer the harsh treatment of fighting to survive on his own like most us bastards in Illyrian culture. Him being a prince didn’t mean a thing when it came to succession; it was more like he was a glorified guard dog for his pure-blooded half-brother. And he was good at it, if nothing else. Prince Mitah’s combat ability was so widely known that when Rhys’s mother noticed Az, Rhys, and I reaching a point in our training that our instructors had nothing more to teach us, she took us to him. For seven years we trained under that beast of a prince – it took five for Rhys and I to beat him in a spar once. Poor Az never did, although he sure as hell got close a few times.”

I wondered how old the three of them had been at the time. Considering Rhysand’s mother was part of the story, my guess was they couldn’t have been much beyond being children. It also painted a picture of Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel being a part of one another’s lives for centuries. All I had to compare was the bond I had with my sister – I couldn’t begin to fathom the nature of something built over the span of my lifetime many times over.

“Reading Prince Mitah was like trying to figure out how a tree was feeling,” Cassian said with a chuckle. “I couldn’t even tell if that stone-faced bastard was proud of us when we passed the Blood Rite and were acknowledged as true Illyrian warriors. That was … the last time I remember seeing him.”

Cassian drew a hand across his jaw, his shoulders dipping as if under a weight. His expressive hazel eyes turned downcast.

“Mitah took the opportunity to get out from under his brother’s chokehold when the war came,” Rhysand said. “He abandoned the Night Court entirely and joined the loyalist army under the command of Tamlin’s father. But after a few years, he grew a distaste for killing humans and found he respected them for fighting despite their weaknesses. Knowing he couldn’t return to the Night Court because he’d been labeled as a deserter, and that Tamlin’s father would kill him if he tried to lay down his arms, he sought out his family in the Summer Court.”

Cassian watched Rhysand as intently as I did. This seemed to be a part of the story that was just as new to him as it was to me.

“Mitah found an ally in his uncle, Tarquin’s father,” Rhysand continued. “His uncle never agreed with his sister’s decision to leave Mitah in the Illyrian mountains. They ended up forming an alliance, and Mitah became a double agent – feeding those who supported the human’s freedom vital information to help turn the tides of war.”

Cassian’s eyes grew wide. “No shit?”

Rhysand shrugged. “After the war, Mitah remained in the Spring Court’s service out of fear that Tamlin’s father might try to stir things up again. Whether he ever revealed any of this to Tamlin after he became the new High Lord, I couldn’t say.”

“And you’ve known all of this?” Cassian said, aghast. “How? And why the hell did you never tell Az or me that Prince Mitah was alive?”

“Oh, Az knows,” Rhysand said. He stood, his tattoos rippling as the muscles in his arms and sides flexed in a stretch. “How do you think I knew?”

The sting of betrayal was nearly palpable. Cassian’s jaw hung open. “What the hell, Rhys! So I was the only one who didn’t know?!”

“You were, because we knew it would hurt you the most to learn that Mitah despises us,” Rhysand said. Something sad tinted his smile. “The act we’ve had to put on to protect the people of this city … It's a good one, Cass. Good enough for Az and I to have learned that Mitah is fully under the impression that we’re a bunch of bloodthirsty fiends ruling over the Court of Nightmares.”

Cassian’s eyes tracked over Rhysand’s face. “Have you … have you seen him?”

“No,” Rhysand said. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking over Cassian’s shoulder to study the slowly passing clouds at his back. “I’m too much of a damn coward to face his disappointment.”

A memory floated through my mind of Rhysand and I sitting on the roof of Tamlin’s manor not too long ago. I’d asked Rhysand why he’d suddenly disappeared after he’d come to visit me, and he’d given me an answer while looking out over the still, moonlit garden instead of meeting my gaze.

‘Someone arrived who I didn’t care to run into.’

And before then … long before then … Mitah had warned me about facing Rhysand head-on, commenting that the two of them had been trained in a similar manner. A rare show of hatred had flashed in Mitah’s eyes during the times the Illyrians were brought up and when it was believed Rhysand had left a decapitated head in the garden. For Mitah to have believed his former students to have grown into such monsters …

“Just tell him,” I said. My gaze shifted between their dejected expressions. “Just tell Mitah the whole thing is an act. You’re only lying to keep people from looking for this place, right? It’s not like Mitah would tell anybody.”

A soft smile grew on Rhysand’s face. “That’s easy for his star pupil to say. I’m sure you have his trust completely; I can only imagine that Mitah worships the ground you walk on. How long did it take you to best him in sparring after you became High Fae?”

I crossed my arms, suddenly feeling self-conscious as their gazes dug into me. “I mean … I trained with him every day for a few months while I was still human. After we came home from the Mountain, it took me … four tries? Although I think his technique is still better than mine overall.”

Rhysand’s eyes sparkled as Cassian swore.

“Armed?” Cassian asked, his interest peaked.

“We usually alternate between swords and daggers, but recently started doing more hand-to-hand,” I said, tilting my head. “Hand-to-hand is my weakest style; I’ve only ever been able to beat him at all when I’ve been armed.”

“Mother above,” Cassian said, drawing a hand over his face. He sized me up in a slow fashion. “If you’re not busy later, I’d like to hear more about your training. The Rainbow has a couple good spots for drinks, food, dancing … you name it. I wouldn’t mind showing you around while we talked.”

Cassian’s expression twisted into a frown in the face of Rhysand letting out a laugh.

“I was wondering how long it would take for you to make a move,” Rhysand said. He snapped his fingers, a black tailored suit replacing his fighting leathers. A silver pocket watch appeared in his hand as he checked the time. “Interesting … looks like Az and Amren aren’t going to lose as much money as they thought. They came in close on the second bet.”

“Second bet?” Cassian said, raising his voice.

“The first bet was over who would win in a spar between you and Jade,” Rhysand said, sliding the watch into his pocket. “The second bet was how much time would pass before you’d make a move to fuck her.”

My shoulders went stiff. Whatever expression I was making caused Cassian’s eyes to go wide.

“Hey!” Cassian said, throwing up his hands. “Stop making it sound like I’m some sort of rake, alright? All I want is to take a lovely lady out on a nice night around town and show her some of the sites. Where things may end up from there would be entirely up to her.”

“That would be at the bottom of the Sidra, which is where she’d throw your ass if you tried touching her somewhere you shouldn’t,” Rhysand said. The shit-eating grin on his face gave me some pleasure in knowing that I wasn’t the only one who had to put up with his teasing bullshit. I had a sudden sense of solidarity with Cassian as if the two of us had gone through war together.

“If you two are done clucking like hens,” I said, trying to ignore the burning sensation in my cheeks as I put a hand on my hip. “I’d either like to eat or get back to training. You can gossip all you want when I’m not starving or bored.”

Cassian snapped his mouth closed. Rhysand gave him a passing pat on the shoulder before making his way toward the stairs. “Come on, Mouse – we’re heading to human territory tomorrow and we’ll be leaving before dawn. And try to act a little nicer when you address Cass; he’s already smitten, and he’ll fall head-over-heels for you if you keep being an ass.”

My expression fell as I watched him go. I made a series of signs with my hands in exaggerated movements.

“What’s that?” Cassian asked, studying me with a furrow to his brow.

“It’s a language I know.” I dropped my hands, trudging after Rhysand. “I called him ‘ice dick.’ I’m holding out hope that someday he’ll fly high enough that his dick will freeze and fall off.”

I exited the training area with the sound of Cassian’s laughter roaring at my back. As much as I still miss home … I began to think that maybe it wasn’t so bad here.

Chapter Text

"Wake up, Mouse; your audience awaits.”

I opened my eyes, letting out a grunt when a shift in Rhysand’s position allowed sunlight to stream in around the hood of my cloak. I had no doubt he’d done it on purpose.

“I don’t think someone who’s been getting carried around like a baby for nearly half the day is allowed to sound so displeased,” Rhysand said. He banked to the right, a flock of geese passing by a second later in a flurry of black and white feathers and loud honks. It left me pondering how we must’ve looked to the humans whose heads we’d been flying over for the past few hours. From this high up I’m certain we easily could’ve passed as an eagle or a condor. If Rhysand had bothered with a glamour, we more than likely didn’t look like anything other than a drifting cloud.

Early that morning we’d met on the roof of the townhouse beneath a blanket of stars. I hadn’t really taken the time to study the sky since I’d been in the Night Court – a fact that struck me as ironic. When Rhysand had asked me what I thought of the endless spray of stars twinkling above … I’d commented that it must make it difficult to keep track of them all for navigating purposes. This earned me a curt laugh and an unwanted observation over how I didn’t possess a single romantic bone in my body. I told Rhysand that the rest of us had more tangible ways of sweeping someone off their feet than staring at an object who’s making they had nothing to do with.

“I think my methods are quite tangible,” Rhysand had said. At that he’d taken my hand, everything around us growing cold and dark as we winnowed. The next moment I was in a freefall above massive, gray waves crashing in every direction. I was positive Rhysand allowed me to fall for much longer than necessary before swooping in to collect me in his arms.

I had smelled the Wall before its tingle had graced my skin. It had reeked of burning metal and smoke as if we’d been approaching a village raised to the ground. The way Rhysand’s mouth had twitched indicated he hadn’t found whatever sensation he’d felt from the Wall any more pleasant than I had. It couldn’t be seen – ocean and low-hanging gray clouds had continued to surround us on all sides. I’d wondered if he’d also used his sense of smell to find a gap, since I’d noticed a distinct break in the rancid scent before suddenly it had vanished … along with a feeling over my skin which I hadn’t noticed as the presence of magic until suddenly it had been gone.

From there on Rhysand had told me I could sleep for the next few hours. I’d previously shown him where our destination was on a map, so my direction hadn’t been needed. Considering my dreams had once again been broken up by flashes of that hideous thing from the mirror … I’d been dead tired enough to take him up on that offer.

Now that I was awake, I admitted I’d also been willing to slip into the unconscious realm until we’d been a decent distance from the border. I hadn’t wanted to look upon the Spring Court, even if it would only be little more than a blur along the ocean’s horizon. I didn’t want to think about what was waiting there … or what wasn’t waiting there. A little over a week had passed and still there’d been no word. Not from Tamlin, or Mitah … or Lucien.

Mitah and Lucien … how had they reacted when Tamlin told them what happened?

Rage stirred in my gut like a slumbering beast. Obviously, Tamlin lied to them. They would’ve immediately come for me otherwise. Tamlin and that snake Ianthe turned Mitah and Lucien against me by playing off Tamlin’s controlling, violent behavior as something just and fitting of a High Lord who needed to keep his subjects in line. They wouldn’t mention how Tamlin tried to keep me in a cage, tried to undermine me, belittle me, and kill me. He could’ve walked away, but instead he’d exploded in anger and came after me. I’d only been speaking the truth about how much of a dickhead he’d become – I wasn’t to blame. It was Tamlin’s fault; all of it was Tamlin’s fault. My home … the one I loved … all of it was gone because of him.

Kill him. Kill him. KILL HIM.

I blinked from a sudden jolt. Rhysand’s massive wings beat to keep us in place. I looked over the landscape below, frowning at the rolling hills and grazing sheep which certainly didn’t make up our landing spot.

“What is it?” Rhysand asked, with a sense of urgency in his tone. “What are you picking up?”

“Huh?” I narrowed my eyes at his distressed expression. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you, ” Rhysand said. His features shifted to something bordering on annoyance. “You’re radiating feelings through the bond as if you’re in a fight for your life. What the hell are you thinking about?”

I snapped my mental shield closed, having forgotten I was within extremely close proximity of someone who could read every thought of mine if they wished. It was still a mystery to me which images and memories would unintentionally travel through the bond in their entirety and which ones only conveyed a certain feeling. I also had no clue how often Rhysand was listening, or if he simply always was. The bond we shared was still pretty creepy if I thought about it too hard.

I broke our gaze with a grunt, using my hood to hide my face. “I’m just pissed off.”

“That’s damn obvious,” Rhysand said. We moved upward in a grand beat of his wings before continuing on our way. “Are you so inclined to share why?”

Like Rhysand, I was wearing fur-lined fighting leathers beneath my cloak, although I still had trouble shaking off the chill in the air. I hugged myself a little tighter. “I just … want to rip Tamlin’s face off.”

“What a coincidence,” Rhysand said. He threw a wry smile at me when I peered up at him. “So do I.”

I couldn’t help the corner of my mouth twitching upward. I leaned further into his firm chest for warmth. “I’m not … sure what’s going to happen when I return home.”

Rhysand didn’t answer for a moment. The grip he had on my shoulders and the back of my knees tightened. We passed over a village of red tiled roofs and winding streets which seemed vaguely familiar. I probably would’ve found them more so had I been level with all the humans milling about the marketplace and clearing their fields of dead crops in preparation for the earth soon thawing enough for them to sow new seeds. I wondered if the taste of the bread I caught wafts of in the air would match my memory; if the feel of the icy mud beneath my boots or the rush of heat upon entering the local tavern would be the same. I’d barely been gone from the human lands for a year, and it felt like decades had passed.

“You know you can stay in the Night Court as long as you like.”

There it was again. In Rhysand’s tone was a hint of him offering a hand as if I’d fallen on my ass. He didn't speak to anyone else that way; no one around him seemed pathetic enough to warrant it. He spoke as if I were weak – as if I needed to be protected. As if I needed his damn charity. 

“You don’t have to plan on it,” I said. “I won’t leech off you for much longer.” 

A dense forest lined the small village, Rhysand taking us down in slow circles before his wings disappeared and we winnowed to the ground. My legs felt like they were about as wooden as the gnarled trees around us as he set me down.

“I would say what you’re doing is closer to ‘racking up a debt’ than ‘leeching,’” Rhysand said. He returned my frown with a wink. “I’m keeping a running tab of what you owe me. I’ll send you the bill if we all don’t die horribly.”

I scoffed. “I guess every cloud has a silver lining.”

I gave my limbs a final shake to fight off the prickling sensation on the soles of my feet before heading south. Rhysand slipped to my side and matched my gait. After some time of stepping over felled trees and stomping through thick underbrush, a trail appeared. It was here Rhysand snapped his fingers and I felt a glamour fall into place. Looking over I noticed the point to Rhysand’s ear was gone and his skin and hair appeared far duller in coloring than usual. When his eyes slid to mine, they were now a dark blue instead of violet. I wondered when, all of a sudden, seeing those violet eyes had come across as normal.

“What do you think?” Rhysand asked, his tone coy. “Do I come across as the type who could lure poor, unsuspecting maidens across the Wall like your stories say?”

I rolled my eyes. Everyone from my clan had known those stories weren’t true – a Fae was ten times more likely to gut you where you stood rather than bother leading anyone across the Wall. This didn’t mean I had no doubt a plethora of women and men alike would follow someone who looked like Rhysand to the ends of the earth if he asked nicely. Most people were stupid.

“You’d probably be hard-pressed to find anyone who will speak to you outside the larger cities,” I said. “Most humans wouldn’t have the courage to strike up a conversation with someone so …” I lifted my hands, wiggling my fingers. “... Dazzling.”

Rhysand’s face broke into a grin. “I’ll take that as a compliment despite the heavy sarcasm. And if you’re that concerned about how approachable we may look, I can always add an underbite or a few warts to your veneer.”

“Too bad the entire point is for me to be recognizable,” I said with a sneer. I lifted my hood as we exited the tree line, shielding my eyes from the harsh winter sun. “Besides – if you did your job right, I should already look like the unsightly brute of a human I once was.”

Rhysand mirrored my movements as he lifted his hood. “I never took you as the type to fish for compliments, Mouse. You’re leaving me hard pressed to not mention that you were already beautiful as a human.”

Whether he did it on purpose or not, I picked up a wave of sincerity with the statement. I was grateful for the hood hiding my features because my cheeks grew warm … albeit not completely from flattery.

“How did it go, again?” I asked. The outskirts of the village fell away at our backs as we walked along a wide dirt path cutting through fields of what I was pretty sure had once been corn and squash. I recalled enough about the region to offer a farmer passing by on his cart a firm nod instead of a verbal greeting – it was returned in kind. 

“It was something like – ‘You’re not close to being pretty enough to have a bad attitude like that.’ I believe you said that to me within the first few minutes of us seeing one another in person.”

Rhysand chuckled. “The lighting back then really wasn’t doing you any favors.”

“Then later you said I looked like I’d been raised by bears,” I said, my eyelids drooping in contempt.

“Is that right?” Rhysand said. The rustle at my side gave me a clear picture of him resting his hands on the daggers at his side in lieu of sliding them into pockets. “I don’t recall.”

“Asshat.”

I didn’t need the link to know a smirk was hiding behind his hood. I huffed, picking up our pace.

Our destination came into view as we approached a two-story farmhouse. That certainly hadn’t been there the last time I’d come to visit around a year and a half ago. The humble cottage which had once been in its place had been leveled and replaced with an impressive house lacking the weathered features gracing most of the other homes further down the path. I could hardly see the rows of dormant trees making up an orchard as I climbed the short steps of the veranda, white-painted pine creaking lightly underfoot. I let out a soft whistle before knocking on the door.

“I wonder if Gilly found an ore mine on the property,” I said. I took a step back to stand next to Rhysand. “Her family wasn’t struggling before or anything, but this house plus the other tended fields weren’t here before.”

“She must be a close friend for you and your sister to stay in touch,” Rhysand said, his eyes taking in the porch wrapping around the house. I had a feeling it probably didn’t seem anywhere as impressive to him as it did to me. “How did you two meet?”

“I mean …” I said, crossing my arms as I looked for the right words. “She’s my employee, I guess? She was already here, and kinda came with the land when it was given to me.”

Rhysand’s head whipped around. “What? All you mentioned was that she was a family friend.”

“She is,” I said, hooking my thumb over my shoulder to indicate the orchard at large. “My sister and I were hired for a job around here a few years ago. There was this noble family who was paranoid about a dispute they were having concerning drawing up property lines … anyway, the eldest son and I sort of had a thing, and he gave me this apple orchard. He was a nice enough guy – he insisted I keep it even after I turned down his marriage proposal.”

A grin broke across Rhysand’s handsome features. “I couldn’t picture you as a farmer’s wife.”

“As a noble’s wife,” I corrected. I turned to face the door at the sound of footsteps. “And neither could I. I’d much rather marry a farmer and be expected to do something outside the house.”

The door opened alongside the sound of a quiet gasp. A woman who was lean, weathered, but still radiated a youthful glow through her straw-blonde hair and large blue eyes stood in the threshold. Gilly had always been a beauty, and a year or so certainly hadn’t changed it.

“Miss … Jade?” Gilly asked, her jaw slack. “Was that … did you speak?”

Seeing Gilly again was like finding a trinket from my childhood I’d long since thought was lost. Drinking in the sight of the only other person on this side of the Wall who I considered myself close to warmed my chest. Everything about her down to her homespun sweater and dark pants smeared with dirt along the calves rang as something familiar.

“I got my hearing back,” I said, a smile stuck to my face. I moved my hands to form the signs alongside my words. “So, yes – that was me you heard talking about aspiring to be a farmer’s wife.”

Gilly returned the smile. “Is that right? If you’re looking to take my hand, I’m afraid you’re nearly thirty years too late.” She winked. “I have a son though who I hear is a heartbreaker in the village if you’re willing to settle for second place.”

I chuckled, stepping into Gilly’s open embrace. “It’s either you or nothing, Gilly. I keep waiting for the day you realize Omar is a bore and run away with me into the sunset.”

Gilly laughed – an inviting sound that drew people in like a dinner bell. She was in the middle of commenting on my hearing when I felt her tense as I patted her on the back. I had a feeling it had nothing to do with my comment, and everything to do with whatever trace of magic she could undoubtedly sense leaking off me. I imagined it was like a lamb being embraced by a wolf.

Gilly wrapped her arms around herself as I took a step back. She was wearing a thick wool sweater to ward off the winter chill, although now she was fighting off a sensation that wouldn’t fade no matter how many layers she covered herself in. I felt guilty as I watched her study my face. Gilly was smart – had always been. I’d never once questioned keeping her and her family on to tend the land after I’d been gifted the deed. After a single conversation, I’d given her full permission to tend the rest of the land outside the orchard how she saw fit, only asking for a small cut of the profits to help fund my sister’s and I’s travels. She’d been smart enough to build this place up into what it is now … And she was smart enough to know something wasn’t right about me.

A tall figure appeared in the long hallway at Gilly’s back, backlit by the door leading to the rear of the house. He appeared young enough to be one of her three sons, possibly the first or second eldest. His steady approach with a grin halted when Gilly held up a hand, keeping her eyes on me. The gesture was like a blow to the gut even if I couldn’t blame her for it.

“I won’t take up your time,” I said, taking another step back. “I have a letter I was hoping you could deliver to my sister.”

The tension in Gilly’s shoulders eased. She lowered her hand, looking away to ask her son to fetch his brother and a bottle of cider from the cellar. Her clear blue eyes returned to me. “Your sister … last we spoke, she said you’d been taken.”

Even Rhysand tensed at that statement. He’d been made aware that Tamlin had altered my sister’s memories to make her think I’d been hired as a bodyguard to some wealthy merchant or another over on the Continent. How was it possible she remembered what really happened?

Bat?

“Glamours don’t always work,” Rhysand said through the link. “If someone – even a human – has a strong enough will, they can break it apart over time. If your sister is anywhere near as hard-headed as you are, I wouldn’t be surprised if she saw through the false memories Tamlin planted in her head sooner than later.”

My heart sank. As much as I’d hated the idea of Myrin’s mind being messed with … I hated the idea more of knowing she’d been suffering all this time – distressed over wondering if I was happy, safe, or even alive. These were all things that I worried about concerning her constantly, so I was certain she did the same.

“Is Myrin doing alright?” I asked. I didn’t know how much detail Gilly had when she said I’d been ‘taken’ – I didn’t want to give her more than necessary. She was the only tether I had connecting my sister and I together; it had been that way since we’d first met. Nothing in my sister’s or I’s lives were consistent in terms of a specific place except for here – for Gilly. We’d established that if anything were to happen where we were ever separated, it was here we’d make sure to send updates on our location so we could find each other. If I didn’t tread carefully, and lost Gilly’s trust … I may never see Myrin again.

Gilly’s clear, alert gaze studied every inch of me. I was grateful for the cloak hiding the fighting leathers and the daggers attached to my hip. She looked to Rhysand, taking him in with more suspicion before returning her gaze. The fact that she didn’t seem terribly impressed by a High Lord of Prythian made my earlier statement about running off with her into the sunset slightly less of a joke.

“It’s been nearly a year past since I last saw your sister,” Gilly said. She remained in the threshold, very pointedly not inviting us inside as we waited for her sons to appear. “Around ten months, I think. She’s paying a fellow very handsomely to do nothing but stay in a cottage and whisk any word of you away on a moment’s notice. I hope the man’s horse hasn’t grown too fat from sitting around these past few months.”

“Where?” I asked. I tried to keep the level of distress from my voice. If Myrin knew I’d been taken … had she gone north? Was she stalking the Wall, looking for ways through? Could she … already be in Prythian?

The look behind Gilly’s gaze softened. The crows-feet around her eyes made an appearance alongside a weak smile. “That, I don’t know. She just told me to trust that the messenger would get word to her. Last we spoke, she seemed to be doing alright – well fed, well dressed. At least as well dressed as a mercenary like her tends to go, by the by.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. The smile on Gilly’s face grew. She reached out, hesitated, then crossed the distance to take my hand. The gesture nearly made me tear up.

“You’re … different, Miss Jade,” Gilly said, giving my hand a squeeze. “But you’re also the same. I hope you’re able to find your sister – I know she misses you terribly.”

I blinked back the tears as footfalls came from the hall at Gilly’s back. The young man I’d seen before now carried a glass bottle of golden liquid and came in tow with his doppelganger. At this moment I recalled Gilly’s youngest sons were twins, and the one with his hands free took the letter offered by Rhysand with some trepidation. His eyes lingered on me for a moment, probably trying to piece together why I seemed simultaneously familiar and foreign, before tucking the letter into an inner pocket of his riding vest and making for the back door.

“The messenger’s house is at the edge of the property,” Gilly said, gesturing somewhere behind me with her chin. “Marcus will get the letter to him right quick – the man should be off to wherever your sister is within the hour. Sooner, if he does what he’s actually being paid for.”

“Here,” Rhysand said. He produced a bag spun from a dark cloth, holding it aloft. The clinking inside made it obvious it held a fair number of coins. Knowing Rhysand, he probably had some collection of human currency somewhere he’d taken the sum from.

“For your trouble,” Rhysand said.

Gilly didn’t move to take the item. “Thank you – but no. We’re not in hard straits – give the money to others who need it. This winter hasn’t been kind to us all.”

“You know …” I reached into a pocket on the inside of my cloak. I pulled out a folded document sealed with red wax. It wasn’t the original, but I’d known the contents well enough to copy it word-for-word when penning a version which wasn’t sitting in a random drawer in the Spring Court. “That pride you have … I’ve always admired you for it. You created everything you and your family have now from nothing. Something like that is special and I could never imagine pulling it off.”

Gilly took the offered document with a purse to her lips. “What is this?”

“The deed to the land,” I said, withdrawing my hands into my cloak. “I’m not what this place needs to grow, to thrive. That’s all you.” I offered Gilly a short bow. “My friend here is going to keep people in the area – out of sight, not bothering anyone. They’ll be on the lookout for when the messenger returns.”

I straightened, backing away with a nod. “Thank you, Gilly. You’ve offered more kindness to my sister and I than you ever needed to. I wish you all well.”

Gilly took a deep breath. She nodded, wiping away wetness from the corners of her eyes before tucking the deed away into a back pocket. “Thank you, Miss Jade. It isn’t much, but please take this. This cider’s what this farm’s reputation was built on. I know you don’t think you had much to do with it … but you had faith in me to run this place as I saw fit and make something of it … of myself. That was nearly ten years ago, and you’ve grown into a fine woman since. Be well, Miss Jade.”

I held the bottle of red-gold liquid as gingerly as if I’d been handed an infant. I gave Gilly and her son parting nods before turning and heading down the steps. I kept my head lowered along the path, focusing on the bottle which I debated whether I should ever open or not. I honestly wasn’t sure if cider got better with age – and there was a chance this cider may be all that’s left of Gilly’s memory in the decades, centuries, I may still have left to live. Gilly, her sons, this land … I may very well outlast all of it. The thought sent a chill down my spine.

Rhysand and I didn’t share a word until we were at the edge of the property. He looked to the sky, shielding his eyes.

“We can winnow back to the Wall now that I’m familiar with the area,” Rhysand said. He’d stayed mostly quiet during my exchange with Gilly – probably because he didn’t want her to ask too many questions which could raise suspicion over who or what he really was. I’d also gotten the impression he’d been keeping his distance out of politeness, not wanting to intrude upon my reunion with Gilly. Considering my closest friend before him had been a dog … more than likely he had a good idea that Gilly must’ve been special.

“I want to track that messenger for a mile or two – just to see what direction they’re headed,” Rhysand said. He lowered his hand, looking down at me. “Why don’t you wait in town? I’ll find you through the link when I’ve satisfied my curiosity.”

It was an obvious offer to allow me some time alone with my thoughts – to perhaps see a piece of a quiet, peaceful corner of human lands for the last time. I nodded, closing my mental shield before he could get a sense of how much hurt was culminating from my visit with Gilly and how interacting with any other humans was only going to make it worse. Even so, it didn’t change my decision to go into town. It was important not to forget what I’d given my entire life to protect while I’d still been human; what I’d still give my life to protect, even now.

The second we rounded a corner behind a barn coated in fresh green paint and were out of sight of the farmhouse, Rhysand altered his glamour and disappeared from sight in a shimmer. I felt the gust of air from a beat of his wings before finding myself alone.

I probably looked more than a little odd walking into town by myself clutching the cider as if my life depended on it, but luckily most of the townsfolk were too busy with their own dealings to give me much attention. Those who got too close and could pick up the buzz of magic surrounding me backed away with wary looks. I acted as if nothing were amiss as I studied cured meat and farming equipment among the market stalls, suspicious glances eventually turning away in disinterest.

For the life of me I couldn’t recall the name of the town, however the sight of their square sparked something in my memory. A belltower which had been under construction when I last came through now stood tall against the eastern sky and brandished a gleaming bronze bell beneath a red tiled roof. A large well sat at the center with a pump and a number of overturned wooden buckets. Wagon wheel tracks crisscrossed every which way through the hard mud, giving the impression that the square generally bustled with far more activity than it did now. I took in the neat, square buildings on all sides and appreciated the pristine windows which had been installed on all five stories of each building. Gilly didn’t seem to be the only one doing well for herself – the township appeared to be thriving. Although perhaps this was a slow day for business since no one seemed to be about.

My breath formed a cloud of steam when I exhaled. That was unusual – it was cold, but it hadn’t been that cold a few minutes ago when I’d been walking through the market. A tingle ran over my skin at the same time something rancid pushed its way into my nose. I snapped my head up as I became cast in shadow.

For a heartbeat, I thought the thing with the Sun to its back was Rhysand. Less than a second was all it took for me to leap to the side, finding full well the thing wasn’t Rhysand when the massive creature crashed to the earth with enough force to scatter the stones making up the well in an afterthought.

I tossed the cider aside, yanking off my cloak and palming a dagger in each hand. I’d come to the human lands armed light under the assumption that Rhysand and I wouldn’t run into anything posing a threat – that was clearly incorrect as I stared down the hideous creature now unfurling its wings before me.

The Attor. It looked like today was panning out to be one full of reunions as I took in the monster which had once acted as Amarantha’s pet. Nothing about its appearance had changed in the past few months – it still just as much resembled the corpse of a bat with its skin sagging from its face as if in the early stages of decay. I noted a few of its long teeth were broken when it opened its mouth; perhaps that had been during the fight under the Mountain when the captured Fae had risen up against Amarantha. I savored the sight.

“Traitorous thing,” the Attor said, its voice a low rumble. It slowly stalked forward with a hiss. “My queen put her faith in you – her trust in you, and gifted you with immortality. How horrid for history to repeat itself; for Amarantha to be betrayed by a human she loved just as her sister Clythia was. If it was of my choosing, you would die for such betrayal.”

I lifted my daggers, holding the blades to the side. I took stock of my distance from the buildings – their distance to each other. The Attor was large, but not large enough to not be able to follow me through the adjoining streets. Trapping it wasn’t an option – I had to take it down here and keep it away from any townsfolk no matter what. I pried open the shield within my mind.

Rhysand!

No answer came through the link. I grit my teeth. I’d never seen the Attor fight, and honestly had no idea what it was capable of. Whether it was stronger or weaker than a High Fae … I’d have to find out.

“I think you’re reaching a bit if you thought Amarantha actually gave a shit about me,” I said. I continued to move to the side to avoid having a solid wall at my back. “I couldn’t betray her if she never actually trusted me in the first place. She just wanted to use me like a tool – a weapon.”

“You know nothing,” the Attor spat. “And now I look upon you and sense her power flowing through your veins … appalling! Such horrible wickedness. You are so very lucky the King wants you alive. Otherwise, I’d rip you in two just as you did to Amarantha.”

The Attor shot forward. I bent my knees, leaping back through the window I’d positioned to be at my back. Glass shattered in a shower of sparkling shards as I tumbled into what appeared to be a tailor shop, mannequins crashing to the floor as I pushed them aside in my scramble to get to my feet. The Attor’s massive claws left deep gashes along the windowsill as it made to climb in after me. I rushed forward as it shoved its head through the opening I’d made, thrusting one of my daggers clean through its cheek.

The Attor roared, knocking my hand away as the dagger remained lodged in its face. I snatched another from the holster on my thigh, moving to strike again. My blade only bounced off the Attor’s talons as it blocked the blow. I countered by aiming a kick at its chest, sending the Attor flying back.

I stepped onto the windowsill and readied myself to leap through the opening. My eyes grew wide; I didn’t anticipate the Attor using its wings so quickly to regain its balance as the creature launched itself straight at me. Its claws sank into my shoulders and we flew through the shop to crash over the counter along the far wall. The force of the blow nearly split the support beam I’d been thrown into – jagged splinters pierced the back of my head and the portion of my neck above the fighting leathers as if I’d grown quills. The dagger in my left hand came loose and landed somewhere among a colorful sea of fabric spools at our feet. I took my remaining dagger and stabbed the Attor in the elbow in an attempt to get it to loosen its grip.

The Attor’s clawed hands didn’t withdraw. It lifted me off my feet, slamming me into the beam again and causing pain to radiate up and down my spine as if I’d caught fire. The Attor gripped my face with its claw and made to bash my head again – I screamed through grit teeth, sending my knee crashing into its jaw and feeling bone give under its putrid gray skin.

The Attor cried out as its claws dug into me fast and deep. I was almost certain my skull was about to collapse like a crushed grape in its grip as constricting pain caused my vision to grow blurry. Something in my body shifted without warning; I found myself out of the Attor’s hold, becoming a substance of shadow and air. 

I existed in one place and many all at once. I couldn’t so much control where I was going other than the fact that I knew I wanted to get away. My form creeped toward the front of the shop, less than a few inches off the ground as I crawled and curled over garments, fragments of glass, thimbles, fabric spools, and chunks of wood. Parts of me threatened to seep through the cracks in the floorboards; becoming one with the shadows there and staying that way forever. I snapped those parts back to me in a panic as I reached the closed door. After a heartbeat of pure darkness, I found myself on the other side of the door and in the sunlight of the town square. As if my body’s inherent desire to feel the Sun on my skin outweighed everything else, my form returned to normal, and I staggered back a few steps.

“Jade!”

I dared to take my eyes off the Attor stalking in my direction as I surveyed the sky, seeing nothing but passing clouds. 

Rhysand?!

“Are you hurt?” Rhysand asked, urgency in his tone.

What the hell do you take me for? I thought, gritting my teeth as I realized how completely unarmed I was. I backed away as the Attor reached the broken window.

Where are you?

“I’m sending the humans away,” Rhysand said. I’d noticed his voice seemed distant – as if it had to travel much further than should warrant considering he couldn’t have been too far. “By the time you’d opened your shield again I was already using my full concentration getting into the human’s minds to give them orders to flee. Just hold on – I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

I wasn’t given a chance to respond before the Attor had snapped open its wings and launched itself in my direction. I succeeded in sidestepping its attempt to grab me but failed to move out of the way in time to avoid its clawed foot dragging across my scalp. Clumps of hair and warm blood flowed between my fingers as I slapped my hand over a series of deep gashes spanning the left side of my head.

Shit!

The Attor soared about the square with far more grace than something that damn ugly should ever have a right to. The snap of its wings cracked like a whip as it dove at me akin to a blue jay defending its nest. I threw myself flat onto the mud at the last second, blood from my head wound leaking into my eye as I winced from the Attor’s claws successfully slicing a chunk of my armor free near my shoulder blade.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

I leapt to my feet, making a straight shot for the nearest window. I had to get back into an enclosed space, and fast. Any longer out here in the open and–

A claw closed around my left arm, and suddenly my feet were yanked off the ground. I whipped my head around to regard the smiling Attor in horror.

The Attor had snuck up on me … but how? I hadn’t even heard it coming.

The sound it made before, I thought, my veins turning to ice. It made a show of being loud – making me think that’s what I needed to listen for. And it came at me from the left where my vision is obscured by blood.

Time slowed as I looked to the side – coming face-to-face with my terrified expression in the passing windows. The second floor of the buildings went by … then the third. In a few seconds I would be above the rooftops, then into the clouds and so high up that attacking the Attor would mean falling to my death. Rhysand may arrive in time to rescue me … or he may not. The Attor seemed to fly much faster than Rhysand and could outpace him if it had the energy. Without a way to free myself now, I was fucked.

A thought struck me like lightning. I raised my right hand, willing a feeling like a frigid trickle of water to run down the length of my arm. There was a decent possibility the short sword sealed within the tattoo on my arm may do jack shit against the Attor. Even though I would need something much larger to slice its arm clean through, I felt I wasn’t in a position to be picky.

I swung the moment I felt a handle materialize in my palm. In a flash of steel and spray of silver blood … I was falling. 

I had ascended to just past the fourth floor of the surrounding buildings – I braced myself, crouching as my feet slammed into the mud. Pain shot from my soles, racing through my legs, spine, and all the way up to form a pounding sensation behind my eyes. As much as they’d been tempted, my ankles thankfully didn’t give out from the impact and I straightened with only a slight wobble. My attention snapped to my opponent; I couldn’t fight my lips parting in shock as I watched the Attor slam into the side of the belltower while clutching the stump where its right hand had been.

I turned my head to regard the short sword in my grip … and stared in amazement at the fact that I wasn’t holding a sword at all. It was a double-sided ax that gleamed as if made of polished steel beneath the spattering of silvery blood. The handle of the ax was wrapped in a deep blue leather which felt incredibly familiar in my palm even if its appearance wasn’t.

“This … is not a sword,” I said, bringing life to the obvious. As if the weapon heard me, it shifted in a shimmer to a more familiar shape, albeit that of a long sword instead of the short sword this thing should’ve been all along.

What the fuck?

A crash beneath my feet had me snapping my eyes up. The Attor stood on the other side of the pile of rubble which had once been the town well. Its bellow struck a sense of dread deep into my bones as the black pits making up its eyes fixated on me.

“The King will have my head,” the Attor spat, saliva dripping between its jagged, broken teeth. “But I will have your head, murderous filth!”

Rocks scattered underfoot as the Attor hurled toward me with a single powerful beat of its wings. I didn’t have enough time to get a proper grasp on the sword, all I could do was wield it one-handed as I twisted to the side in an arc. I met the cruel rage burning in the Attor’s gaze with my own – the sound of my shout joining its roar in a chorus of death. The edge of my sword scraped against one of the scattered stones, causing a spark.

Flames erupted from the tip of the sword and spread like wildfire down the length of the blade. The Attor’s vicious howl transformed into a shrill screech as I burned a deep scorch mark across its chest. I took a step forward, correcting my form as I wrapped my free hand around the handle and slashed down. If the Attor didn't think losing a hand was enough motivation to yield, losing the entire arm would probably do the trick.

The Attor collapsed, yowling and flailing its remaining clawed hand about in response to the silver blood seeping through the burnt flesh from its chest and the stump attached to its shoulder. The cries in pain and tears forming in its eyes almost made it seem pitiful. Almost.

I strode forward. My boot came down on its burnt chest, the flesh squelching underfoot as I shoved the Attor hard as it struggled to rise.

“Please!” the Attor croaked, lifting its remaining hand toward me. “Please! Spare me, and I’ll tell you everything I know!”

I adjusted my grip on the sword, the light from the flames causing shadows to flicker across the Attor’s revolting features. “The King sent you, right?”

“He did!” the Attor answered quickly, a light shining from somewhere within the dark pits of its eyes. “He did not tell me why he wanted you, but that’s why I came here.”

“Hmm.” I pulled back my arm. “I wonder if it’s a decision he’s going to regret when you don’t come back.”

Panic drenched the Attor’s features. “No! Wait! I can tell you more! We have allies in–!”

I drove the flaming blade through the Attor’s chest. I ignored its screams and the way it scratched feebly at my leg as I held the sword firmly in place. I felt nothing but apathy as the fire consumed its chest and left a hole large enough for me to see the mud beneath. It was only when the Attor went still, its black eyes staring blankly into the sky, did I pull back.

“Jade.”

I turned, regarding Rhysand over my shoulder. Even if I’d been the one who just had my ass nearly handed to me, he looked like shit. The pallor to his skin and the ragged nature of his breathing were dead giveaways that he’d pushed himself too far – more than likely due to magic in general being much weaker here on this side of the Wall. Rhysand had used next to everything he had to snake into the minds of every single man, woman, and child in the near area to force them to get to safety. Doing that for the hundred or so people who I’d seen milling about the nearby market alone must’ve been more than a little taxing even for someone like him.

“Well …” Rhysand said. He slid his hands into his pockets. Whether he was trying to fool me or simply fool himself into believing he was completely collected and wasn’t on the verge of collapse was hard to say. 

“... By all means, Mouse, please enlighten me – what in the Mother’s name are you holding?”

I looked down. The flames along the sword’s blade shrunk before snuffing out like cutting gas to a lantern. I stared at it for a while as I struggled to find a good answer. I failed.

“I have no idea.”

Chapter Text

Four sets of eyes turned and locked onto me the second I stepped into what was known as the ‘War Room’ in the House of Wind. Although the large black table at the center boasted nothing but open seats, all four of the room’s previous occupants had opted to stand huddled together near the far wall. The whispers I’d caught had been rushed; agitated. Scanning over their expressions as we watched one another in silence was all I needed to know what they’d been discussing:

Me.

The first thing Cassian’s hazel eyes did was scan me from head to toe. Having just come from the practice rings, I’d opted for wearing the non-lined set of Illyrian leathers (not that the lined set was in any condition as if I could wear it if I’d wanted to, anyway). The leathers did a fine job covering the majority of my healing injuries – I had enough bruises to look like an overripe apple which had fallen from a cart. The one on my left forearm from when the Attor had grabbed me in an attempt to fly me Cauldron-knows-where looked nasty enough for the stoic Cerridwen to have wrinkled her nose at the sight. She and her sister had helped to undress and bathe me with care when Rhysand and I had returned to the townhouse the day prior – Nuala making no less than a dozen apologies for the times I’d winced when her fingers had so much as brushed my battered spine.

Cassian’s current inspection culminated at the spot over my left ear. Three large gashes spanned the length of my scalp from the back of my head to just past my temple. Rhysand had summoned one of his best healers to take a look at me this afternoon, but until then I made do with his minor healing magic for the pain, allowing the wound to breathe even though there was more than a good chance I looked like a madwoman with nearly half my hair missing. My unsightly appearance didn’t seem to deter Cassian from allowing a grin to break across his striking features.

In contrast to Cassian’s beaming expression, Mor’s full lips remained in a heavyset frown. Her apathetic gaze stayed unapologetically locked on me as I strode further into the room. I had to wonder if she harbored any sort of disappointment that the Attor hadn’t torn me to shreds.

At Mor’s side, Azriel’s gaze was filled with less contempt. This didn’t mean he seemed happy to see me – far from it. He’d withdrawn back into that aloof demeanor as if he’d be stricken ill from showing too much emotion. Although a good amount of that could be chalked up to him being a spymaster, I had a feeling more than a little of his behavior could be attributed to having Mor in close proximity. The knife he’d once held to my throat may as well have been a shouted declaration of love for the beautiful, sensuous High Fae at his elbow who seemingly wanted nothing more than to see me disappear from this court for good.

The last set of eyes sized me up as Cassian had, although Rhysand didn’t appear nearly as amused as his general. He’d seemed practically half dead when we’d flown across the Wall – Rhysand insisting to reach into the dredges of his remaining magic to winnow us to the shore of Human Territory before carrying me over the water. Azriel had arrived within seconds of the smell of burning metal falling away at our backs. The spymaster had enveloped us in shadow and returned us to the townhouse within Velaris without question. There we’d taken some time to recoup and collect our thoughts before Rhysand had called this meeting with his inner circle. Everyone had already been informed of what had happened in the village and the Attor’s ghastly fate. Now we were meeting to discuss what came next.

“Any luck?” Rhysand asked. The pallor to his skin had retreated, although a weariness still lingered about him as he watched me with a casual air. I had to wonder if he’d bothered to sleep at all since the day before, or had stayed up discussing the incident with the people gathered for half the night. I wouldn’t put the latter beneath him.

“The girl’s mastery of magic leaves much to be desired,” Amren said. She put a hand on her hip, unphased by the glare I shot her in a sidelong glance. I felt equal parts upset over the comment and the heavy truth behind it.

Rhysand had arranged for Amren and I to meet in the practice rings hours before the meeting was to take place. The short sword – or whatever the hell it was now – which I had summoned had been clasped within my hands the entire journey back to the Night Court. Unlike Rhysand, who’s ability to put objects in the ‘in-between’ gave him the capability to even store the Attor’s corpse, I had no such talent and had relied on my frozen fingers to take the sword anywhere it needed to go.

Unless where it needed to go required any form of magic. I’d failed again and again to store the sword back into my arm. Amren’s instructions on the matter had also been less than helpful:

‘Just tell it to go back. Simple.’

I had snapped that it was easy for someone to say who supposedly possessed the skill to escape that forsaken prison. Amren had only smiled, her shit-eating grin having grown wider when I’d sidetracked and asked her how she’d done it. She’d promised to tell me another time … and waved me off like a fly buzzing in her face when I’d asked what she’d done to get thrown in there in the first place.

The sword had ended up back in my arm in the end, even if it was due to Amren’s magic instead of my own. Placing it there felt like injecting something burning and thick into my veins. I’d frowned when I’d noticed that the symbol had still looked the same, albeit the colors of the sword inlaid in a circle had gone from deep blue to a smoky gray.

“I can’t put the sword back, but I can use it.” I moved my attention away from Amren to lock eyes with Rhysand’s solemn gaze. “At least for a bit before I start feeling drained. I can change the shape into whatever weapon I want, and if there’s a flame around, I can have it latch on and keep it there for a while.”

“She can use the weapon for a few minutes, at best,” Amren said with a half shrug. “Her adrenaline rush fighting the Attor more than likely helped to push her magic usage further than normal. Otherwise, that sword is more of a detriment for how much it saps her energy. If she’d gone up against anything less pathetic than the Attor … it may’ve bled every ounce of magic from her body and left her little more than a husk.”

By the damn Cauldron did I hate magic.

“I’m fine,” I said, my voice flat. “And I was fine.”

“The timing of this meeting begs to differ,” Rhysand said. He finally made a move toward the table, pulling out a chair at its head. He took a seat, making a motion for everyone gathered to follow his example. “I think you forgot the part where you slept for a solid sixteen hours after getting back here to Velaris.”

Rhysand becoming the new target of my ire didn’t phase him in the slightest. He continued to track my movements as Amren took a seat to his right and I sat beside her. Across the table, Mor, Azriel, and Cassian also took their seats. The latter two continued to regard me with varying degrees of interest while Mor seemed more inclined to study the red rock over Rhysand’s shoulder.

“Let’s delve into my theory,” Rhysand said, wasting no time. Perhaps it was the lighting, or the fact that we were in a ‘war room,’ but the shadows usually dancing over his shoulders seemed more pronounced than ever. The same was to be said for Azriel as dark tendrils danced along his sharp cheekbones and over the curve of his elegant jaw. A shift from Mor as I studied his features caused me to meet her gaze, the two of us sharing a glance of passing vitriol before looking away.

“That sword,” Rhysand said. He gestured to the arm I had resting atop the black stone table. “It was inside you when you were made Fae. And when Amarantha gave you a piece of her power, somehow part of the power she was holding onto from all the High Lords passed into you. The how and why of it getting attached to the sword and not yourself … I can’t say.”

Amarantha’s power.

Rhysand sat up in his seat. He’d likely been able to tell when I’d been hit with a thought that left my mind resonating as if it were a bell struck by a clapper. I furrowed my brow.

“Tam–"

I stopped myself, correcting my statement as I erased the face in my mind of the person who’d conveyed the information I was about to share. “I was … told once that Amarantha’s power was sort of like a jewelry box. If I’m like that – if I’m like her – then maybe I didn’t get the High Lords’ powers because, like Amarantha, I’m unable to use them … just hold them.”

“And because you happened to already be holding the sword,” Amren said, the silver smoke behind her eyes churning as she continued the line of thought. “Those powers needed somewhere to go – something to infuse to. Amarantha’s power … I recall she’d been quite gifted with using spells. Her magic may’ve worked in a similar fashion to the Illyrians. It needed to be molded and channeled through a conduit much like how they use siphons.”

I caught a glint of blue across the table. The cerulean light in the siphon atop Azriel’s scarred hand glinted as if it were aware of being the subject of the discussion. When our eyes locked, I got the impression that his line of thought followed the same path as mine – that he recalled our conversation at the Prison. He’d said that trying to use a siphon would be worthless for me because the way magic works for High Fae is different than how it works for Illyrians. But at the end of the day … I certainly wasn’t a High Fae in the traditional sense.

“I’m a little in shock, if I’m being honest,” Cassian said. His eyes landed on the arm I had resting on the table as if he could make out the sword sealed within. “I never thought I’d see a sword crafted with magic on a level rivaling Gwydion.”

The furrow to my brow prompted Rhysand to explain. “Gwydion was the last of the known swords infused with high levels of magic. It, along with all other weapons of its like, have long since disappeared before most of us were born. There’s more than a good chance the weapon sealed within your arm is the only magical sword remaining in this world.”

Amren leaned forward in her seat, a mischievous nature intertwining with the silver in her eyes. “Indeed … it takes me back. Seeing that sword of yours brought forward a few memories of mine that I’ve long since imagined I’d forgotten. If we’re going with tradition, girl, then the sword should be given a name. I have the perfect one in mind, if you’ll allow me the honor.”

In all honesty, I didn't care too much. Having Amren name the sword would probably be for the best anyway since I had a penchant for coming up with terrible names. I lifted my palms to face my chest, moving my hands forward as I spoke. “Go ahead – I don’t give a shit.”

Delight danced behind Amren’s smile. “A fine answer. I’ve decided to name the sword in a manner befitting its owner – for a stone similar to which she was named, and in a color matching the nature of her eyes. Lazul is what the sword shall be known as from now on.”

I’d been expecting something a little showier like ‘Blood-Letter’ or ‘Beast-Slayer,’ to be honest. However, I could certainly live with ‘Lazul.’ I should probably be grateful Amren didn’t deem to name it anything completely ridiculous as a joke.

“It’s dangerous.”

Everyone's eyes drifted toward the head of the table. Mor kept her attention firmly fixed on Rhysand. Her slender fingers curled around the edge of her armrests as she continued. “If the other High Lords discover that she has even a fraction of their power, they may demand to take it back; especially if that power was something stolen from them.”

I bared my teeth at the implication. “I didn’t steal shit.”

Mor’s brown eyes slid to mine. Her lips pinched. “I never said you did. All I’m saying is that the power you have was originally taken from the High Lords against their will. If they find out about it, they’ll claim custody of the sword at best, and your life at worst. Keeping it sealed away would be the safest option.”

I didn’t need her expression of contempt to know Mor was referring to the safety of Velaris above any perceived concern to my own wellbeing. Cassian’s voice cut me off as I opened my mouth.

“Not using it could also be risky,” Cassian said. He didn’t balk from Mor’s piercing gaze. He glanced at me, then Rhysand. “If that sword contains magic from all the High Lords … I can’t even imagine what it could do – what Jade could do. I’d be willing to wager that neither could Hybern. If we somehow fail in being able to prevent this war, then I know for damn sure I’d sleep better at night knowing we have a way to end it in our favor.”

“Or.” Mor looked the very picture of regality as she sat up in her seat. Sitting directly next to Rhysand, one would be hard-pressed to distinguish who possessed the higher rank. I gave her that, if nothing else.

“Or the High Lords perceive us as a threat for possessing their magic, and refuse to unify against Hybern,” Mor said. Her voice rang clear throughout the room, holding everyone’s attention as if she held the lead to invisible leashes around our necks. Her voice, her words, gave me the sense that I’d still be able to hear them even if I were to lose my hearing once more. I’d learned that Mor was Rhysand’s third in command above even Azriel and Cassian. The confidence she exuded, the weight of her presence … I was beginning to see why.

Rhysand put his elbow on the table, leaning his face into his hand. He sat in silence for a moment. Complete silence, since I didn’t even receive a whisper of his thoughts through the bond. His violet eyes remained fixed on Mor although I got the sense he was looking through her and into some distance further than any of us could know. I had a feeling he was weighing our options, trying to piece together the best course of action among the countless paths available. It was something I imagined only a High Lord could do … I admired him for it.

“We’ll test the waters,” Rhysand said, coming back to himself. His eyes slid to meet mine. “We received a reply from the Summer Court – they’re willing to host us for a meeting to discuss the possibility of allying with us against Hybern. While we’re there we’ll bring up the sword and gauge Tarquin’s reaction. If nothing else, I can remind him that his silence and cooperation can be utilized to repay the debts to us he owes.”

Indeed … Tarquin had mentioned being indebted to us. First Rhysand for what he did under the Mountain; going against Amarantha’s orders and killing Tarquin’s cousin in a merciful manner all the while keeping silent over information that Fae had held concerning the Summer Court’s intentions to storm the Mountain. Then Tarquin had expressed having an obligation to repay me for slaying Amarantha and freeing himself along with his people. And even if he hadn’t, I had the sense that I could trust him to keep the newfound nature of my sword secret. He’d trusted me under the Mountain over little more than my connection to Mitah and I had no reason not to do the same.

“And if things go poorly?” Amren asked. She raised a delicate brow to meet her straight bangs. “If the High Lord of Summer throws a tantrum and tosses you out of his court before you can locate the Book of Breathings … what then?”

“Then I’ll tell him he can take it.”

All eyes at the table turned to me. I lifted my chin. “Tarquin can take the sword … on the condition he can win it from me in combat. If he can prove that it would be a weapon better utilized against those Hybern bastards in his hands, then I’ll willingly hand it over.”

The corner of Amren’s red lips quirked up. “Do you really think you can beat a High Lord, girl?”

I could. I had. Almost, anyway. A tingle ran through my hands as I increased my grip on the armrests. If anything stood in my path – anything – I wouldn’t shy from destroying it. Even a damn High Lord.

“Yes,” I said, holding that gaze of churning silver. Something told me Amren could see a part of me others couldn’t – even Rhysand. When she looked at me, she could somehow see that grotesque, headless beast of twisted limbs and oozing blood. Amren could see all those things … and still smile.

“Good,” Amren said, turning her head. White teeth dazzled in Rhysand’s direction. “I think a certain Lord here could do with being taken down a peg or two.”

Rhysand returned Amren’s sickeningly sweet smile. “Aren’t you funny?”

“I’m a damn delight; thank you for noticing,” Amren said, sitting back in her seat. She crossed her arms over her gray top, swinging one leg over the other. “I’ll train the girl in magic – spells, specifically. She’s a brute, but perhaps she’ll go against my expectations and be capable of wielding such a delicate art. It will prepare her for handling the Book of Breathings so we can all rest a little easier.”

Flickers in the faces around the table indicated they’d all been concerned on one level or another. My stomach turned sour over the blatant lack of confidence they seemed to have had in me over that regard.

Rhysand’s violet eyes shifted from Amren to the other side of the table. They narrowed. “If we’re talking about training, there’s something else we need to address. I’ve already made a decision based on the description of the fight Jade had with the Attor. Az – I think you’ll be better at explaining it to Jade than myself.”

I found Azriel already watching me when I turned my head. I studied him in trepidation – not a single sign of emotion flitted across his face to indicate what the hell Rhysand had been talking about. He only tilted his head slightly, shadows snaking over his toned shoulders and climbing the length of his scarred neck as if they possessed a level of sentience.

“Rhys and I have come to the conclusion that Jade has the makings of a shadowsinger,” Azriel said. Although he didn’t bat an eye, the companions flanking him most certainly did. Mor stared at him in shock. Cassian’s eyes darted between us as if he felt concern over falling for some sort of trick. To my side, Rhysand didn’t so much as blink; Amren appeared bored.

“The Bone Carver called you that,” I said, feeling awkward for breaking the thick silence. I shifted in my seat, recalling the less than flattering things the Bone Carver had called me. “What does that mean?”

“They’re rare,” Cassian said. He sat up in his seat, now looking between Azriel and Rhysand. “Incredibly rare. Az here is the only known one who’s living. And you two think Jade is a shadowsinger? How?”

“Rhys shared some memories with me; both his and Jade’s,” Azriel said. He never took his eyes off me, and I couldn’t say I liked the feeling knowing that his cold hazel eyes had dug into pieces of my past without my knowledge. I made sure to shove that feeling of displeasure through the link in hopes of making Rhysand squirm.

“What I saw during her fight with the High Lord of the Spring Court alone confirms she has the ability,” Azriel continued, keeping his thoughts on the matter well hidden. “As for the times she visited Rhys in dreams … I can’t explain how she was capable of taking such forms while she’d still been human. I’ll admit that my own knowledge concerning shadowsingers is limited mostly to myself. Perhaps it’s a skill some humans are able to master – perhaps Jade is unique. Either way, I’ve agreed to train her and see if she can master it.”

Cassian ran a hand over his jaw with a low string of curses. Mor’s gaze remained fixed on Azriel as if she were able to pick up something the rest of us couldn’t. As for me …

“I need more than that,” I said. I waved my arm in a flippant manner. “So, it’s … the thing where I just … lost shape? You’re saying I can control that?”

Azriel let out a small nod. “Yes. Being a shadowsinger means you can wield shadows – melt into them. We can move through shadows both over short and long distances in a manner far more efficient than winnowing. The shadows can direct our attention to details others miss – and can hide us from detection in the right conditions. You’ll find it useful.”

The corner of my mouth twitched. Azriel was already referring to us as ‘we’ over something I certainly hadn’t agreed to. “I … guess. I don’t really give a shit about stealth, but moving between places could be helpful.”

A trace of emotion crossed Azriel’s features in the form of a frown. Thank the Cauldron – I’d been growing tired of staring at his still, graceful features as if regarding a statue. It was more than possible that every sign of emotion I’d gotten from him while we’d visited the Prison had been an act. I honestly didn’t give a shit if it had been; I’d gladly request for him to perform an encore if it meant not having to train alongside someone about as stimulating as a bowl of porridge.

“Stealth has its place,” Azriel said, his tone level. “So does tact, such as taking an enemy captive to extract information instead of just killing them because you’re so inclined.”

The only way I’d miss the implied nature of his comment being about my fight with the Attor would’ve been if I’d gone back to being deaf. Cassian loudly cleared his throat as my nostrils flared from the slight and I made to get out of my seat.

“I guess that leaves me.”

Cassian still seemed rattled but conjured a trace of a grin when our eyes met. “We’ll see what we can do with that sword of yours. From the sound of it – the fire is definitely Autumn Court, and the shapeshifting is Spring. Makes sense considering those are the two styles you’re more practiced in. I’m also looking forward to facing you head-on and seeing where I stack up against your skill.” Cassian finished the statement with a wink. My previous inclination to leap across the table and rip Azriel’s ears off fell away as I settled back into my seat and sized him up.

“I’ll also help with the sword training,” Rhysand said. The gaze he had leveled at Cassian lingered for a moment too long before his eyes shifted to Azriel. “Now that I have an appropriate number of sitters lined up to deal with the most hazard-prone Fae at this table, we can move on to the information we have about the Queens’ palace and the location of their half of the book.”

Azriel now seemed very capable of emoting as everything, including the shadows on his shoulders, darkened. Light itself disappeared into the aura radiating from his torso up to the taloned tips of the wings he had tightly pulled against his back.

“There’s a barrier around the palace,” Azriel said, tone curt. It hit me like a slap to the face that he was … pouting. I had to fight every urge I had to burst into laughter over Azriel no longer being able to sit there acting all high-and-mighty.

“I can’t get through it – none of my spies can,” Azriel said. The bitterness seeping through every word could turn a sack of sugar sour. “The magic put in place by the Fae who helped them build it … it’s solid. I’ll do my research and return to see if I can find any holes.”

Rhysand nodded. He didn’t bother looking in my direction – I hadn’t received much in terms of correspondences in the few days between Azriel and I visiting the Prison and before he’d returned to Velaris, but he had sent a note asking if I knew anything beyond the basics about the Queens and their sprawling palace by the southern sea.

I’d told Rhysand I’d visited the city in which the palace resided, Gasca, on a number of occasions – marveling at their uniform architecture of tan stone inlaid with tiles depicting intricate geometric patterns in blues, reds, and yellows all throughout the sprawling city. The palace itself was a marvel of a fortress that stood stark against the skyline with the majesty of a mountain range. Not once had my siblings nor I ever had a reason to approach – nobles and visiting dignitaries from across the human territories were the only ones allowed through the tall, metal gates surrounding the area. The stunning architecture and crossing waterways lined with palm trees was the only thing about the layout I could recall, and something Azriel more than likely would’ve been able to take in with his own two eyes. Unfortunately, I had no help to offer in this endeavor.

“I’ll have Clotho pull up whatever tomes she can find in the library about the palace’s construction,” Rhysand said. He gave Azriel a firm nod. “Get with her and see where that goes. We have around a week yet before we may be in possession of the other half, anyway. Tomorrow we’ll test out Lazul to see if it’s capable of detecting similar magic. If it fails, we’ll work on figuring out another avenue for finding where the Summer Court is keeping their half of the book hidden.”

I sat up in apprehension. “Wait – we’re not just asking for it?”

Even Cassian wrinkled his nose at the question. I furrowed my brow as I regarded looks ranging from surprise to musings as if I were simpleminded. I scowled at Rhysand, who’s expression was definitely of the latter.

“As much as the High Lord of Summer may be captivated with you,” Rhysand said, offering the sort of smirk he knew grated on my nerves. “Tarquin – and his family, especially – will certainly have reservations over handing over what is unquestionably one of the most valuable possessions of not only their court, but all of Prythian. The fact that the request would be coming from someone who has a reputation such as myself also doesn’t help. To their knowledge, I’d only be looking to take the book in the hope of doing unspeakable things.”

“Just tell him you’re not – tell him about all this,” I said, gesturing to the room at large and the city beyond. “Tarquin seems like a good High Lord. I think he’d be fine about the book and the sword if you explain it to him.”

“Maybe he would be,” Rhysand said. Despite his words, I got the sense he wasn’t going to budge an inch. “But it’s not just Tarquin we’d be dealing with – his cousin Varian holds a hefty amount of sway at their court and is as shrewd as they come. Keeping him occupied and away from prying too deep into what we’re after will be this one’s job.”

Rhysand gestured to Amren with a tilt of his head. Amren rolled her eyes, going back to inspecting her sharp nails.

“Wait – you’re taking Amren?” Cassian said. A pout touched his lips. “I thought –”

Rhysand’s eyes snapped to his brother. “Have you already forgotten? That building you wrecked got you banned for eternity. If that still isn’t clear, I can have Mouse here convey that information in more than one language. Taking you to the Summer Court is never going to happen.”

Cassian and I met eyes across the table. He raised his hands to repeat a gesture he’d seen me make a few days prior.

‘Ice dick.’

I covered my mouth as I looked away with a snort. Cassian laughed in a more open manner until a firm look from Rhysand prompted him to snap his mouth shut.

“How about this, Cass?” Rhysand said, a sweetness to his voice which meant trouble. He leaned forward in his seat, lacing his fingers. “What do you say to joining our little test tomorrow?”

Chapter Text

I’d gone back and forth no less than twenty times on if this was a bad idea. No – I knew this was a bad idea, just how bad things were going to get was the question.

Possible avenues tumbled through my mind like twigs over a waterfall during the time we traveled between beech trees laden with moss. It was quiet here in the Middle – the sound of crickets the only thing joining the chorus of our footsteps over patches of grass and damp leaves. I hadn’t dared to winnow us in too close – to give the Weaver any indication of my proximity. She knew me, my power, and my scent. Hell, she even knew Cassian because of the time Azriel had dared him to grab something, anything, from the Weaver’s cottage and not get caught. 

Cass had succeeded – narrowly escaping with his life over a small wooden gear which had likely come from a clock. Cass still had the thing somewhere, the damn fool being proud of it. In all honesty he’d shown more fear in the face of my mother when she’d discovered what he’d done and forbade him flying so much as an inch off the ground until he’d scrubbed the steps leading to the House of Wind until they were spotless … all ten thousand of them. To this day the closest I ever witnessed Az’s life being in mortal danger had been when he’d spilled soup on the stairs. Cass had nearly spilled Az’s brains alongside the soup before I had to break them apart. Centuries later, Az still insisted it had been an accident. Centuries later … Cass still didn’t believe him.

I looked over my shoulder. Far in the west was the Mountain. I could feel it there even if all I saw were trees groaning under the weight of their centuries of existence. That damn Mountain and what had been under it … I wish I could snap my fingers and mist the whole thing; watch it all scatter to the wind until only a barren wasteland was left. I had done that to Amarantha – leaving nothing behind, not even the two pieces of her crown. Amren had remarked that I should’ve kept it for posterity purposes as a reminder of what Amarantha had done … what Jade and I had accomplished. I didn’t feel the need; Jade was High Fae now and would be a living reminder in and of herself.

Jade strode at my side, assessing the woods around us with the self-assurance of someone more than capable of felling every tree in sight if she wished. Aside from a few dark marks on her forehead, one would never guess she'd gone toe-to-toe with a vile a creature like the Attor. Confidence had never been a problem for Jade – far from it. The problem arose when I worried she had too much. Jade had been warned about the Weaver by myself and Cass – multiple times. Whether any of that had sunk in and if the two of us were going to have to break up a fight between her and a death god was the question.

Cass didn’t say anything as he stalked at our backs. I had a feeling this was for two reasons:

One – our proximity to the Weaver had him more on edge than he’d like to admit. He may have gotten away from her cottage all those centuries ago physically unscathed, but the nervous twitch to his fingers whenever the Weaver was mentioned didn’t go unnoticed.

And two – he was probably using Jade’s ass as a distraction from his less pleasant thoughts. Illyrian leathers in general didn’t leave a lot of room left for imagination, and Jade was likely the only female he’d seen who’d been outfitted in such garb since I’d commissioned a specialty set for Mor Cauldron-knows how long ago. To that end, Cass’s gaze for Mor had drifted away from being anything more than platonic endearment over time. There’d been no other females since who’d elicited that sort of spark behind his eyes as an equal mixture of lust and captivation. Not until now, anyway.

I slowed to a stop as we reached the edge of the tree line, holding up a hand for Jade and Cass to do the same. The clearing before us was small, hardly wide enough to house the whitewashed cottage with its thatched roof and crumbling chimney. I debated whether I wanted to tell Jade if the thatching on the roof wasn’t made up of the usual straw or reeds … deciding against it. She’d more likely than not figure out that it was hair from the heads of countless Fae dumb enough to enter the cottage, then probably curse my name for it. Well, she was going to be cursing my name after this was all said and done anyway, so no point in trying to soften the blow.

Repeat your orders back to me, Mouse, I thought. I grinned in response to her unamused expression. Jade exhaled through her nose, placing a hand on the sword at her hip. The weapon was meant to be used as a dowsing rod more than anything else – a tool to locate the object within that cabin which had a trace of my own power sealed inside. In theory, the sword, Lazul, would resonate with it … along with Jade herself. That last part, however, was something she was unaware of.

“Get in, find the thing,” Jade’s voice said in my mind as she blinked in a tired fashion. “Don’t touch anything else, don’t get caught, and don’t fight the Weaver if I do.” Jade shifted, irritation radiating from her like heat from a bonfire. “I still don’t get why the hell you can’t tell me what it is I’m supposed to find.”

That would defeat the entire purpose of the experiment, I thought. I bowed to the side, motioning for her to make her way up the moss-lined path to the quiet cottage awaiting her arrival.

Remember, I continued. Today, you’re not a mouse. Today … you are a wolf.

Jade’s lip curled in distaste. “That’s the dumbest fucking thing you’ve ever said.”

With that, Jade hit me with a final look of disgust before turning and walking toward the cottage. I watched her with a smile stuck to my face for a moment before turning to Cass.

Come on, I thought, redirecting my thoughts in his direction. The Weaver may pick up our scents if we’re too close when she heads in.

Cass and I trekked back the way we came. I kept my senses on high alert – knowing Jade, there was a good chance I was going to pick up images of her facing the Weaver in combat sooner than later. It was the reason I’d asked Cass to come along in the first place. When it came to the Weaver, I was confident I could keep her at bay for a time considering her far weakened state. When it came to Jade, I needed a second set of hands to drag her away from a fight she’d never win. Amren would’ve been preferable if she wouldn’t give her presence away to the Weaver the second she so much as stepped foot into the forest. Mor also would’ve been a good choice … if she and Jade could stand the sight of one another. That was a battle for them to wage and I wanted no part of it.

Cass spread his wings the moment we stepped outside the bubble of stale air surrounding the Weaver’s cottage. A cluster of ferns spread flat at his feet as a single powerful beat pushed him into the air. He circled for a moment, finding a suitable branch among one of the taller beech trees and taking a seat. The massive tree had to have been as old as, if not older, than I was – its branches so far reaching it was hard to tell where it ended and the other trees began. After winnowing to Cass’s side, I found the perch he’d chosen allowed us to see a sliver of the dilapidated chimney attached to the Weaver’s cottage. Everything still appeared to be in one piece … at least for now.

“You picking up anything?” Cass asked. He propped his elbow on his knee, his opposite leg dangling over the edge. The crimson glint to the siphons on his hands were a dead giveaway that his relaxed appearance was anything but. It caused an unexpected tightening in my chest.

“No,” I said, looking back to the cottage. “By some miracle, Jade may actually be doing as I asked. And if the worst happens … I can still winnow through the barrier.”

“And suffer the consequences,” Cass said, recalling full well that his own stunt caused a backlash which had temporarily crippled the Night Court’s power – my father’s power, at the time – as a result of being caught breaking the bargain making up the Weaver’s confinement. My mother stepping in to cover for Cass more than likely saved him from my father’s wrath and an untimely death.

“Actually, there would be none.” I grinned in the face of Cass’s confusion. “Jade isn’t a member of my court. If she’s caught, the magic doling out any sort of punishment would target her High Lord.”

Cass threw back his head with a laugh that spooked a bird from a nearby branch. “You underhanded bastard. Spring would be in total chaos and have no damn idea what the hell had caused it.”

My smile slipped. As much as I dreaded it … this was a conversation I knew would be better to have sooner than later. It was a part of why I’d asked Cass to come out here in the first place.

“I don’t know how Lucien does it,” I said, injecting a casual nature into my tone. “He doesn’t possess even a fraction of the power I do, and yet he’s somehow able to match that tenacious nature of hers. I have to wonder if there’s something more than just fire in his blood.”

There it was. I hated the mask of indifference I had to wear as I felt Cass shift in his seat beside me. I knew he was studying my profile, piecing together the true meaning behind what I’d just said. I took no joy in pretending I wasn’t aware of how he now stood on the precipice of a less than pleasant feeling.

“Lucien …” Cass said. I could tell he was trying to dredge up a face attached to the name. He’d be unsuccessful – as far as I knew, he and the former Autumn prince had never crossed paths. It was probably for the better that Cass wouldn’t have an image to attach to his soon to be ire.

“Is that … the Spring Court emissary?” Cass asked. I quirked my brow as I turned to take in the line of concentration between his hazel eyes.

“That’s the one,” I said. I fought down the tightness in my gut … the tightness associated with hurting Cass, and nothing more. Nothing more than that, at all.

“He and Jade have been courting for around a year now – since she’d been human,” I said. “I can attest she was easier to handle back then … if by a small margin. Mother help him, now.”

Cass let out a groan, tilting back his head as he ran a hand through his hair. “Ah … That’s why you said she’d toss me into the Sidra. I take it he’s …?”

“Not the type for sharing,” I said, finishing Cass’s thought. We both knew any interest he had in Jade laid deeper than the surface level of just sex, but playing into that act meant allowing him to save some face.

“At least … not with a monster from Night Court, anyway,” I said, flashing Cass a smile. I knew full well how the Spring Court emissary viewed the Night Court, the Illyrians, and myself. The heat behind his gaze had blazed hotter than the fires of Hell when we’d last stood face-to-face. He’d stepped in front of Jade when I’d visited the manor, no trace of hesitation on his part to protect her until his last breath. The irony was that if anything, Jade would have a much better chance at bringing me to heel than he would. Even so … he stood before me and didn’t balk. I hated how much I respected him for it.

My comment caused Cass to frown. “Do you think that Jade and the High Lord of the Spring Court are also –?”

“Absolutely not,” I said, the answer coming out quicker than I intended. I scoffed, looking away. “Thank the damn Cauldron she has some taste in males.”

“She must, huh?” Cass said. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees with a shrug that shifted his wings. “I mean, she went for the emissary who mouthed off to Amarantha instead of choosing to be with the High Lord. Not a lot of females would do that.”

Cass was right … not many would. Perhaps Tamlin had nothing to offer Jade that she’d wanted. She didn’t give a damn about money or a title. The conversation we’d had while on the porch of her friend’s home in Human Territory confirmed being treated like a noblewoman wasn’t something she’d ever want. Jade didn’t need to be doted on or looked after. She wouldn’t be satisfied being the Lady of the Spring Court … or the Lady of any court, for that matter.

"A thought for a thought, Rhys?”

I looked back to Cass with a sigh. “I have a piece of bark digging into my ass. What’s your thought?”

Cass scoffed, continuing to watch me in an expectant manner. He knew I’d purposely dodged the question. He’d known me longer than anyone in this world save for Mor, and could read me like a book if I let my cover slip. In all honesty, I probably should share with him what had really been on my mind – what had been on my mind for months.

How Jade was my mate. Or … maybe she was.

I’d felt the mating bond inside her head during our first, and last, conversation at the Mountain after Amarantha had been slain. The revelation of just what I was sensing had thrown me for a loop, then piled on top of it was the fact that Jade didn’t seem to give a damn. 

I believe she had been, and still was, aware of the mating bond on some level even if she has no idea what it signifies. The only one who I’ve confided with this information was Mor, who had been just as baffled over the fact that Jade had somehow accepted herself as my mate without showing a single sign of her feelings toward me being anything greater than platonic.

Since that day I’d been wrestling with that fact. It shouldn’t be possible. According to everything I knew, everything anyone else knew, the mating bond falling into place should have left her in a state where she had eyes for me and me only. Even if I didn’t feel the same, if my own half of the bond hadn’t fallen into place, every ounce of her feelings for Lucien should’ve been forgotten entirely. The fact that I could sense that she was still just as in love with him as ever countered every written description of the mating bond in known history. Even if some mates had a tendency to fall out of love after a fashion as my own parents had, in the beginning every account had still been the same.

She won’t even listen to the damn magic making up this world. I should probably be thanking the Cauldron my half of the bond hasn’t snapped into place.

Admittedly, that hadn’t been for a lack of trying. I enjoyed making the flirtatious comments even if it only elicited eye rolls and the occasional threat. I hadn’t been initially struck by Jade’s outward appearance when we’d first met – I couldn’t pinpoint when, but sometime under the Mountain I’d glanced at her and found her … striking. My eyes tended to be drawn to her through the aura of her presence if nothing else. I feel the need to defend her if she’s in danger, and I’d nearly broken into just as many pieces as she had when for a fraction of a second, I’d been uncertain if I would be successful in saving her sanity from being torn apart from the Ouroboros.

On paper … I nearly had every sign of my bond taking effect and the two of us coming together in fated bliss. The only thing I hadn’t tried was advancing our physical relationship beyond offering her my elbow, scooping her into my arms during our flights, and the two of us kicking the shit out of one another during training. To that end, we were at a standstill – Jade coming to me by choice was one thing, and I wouldn’t lay a lecherous finger on her for anything less. I have no interest in stealing away another male’s partner – mate or no. Jade isn’t the type who can be ‘stolen,’ anyway.

A small part of me would also admit that knowing she would reject me every time made her … safe. I could ignore the idea of what would actually happen if I were to give her a flirtatious smile and have it be returned. I didn’t have to think about going to bed with a female who I actually wanted to be with. Being touched like that again, even if it was by someone who I trusted like Jade, was a concept that caused a chill over my skin and knots in my stomach. She wasn’t Amarantha; no one was Amarantha, thank the Mother. Even so … Jade wasn’t the only one being stalked by something in her dreams which left her shaking and terrified despite knowing full well the thing in their subconscious couldn’t hurt them. Not anymore.

Perhaps it would be different if I knew for sure; if I was certain Jade and I were fated to be together. If being mates wasn’t the answer I needed, then certainly Jade locating the object she’d been sent in there to find would be. She either will, or she won’t – simple. Things won’t have to change if she fails. If she succeeds … then maybe my dreams can finally shift to something more pleasant than being held down by spikes through my wings as Amarantha does unspeakable things both with her body and a knife. I could finally take a step across that barrier and know that Jade would be waiting for me at the end of the line no matter how long the journey would take. I could take comfort in the fact of just knowing.

“You can talk to me, Rhys,” Cass said. He seemed frustrated in his acceptance that I wasn’t going to share my thoughts. He had no idea how much of a favor I was doing for him to keep these things to myself. Not just in relation to Jade, but everything else. The nightmares that still plagued me about Amarantha … the increasing headache of the revolution in Hewn City … The Book of Breathings … The Cauldron … This whole damn war sitting on my shoulders … He didn’t need to be burdened with that; no one did. Jade was the only one who came close to seeing the full picture, and only because she’d forced herself in when I’d tried keeping her out. No one else had done that; no one else had been strong enough.

“I have … a lot on my mind,” I said. I rubbed at my eyes and the throbbing sensation developing behind them. That damn dark power that churned in an ever-present whirlpool inside me didn’t help with the stress. I envied Jade for being unburdened with the obligation of having to keep such magic in check. Cass and Az for that matter, too. Everyone, in fact. Being the most powerful High Lord in history wasn’t always a gift.

“Yeah, no shit,” Cass said. He tapped his wing against my shoulder in a sign of solidarity. “We all do. Some days I go about with nothing on my mind other than how we’re going to get all the Illyrian forces to cooperate in the face of war. I may be the general of this court, but that doesn’t mean jack shit if I don’t have their respect. I need to know they’ll have my back in the thick of battle … and they need to know I’ll have theirs. There are a few of the more defiant camps where I just have to hold myself together so I don’t level them and their entire village to the snow.”

Cass was capable of it – he’d done it, in fact. The village where he’d been born a bastard, and where his mother had been shunned and worked to death, was no more. Everyone save for the children, some females, and the elderly, had been slaughtered in his fit of rage when he’d discovered no one had even bothered to bury his mother – instead tossing her body over a cliff and into the sea as if she’d been nothing but waste. The last to die had been his father – a warrior who’d taken Cass’s mother to bed by force and had turned his back on her and their child. That had been a particularly slow death … Az and I had made sure of that. Every ounce of pride had been drained from that warrior’s body by the time Cass got to him. He’d clutched at his son, begging for death. Cass had obliged without hesitation.

That had been long ago … even before the war. Cass had changed since then. He’d grown far more level headed, and I rarely caught signs of that explosive temper. If he ever directed it to anyone nowadays, I had no question over whether they deserved it.

Something nudged my mind. I sat up, scanning the still forest below.

“Is it Jade?” Cass asked, his wings spreading in anticipation of needing to fly at a moment’s notice.

“Yes,” I said, the word slow on my tongue. I shifted to prop my back against the trunk of the tree and spread my legs along the branch. “She’s taking her sweet time.”

“Is she injured?” Cass asked, doing nothing to hide his distress. My resulting chuckle caused him to frown. “Prick.”

“I have no idea if she’s injured,” I said with a shrug. “She isn’t doing anything through the bond other than trying to find our location. And … it looks like she’s picking up the pace now that she’s figured out where we are.”

A moment later, Jade jogged into the clearing. She looked … fine. Not a single hair was out of place as she lifted her head, using her free hand to shade her eyes against the midday sun at my back. Her other hand was busy carrying some sort of sack over her shoulder; a sack that was far, far larger than anything that should’ve been remotely needed to carry the object I’d sent her in there for.

“Mouse,” I said, unable to hide the apprehension in my tone. “What in the hell is in that bag?”

Jade slung the sack off her shoulder. It clanged against the gnarled roots crossing the forest floor.

“Stryga said I could take whatever I wanted – so I did,” Jade said. She dug through the bag for a moment. Out of it she pulled a damn sword.

Jade lifted the sheathed sword over her shoulder, letting out a whistle as she tossed the thing as if it were a spear. Cass caught the sword overhead without trouble. He lowered it into his palms, his eyes dancing over the long, thin sheath crafted from black leather and inlaid with a number of jewels along the hilt. The jewels on the cross guards began to glow with a red light as he made to draw the weapon. I realized with a start that they weren’t jewels at all, but siphons.

“Mother’s tits,” Cass breathed, tilting the flawless blade of the sword to-and-fro to catch the light. “I think this is the sort of sword they used to make for damn Illyrian kings. I only ever saw a piece of what was left of one in the aftermath of battle … didn’t all the swords like this get broken or lost during the war?”

I had to fight the urge for my eyes to pop out of my head. How the hell an Illyrian blade had ended up in the possession of the Weaver, I didn’t know. What was more puzzling was how it had found its way to Cass.

“Jade,” I said, returning my attention below. “What happened?”

I caught the item hurtling toward my face. My fingers sunk into white fur, my lip curling as I took in a worn rabbit pelt.

“I got that for you while I was out ‘hunting,’” Jade said, sounding far too proud of herself. “Because I’m a wolf, remember?”

I tossed the pelt over my shoulder without a second glance. I wouldn’t give Jade the satisfaction of dwelling on a stupid joke; not when something of importance actually hung in the balance. “Is that all?”

“For you – yeah,” Jade said. She put a hand on her hip, seemingly unbothered. “My sword didn’t really do anything to tell me what I should take, so I just grabbed whatever I liked.”

“Such as?” I asked, praying that there might be something indicating an ability to track the Book of Breathings … and to give me an answer about a far less critical personal matter that was still important to me, all the same.

“Weapons, mostly,” Jade said. “Some stuff for me, Lucien, and Mitah … I figured I’d also grab jewelry for Amren so maybe she’ll be less of an ass when we go over magic. She’s always wearing a huge necklace or something, so I figured bribery wouldn’t hurt.”

I silenced Cass’s laugh with a raise of my hand. “What sort of jewelry? And is it all for Amren?”

Jade peered at me in a questioning manner. She slowly crossed her arms. “Yeah, it is. I grabbed some earrings and a few necklaces. There’s a ring … but I’m not going to give her that.”

I closed my mental shield, ensuring I didn’t give away my internal distress. “Why not? What is it about the ring that makes it so you don’t want to give it to her?”

Jade raised an eyebrow. She got to her knees, items brushing her elbows as she dug through the bag. Cass was close enough to pick up the rapid thundering from my chest. He also hadn’t been aware of what, exactly, Jade had been tasked to find … but he now most certainly had an idea. Even if the idea he had wasn’t entirely the whole picture.

A small, blue bag appeared in Jade’s palm. She got to her feet, and with a casual toss sent the item in my direction.

I caught the bag overhead. The second it hit my palm … I knew what it was.

“I took that ring because I felt sort of bad leaving it there,” Jade said. She shrugged. “I didn’t really know what else to do after I broke it.”

I immediately recognized the deep blue gemstone the second it fell into my hand from the upturned bag. A six-pointed star radiated from the impossibly smooth, round surface. The band of the ring had been crafted from twisted strands of silver and gold flecked with pearl. That stunning band had been snapped cleanly in two – the portion with the stone on one piece while the rest laid like a curved twig near its counterpart. Fixing it would be simple; that still wouldn’t solve the underlying issue.

“Rhys,” Cass said, regarding the pieces as if he couldn’t quite make them out. “Isn’t that your mother’s ring? The one she had you carry around for a few years back when we were training at the war camps?”

I swallowed, my mouth feeling dry. “It … is. This is the item Jade was supposed to find.”

“Well, that’s too much of a coincidence to be luck,” Cass said. He raised his eyes. “So, I guess she … did it?”

She had. Sort of. The ring in my hand had been given to the Weaver from my mother for safekeeping, meant to be reclaimed by my mate and the female I’d someday marry. Per fate’s design, Jade had found her way to it. Then against that design … she’d broken it. I had no idea what the hell that could possibly mean.

“Let’s celebrate by getting out of this damn forest,” Cass said. He got to his feet, a glint to his eye as he regarded the sword in hand. “I’m dying to know how Jade convinced the Weaver to let her walk away with all this.”

My attention drifted to Jade. The sack had found its way back to her shoulder, her eyes locked on me as she waited. She was expecting a reaction – I was expecting a reaction.

I was at a loss for what to give.

Chapter Text

“Stop pacing – it’s distracting.”

“You have a lot of room here,” I said. “I like taking advantage of it.”

My feet padding over the hardwood floor came to a stop as I encountered a necklace brandishing a yellow diamond the size of a walnut. On either side of the diamond was an interlocking pattern of small golden sheets studded with white sapphires fashioned to look as if they were made up of intertwining slips of ribbon. After admiring it for a moment, I slipped my toes under the diamond – flicking my foot up and catching the necklace midair as it fell.

“That’s disgusting,” Amren said. She’d known precisely what I’d done despite her back being turned. The sound of papers shuffling from where she stood at her desk near the window indicated she was still at whatever task she’d set herself to earlier. “Do that to a piece of my jewelry again, and I’ll melt your bones. The rest of you will still be there, and I can say with certainty the experience isn’t pleasant.”

I set the necklace down among a disorganized cluster of its brethren atop an armoire. Nothing about Amren’s apartment could be labeled as tidy … or logical. The wide-open space which took up the entire third floor of the building in which she resided boasted a random collection of furniture which seemed to have no rhyme or reason for their placement aside from the desk by the window and the four-post bed against the far wall. A long table of light-grain wood sat before a hearth putting out enough heat to cause sweat to bead on my brow. It was interesting to note the single chair at the table was the only sitting option aside from the well-padded monstrosity of gold plating placed before Amren’s desk. Otherwise, there was a carpet on the floor, which I took a seat on and crossed my legs.

“My feet can’t be any worse than the floor – which is where the necklace was originally, you slob,” I said. 

I knew without looking that the view from her desk consisted of a tree-lined square which would’ve been drab in the dead of winter if the citizens of Velaris weren’t so keen on dressing in every color imaginable – sometimes all at once. From my angle I couldn’t see much out the opposite window aside from a few spires atop the rooftops, but I recalled that below us and twisting into the distance lay the Sidra River. I could imagine the view being breathtaking within a few hours when the Sun would meet the horizon and spill orange over the shimmering surface like a pool of warm honey.

“Watch what you say, girl,” Amren said. She seemed to finally locate what she’d been looking for among the haphazard pile of papers. Two blank sheets fluttered between her manicured fingers as she stepped in my direction. “I can see how you’d have certain perceptions considering the near feral nature of Rhysand’s court, however it wouldn’t hurt for you to address me with some respect.”

Amren lowered herself onto the worn carpet, crossing her legs beneath her as I had done. I now faced those deceptively delicate features head-on as she lifted the two blank sheets of paper that looked like pages taken from a notebook. I wondered what the hell she expected me to do with them since she’d brought no writing instrument in tow.

“Choose one,” Amren said. Her straight black hair of impossibly thin strands shifted on her shoulders as she tilted her head. Peeking through her hair was a pair of dangling earrings. Blue sapphires sat atop her earlobes, connected to gold chains adorned with sparkling diamonds which ended in gleaming pieces of jade carved to resemble water droplets. I’d snatched the earrings the moment I’d spotted them in Stryga’s cottage – I carried no shame in bribing myself into Amren’s good graces using an underhanded method such as stones of my own namesake.

I reached for the papers she had in hand, my fingers hovering between them for a heartbeat before I took the one on the left. Amren’s expression didn’t reveal much as she spoke.

“What made you choose that one?”

I fanned myself with the sheet of paper. As much as I liked the openness to Amren’s apartment, the hearth was beginning to make it unbearably hot. “Because the other paper has magic in it, and I figured you’d be pissed if I used it to cool myself.”

A sly grin spread across Amren’s face. “For someone who professes a distaste for magic, you’re quite attune at detecting it.”

That wasn’t a new revelation, exactly. From the moment I’d met Tril and made a bargain that took away my hearing, I’d been able to pick up an acidic smell which I later learned to be a sign of magic. I’d found that ability had muddled with the rest of my heightened sense of smell after becoming High Fae. On the other hand, my remaining senses allowed me to pick up things I’d only gotten hints of before. The light tingle on my skin when I’d been around magic as a human had become a noticeable buzz when I touched certain objects. The jolt which had run the length of my fingers had been how I had determined the paper on the right possessed magic.

“Tell me,” Amren said. She placed the paper in hand on the carpet between us, running her fingers along the edge. Liquid pooled atop the paper like molten silver and slithered about the surface to form letters. “Did you use this ability to decide which objects to take from the Weaver’s cottage?”

I hummed, shifting myself into a lax position as I kept my eyes on the paper. “Yes and no, I guess.”

Rhysand had told me to use stealth when entering the cottage. I was to go in, find the object Lazul directed me to, and get out. When I’d climbed atop a crate to tentatively peer through the clouded window and get a sense for what had been inside … I’d immediately scrapped that plan.

The interior of the cottage had been full to the brim with any and all manner of baubles, trinkets, nicknacks, and junk in general. How the hell Rhysand had been expecting me to find anything among the sea of clothing, weapons, kitchenware, and gods-knows what else, had been beyond my apprehension.

Having decided not to bother with wasting anyone’s time, I had approached the front of the cottage and knocked on the door.

A figure with long, dark hair attending a loom had been visible through the window, the sound of their sweet humming making its way through the cracks in the wooden threshold. That sound had cut off the instant I’d knocked, replaced by footsteps before the door had swung open a moment later.

The creature who had answered the door had a few inches on me, with pale skin that appeared weathered as if she’d been a piece of fruit left out in the sunlight to dry. Where her eyes should have been were nothing but black pits, however I’d gotten the sense that she could still see me, regardless.

I’d been told by Rhysand that this thing had been called the Weaver. The creature hadn’t set a foot off the threshold, swaying back and forth as if the motion had been needed for her to fully take me in. When I’d moved to speak, she’d raised a finger, continuing the long stretch of silence before finally lowering her hand with a thoughtful hum.

‘A loose thread,’ the Weaver had said. She’d stepped back from the doorway, inviting me inside with a wave. ‘Your pattern is both new and old; isolated but connected. We are meeting for the first time and yet my eyes have beheld you once before. Come, twisted thing – speak to me of my brother and my lost child.’

Cassian had thrown up his hands and called me a ‘damn moron’ when I’d previously described to him and Rhysand how I’d accepted the invitation to go inside. Apparently, what I should have done after being 'caught' was make a bargain to assure my safety before doing so. I’d piled the entirety of that blame upon Rhysand’s shoulders for not warning me as such. I’d expected Rhysand to come back with a flippant insult to my intelligence, but he’d been unusually subdued during my story. 

Rhysand had remained that way for the past few days. He stopped joining me for meals or offering to fly me to the House of Wind. I no longer received mental messages concerning meetings or training. His behavior toward his inner circle didn't appear any different, so I figured it boiled down to him falling back into a normal routine of being High Lord. It's not like I could expect him to drop all his responsibilities to spend time in my presence, anyway. I probably came off as more of a burden than anything else. 

The sooner I went home, the better it would be for the both of us.

“I told Stryga what she wanted to know” I said, pulling my thoughts away from Rhysand and the unnecessary twisting in my gut. I leveled my expression and offered Amren a shrug. “After that, she said I could take from her cottage whatever I wanted.”

The Weaver – or Stryga, as she’d called herself – hadn’t asked for much. It turned out her twin brother was the Bone Carver in a twist of events that still left me baffled. Stryga had sidestepped when I’d followed up my vague description of my encounter with Bone Carver in the Prison with a question about how the two of them were possibly related. She’d then proceeded to speak of her child and conveyed the worry she’d felt when they’d disappeared to the other side of the Wall. It took far too long of her imploring that I knew anything about what the hell she was talking about until I realized I did in fact know who she meant: Tril.

‘Tril is made up of parts of me, but also parts of a couple different things,’ I’d recalled Hembran saying. ‘Their eyes and hair are actually from Stryga, who … ah … that’s another topic.’

The memory of his animated manner of speaking and lovely brown eyes behind round glasses had left my heart sinking, hoping he and Tril alike were both alright. I’d told Stryga everything I knew – from my first encounter with Tril in Human Territory to when I’d last seen them in Hewn City. I had the sense Stryga wasn’t entirely thrilled with the news of where her ‘child’ had ended up … but she had seemed content enough.

I placed my pointer finger atop the paper, absorbing the feeling of light grain along with a tingle that ran up and down my arm. “I took my sweet ass time going through her stuff,” I continued. “Mostly I just picked out things I liked – some had magic, some didn’t. There’s … someone important to me who collects weaponry with embellishments. A majority of the items I grabbed were for him.”

The quirk to Amren’s eyebrow and her grin implied she knew who I meant. If not Lucien specifically, she seemed aware of the nature of our relationship.

“What a lucky male, to have a partner so willing to shower him with lavish gifts,” Amren said. The comment made my cheeks grow warm for a reason that had nothing to do with the roaring hearth.

“Wouldn’t all of us be so lucky to find as such?” Amren continued. She slid the paper in my direction. “Tell me about the ring, then try to read this.”

Right … the ring. That part in the story had made Cassian balk and Rhysand’s violet eyes go wide like saucers. Even if what had happened had been an accident, I still felt somewhat guilty when I’d discovered the ring had once belonged to his mother.

“On the top of one of her shelves, and don’t ask me why Stryga had put it up there,” I said, picking up the paper before me. “There was a handheld replica of the Black Land Battering Ram. The real thing is massive – the length of almost seven horses and over fifteen feet high. The steel head of the ram looks like a martax, and the artistry is just … wonderful. It’s on display in Gasca on the opposite end of the city from the Queens’ palace, and I remember always begging my brother to take me to see it. They used the ram back when Gasca was ruled by the Queen of the Black Land to storm her palace, and … Ah … anyway, I’d never seen a replica of it before, and I wanted to take a closer look. Then the shelf tipped. I decided I’d rather keep the shelf upright than try to catch the ram, so it hit the floor. Along with leaving a bit of a dent … it also happened to fall on top of a ring.”

I’d succeeded in horrifying even Amren as her lips parted. “Rhysand’s ring?”

I pursed my lips … and nodded. I hadn’t known what the ring was at the time I’d picked the broken pieces up off the floor. I’d offered to have it repaired and returned to Stryga, to which my host had only accepted the pieces of the ring with her bony fingers, placing them in a small bag before handing me the item.

‘A broken thread; a broken ring,’ Stryga had said, leaving me utterly confused. 'You are a slow messenger, but it will find it's home after the final song.'

She’d returned to her loom then with a lock of my hair in hand – a request she’d made of me earlier on in exchange for leaving the cottage unharmed. I’d already been deep into digging through her hoard of treasures by then, and had sliced a chunk of my hair off in an afterthought upon her request. I had watched her as she’d run her skeletal fingers through the strands as if they were made of gold. 

‘Such a pretty box you are,’ she had said. ‘Pity you’re only a box. Your fate is different from my own; worse. Poor, misplaced, twisted thing. Ancient and alone atop the mountain, alone within the forest. Alone, and one thing only.’

The image of Stryga’s odd cottage and her even odder comments faded to the back of my mind as my eyes roved over the swirling silver text before me. I sat up a little straighter, lifting my chin. “Sing to me without your voice, call to me against your choice. Of stone and fire you were born, from your home you shall be torn. Dark as night and bright as day, find my flesh for you to stay.”

I flinched when something landed atop my knee. The object was a bracelet of diamond-shaped blue gemstones within a net of silver thread. I blinked at it in surprise before Amren scooped it up.

“There you are,” Amren said, admiring the glittering item as she held it overhead. “I’ve been searching for this.”

The shimmering text penned into the paper I had in hand faded. Their faint, dull outline could still be seen, but the tingling which had previously been running through my fingers dissipated. I switched it to my other hand, now using both papers to fan myself. “I feel like this is something you could’ve done yourself.”

Amren nodded in concurrence. “Indeed. But I wanted to start by assessing your ability. Like I gathered, the way your magic works is unique. You’ll never possess the effortless use of it like the High Fae; your power is confined through objects that must be used as conduits. However, spells act as such, along with siphons and certain weaponry. And considering you were able to summon this item all the way from the House of Wind … my hopes are high for you, girl.”

My eyes snapped to the bracelet. I’d been able to bring it here … from that far? The House of Wind appeared as little more than a dollhouse carved into the rock of the mountain from this distance. It was also enveloped in a number of wards, if I recalled correctly. I couldn’t wrap my mind around being capable of such a thing.

“How was I … able to do that?” I asked, staring at the bracelet. A trace of magic still thrummed within it, the hair on my arms standing up as if through static. Was this sort of thing normal?

Amren hummed. She got to her feet, absently tossing the bracelet aside to land atop the pile of clothing and other pieces of jewelry she had strewn over the sheets of her massive bed. “You asked me once why my eyes glowed. Do you remember that?”

I blinked. Amren approached her desk in a calm, casual manner as if what she’d just asked me hadn't come out of the blue. My eyes tracked her movements as she once again began sorting through papers. “Yes?” I said, shifting in my seat. “You said something about being put in another body, like me.”

“That’s right,” Amren said, lifting up a paper for a lazy inspection. “You, girl … I still haven’t figured out just what make of creature you are. Some of your power reminds me of Rhysand – all darkness and coiling wind like a storm trapped in a bottle. The thing is, though … Rhysand’s power is like chaos which needs to be molded into having order. But you, girl, your power has order; rules. Unfortunately that means you’re inflexible, which I must admit is a bit dull. However, I’m of the same make myself, so I can’t be one to talk. The difference is I know the nature of my rules and how to get around them.”

I narrowed my eyes. The question on my mind burned like a brand as I took in the second-in-command of Rhysand’s court who by all accounts should probably scare the shit out of me a lot more than she did. I was probably about to ask a question which could lead to my head being literally bitten off.

Well, I didn’t need to live forever, anyway.

“Amren,” I said, waiting for those silver eyes to return to me before continuing. “What the fuck are you, really?”

The smile stretching across Amren’s face wasn’t human; nor Fae. It wasn’t like anything I’d seen before. As my life threatened to flash before my eyes … I realized I did, in fact, want to live past this afternoon and may have just fucked up my chances.

“What I used to be …” Amren cooed, a teasing nature to her tone. “... was the lapdog of a wrathful god who ruled a weak, unassuming world as he saw fit. I was powerful, girl – more than your brain of flesh and blood can imagine. I caused monarchs to cower; leveled armies with merely a glance. But …”

The unnatural nature of Amren's smile faded. In its place was … contentment. If what she had said was true, then Amren had gone from having the ability to destroy cities – continents – to this; a powerful High Fae, but not much compared to what she once was. I couldn't wrap my mind around it. Who would give up strength like that? She could do so much … save so many … take down anyone and anything in her way. Why give that up?

“I had my own form of weakness.”

I stood, the unusual dejection in Amren’s voice calling to me like a moth drawn to flame. In a few long strides I joined her at the window, looking down over the collection of Fae milling below; going about their lives in a carefree manner. Amren’s eyes almost looked natural in direct sunlight – as if the part of her which was ‘other’ became driven away in the face of light, of life.

“I used to watch them – humans,” Amren said. I frowned at that. It was surprising to learn that Amren hailed from a human territory, of all places. I would’ve thought I’d heard of her, had that been the case.

“I used to wonder what it would be like to be free,” Amren said, tracking a couple locked arm-in-arm as they strolled through the square, no sense of urgency to their step as they pointed to a pair of cardinals hopping through a cluster of bushes. The sight caused Amren’s expression to grow bittersweet. I wondered how often she stood at this window, simply content to watch the people below; seeing their lives but never quite being a part of them.

“Do you know what it’s like now?” I asked, regarding her from the corner of my eye. “Giving up all that power … do you feel free?”

“Hardly,” Amren said. The playful smile I was accustomed to returned. She turned away from the window, flicking her bob with a carefree wave. “True freedom … I don’t think that’s anything attainable for anyone. We all have our own restrictions we must abide by. My new rules, though … I prefer them much more to the ones I had to adhere to. I have the ability now to be much more than an observer or a soldier. I can care for people and have that feeling returned; I can also wish them dead and have that hatred returned, too. It’s thrilling.”

I crossed my arms, furrowing my brow. “You’re really fucking weird.”

“And you’re really close to me slipping you a practice spell which will thin out your teeth until they’re like fingernails,” Amren said, offering me a sweet smile.

I flinched, worried over just how damn specific that was. Amren laughed in the face of my displeasure.

“Let’s continue your lesson, girl,” Amren said, returning to her desk. “I’m curious to see if you can master anything that will actually make you useful.”

Chapter Text

Today the House of Wind wasn’t living up to its reputation. Only a slight breeze tousled the wisps of hair escaping my low bun as I stared over the edge of the practice ring to the mountain range which appeared a deep plum in the creeping light of dawn. A trail of steam escaped my mouth as I let out a long exhale, joining the mist slowly closing in on all sides. 

A cloud passed through and devoured the palace at the sort of pace befitting a carnivorous plant. Ever so slowly the view of the mountains and the endless collection of stars above would be hidden completely until the Sun made an appearance in around an hour. My plan to admire the view became sidetracked as I picked up the sound of footsteps from the stairs at my back.

I crossed my arms over my Illyrian leathers as I turned. Two sets of hazel eyes ascended in tandem – Cassian’s widening in surprise while Azriel’s didn’t reveal any sign of shock to see me there. Considering he was a damn spymaster, there was a chance he’d already known when I’d set foot in this place nearly an hour past.

“I … didn’t expect you would already be here,” Cassian said. Both he and Azriel were also dressed in their fighting leathers – the red and blue stones on the backs of their hands glowing softly in the light. I tracked the one that disappeared behind Cassian’s head as he ran a hand through his tousled hair. “I don’t smell Rhys – did he already head back?”

“Rhysand is still sleeping, as far as I know,” I said. At least I’d hoped he was. We were leaving for the Summer Court in only two days, and the last thing we all needed was for him to be exhausted. “I didn’t want to wake him just to take me up here, so I came on my own.”

Cassian looked as if he may have misheard. “You came up here … on your own? Are you telling me you walked up all ten thousand of those steps to get here?”

I shook my head. “No – that would’ve taken forever. I ran.”

“You ran?” Cassian asked, sounding horrified over the fact.

“For most of it,” I said, wondering what the hell he had to be so surprised about; he was far more familiar with how to get up to this damn place than I was. “I can run pretty fast now that I’m Fae, so it wasn’t too bad, even if I did have to slow down a few times to catch my breath. I don’t want to bother anyone for a ride anytime I want to come train up here.”

Cassian’s shock melted from his handsome features. He cracked a wry smile. “It wouldn’t be a bother – I’ll ride you anytime you ask.”

Heat smacked me across the face. I had misheard, surely. Cassian wasn’t the type to make such an open proposition … Was he? And did he not know about Lucien and I? Did he know, but decided to test the waters? He was good looking, obviously – I wasn’t blind. His muscular build was like a work of art to be admired and was likely a result of centuries of hard training. And his eyes … There was kindness behind his eyes. It shone through open and unobstructed like a well-lit house whose windows never closed. That kindness … that light … it had a way of drawing me in despite myself.

“Great job, Cass,” Azriel said. He made his way to the far wall toward a row of tall, thin swords left sheathed and waiting. How he decided one toward the middle would be his weapon of choice as he strapped it to his back, I couldn’t say. “The Sun hasn’t even come up yet and you’ve already made an ass of yourself.”

Cassian made no effort to hide his offense. “What? Is there something wrong with me offering to take her up here so she doesn’t have to climb those damn steps?”

A rare smile tugged at Azriel’s mouth. I caught a glimmer of a mischievous sparkle in his eye I’d previously only witnessed mirrored in Rhysand. It was odd to see him capable of such a thing.

“I can attest that isn’t at all what you said,” Azriel said. His eyes locking with mine for a heartbeat almost conveyed a desire for me to share in his amusement. Before I had a chance to react, his gaze was elsewhere.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Cassian asked, his brows knitting together as he watched Azriel draw the sword from his back. “All I said was that I would give her … a …”

I felt guilty over the fact that I couldn’t stop myself from laughing in the face of Cassian’s mortified expression. I threw a hand over my mouth and avoided looking at him directly out of fear of making him feel worse.

“Cauldron boil me alive,” Cassian said. Watching someone of his powerful stature fidget in my peripheral almost had me laughing again. “That was … I didn’t mean that. All I meant was that I’d give you a ride – up here. I have no interest in anything else.”

“Now you’re lying,” Azriel said, not even bothering to look in Cassian’s direction as he smoothly transitioned between stances with his sword.

“No, I’m not,” Cassian said, a warning lacing in his tone. “I may be Illyrian, but I’m not interested in stealing a female from another male as if she were a piece of damn meat.”

I snorted. Cassian’s eyes darted back to me with a start.

“Lucien is an emissary, and you’re a general,” I said with a tilt to my head. “He wouldn’t make it easy for you, but if it came down to a fight, I have little doubt you’d win.” I stretched my mouth into a wide grin. “Then I’d rip your balls off and stuff them in your eye sockets. ‘Stealing me’ from another male should be the least of your concerns.”

Cassian’s throat bobbed. I caught a glint of something behind his eye as he scanned me from head to toe. He loudly cleared his throat and turned away. “I’ll leave her to you for the first part, Az,” he said. “I’ll be back if I decide against throwing myself in the river.”

“Fine by me,” Azriel said, as if there wasn’t a thing wrong with his brother’s self-deprecating statement. I watched Cassian lumber down the stairs with my brows approaching my hairline.

“Are you warmed up?” Azriel asked, sheathing the sword behind his back in a fluid motion. He nodded when I affirmed that I was, any trace of emotion bleeding from his dignified features.

I crossed my arms, taking slow steps as I entered the chalk-outlined practice ring Azriel indicated. My eyes drifted between his face and the top of the stairs at the far end of the room. "Cassian ... Is he alright? I was just giving him shit - I wasn't really offended."

Azriel met me at the center of the ring, following my line of sight toward the stairs. "He's fine. Your comment had an effect on him, but not in the way you're thinking."

"What do you mean by that?" I asked, narrowing my eyes in an attempt to decipher anything lurking behind Azriel's still surface.

"Let's begin your lesson," Azriel said, brushing me off entirely. He ignored my resulting scowl. I fought back the urge to let out more than a quiet scoff before following his direction.

I almost found it ironic that the first thing Azriel had us do was sit down on the floor facing one another and listen. 

Shadowsinging had earned its name for a reason – the shadows spoke to Azriel on some level or another. He described them as having voices despite not making a sound. I asked if the shadows were more of a ‘they’ than an ‘it’ – if they spoke as individuals or like a single being. The answer I got was ‘both,’ which did nothing to clear things up.

“You have to learn how to speak to them without a voice,” Azriel said. The shadows covering every inch of him in an aura flickered like dark flames. I wondered if that’s what I would look like if I were to master the art … and wasn’t very fond of the idea.

“It’s similar to how Rhys speaks to us using his mind,” he continued. “However, I still hear the sound of Rhys’s voice in my head. Conversing with the shadows isn’t anything like that.”

‘How is it you speak a language without thinking in sound?’

Rhysand had asked me that. The conversation had only been around a year past, but it felt like a lifetime ago. It had been the very first time we’d met … in a place clouded in shadows.

And now the asshole isn’t speaking to me at all.

I shook my head, banishing the thought. Wasting my time overthinking why Rhysand had suddenly grown so distant wasn't worth it. He was a damn High Lord who didn't need me around; didn't need my help beyond doing what I could for this war. I just had to concentrate on that – how I could be useful. I didn’t have to dwell on anything else.

Speak to them without sound.

I lifted my hand, staring at the shadows curling over Azriel’s shoulder. I searched for any sort of pattern in their movements which I’d always chalked up to be random. This entire time … would I have been able to know what they were saying if I’d only tried to listen?

‘Do you understand me?’

As I pulled my hand away from my chest from where I’d signed ‘me,’ I caught a flicker of something dark along the tip of my finger. I couldn’t fight the urge to flinch.

“The answer is yes,” Azriel said, not moving a muscle. “They understand you just fine – it’s the other way around that needs practice.”

I lowered my hand with a frown. “You knew what my hand signals meant?”

Azriel shook his head. “No, I didn’t. The shadows told me what you were saying.”

The shadows … had been able to translate my hand signs. How – what the hell were these things?

“How is it you can talk to them?” I asked, my mind reeling. “Who taught you how to do that?”

Even the shadows over Azriel’s shoulders seemed to grow still. A heartbeat passed as if he’d been turned to stone. Azriel blinked and returned to himself; I had the sense that some form of internal debate took place before he spoke.

“I taught myself,” he said, his voice as level as ever. “I went for long periods of time in my childhood where I had no one else to speak to, so I learned to talk to them.”

That was … oddly relatable. The day I’d lost my hearing was like the entire, wide-open book telling my life story had snapped shut. I’d suddenly gone from being able to strike up a conversation with anyone on the street, to understanding no one. It had taken months for my siblings and I to have gained a level of reading and writing ability where we properly communicated to one another. Even with Myrin and Tazar by my side, I’d felt like an island in the middle of an endless sea. Although, I’d still had people with me who cared. By the sound of things … Azriel hadn’t.

“Were you on your own?” I asked, curious if he’d developed the shadowsinging as a means to survive among the mountain ranges to the north. I’d learned from studying the map in the war room upstairs that the area seemed to be where most of the Illyrians resided.

“If you’re asking if I had to raise myself, the answer is no,” Azriel said. He shifted in his seat, his eyes digging into me. “What are the shadows telling you?”

I focused on the shadows flickering across the side of his face. Their movements were a constant web and flow of information. Where I had used my hands, fingers, and facial expressions to convey my words while I was deaf, they used every fiber of their being to get their message across. I felt the need to expand my awareness of them to not only encompass Azriel’s aura, but each and every shadow flowing in and around the practice rings. They all had a different voice … they all had the same voice.

‘Dark. Fire. Pain. Dark. Alone. Mother. Dark.’

I blinked, my chest heaving as I realized I’d been holding my breath. I couldn’t even describe where I’d just gone; what I’d felt. It had been like being in two places at once.

“Did you hear them?” Azriel asked. A trace of life shone behind his eyes – almost as if he craved for me to hear the voices – the shadows. Cassian had said before that Azriel was the only known shadowsinger living … I wondered if he found that existence lonely even among his family; just as I had when I’d been deaf.

I nodded, relaying to Azriel what I’d heard from the shadows. His ability to mask if the words meant anything to him was impressive. I was beginning to consider that the ability may’ve been another skill adapted for survival – throwing others off the scent that any loneliness creeping in bothered him in any way. Rhysand had hidden something similar behind his smiles when we’d been under the Mountain.

Wait. Under the Mountain …

“Nuala and Cerridwen,” I said, struck by a thought. “They kinda look like everybody else now, but back under the Mountain, their bodies were coated entirely in shadows. Are they really not shadowsingers, too?”

Azriel shook his head. “No, they’re not. Their appearance is a reflection of the two of them being half shadow wraith. They’re able to hide in and move through shadows, which makes them invaluable for collecting information, but otherwise they can’t transport themselves over long distances or understand what the shadows are saying.”

Well, I suppose that made sense. I’d read about shadow wraiths briefly in a book back at the Spring Court, but I didn’t know they –

“Hold on.” I narrowed my eyes. “Are those two … spies?”

“They report back to me with information,” Azriel said, as if this were common knowledge. “In the instances that the subjects of their reports are unaware of what’s being collected, then yes.”

“Have they told you information about me?”

“They have,” Azriel said, not skipping a beat.

I bared my teeth with a curl to my lip. “Damn pervert.”

This sparked a strong enough emotion in Azriel to make him recoil. Even the shadows over his skin leaned away as if I were emitting a powerful gale like an ocean storm.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Azriel asked.

“Most of what Nuala and Cerridwen do is help me bathe and dress,” I said, doing nothing to hide my disgust. “So you must know all about that, huh?”

“Cauldron, no!” Azriel snapped. It was the first time I heard him raise his voice in anger, and I admitted it was amusing to see him act with such vibrancy. Even the shadows over his shoulders dimmed against his frazzled nature.

“I’ve never asked any of my people to report information like that back to me," Azriel continued. "It isn’t vital to our cause.”

Considering Azriel seemed to be courting Rhysand’s cousin Mor, I had a feeling that venomous bitch would make his life a living hell if she were to catch him collecting his fair share of ‘non vital’ reports. I focused on the shadows coating Azriel as they slowly regained their shape.

‘Upset. Trust.’

So Azriel was insulted, and he was telling the truth. I absorbed both of these facts and decided to be an ass anyway.

“But you can use it that way, right?” I asked, leaning my chin into my palm with a grin. “When I get better at talking to the shadows, I can ask them to tell me all sorts of private things, can’t I?”

Unfortunately, Azriel was smart enough to recognize the game I was playing and nip it in the bud. “Shadowsinging doesn’t exist for your amusement. There will be consequences if you take it lightly; if you’re unable to properly control the balance of give and take.”

A puff of air escaping my nose came alongside disappointment that the little burst of emotion I’d been able to drag out of my companion was already gone. I decided to try a different route. “Is this ‘balance’ the reason why you haven’t gotten anything on the Queens’ palace, then? Or have humans just been smarter than you thought?”

A ripple ran through Azriel’s shadows. I didn’t bother trying to read them since the flare to his nostrils and the way his lips pulled taut were good enough indicators of his sour mood. I found I liked regarding him like this – when a spark of life escaped the darkness like a lantern at the hull of a ship parting through fog. It wasn’t only the negative emotions; seeing him laugh or watching a smile cross his features made him seem almost like a different person entirely. Those two reactions were a bit harder for me to achieve … So for now, annoyance was my best bet.

It took a little longer for Azriel to school his features as he had before. He sized me up before turning his head and looking out into the gray mist. “Cass must have decided against a swim.” 

He got to his feet, and sure enough, a dark outline appeared in the gloom. The sound of massive wings flapping soon followed before Cassian made a smooth landing on the open veranda.

“I’ll hand you off for weapons training,” Azriel said. He watched me as I rose to my feet, showing no indication of whether anything I’d said or done today had been noteworthy or not. “Practice listening to the shadows as often as possible. It doesn’t have to be here – try it anywhere quiet, like the townhouse or a library. You may also find it easier in dim lighting where larger shadows are cast. I’ll check your progress when you return from the Summer Court.”

Azriel walked away, and apparently that was that. He drew the sword sheathed on his back and returned to his warm up exercises as if our entire training session had been no more than a momentary distraction. The fact that he’d been raised for a time without interacting with other people now made a lot of things click into place.

“Well, I tried flying as high as I could,” Cassian said, grabbing my attention. He shot me a sheepish grin. “My privates failed to freeze and fall off, so it looks like I’ll have to take your earlier threat to heart. I hope that’s acceptable when it comes to spending time together training.”

I hadn’t realized how seriously Cassian had taken our previous interaction. He seemed genuinely concerned over whether I felt comfortable in his presence. If Azriel hadn’t already extinguished any desire I had to act like an asshole, I’d probably give him grief for it, but at the moment I’d feel about as bad as if I were to kick a puppy.

“If what Rhysand has to say is true, I’m also highly coveted by the High Lord of the Summer Court,” I said, placing a hand on my hip. “As long as you’re aware of being at the bottom of the waiting list, we should be fine.”

The nervous air about Cassian faded as he chuckled. I matched his bright smile.

“Well, aren’t you a female of fine taste?” Cassian said. He approached the row of swords leaning against the wall. I caught the one he flung in my direction, working to attach the sheath to my back in a far less elegant fashion than what Azriel had done before. Cassian had already done so and was in the process of drawing his sword by the time I had it secure.

“I’m expecting to see some fancy swordplay from such a fancy lady,” Cassian said. 

Illyrian blades were thinner than the average longsword, but whatever metal they’d been forged from allowed a level of flexibility and fortitude I hadn’t witnessed before. Cassian wielded the weapon with as much assurance as if he’d been born holding the thing. I could tell he’d been restraining himself the last time our swords had crossed, our previous goal being to see if any magical effects took place when I’d tried various styles. Today, we’d be going head-to-head in a test of overall skill. Tazar, Myrin, Lucien, Mitah, Ione, and (even on a small level) Rhysand stood behind me in a line of my previous instructors that I was to represent. Cassian undoubtedly had his own line behind him, stretching back further than I could imagine. Neither of us wanted to let that legacy down.

I drew the sword from my back, adapting to the new weight in my palm. “Don’t go crying to Rhysand when you get your ass handed to you.”

A feral nature graced Cassian’s chiseled features. “You should know I’m going to be disappointed if you’re not able to back any of this up.”

I steadied my breathing, making a few practice swings. From the corner of my eye, I could see Azriel had stopped his own exercises and was watching us with his arms crossed. There was a chance it was out of curiosity; more likely than not it was to keep one of us from accidentally killing the other.

“Well, if you’re not too scared to find out what I can do,” I said, sliding into a defensive stance. “Let’s hope I can give you a good show.”

Chapter Text

“How are you feeling?” Rhysand asked. He sat on the couch at my side as we waited for Amren to arrive at the townhouse. Both of us had been up fairly early –  in general the number of hours I stayed unconscious every night had been dwindling since we’d returned from Human Territory. Rhysand hadn’t bothered to comment on it; more likely than not he slept just about as little as I did. I couldn’t be totally sure since I hadn’t seen much of him after visiting Stryga’s cottage. It felt a little odd that the two of us sitting here in near silence for the past few minutes was the longest stretch of time we’d spent together since.

“I feel fine,” I said, rotating my shoulders. “Nothing was that bad to begin with.”

Rhysand rolled his eyes. He adjusted the silver cufflinks of his black jacket for the ninth time. “It wasn’t a walk in the park for the healer to reattach the tip of your ear, you know.”

I looked away and cleared my throat. I did feel a little bad about that. Not as bad as Cassian had probably felt though, when two of his fingers had to be stuck back on as the tip of my ear had.

“I told Cass this already, but the two of you have lost your privilege to spar without my supervision,” Rhysand continued. He cut me off as I opened my mouth. “The only deaths permitted to happen within my court are ones committed by yours truly. So, the two of you can either listen to me and live to see another day, or I can snap my fingers and turn you into nothing but a bloody mist so I can have a moment of peace.”

I grumbled as I crossed my arms. “I think you’re overreacting.”

“The practice rings coated in blood beg to differ,” Rhysand said. He had the energy to scowl despite the tired nature to his gaze. “Neither of you idiots know when to yield for your own good. Cass’s fingers were hanging on by tendons. Az had to resort to shielding you two with his siphons before you morons took a moment to take in the condition you were in.”

To be fair to Rhysand, Cassian and I had possibly gotten carried away.

Once things had gotten to a certain point, my body had started moving as if on its own – looking for openings that I could use to make a crippling strike. Cassian was skilled, incredibly so, but at the end of the day I knew I was better. The slash in which I’d nearly sliced his fingers clean off had occurred when he’d blocked me from making an attempt to take his wing. I had no idea if that sort of wound was fatal … or if a healer would’ve been able to fix it, for that matter. At the time I hadn’t been thinking about any of those things. When I was in combat, focusing on my movements and strength … everything else fell away. I didn’t have to think about the headless thing stalking me, Tamlin, Lucien, this war, my home … none of it. I could just be a warrior – the one thing I was. The one thing that gave me value.

“How’s Cassian doing?” I asked, unable to meet Rhysand’s gaze. Once the rush of combat had worn off … I hadn’t stopped feeling guilty. Cassian’s fingers may’ve been the worst injury, but it hadn’t been the only one by a long shot.

“Sulking,” Rhysand said. He leaned back into the firm couch of leaf green fabric, no sign of his wings today as he crossed his arms. “You came at him at a level he didn’t expect. He wasn’t prepared to fight as if your lives were on the line, and he knows you took full advantage of that. If you’re wondering, he doesn’t resent you for it – far from it. Cass hasn’t undergone training like that since being in the camps; he took it as a wake-up call. This is why I’m not allowing you two to train again without my supervision – I have no doubt in my mind one of you would end up dead the next time your swords crossed. I swear to the Mother … I thought there was only one of you to babysit – now I have two.”

I scoffed, my retort about needing supervision cut short as the front door opened. Amren strolled in with a chill breeze, her thick blue coat nearly swallowing her up entirely. A dusting of snow fell onto the ornate rug lining the hallway as she flung back her hood.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” she said, shrugging the coat off her shoulders. Beneath it she wore a gray crop top and loose pants made of the same thin material. It made sense, considering where we were headed, but I could understand how the walk here had made her miserable.

Rhysand placed his hands on the knees of his black slacks, pushing himself to his feet. He turned and regarded me in an expectant manner. I found it off-putting as I adjusted my skirt to rise. Accepting an offered hand or an elbow at a time like this was common enough to have become second nature. It felt odd for that simple gesture to go unoffered. It wasn’t like I needed the help in any way … and for the life of me, I couldn’t quite describe why a pit suddenly opened up in my stomach.

“Well, look at you, girl,” Amren said. I could practically see the gemstones on my dress reflected in her silver eyes as I got to my feet. I wouldn’t be surprised if the dress were to disappear from my closet within the next few days and find itself crumpled on one of the clothing racks in her apartment. She could have it; if I didn’t already know Rhysand would object, I’d even ask her to swap outfits with me now.

Playing dress-up hadn't been the only activity I'd undergone this morning. First there was a lengthy chat with Nuala and Cerridwen over every little bit of information they’d relayed to Azriel since we’d first met. The fact that our conversation went on for nearly an hour gave me a clear picture of them holding nothing back. The loud, brash, and downright rude persona they’d painted based on my behavior under the Mountain had left a flush on my cheeks made up of equal parts anger and embarrassment. No wonder Azriel had no reservations over placing a dagger against my neck – he’d probably thought I was a total shithead. 

Only after I’d returned from Hewn City did I learn that their reports on me started shifting to a slightly more positive light … before the sisters admitted they began skipping certain details all together. They hadn't mentioned the frequency of my nightmares or how little I slept. Any of the offhand remarks I’d made about Lucien or the Spring Court had gone unmentioned. Other conversations such as mentions of their late father, the time they’d shown me how to make bread, or my complaints about Rhysand’s behavior (supposedly) stayed between us alone. 

Cerridwen had done a better job of hiding it, but in both their eyes I saw pity. I’d hated taking it in. Yet it meant I knew where they stood – whether through Azriel or their own volition, they were no longer going to convey any information to him I didn't already know about. They had made me that promise, and even if it went against my better judgment, I wanted to believe it. The two of them hadn't abandoned me on the day I’d been forced to visit Amarantha alone in her quarters; something about how they’d remained outside waiting, despite clearly being scared shitless, had stuck with me since then. And so I’d pushed down any reservations when it came time to fall into a familiar routine.

Cerridwen had deigned to place me in a bright yellow dress of sheer fabric striped with a countless number of small gemstones in the same color. The dress looped over my left shoulder and flowed to pool at my feet, a large slit doing nothing to hide the majority of my right leg. On top of that, the two round cutouts of the same pattern covering my breasts were quite visible beneath the material and I figured some form of magic was the only reason the area between my legs remained hidden. Despite the dress technically covering a fair amount of skin … I’d never gone about wearing something which left me feeling as exposed.

“I hope you gave that healer an extravagant tip for how well they put her back together,” Amren said. “It would’ve been a shame for us not to give the High Lord of Summer something enchanting to admire.”

Considering how unrecognizable I’d looked when I’d taken a quick glance earlier in the mirror, Nuala deserved a form of reward as well. The shimmering layers of golden and bronze paint she’d applied to my eyelids brought out more of the deep blue color of my eyes than I’d seen since becoming Fae. My crimson lips shone with hints of gold in the light and appeared much fuller and softer than normal. I wasn’t entirely fond of my hair falling over my shoulders in thick waves, finding it made my neck too damn hot, but I hadn't had the heart to fight Nuala over the fact.

I marginally lifted my free hand, balling it into a fist and returning it to my side. Nuala had also taken care applying some sort of cream to cover the scars along my neck. They weren’t gone entirely … but were far less garish. I was told that whatever the cream was would stay in place for up to a week between bathing and regular wear, however I’m sure it wouldn’t last nearly as long if I found myself unable to fight my new habit of running my fingers over the rough skin when no form of fabric was covering it up.

“I’m sure the girl will turn heads while at the Summer Court,” Amren said. Her red lips parted in a cat-like smile as her small, delicate fingers slid into the hand Rhysand lifted in her direction. “Albeit it might not be for the reasons we’re hoping for.”

I wondered if I imagined the heartbeat of hesitation before Rhysand raised his free hand to me. I gripped his calloused palm, trying to study his profile as he mumbled something which sounded suspiciously like a prayer before the world around us warped and we winnowed into darkness and rushing wind.

The first thing I absorbed a second later was the sound of seagulls. My eyes took a moment to adjust as I squinted against the midmorning Sun reflecting off turquoise waves crashing against the tall, tan-stoned platform we now stood upon. Beyond the platform, a city of the same sand-colored stone and bright red rooftops curved around a wide, crystal-clear bay cascading into the far distance. More boats than I’d ever seen at once with their crisp white sails and of all shapes and sizes floated through the bay in an idle manner – some clearly trading ships piled high with crates while others were laden with spears and nets for deep sea fishing.

My eyes followed a magnificent bridge filled with wagons and people wearing brightly colored clothes as they traveled over a number of immense arches to allow boats to pass beneath. The bridge was one of a few that connected to the side of a palace matching its majesty, said palace built into the side of a mountainous island toward the edge of the bay. I couldn’t help but crane my head back to take in the twisting spires and countless columns gleaming in a soft cream as if crafted from pearl. The smell of saltwater drifted past with a slight breeze that ruffled my hair, and I couldn’t help but compare it to the scent of the island housing the Prison. The ocean there had been beautiful in its own way … but it hadn’t elicited a sense of peace like this. I was in awe.

At the end of a long walkway connecting the platform to the side of the palace, a tall set of clouded glass doors swung outward. A group of around half a dozen High Fae strode forward, their robes and dresses in shades of delicate blues and greens billowing in their wake. I immediately locked eyes with the tall male at the center of the group. A warm feeling grew in my chest as the delight lifting my cheeks was returned with a radiant smile.

Tarquin – the High Lord of the Summer Court – was one among few I’d encountered while under the Mountain who’d been an ally. He’d carried hope for me when most hadn’t, and seen the goodness in Rhysand beneath the shadowed surface. It had been his magic which had resealed Mitah’s sword within my arm after the first task; his magic that had kept the sword there when I’d been turned Fae, and aided me months later in my fight against the Attor. For that alone I would never stop being grateful.

I slipped my hand from Rhysand’s loose grip as I lifted my skirt and hurried forward. Lucien had taught me the expected conducts to greet assorted strangers, acquaintances, and friends among the courts: 

Strangers received varying degrees of nods and pleasantries depending on their status. Acquaintances earned something similar but generally less formal after multiple meetings. Friends usually clasped hands and dropped most titles all together. In the case of a High Lord, especially if you were visiting their court, one was expected to give a slight bow until asked to rise. That should have been the action when I’d first spoken to Tarquin in the dungeons of the Mountain all those months ago. I’d already broken tradition, so there was no point trying to piece it back together, now.

I held out my hands as I met Tarquin and his group. Without hesitation, Tarquin slid my hands into his own and gave them a firm squeeze. Perhaps it was because he reminded me so much of Mitah and my home in the Spring Court that the act filled my heart with joy. Tarquin was my neighbor in a sense, and a part of the place I was meant to be – where I belonged. Even though Velaris was a beautiful city filled with more people I’d come to like than expected … Tarquin was a reminder that I could never see myself staying there forever.

“Welcome to Adriata, Jade,” Tarquin said, the rich brown skin around his turquoise eyes crinkling from his wide smile. The straight hair falling over his broad shoulders shone in the same shining pearl color as the palace at his back, the strands brushing against my own in the slight breeze. “I’m honored that you’ve taken me up on an invitation to visit. After I heard you were traveling per your bargain with the High Lord of the Night Court, I never expected he’d deign to share your company.”

I dipped my head in a laugh. “Hardly – Rhysand just doesn’t want to leave me out of his sight out of fear that I’ll break something valuable.”

An unexpected pulse ran through my body, starting at our clasped hands and radiating out to my toes and the top of my head before coming back and culminating in the sword sealed within my arm. When I looked up, nothing about Tarquin’s pleasant expression had changed. I wondered if I’d imagined it.

“If you’re making a show of being a lovestruck maiden, you’re putting on a very good performance.”

I turned to regard Rhysand over my shoulder; I didn’t want Tarquin to see my smile slip into a frown of contempt.

One – this is what you wanted, I thought, shoving the message through the bond. And two – he’s my friend and I don’t appreciate you making fun of me.

Rhysand’s lazy smile didn’t falter. His hands stayed in his pockets as he and Amren ambled up to us at a far slower pace than had been my own. I had to wonder if it was as obvious to everyone else as it was to me that the smile on Rhysand’s face didn’t reach his violet eyes in the slightest.

“It’s good to see you again, Tarquin,” Rhysand said, a carefree nature to his voice. He gestured to Amren at his side with a tilt to his chin. “I believe you and Amren have been acquainted; sometime before your unexpected ...  promotion, if I recall correctly.”

I didn’t miss the slight trace of a sharp nature to Rhysand’s voice. It was a good thing my hair was hiding most of my face from Tarquin and the group at his back since I was having trouble controlling my scowl. I knew that this was part of it; knew that Rhysand putting on the act of the cruel, self-absorbed High Lord of the Court of Nightmares was the role he was meant to play. I’d fought him adamantly on it when it had been brought up nearly a week past. Even if the act stemmed from his desire to protect his people, I felt there had to be a better way.

“I welcome you wholeheartedly back to the city, Lady Amren,” Tarquin said. He offered a small nod. “Our repairs haven’t progressed enough yet to return us to our full splendor, but I pray our hospitality will be just as welcoming as you remember.”

Amren cracked a smile and tilted her head to the side in a fashion that came nowhere near a bow. If anything, she appeared to be humoring Tarquin. “You’re much better looking than the last one. Being greeted by a High Lord as easy on the eyes as yourself is never not a pleasure.” Her silver eyes shifted to the side, landing on me. “I believe Jade here would agree.”

My cheeks grew warm as I turned away. I ended up meeting the gazes of a few of the Fae standing at Tarquin’s back, all of them with the same deep brown skin and light hair. Not a single one of them took us in with an expression bordering on offering a pleasant reception. That was to be expected … and well deserved, considering my companions appeared to be acting as if this meeting meant less than nothing.

“I’m going to assume you remember Jade, since you’re still clinging to her like a babe to a breast,” Rhysand said. He strode to my side and lifted a hand to run strands of my dark hair through his fingers. “She cleans up well, doesn’t she? A wonder what sunlight and a diet of more than moldy bread can do.”

Tarquin’s gaze of crushing blue never left Rhysand. The smile had faded into something far more regal and aloof. “I beg to differ – I think Jade shines just as brightly as she did under the Mountain. She continues to be a beacon of light in the darkness, even now.”

I couldn’t help but be flattered by the comment. I hit Rhysand with a smug expression that didn’t go unnoticed.

“Come – we’ve prepared refreshments,” Tarquin said. He shifted to the side, dropping my right hand and guiding my left to wrap around his elbow. We came face-to-face with a female figure who’d been hovering behind Tarquin’s shoulder.

“Ah, Jade – this is Cresseida, my cousin and the princess of Adriata,” Tarquin said. I fought the urge to raise a brow. Tarquin hadn’t introduced his cousin to Rhysand or our group at large, but to me, specifically. It was a passive aggressive sort of move that gave me an impression of him being much more practiced in the art of ‘court politics’ than I would’ve thought.

“It’s a pleasure, General Jade,” Cresseida said. A sharp nature shone behind her brown eyes and conveyed I needed to practice a level of wariness when speaking to her. “It’s an honor to finally meet you – my cousin speaks very highly of your character.”

I returned her genial greeting with one of my own before Tarquin moved on to introduce the other members of his group – a handful of his advisors, and Cresseida’s younger brother, Varian, who was the prince of Adriata and the captain of their guard. 

Varian and I had made one another’s acquaintance once before when Tarquin’s army had been the first outside members among the courts to arrive at the Mountain and provide aid. I recalled the stoic, solidly built captain riding near Tarquin during our respective journeys home after being freed. He hadn’t spoken a word to me then, and hardly uttered much of one now between his brown eyes darting between myself, Rhysand, and Amren. Our small band seemed to put him on edge, and I didn’t blame him for it in the slightest.

Rhysand took a place on Tarquin’s opposite side as we entered the palace and strode through shell-flecked halls lined with enough windows to be foolhardy in the face of a storm if magic wasn’t undoubtedly involved to keep them secure. I busied myself admiring sea glass chandeliers and small water features built into alcoves; Tarquin and Rhysand made small talk concerning trade routes returning to what they’d once been, along with Calanmai coming up in a month or so. I figured I’d be in the Spring Court for the holiday – Tamlin will have removed the stick from his ass by then and begged for my forgiveness to return home. If war was coming, he most certainly needed his third-in-command to lead his forces. Even someone like him wouldn’t be so stupid to turn down aid from me when he needed it.

Cresseida appeared at my side in a cascade of blue fabric like a wave coming to shore. She complimented me on my dress; I told her she didn't have to lie under the guise of flattery. I earned a few confused blinks for that before the corner of her full lips lifted slightly and she said that she really did admire the cut of the yellow diamonds … if nothing else. She compared them to a series of aquamarine gems placed in the coral-like silver necklace around her neck. I learned she had fashioned the item herself – Tarquin momentarily pausing his discussion with Rhysand concerning ‘summering’ at a location somewhere in the country to mention Cresseida was quite a skilled silversmith who’d been designing her own pieces for almost a century.

We talked at length about chainmail, Cresseida mentioning a bracelet she’d once crafted as a gift for a friend of hers in a similar fashion. Whatever conversation Rhysand and Tarquin were having fell to the back of my mind as Cresseida described a technique common in the Summer Court concerning filing metal to a smooth surface using water pressure guided by magic. Vigor swam in Cresseida’s deep brown eyes as she spoke of her passion; that spark remained even when I mentioned any pastimes I’d once had had fallen to the wayside after coming to Prythian. I explained I was decent enough at field repairs that I may take up sewing again, to which she replied that it was an admirable skill and she hoped I’d share with her any progress I made. Being around someone so vivacious lifted any of the unease I’d had prior to coming to the Summer Court. I felt much more like a relative stopping by for a visit than a stranger.

Tarquin’s advisors left us in a hurry as we entered a high-vaulted dining room of white oak inlaid with shards of green glass ranging in various shapes. Our host directed me toward a dining table crafted from mother-of-pearl, Tarquin pulling out a chair just to the right of the head of the table. I took a seat, Tarquin settling in at the head while Rhysand slid into the one directly to Tarquin’s left and facing me. From over Rhysand’s shoulders I could see the ocean stretching to the horizon in shades of pale green fading to a cobalt blue. The water was so clear I almost had trouble distinguishing where it ended and the sky began.

“It’s a stunning view,” Tarquin said. Servants arrived and were already busying themselves with pouring sparkling wine into our glasses and filling the empty plates before us with greens, fruit, and a variety of steamed shellfish. I blinked down at crab legs that were easily the length of my arm; I almost didn’t catch the question Tarquin absently tossed in my direction.

“How do these lands compare to the ones you have seen?”

I raised my eyes to the window, frowning in thought. “The shoreline here reminds me a little of the one in Bharat. Their waters are murkier, but last I saw their trading port, it was at least double the size of your own. Do you happen to trade with them?”

Cresseida had seated herself beside Rhysand, slowly lowering the glass from her lips as her gaze bore into Tarquin. That sort of reaction seemed odd for such a simple question.

“No,” Tarquin said. His eyes, the same color of the sparkling sea beyond the window, returned to me. “We don’t conduct any trade with lands outside Prythian; and even then, only within certain courts.”

I was at a loss for the strange tension now in the air. I reached for the crab leg before me with some trepidation, jumping in my seat when the thing split itself open of its own accord. Catching movement in my peripheral had me locking eyes with Rhysand and his shit-eating grin. I sent him a mental image of me taking the pointed tip of the crab leg and stabbing it into his neck. The image never made it to its intended destination as it became clear Rhysand had shut me out. What he’d just done … did he really think it was funny, or was he just trying to make it look as if he did?

Tarquin’s stoic gaze held on Rhysand for a moment too long before looking away. “Since you’ve been brought here, Jade.” He swirled the wine in his glass, making no move to take a drink. “I assume you’ve been made aware of this upcoming war with Hybern. Tell me your thoughts on its validity, and what Tamlin also thinks of the matter.”

Once again, Tarquin was addressing me while ignoring the fellow High Lord at his side. It was Rhysand’s opinions on such matters he should be asking – not me. There was nothing I had to say which could have more of a lasting impact. What the hell was happening here?

“I don’t have much to go off of with my own two eyes,” I said, feeling no point in sugarcoating the matter. Rhysand didn’t make any move to jump in, so I continued. “I know for certain the king of Hybern at least has something against me since he sent the Attor to try and bring me to him. Otherwise, all I have is the trust I’ve built in Rhysand’s court. They’re the strangest people I’ve ever met, but I don’t see any motivation for them to make something like this up.”

Tarquin exchanged a glance with Varian from down the table before returning his attention to me. “And what of Tamlin? What does he say about such things?”

I set my mouth into a firm line. “In all honesty, I don’t know. We’ve never spoken of it. If I had to guess … he would throw in his support to fight against Hybern.”

Out of guilt from looking after the humans’ wellbeing, if nothing else.

Tarquin held my gaze for a long while. I continued to get the sense that I was missing something, but I couldn’t say what. I only began to breathe easy when Tarquin slid his eyes from me.

“I’d be open to hear what details you have on Hybern you’d like to discuss, Rhysand,” Tarquin said.

“Are you certain?” Rhysand asked. He speared a strawberry from his salad with a fork, making no move to raise it to his lips. “Maybe you’d be more receptive to addressing me first on important matters if I were also to wear a garment putting the more distracting parts of my body on display. Would you prefer it if Jade and I swapped outfits before continuing our discussion?”

I caught a glimpse of that standoffish nature behind Tarquin’s eyes again. He’d seemed fairly receptive to being on friendly terms with Rhysand while under the Mountain; I couldn’t gather what had changed. Perhaps it simply came down to us no longer being in imminent danger. Even so … Rhysand had helped Tarquin and his court when he didn’t have to. There was a chance Tarquin may’ve been executed by Amarantha on the spot if Rhysand had revealed the information he’d learned from the Summer Court Fae who’d been caught trying to sneak messages to their army. By all accounts, Tarquin was in Rhysand’s debt.

“My apologies, Lord Rhysand,” Tarquin said, suddenly pulling away from the lax atmosphere Rhysand had established. The subject of his attention lifted an eyebrow as Rhysand leaned his head into his hand.

“I’ve had more chances to interact with Jade and get a sense of her character than I’ve had with you during the short time since I’ve been appointed to my position,” Tarquin continued. “Her being a general for a court who I have strong relations with also gives me all the more reason to trust her judgment. Please forgive my rudeness and my obvious lack of experience in such matters.”

It was a fine enough apology that I imagined even Rhysand couldn’t find fault with it. I was certain he’d try, but it would be difficult. This seemed to be the case as he stared at Tarquin for a moment before speaking.

“I’ll tell you everything I know,” Rhysand said. The statement was a boldfaced lie; he did an excellent job hiding it behind a haunting look drifting through his gaze. It caused Varian to sit up straighter in his seat and Tarquin to grow still. Interestingly, Cresseida watched Rhysand with a hint of skepticism; perhaps the Night Court wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.

I think you should, I thought, watching Rhysand as he leaned forward and laced his fingers together. Against the mother-of-pearl table, Rhysand looked like a stain – a gash in the painting making up the bright nature of the room and the glittering sea beyond. He’d blocked me from picking up any of his emotions since the day we’d returned from Stryga’s cottage, so I had no real way of knowing whether he felt just as out of place as he appeared.

Tell him everything, I thought. I didn’t know if any of these thoughts were making it through to him or not, although I’d still try. I bunched the material of my dress in my lap, digging my gaze into the mask he continued to wear in front of Tarquin … in front of me.

Tarquin can be trusted; just drop this stupid act and tell him the truth.

Rhysand began to describe the steps Amarantha had taken during her reign to weaken the courts – specifically taking out the High Lords who would more than likely fight the hardest against Hybern. None of what he said was false, but he also didn’t speak of anything Tarquin and his court wouldn’t have already gathered, either. I urged him once again to tell them more – to tell them about the Cauldron and the Book of Breathings. It was at this moment Rhysand’s voice drifted through my subconscious – conveying a very different message than what he spoke of to Tarquin.

“I’m doing what’s best for my home and for my people. You’re not a member of my court, Jade, and we both know your time within it is temporary. So with all due respect – know your opinion is unnecessary.”

I fought back the tremble to my lip. My gaze never left Rhysand; never faltered. I closed the shield in my mind with a snap before he could tell his words had cut me worse than if he’d come at me with a sword.

‘Secrets. Hidden. Isolate. Return.’

If anyone found it odd that I spent most of lunch staring at the shadows connecting my fork, plate, and the side of the table, they didn’t say it. I didn’t meet anyone’s gaze until Cresseida informed us that we could retire to the quarters set aside for our use before we were to head out on a barge for dinner around sunset. The idea of putting a physical wall between Rhysand and I was a welcome one and I didn’t waste any time getting to my feet.

I had almost stepped over the threshold of the dining hall when Tarquin tapped me on the shoulder. He asked if I would rather take a tour of the palace if I wasn’t too tired, and I gladly accepted. I didn’t speak a word to Rhysand or Amren as I took Tarquin’s elbow and followed him down a side hallway. Every fiber of my being was compelling me to smash Rhysand’s nose flat into his face, and I figured it was probably best for the High Lord of the Night Court to show up to dinner later unscathed.

The way Tarquin and I conversed as we walked through glass halls and decadent ballrooms ebbed and flowed with the ease of a tranquil river. I learned that he and his cousin Varian were adept sailors, the latter of which had led the armadas against Hybern during the last war. It was a topic leaving me entranced, my mind hardly taking in whatever ornate sculptures lined a spacious courtyard as Tarquin described how Hybern had been willing to destroy their own ships using explosive magic if it meant taking out a number of the enemy along with them. 

Having faced a few of my own perils at sea, I related when he spoke of the smell of blood mixed with salt water. That common feeling ended with a far away look and his cousin's recollections of fishing soldiers’ bodies from the water. Having faced sea monsters in the past, that part was familiar – where it differed were the feelings of loss along with it. Every corpse I’d ever helped to collect were strangers or near enough to one; Varian’s hands had grown wrinkled from how long he’d had to submerge them again and again to gather what had been left of people he’d considered comrades.

The more I heard others speak of it, the more it became obvious that I didn’t know war. Tarquin conveyed that Varian recounted the memories as if his side had lost all those years ago even if those fighting for the humans' rights had come away victorious. It was obvious how deeply it affected him; how Tarquin seemed to feel each loss from centuries before he was born. Tarquin was a good High Lord … and would do what was right by his people, and for Prythian as a whole.

“Do you remember that sword you sealed in my arm?” I asked. I’d waited until we were somewhere private – passing through the halls leading to a number of treasure vaults. We’d already gone through one such vault of jewelry and loose cut gems which I hadn’t taken much stock of other than what he’d pointed out being crafted by Cresseida. After refusing Tarquin’s offer to take a piece of jewelry from the collection if I wished, he followed with insisting that we see the weapon’s treasury. That was something I knew I could certainly get behind.

“I do,” Tarquin said. A mischievous nature danced behind his enchanting grin. “I was a little disappointed to learn it wasn’t that sword which ended Amarantha’s life. I very much would've liked to share with the other High Lords that it was a sword from my court which had been the one to strike the final blow.”

I laughed along with him. “Apologies, my lord. There might still be a chance for some glory yet – I ended up using it to kill the Attor, already.”

Rhysand had glossed over a vast amount with my encounter with the Attor – where we’d been, why we’d been there, and how the Attor had met its end. Tarquin had seemed satisfied enough with that explanation, and probably would’ve forgotten what came across as a footnote in the overall churnings of war had I not brought it up.

A thick stone door to our right slid open with little more than a brush of Tarquin’s hand. I followed him into a long room with high vaulted ceilings. I felt not unlike a magpie with my eyes immediately being drawn to a countless number of shining weapons, armor, and shields. I used every ounce of self-control to keep my attention focused as the door at our backs slid closed.

“I’m sure there are many things in here which would’ve also helped against the Attor,” Tarquin said. He motioned to a wooden rack holding a number of glaives with various patterns of swirls, flowers, creatures, and sailing ships carved into the wooden handles and continuing up through the metal tips. Each one was a work of artistry I’d only seen matched in the sickle Lucien had gifted me.

Tarquin picked up a glaive on the far left of a reddish wood carved with a pattern of lily pads, holding it aloft. “My father used this when –”

“Sorry,” I said. I felt bad for interrupting, but knew I’d easily get sidetracked here for hours if I allowed it. “Um … here.”

I materialized the sword sealed within my arm. However, this time I willed it into a different shape. I now held a glaive rivaling the majesty of the one Tarquin had in hand – the blue, leather-wrapped shaft connecting to a blade etched in a pattern of crashing waves. Tarquin stared at it for some time before speaking.

“This weapon … feels familiar to me,” Tarquin said, the words slow as if he wasn’t sure of his own thoughts. He set down the weapon he had in hand and approached me with cautious steps. “Is this … it reminds me of Mitah’s sword, but also … it’s like there’s part of me in this.”

“Because there is,” I said. I took a deep breath, confirming my decision, and offered Tarquin the glaive. He didn’t take it right away – looking between the glaive and myself with some trepidation before his fingers wrapped around the leather. A deep line immediately formed between his brows as he lifted it from my grasp.

“The shortsword you returned was still sealed inside me when Amarantha made me Fae,” I said. I watched as Tarquin’s heavyset frown and piercing blue eyes continued to rove over the glaive. “I can’t say if she did it on purpose, but the power she was holding onto from all the High Lords passed from her and merged with the sword. I haven’t figured out how to wield it properly yet, but I want to use that power – the power of the High Lords – to fight Hybern.”

Tarquin’s darkened gaze finally returned to me. We didn’t speak – I didn’t dare to. All I could do was wait and hope I hadn’t been wrong.

“They will kill you for this,” Tarquin said. His knuckles turned pale as his grip tightened. “This weapon carries power which had been stolen through lies and deception. It was not given willingly, and even the most generous among us would be hard pressed to allow you to keep it. If you are seen wielding this weapon in the presence of a High Lord, they very well may condemn you for it. Do you understand that?”

“I do,” I said. I kept my head high, chin up. “And they can challenge me for it, if they wish. That offer stands for you as well. If you can wield it more effectively than I can, draw out the power of all the High Lords within it, then I will consent that you will do more good with it in the upcoming war than I will.”

To my surprise, Tarquin’s hardened expression shifted. He regarded me with a soft smile. “You’ve made this offer to me before, Jade.”

Tarquin took a step forward, lifting my hand and placing the glaive in my palm. A familiar feeling of cool water running down my arm accompanied the glaive disappearing in a flash of light. Tarquin removed his fingers from my wrist, regarding the small tattoo inked in my skin.

“Just as I said under the Mountain, I believe this sword will do far more good in your hands than mine,” Tarquin continued. The tension in his shoulders eased, although his smile still conveyed a sense of worry. “Does Rhysand know about this?”

“He does.”

He nodded, a flash of conflict in his eyes before they grew clear again. “And Tamlin?”

I fought to keep a neutral expression. “No – I only discovered the sword’s abilities recently.”

Tarquin nodded again. He sized me up as he crossed his arms and tucked his hands within his draping sleeves. “You may be a warrior beyond compare, but be wary, Jade. Beron is already out for your blood, and this will only fuel his desire to see you dead. I hear you’re on friendly enough terms with Kallias, so you may be safe in that regard, but the Lords of the Dawn and Day courts … Much of their power lies in the knowledge they keep close at hand. You are carrying a piece of something important to them that you shouldn’t … I don’t foresee them taking it lightly.”

I took Tarquin’s warning to heart. And despite his assumptions, I felt that there was another High Lord I had to worry about as well. How Tamlin was going to react to finding out what I possessed … It was a hard question to answer whether he would try to use me to his advantage or simply kill me for the sword itself.

“Speak to no one else about the sword while you’re here,” Tarquin said. He gazed over the rows and shelves of weapons – of treasures. All of these things were his, but the way he’d held the glaive, and the way he looked about as if everything in here was foreign … He seemed out of place.

“I trust my cousins, but the courtiers here are not ones of my own choosing,” Tarquin continued, his tone distant. “I am a young, untested High Lord. They may very well see me allowing you to keep the sword as a sign of foolishness or cowardice. They already view me as showing signs of ineptitude in a number of topics, many of which are things I wish to change not only for the good of Adriata, but for the good of my entire court. Proper compensation for laborers … education … and an end to treating ‘Lesser Faeries’ as if they’re second-class citizens. Even the richest of the Faeries in my land who are considered ‘Lesser’ aren’t treated with the same respect as the lowest stationed High Fae. What I deal with now is an ongoing form of warfare using weapons I’m still unfamiliar with.”

Tarquin blinked, coming back to himself. He regarded me with a sheepish expression. “My apologies – my thoughts got away from me.”

I chuckled, finding the look on his face endearing. “It’s alright; I’m also new to my role – myself – sort of, so it's nice to know even a High Lord doesn’t know what the hell is going on sometimes.” My gown moved over the stone at our feet in a soft hiss as I stepped past. “And what you said about how the other Fae are treated … It's bullshit. There’s a servant at the Spring Manor, Alis, who I think is part wood wraith. She was the first person who I felt safe with when I came to Prythian, and she has just as much of a right to be as respected as anyone else. I think you should add her to your council to get the others in line – even as strong as I’ve become, the thought of Alis chiding me for a tear in my clothes or a tangle in my hair still chills me to the bone.”

I picked up a small, well-polished shield engraved with three ships. The thing could have been crafted yesterday for how immaculate the surface and oiled leather straps were on the back. I slipped my arm through the straps, admiring the impossibly smooth surface as I tilted the shield to-and-fro. "I also encountered a group of Fae who are still fighting for their rights against those who say they're not 'good enough' because of some stupid impurities to their bloodlines. As of right now, they're rising up against the bastards trying to keep them down. I'm ... not able to help them, which makes me frustrated beyond anything. All I can do is hope the encouragement I gave them is enough to help them keep going. They're good people who did nothing to warrant being treated like shit. Like you said, they deserve not to be viewed as second-class citizens. They're warriors, brave ones, who should be revered for their willingness to fight for the wellbeing of who they hold dear. It's admirable."

Tarquin approached at a slow amble, taking in the weapons about us with a lazy inspection. “You know, Jade – you’d be easy enough to fall in love with.”

“So I’ve been told,” I said, Cassian's face flashing through my mind as I put down the shield. I picked up a pointed helmet, tipping it on its side to inspect the metalwork. “You Fae have questionable tastes – the men in Human Territory only gave me attention when I pretended to be someone I wasn’t.”

“Which was?”

“Not an asshole,” I said. I set down the helmet with a hum. “And someone who doesn’t try to solve all their problems first through stabbing.”

“I think you undervalue the freedom of being in your company,” Tarquin said. He ran his fingers down the string of a longbow shelved with no less than fifty others, all in perfect condition. “Many of us are restricted from being able to speak what’s on our mind, even among family. I’d gladly risk a knife in the back if it meant I was allowed to enjoy such liberties regularly.”

Tarquin only smiled in the face of my incredulous expression. Just because I was High Fae now didn’t mean he and the rest of them were any less weird.

Chapter Text

I stuck to Tarquin’s side like a burr for the remainder of the evening. I wouldn’t have minded talking to Varian and Cresseida as well, but the former seemed hellbent on doing everything short of actually speaking to Amren as he stared at her over dinner, while the latter busied herself with keeping Rhysand in deep conversation. At the very least I was grateful Rhysand was occupied – there was more than a good chance I’d toss him over the bow of the ship if he tried uttering a word to me that wasn’t an apology. And considering it was Rhysand … death normally had to be involved in one form or another if I wanted one of those.

Instead, I busied myself with glasses of Faerie wine and Tarquin leading me on a tour of the multi-level ship which powered itself solely on magic. I marveled as we drifted through the bay without a sail in sight, having to ask Tarquin to repeat himself when he stated the majestic ship in gleaming white didn’t possess a helm because one wasn’t needed to steer. The crown Tarquin had donned for the formal dinner nearly toppled from his head when he burst into laughter from me asking where the fun was in that.

The only time Amren approached was when the ship had docked, and I found myself waiting on Tarquin along the shaded pier on his insistence of him walking me to my quarters. She slid to my side with the grace of a cat, her silver eyes locking with mine being the only inquiry needed.

I gave her a quick shake of my head before raising my brows and glancing back to the ship – to Varian. Amren pursed her lips and also shook her head. Neither of us had picked up anything about the book. After taking in Tarquin’s earlier reaction with the sword … I was now convinced more than ever that simply asking for it was the best solution. Despite what Rhysand had to say … in defiance of what Rhysand had to say … I had every intention of asking tomorrow.

Amren glanced over her shoulder at Tarquin, back to me, then made a vulgar gesture with her fingers that made even me blush. She offered a wicked smile in the face of my horrified expression before sauntering off. It was something I’d probably laugh about later, but right now I felt mortified. I also became more than a little concerned about Tarquin’s insistence to walk me to my quarters and if anything else was implied. I had to keep reminding myself that he was a gentleman – or gentle-Fae, I guess – and that surely he would keep his hands to himself … right?

I smiled at Tarquin in a manner which I hoped wasn’t too nervous as he and Varian made their way down the ship’s ramp. In their wake trailed Rhysand and Cresseida, the latter with her arm around Rhysand’s elbow and a smile lighting up her attractive features which made her nothing short of enticing. Rhysand certainly appeared to agree as the pair stepped onto the pier and passed me by as if I were a ghost. At that moment I wished more than ever I possessed magic for the sole purpose of setting the hem of his jacket on fire.

It came as a huge relief when it seemed by some miracle, my quarters didn’t appear to be near Rhysand’s. Perhaps Tarquin had picked up the atmosphere between Rhysand and his cousin and had decided a relocation on my behalf would be beneficial. I’d certainly thank him for it – the last thing I wanted to try to sleep to was the sound of Rhysand doing … that. My stomach turned at the thought.

After walking through a series of piers and a number of stairwells within the palace, Tarquin led me to a doorway at the center of a long hallway with a handle crafted from coral. As I’d hoped, he only offered me a chaste clasping of our hands in parting before excusing himself. He paused at the end of the hallway, regarding me over his shoulder with a look I couldn’t quite place before he disappeared. I watched the space where he’d been for a moment with a frown. With a final assessing glance, I entered my room.

I wondered if where this room was placed could be considered unusual since it appeared to be at sea level. Waves gently lapped against the wide glass windows, the setting Sun perfectly visible along the horizon from underneath the rocky overhang lining the view like a picture frame. It bathed the room in shades of pink and orange and gleamed over furniture crafted from mother-of-pearl. A spacious bed in plush sheets of soft pink looked more than a little inviting. I turned toward the closed door in the room … and froze. Something was off.

I moved toward the door with every ounce of stealth I possessed. Through the white wood I could hear a sound like water lapping against a shore. I listened for a moment, wondering if that had been what I’d heard, before tentatively opening the door.

A loud splash emitted from a pool of water at the far end of what seemed to be a washroom. I summoned my sword, the weapon thrumming in hand in response to being near water at the heart of the Summer Court. The water in the pool lifted and hovered in the air as if ready to crash down on my command. A completely naked figure – a male – stood with what seemed to be the closest thing they’d been able to grab as a weapon. They lowered the conch shell they had in hand in amazement at the sight of me. 

“Jade?”

“Lucien?!” I said, stunned. The water fell down in an instant, Lucien making a fairly undignified sound as he sputtered, fighting not to be swept off his feet as his red hair covered his face like a curtain.

“Why are you in my room?” I asked, struggling to figure out what was happening. “Why … why are you here?”

“I was in my room taking a bath,” Lucien said, pushing the hair back from his face. His eyes darted between me and the sword. “And I’m here in Adriata because Tarquin told me you’d be here. But … did you just do magic?”

The sword dropped to the white stone at my feet with a clang. I took a few hurried steps forward … then paused. Lucien picked up my hesitation, his golden eye narrowing as concern washed his features. “Jade … are you alright? If Rhysand has done anything to you, I swear to the Mother–”

I shook my head. My throat felt dry as I tried to swallow. “You’re not … What happened with Tamlin, are you angry about it?”

Lucien slowly shook his head as a line formed between his brows. He shifted his weight, ripples forming in the water from the generously-sized pool hugging the defined muscles of his stomach. “No, Jade – of course not. I don’t hold any ill will toward Tamlin for being unable to keep you from being taken. He’s a damn High Lord, and I know he put up a hell of a fight against those Night Court bastards. The way he looked when he’d returned that day … it was like he’d gone head-to-head with a bogge; worse, actually. It was a miracle he was even able to make it back to the estate without collapsing from blood loss.”

I blinked in confusion, my gaze roving over Lucien’s concerned features. “He didn’t … Did he tell you what happened?”

“No,” Lucien said. He tossed the shell he still had in hand aside as he came forward. Within only a few steps of him being fully outside the water, the dampness to his skin lifted away in a light cloud of steam. He cupped my jaw with a warm hand and tucked my hair behind my ear. His thumb stroked my cheek in a tender fashion as relief filled his gaze. “Thank the Cauldron you’re alright. I was worried the information Mitah had received from Tarquin may’ve been false about you coming here; it didn’t make any sense for Rhysand to risk taking you out of his territory. I couldn’t stop myself from worrying about you after I heard what you’d done in Hewn City.” Lucien shook his head with a laugh, his russet eye alight. “You started a revolution in the damn Night Court. I’m sure their bastard of a High Lord is furious.”

Rhysand was angry, in fact, but not for the reason Lucien thought. I reached up with some hesitation to place my hand over his. “Why haven’t you sent word for me to come home?”

The light behind Lucien’s eye dimmed. His elegant features grew taut. “We couldn’t find a way to contact you without Rhysand finding out about it. And Tam is … different. Whatever it was that Rhysand sent to take you away left him on edge. I don’t agree with his reasoning, but he’s under the impression that you could handle yourself. Now that you’re here, all I need to do is tell Tam to allow you through the barrier, then we can go home together.”

My stomach dropped as I absorbed his words. “Tamlin … he’s completely barred me from entering the Spring Court?”

The heat radiating from Lucien’s palm momentarily rose alongside a flare to his nostrils. This was the first time I’d ever witnessed him being angry regarding Tamlin. During every instance, Lucien always took Tamlin’s side … every instance except for now.

“He’s convinced the Night Court will try to winnow you back to the manor as some sort of trap,” Lucien said. He hummed in displeasure. “I know I wasn’t there to see what had happened … but I fought him on that. Hard. Tamlin never budged despite my best efforts. We’re lucky this chance presented itself; Tarquin has agreed to offer you asylum and we’ll get you back home by morning.”

My eyes welled with tears. Home. All I wanted was to go home – to see those forests and rivers and valleys bursting with life. I wanted to be held by Lucien in my own bed and wake up to his radiant expression every morning. I wanted things to go back to how they were … how they were before Tamlin had decided to cross me … the way they were before …

War.

The Book of Breathings – I still needed to get that damn book even if all I wanted to do was set Rhysand’s hair on fire. He’d said that my opinion didn’t matter for his court; fine. It still mattered for mine, since this was something that would affect all of Prythian. If nothing else I could get the book and take it with me back to Spring. From there he’d have no choice but to acknowledge my input and form a bridge between our courts to work against Hybern. And as for Tamlin … With the book in my possession, his opinion on the matter wasn’t really something I had to give a damn about. He’d need my help to protect our people, and that would be that.

“When are you going back to the Spring Court?” I asked, trying to gauge how much time I had.

“Tarquin will return when he’s confirmed Rhysand hasn’t noticed anything is off,” Lucien said. “Once we’re certain you won’t be missed for a few hours, he’ll give me an enhancement with his magic which will allow me to winnow straight to the manor. I’ll come right back to get you after Tamlin does the same and alters the barrier.”

The tension left my shoulders. This was fine – I could still ask Tarquin for the book when he returned. All we had to do now was wait. 

Our environment, and Lucien’s current state, suddenly flooded back into my awareness. My face immediately grew warm.

“Sorry about scaring the shit out of you,” I said, feeling sheepish. Lucien was the only person in the world who could ever make me feel that way; as if suddenly I didn't possess any more strength than a kitten.

“Do you … want to go back to your bath?” I asked, my eyes roving over his toned chest before glancing at the pool at his back. It reminded me a bit of the bath at the Moonstone Palace – the pool made to emulate a small body of water with sloped edges leading to a deep end meeting a wall of glass and the ocean beyond. Since this was a washroom, I could only assume the windows had been treated with some sort of magic to keep everything private while preserving the view.

Lucien used his finger to guide my face back to him. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Would you be opposed to joining me?”

The invitation nearly left me burning up from the inside. I smiled. “I’d be a fool to say ‘no.’”

Lucien circled behind me and started unlacing my dress. He could snap the entire garment away with magic if he wished, but he’d always been the type to find tormenting me slowly to be more fun. A shiver ran over my bare skin as Lucien finished with the laces and slid the dress from my shoulder. He rested his chin on my collarbone as he reached from behind to remove the pieces of cloth clinging to my chest. He tossed the articles aside with a low growl as he started to massage my breasts. I tilted my head back and began to pant as they grew heavy under his touch.

“Jade.”

I turned my head. Something in Lucien’s tone was off.

“Your neck,” Lucien said, his golden eye narrowing as he studied me. “What the hell caused that?”

I lifted my hand over the scars. Nuala had hidden them from sight, but they could very much so still be felt running in jagged lines across and around my entire neck. I fought down a growing feeling of dread in my gut.

“It’s nothing,” I said, lowering my hand. I leaned back into Lucien’s warmth. “It … it happened in Hewn City. I’m alright now, though.”

I flinched as Lucien lightly stroked his fingers along my neck. His touch immediately withdrew.

“Who caused this?” Lucien asked, a sharp nature to his tone. The temperature around us rose, Lucien’s chest feeling as if it may burst into flame at any moment. It reminded me of the flare of his temper I’d gotten a glimpse of earlier. It had stemmed from him wanting me back; from him needing me back. He hadn’t left me – far from it. Lucien had been like an animal stuck in a cage who’d finally figured out a way to slip between the bars and bite the bastard who jailed him. He would fight for me, scorch the earth for me, with nothing more than a direction of who was to blame.

“What caused this is something that can’t hurt me,” I said. And I felt it to be true wholeheartedly as I turned and pressed my lips to Lucien’s. As I allowed that burning hunger inside him to flow over me in a wave of heat, I knew without a doubt that Lucien could keep that horrible creature inside me at bay for good. His light would burn through the darkness and leave that thing as nothing but a burnt husk. All I had to do was stay by his side, and we’d be set ablaze together.

Lucien somehow still had the ability to make a coherent thought as my remaining undergarments disappeared with a wave of his hand. His golden arms wrapped around my hips and he lifted me off my feet in a fluid motion. I wrapped my legs around his waist as we continued to kiss, the sound of water splashing indicating Lucien taking us into the shallow pool. A jolt ran through me as the fresh, cool water contrasted with the blazing sensation of Lucien’s skin. He laid me down atop the sloped edge, the water lapping against my thighs as I watched the muscles in Lucien’s chest shift as he swept back his damp hair. His breaths grew short as I ran my hand over his pecs and down the length of his hard stomach to the curve between his hips. The way his member throbbed against my wrist indicated the touch didn’t go unappreciated.

I closed my eyes with a gasp. All Lucien had done was brush his fingers over the area between my legs, but I was certain whatever he was doing had to have been connected to magic as sparks of pleasure erupted from every area he gently caressed. He slid one finger inside me, then two, starting slow and increasing his tempo. I knew on some level I was probably hurting him from the way I gripped the back of his neck, but I’d never before found myself in a situation where I damn near forgot how to breathe. Something like tendrils of warm air made solid snaked over my skin as if Lucien were running his fingers over every inch of me. That magic culminated at the apex of my thighs, thrumming like a struck bell. Within a few short minutes, I could feel myself clenching tight around his fingers as my climax approached like a wildfire sweeping through dry underbrush.

“I was saving this for a special occasion,” Lucien said, his eyes devouring every inch of me as he leaned in close. His tongue, then his teeth, lightly grazed my right nipple before he moved on to its counterpart. “But I couldn’t stop myself from wanting to see you lose control like this. You have no idea how much I’ve missed it.”

My release hit me with the intensity of being struck by lightning. My cries in ecstasy were smothered by Lucien as he brought his lips to mine. I drove my hips forward on his fingers, gladly burning from head to toe. He pulled his hand away; soon, much too soon. I made a small, whimpering sound I hadn't been aware I was capable of. 

“Don’t worry,” Lucien said, a sly smile on his face. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

Water sloshed beneath his knees as Lucien lifted my legs and slowly slid inside me. Another jolt ran through the tail end of my orgasm as he started to thrust. I felt incapable of doing little more than gripping his hair and running my nails down his sculpted back as the pleasure which had radiated outward from my core retracted back to the spot between my legs and started to thrum with each drive against the cool stone at my back.

I couldn't articulate how much I’d missed the feeling of him being inside me. Every time Lucien had fucked me it was like he was an artist seeking to outdo himself with every new piece. His hands roved over my breasts, ribs, and hips in a manner he’d learned sent a shiver of pleasure down my spine. He adjusted the tempo of the rocking of his hips based on the sounds of my gasps as they morphed into long moans. When I pulled him closer so I could suck the golden skin on his neck, he knew it was time to give me more purchase so I could return the favor of making him unravel completely.

Lucien’s skin began to glow in a soft light as a low growl rumbled through his chest. He clutched the back of my head and wrapped an arm around my waist as he pushed back from the edge of the pool and stepped into the deep water. Light shone beneath the water’s surface reflecting like a prism throughout the room as Lucien gripped me by the thighs and slid me up and down the length of his shaft in slow, long strokes. Whether it was his magic or something about the nature of this place, he moved in and out of me with little friction, the cool water balancing our body heat. I wrapped my legs around his back, thrusting with more force as Lucien’s fingers dug into my backside and he called out my name.

Every crash of my hips was like waves against a shore eroding me away completely. I tried to bury my face against Lucien’s neck in soft gasps. Lucien gently guiding my chin up made my attempt unsuccessful; he wanted to take in every part of me as I dipped back my head, sparks of light bursting behind my lids. I let out a long gasp; my orgasm wasn't as explosive as my first had been, but it lingered and rocked through me again and again without letting up. All manners of speech escaped me as I rode a continuous wave of blinding pleasure.

Lucien’s fingers dug into my back as he swore. “Jade, that’s … that feels …”

The sensation of me continuously throbbing around him left Lucien screaming out my name as he shone in a burst of light brighter than I’d ever seen. I felt a shudder run the course of his entire body as he gasped for air as if, like me, I’d momentarily made him forget how to breathe. My resulting ecstasy only became interrupted when I felt Lucien falter as if he might dip under the water.

I yelped, wrapping my arms tighter around his neck. I felt his warm breath against my shoulder as he chuckled.

“What are you so afraid of?” Lucien asked, panting. He grinned, his broad chest heaving as I leaned back. “You know how to swim.”

“I was afraid for you, idiot,” I said. I flicked water over his teasing expression. “I was afraid you’d go under.”

“That’s not so bad,” Lucien said. He took a deep breath. Knowing that I had little choice in the matter, I also inhaled before Lucien pulled me down. We resurfaced a moment later with wide grins and hair stuck against our cheeks. I gave him another splash across the face for good measure before I placed my hands against his chest and pushed away. I winced, my legs having gone more than a little stiff from where I’d been wrapped around him like a vine.

“We’re getting one of these in our washroom,” Lucien said. He reached out as we began to float around one another in a lazy circle. He kept his fingers tightly curled around my own so I wouldn’t drift too far.

“This pool is nearly the size of our washroom,” I said, doing my best to contain my laughter. “We would have to … we would have to leave the manor.”

I’d never voiced the thought – never really thought about it much until quite recently when my return to the Spring Court suddenly seemed imminent. The only place within the manor I truly missed was our bedroom – everything else now seemed … familiar, yet unwelcome, as if belonging to a distant relative. I could no longer picture myself walking through those empty, echoing halls with the same manner of ease as I used to.

Lucien’s grip on my hand intensified. His eyes roved over me, the golden one narrowing as his smile slipped away. I kicked my legs to follow after him as he pulled me toward the edge of the pool. The moment I was free of the water and my feet touched dry tile, steam rose from the tip of my toes and moved up my body like an ascending stage curtain. Lucien’s magic left both of us entirely dry before we’d made it even halfway across the washroom.

“I’d … consider it,” Lucien said, keeping his gaze ahead. It was a response I honestly hadn’t been expecting. I figured Lucien would dismiss me outright over the idea of ever moving out of the manor. He’d stuck by Tamlin’s side now for centuries, coming to his High Lord’s defense and offering unwavering loyalty without hesitation. 

After all this time … Tamlin may have finally chosen to go down a path Lucien wasn’t willing to follow.

Chapter Text

Lucien couldn't wait until we were out of the washroom to start peppering me with questions concerning Lazul (which was still unceremoniously lying on the floor). I told him it was a topic best left for after we dressed which earned me an eye roll and a smirk. We rummaged through the drawers of our unexpected shared guest room for anything I could wear, both of us surprised to find a collection of long, ruffled dresses in a random drawer. I selected one in seafoam green, securing the buttons along the front as Lucien chuckled. I raised an inquisitive brow as he changed across the room into clothes from a knapsack he’d tucked under the bed.

“I honestly had no idea Tarquin would bring you here,” Lucien said, sliding his arms into a leaf green tunic. “I didn’t think I’d see you until it was time to winnow you home. But now I recall the request I made under the Mountain; how the two of us would share a room with a single bed while we were in Adriata. Those dresses certainly indicate Tarquin did this on purpose, and I have no doubt he got a good chuckle out of throwing my words back at me … along with you scaring the shit out of me in the process.”

I returned Lucien’s warm smile before heading back to the washroom. My sword had been abandoned in a rather undignified manner near the door, as were the scattered pieces of my previous outfit. I decided I’d deal with the clothes later as I bent to pick up Lazul. My fingers had just curled around the hilt when my attention snapped ahead to the shadows being cast about the walls from the Fae lights dimming overhead to reflect the last of the daylight fading from the horizon.

‘Messenger. Capture. Approaching. North. East. Approaching. Capture.’

I stared into the darkness, my chest starting to heave. I didn’t understand it, not all of it, but …

“We need to go,” I said, rushing back into the room. I hastily set Lazul aside as I located and pulled on a pair of sandals placed by the door.

“What?” Lucien asked. He glanced at the empty washroom before looking back at me. “What happened?”

“Someone’s coming – from both the north and eastern quadrants of the palace,” I said. I picked up my sword, tentatively opening the door to the hallway. Thankfully, all seemed quiet. “Are you armed?”

“I have a few daggers,” Lucien said. He appeared at my shoulder, the sound of his mechanical eye whirring as he looked left and right. “How do you know someone is coming? And who?”

“The shadows told me,” I said, grasping Lucien’s hand. I tugged on his arm and began leading us to the right – down the hallway leading south. “And I don’t know – I’ll try again to see if I can find out.”

We turned a corner and I began retracing the route Tarquin and I had taken here earlier. It would lead us to the pier, from which we could potentially find a better vantage point and figure out what the hell was going on. I quickened our step as we passed through a tall archway and into the courtyard with a number of sculptures Tarquin had shown me earlier.

“The shadows told you?” Lucien said. My hand found resistance as Lucien came to a sudden stop in the middle of the courtyard. I whipped around and hissed for him to get going, but he didn’t budge.

“Is that … Night Court magic?” Lucien asked, worry tainting his features. The scar against his cheek paled as the color drained from his face. “Jade … have you sworn loyalty to the Night Court?”

I scoffed. “Are you kidding? No – of course not. It just turns out that the shadowsinging thing is something I can do. I honestly don’t even know what sort of magic it counts as.”

Lucien’s eyes grew wide, his metal eye dilating. "Shadowsinging? Jade – that isn’t possible. The last anyone’s ever heard of a shadowsinger was during the war five hundred years ago; before I was even born. If this is something Rhysand told you, he’s lying to manipulate you somehow into thinking–”

“It isn’t Rhysand,” I snapped, cutting him short. “Not every damn thing circles back around to Rhysand, alright? The guy is an asshat on his best days, but he still gives a shit about doing what’s right; at least about some things.”

Even if he doesn’t want me to be any part of it.

Lucien regarded me as if I were speaking a foreign language. “What are you talking about? He stole you, Jade – kidnapped you and tried to force you into doing Cauldron-knows-what before you were able to fight back and start an uprising. And now he has you trailing after him like you’re some sort of wild animal he’s broken and turned into a house pet. How is any of that ‘right?’”

But that’s not what happened. What happened was …

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Lucien watched me in desperation as he waited for an explanation that would clear everything up. I had trouble finding the words, trying to figure out how to explain what had happened with Tamlin and everything after. Tamlin had tried to kill me over nothing – just a minor disagreement. He could’ve walked away, and he didn’t. All I did was defend myself when he lost his temper and came after me. It was his fault; it was all Tamlin’s fault. Would Lucien believe me? Would Lucien take my side? Would Lucien look at me after I tell him what had happened and see … that thing from the Ouroboros?

My head snapped around from the sound of a soft whistle. Leaning in the south-facing threshold of the courtyard was Amren. Her arms were crossed as she regarded me with a cool expression, the silver in her eyes glowing to reflect the moonlight illuminating the courtyard. With her pale skin and still features, she looked every bit like the elegant marble statues surrounding Lucien and I on all sides.

Whether Lucien and Amren were somehow already acquainted, or if he could simply tell just from looking at her that Amren was other, a trace of fear and alarm snaked through his scent. His muscles tensed in preparation to either fight or flee. Before I could open my mouth to tell him neither was necessary, another figure separated themselves from the shadows at Amren’s back.

Pinpricks of light danced over Rhysand’s jacket as he came to stop at Amren’s shoulder. His violet eyes lingered on Lazul, then the hand I had clasped with Lucien’s, before slowly rising to my face. His expression was entirely unreadable.

Seeing Rhysand prompted Lucien to take immediate action. I had to lean around his shoulder when he moved to block me from Rhysand’s view entirely. His mechanical eye whirred as it narrowed, remaining fixed on Rhysand as the temperature began to rise. I had no doubt flames would erupt if Rhysand so much as moved an inch forward. I placed my hand over the tense muscles of Lucien’s forearm, conveying a silent urge for him to keep his composure.

“Come on, girl,” Amren said, gesturing behind her with a tilt to her head. “Unless you took a liking to the Prison last time you went for a visit, you’ll want to come with us if you don’t want to become a permanent resident.”

My eyes grew wide. I looked between Amren and Rhysand as I tried to make any sense of what had just been said. “What the hell are you talking about?”

"A messenger came from the Spring Court.”

Lucien and I turned. From the north-facing threshold appeared Tarquin, Varian, Cresseida, and a number of guards. The guards in their shining blue armor formed a barrier blocking the exit at their backs. The spears they had in hand tilted until they all pointed forward.

“Jade has been exiled from the Spring Court,” Varian said, his brown eyes boring into me as if expecting an attack at any moment. “Her rank has been stripped and she faces criminal charges for the attempted assassination of High Lord Tamlin. An order for her capture has been issued and must be obeyed by any of the courts of Prythian harboring her, lest they wish to break our founding treaty. They’re demanding her to be returned to the Spring Court for judgment, where the High Lord will decide whether she’ll face imprisonment or execution.”

Exiled. I’m … exiled.

My home. It was gone. I was no longer a member of the Spring Court; a member of anywhere. I’d lost my clan along with my humanity, and now this. And on top of that … Now I was being hunted.

“Stand down!”

My eyes snapped to Lucien. He stood tall, masking the rage I could feel boiling in his blood from where he gripped my palm. His eye shone with grim determination. “I’m the emissary of the Spring Court, and this is the first I’m hearing of such declaration," he barked. "From where I stand, Jade is still considered a general of my court and I will take any offensive action against her as the Summer Court initiating an invasion of the Spring Court. Unless the messenger was Tamlin himself, I am the highest-ranking member of the Spring Court present, and you will all yield from taking any action against Jade until I can confirm the validity of this claim.”

Varian’s expression twisted. “Clearly, Emissary, you’re biased.”

Tarquin held up a hand to the side, silencing his cousin. Varian eyed him in a wary fashion but kept his mouth shut.

“This I will allow, Emissary Lucien,” Tarquin said, his tone matching his level expression. The aloof nature about him reminded me of the carefree, flippant mask Rhysand would put on for the benefit of the other courts. None of the High Lords seemed capable of putting their true faces forward … a notion which caused my lips to pull back in a tight line.

“Although,” Tarquin continued. He crossed his arms within the sleeves of his robe. “The messenger is indeed a credible source.”

The wall of guards momentarily parted for a figure to step forward. Both Lucien and I tensed as we caught a glimpse of a deep-cut vest in a familiar shade of blue, a languid stride, and long, dark hair reflecting purple in the moonlight.

“I may be the messenger, but I still agree with Master Lucien’s decision,” Mitah said. A weak smile grew on his face as he took me in. Despite everything … seeing Mitah was like a fresh gust of air blowing into my lungs. A fraction of my tension melted away as I held his reassuring gaze.

“No harm exists in validating the claim,” Mitah said. “As far as Lord Tamlin is aware, Jade is still residing in the Night Court, and there’s no risk to Summer if they choose against taking immediate action.”

“And if she escapes during that time?” Varian asked, Mitah being the new object of his ire. “What consequences will we have to pay then, cousin?”

“I will assure you that Jade will be staying put until Master Lucien’s return,” Mitah said. He emerged fully into the moonlight, taking casual steps in my direction before stopping at my side. A playful smile graced his features as he turned to look behind us. “I’ll make sure of it.”

I followed Mitah’s gaze. Still within the shadows, Amren looked less than amused. But Rhysand … I’d never seen Rhysand seem small.

Rhysand could probably flatten this courtyard and everyone in it with little trouble. A single snap of his fingers would be all that was needed for the statues scattered about to find themselves in his company alone as the rest of us floated away in a cloud of bloody mist. Rhysand was the most powerful High Lord ever known. He had nothing, and no one, to fear on the entire continent of Prythian. From every rumor I'd heard, Rhysand was untouchable. 

It made it all the more rattling Rhysand now seemed petrified in the presence of someone who by all accounts he could kill in an afterthought. The twinkling lights within the shadows of his aura snuffed out; the damn High Lord of the Night Court ready to curl into the darkness and disappear entirely. I couldn’t imagine what the hell sort of training Mitah must’ve put Rhysand through in the past to warrant a reaction like that.

My attention left Rhysand as Lucien pulled me into a tight embrace. I blinked, taking in the sensation of his warmth and being hit with how much I craved it. I exhaled sharply before returning the embrace. Lucien would fix this. He had to.

“I’m going to go speak with Tamlin,” Lucien said, running his fingers through my hair. “I don’t know what the hell is happening, but the fact that this message was sent out while I was away from the court leaves me wary. Stick close to Mitah and I’ll return soon. And I’m going to bring you home, Jade. I’m going to bring you home because this will be the last time I’m ever going to let you go. While you’ve been gone … I’ve done nothing but regret not going through with what I started when we’d visited the Winter Court. You are my strength, Jade; you saw the beauty in something broken and showed me that my heart was worth being put back together. I love you with everything I am, and I promise I’m going to give you a proper proposal when we return.”

My heart ached. I clutched the back of Lucien’s tunic, my hand shaking from my desire to never let go … to never again doubt whether I would see him again. I wished more than anything I possessed the sort of magic which could rush us off to somewhere remote and safe that only we’d know. There we could remain and just be happy to have each other.

“And I promise that I’m going to say yes when I return,” I said, my tears sinking into the green material of his tunic. “You’re my soul – my everything – and I’m going to say yes.”

Lucien placed a kiss on my forehead. He took a step back, wiping at the tears on my cheeks with a loving expression. My shoulders received a long squeeze before Lucien looked overhead. He shared a silent conversation with Mitah, my bare shoulders feeling a draft as Lucien withdrew. My heart felt like shattering to pieces as I watched him stride toward Tarquin with purpose. He exchanged a few terse words with the High Lord before Tarquin reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. Lucien looked back at me a final time, holding my gaze as he vanished.

The front doors opened with a crash against the marble walls as I stormed through the threshold. I’d used far too much magic for the task; I couldn’t find it in myself to give a damn over the crumbling molding. All that mattered was the door at the end of the hall and the person behind it. My High Lord, my friend … my savior. For a time, decades, Tamlin had been everything to me. He’d listened when no one else would and accepted me into his court without hesitation when I’d needed aid. He’d protected me from my bloodthirsty family who wanted to cut me down as if I were nothing more than a loose thread fraying at the edges. I’d been given a purpose here, a family, a home. It was an existence I thought I’d be perfectly content in forever until the day Tamlin came through the same doors at my back carrying an unconscious woman from the Human Realm who he’d said had killed Andras. I knew everything would be different from that point … although never in the way it turned out.

I didn’t bother knocking as I pushed open the door to Tamlin’s study. No doubt whatsoever swam through my mind over whether or not Tamlin would be there. And like I’d thought, sitting at his desk behind stacks of various books and loose papers, was Tamlin. Unlike what I’d imagined … he wasn’t alone.

Ianthe straightened, adjusting her blue robes from where she’d been kneeling beside Tamlin’s chair. Her hand remained atop his, her delicate features laced with melancholy. I didn’t believe the look to be genuine for a second.

“Now may not be the best time, Master Lucien,” Ianthe said. She looked back to Tamlin, his head dipped and his free hand covering his eyes as if he were trying to block the rest of the world out. I wouldn’t allow him the liberty.

“Leave us,” I said, staring Ianthe down. “That’s an order.”

“She stays.”

Tamlin dropped his hand. My breath caught in my chest as I took in the sight. Tamlin had been weeping. It was something I never in all my years in his company had I seen. Even when soldier after soldier had been confirmed dead after being sent across the Wall during Amarantha’s reign, I never saw Tamlin break down in public. Perhaps it had something to do with his heart having been cursed into turning to stone … but even then, I could still feel traces of his sorrow seep through every time he felt another of their life forces snuff out. For this to be happening now … it could only mean one thing.

“Do you actually believe it?” I asked, fighting back the shock. “Tam – you can’t truly believe Jade would ever try to harm you. What had happened under the Mountain hadn’t been her fault; you know that. And that time in the garden a few weeks back … that had been Rhysand. All of this started happening the moment he set foot into this court. He had a hold over her once, but I know Jade has broken it and is able to defend herself from his influence. She’s your friend, Tam, and not the one you should be blaming here.”

“I’m sorry, Lucien.” Tamlin closed his eyes, sitting still for some time. Ianthe continued to stand at his side, squeezing his fingers and looking as if she were fighting back tears herself.

“I know Rhysand; I know his magic,” Tamlin continued, keeping his head lowered. “What Jade did wasn’t a part of his influence. I won’t shy away from admitting I’m partially to blame; she goaded me, and I didn’t back down as I should have. She came at me with deadly force and I responded in kind. As her High Lord … I should have tried to help her, to incapacitate her and get to the bottom of what was wrong. But I let my anger get the better of me and all I could think about was punishing her for her insolence. That was … something my father would’ve done, and I’m ashamed of myself for it.”

Tamlin sounded haunted; broken. The rage threatening to boil over and fuel me into destroying everything in sight lowered into a simmer and threatened to dissipate entirely. At the end of the day … at the end of everything … Tamlin was still my friend. My friend who was suffering.

‘I think one day Tamlin and I might kill each other,’ Jade had once said.

Her eyes had been downcast when she’d said those words. It had been the night of Calanmai nearly a year ago; only a year ago.

‘Neither of us hold back when we’re angry,’ Jade had continued. She’d looked up at me then with a heartbreaking expression.

‘I’ll continue to challenge him at every turn until I cross a line I shouldn’t and pay the price for it. And I think … Tamlin knows that.’

“Tam, if what you’re saying is true …” I said, picking my words carefully. “… then what explanation is there for it? Why would Jade, of her own volition, attempt to kill you? What would she have to gain?”

Silver bangles clinked against one another as Ianthe wiped away the tears in her eyes. “Power, I fear. I felt it when Jade confronted me the night we met – an unbridled, churning desire for destruction sleeps within her. For whatever reason her ire seems to be focused mainly on Lord Tamlin as a target. Perhaps she has decided her loyalties are more in line with the Night Court and wished to act upon Rhysand’s wishes; it’s no secret he despises Tamlin.”

I held myself back from telling Ianthe to slide her forked tongue back within her teeth. It would be no use losing my composure here – not when something so precious hung in the balance. Ianthe would be a difficult opponent, but this was the sort of challenge I’d been in training for centuries to face head-on.

“Then what of Hewn City?” I asked, holding those teal eyes without a whisper of hesitation in the face of her tears. “If Jade so desperately wanted to prove her new loyalty to Rhysand, why throw the city at the heart of his court into chaos?”

“As a distraction,” Ianthe said. She looked at me with pity. Others would take it as empathy, I read the true message behind it:

‘I, too, am well versed in this game.’

“The Night Court plans to align themselves with Hybern,” Ianthe said. She shook her head as her lip trembled. “The ransacking of the temples to the north … the deaths of my sisters … all of that is of Hybern and the Night Court’s doing. The whispers of revolution in Hewn City have been a means to keep others looking elsewhere while the Night Court makes its move. My sisters fleeing the territory have told the rest of us that the court is amassing their forces of Illyrians in the north and have made whatever promises to Jade she desires in exchange for the hold she has over the armies of the Autumn Court. If she isn’t soon brought to face justice … then I fear we will be on the verge of a horrible, destructive war.”

I bared my teeth in the face of her passive expression. “Jade would never ally herself with Hybern! I’ve also heard rumors of their gathering forces, but it would be to take down the Wall and reclaim humans as slaves. You may have forgotten, since you and your family were conveniently away from Prythian during Amarantha’s reign, but Jade had once been human herself. There’s nothing in this world anyone could promise her that would make her slaughter her former people.”

"A court, perhaps?” Ianthe said, doing a fine act of sounding uncertain. “Since you were there, I’m sure you must have heard about all the instances Jade visited Rhysand’s personal quarters while she was undergoing her trials. I don’t blame her – surely, she was only doing what she felt the need to in order to survive. But if Rhysand has an eye on her power and wishes to take it as his own … a ladyship would be a tempting station to offer.”

Something dark shifted in my chest. It was a seed which had planted itself the day Jade had left me stunned when I’d first spotted her brandishing that repulsive tattoo on her back marking her bargain with Rhysand. My feelings had been more aligned with fear than jealousy then, only shifting in the time after the Mountain when Jade would do nothing but speak in Rhysand’s defense whenever the topic came up. I wasn’t fool enough to deny her recounting of the events left me viewing Rhysand in a different light than before. I still hated him for murdering Tamlin’s mother in cold blood along with all the torment he directed at Tamlin over the years, but I could recognize a shard of something admirable.

Which, as it turned out, made things worse. If Rhysand wasn’t a monster as everyone claimed … then the mental link he shared with Jade left them at liberty to speak when they were apart and grow closer in a manner not unlike what I’d heard concerning mating bonds. Jade had spoken before of speaking to him through dreams; it wasn’t outside the possibility for that to have continued even with her lying in my arms. She’d denied being in love with Rhysand when I’d asked, and I had no reason to doubt her words, yet …

‘There’s a thing connecting Rhysand and I that’s like … I’m a part of something,’ Jade had said, a tenderness to her gaze. ‘That we’re a part of something.’

Jade had smiled while looking into the middle distance. ‘It’s just … nice feeling like I’m never alone.’

Rhysand had the power to make sure Jade was never alone. Even when trapped under the Mountain … he’d made sure of that. He had the ability to keep her by his side no matter what tried to come between them. I was nothing more than an exiled prince who had no title or power bordering on anything close to that ability. If I had to fight to keep myself from losing her … would I even stand a chance to win?

‘You’re my soul – my everything – and I’m going to say yes.’

I took a steadying breath, lifting my head. Jade had made her choice; I needed to follow through. For her.

“Jade has no interest in Rhysand,” I said, instilling every level of firmness into my voice as I could. “Her heart isn’t fickle, and she’s not the type of female to use romance and sexual favors as a means to get what she wants.”

Ianthe didn’t miss the targeted jab at her character. A shadow passed over her innocent expression.

“I asked Jade to marry me, Tam,” I said, shifting my attention. I held Tamlin’s stare as he lifted his head to regard me with wide green eyes flecked with amber. All I could do now was hope to reach a part of him not shrouded in fear. “We’re going to get married as soon as she returns home. She misses us – misses you. Please just let her come home. Whatever happened, we can work it all out together.”

Tamlin’s throat bobbed as he held my stare. A glimmer of determination shone behind his eyes which I hadn’t seen since the day of the Tithe. I allowed a relieved smile to cross my face.

“Have you been in contact with her?”

I turned my head, regarding Ianthe with a frown. “What?”

“You asked Jade to marry you, which means you’ve been in contact with her since the day of the Tithe,” Ianthe said. She clutched at her chest, shaking her head as her eyes grew wide. “Master Lucien … are you telling the truth? If you are, it means you went directly against Tamlin’s orders to do so. Is that where you’ve been for the past day – seeing Jade?”

My eyes darted back to Tamlin. A hardened nature seeped through his features as his eyes narrowed. “Lucien … is this true, or are you trying to tell some elaborate lie to win me over?”

No. No. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. I’d been so close – so damn close. And Jade … if Tamlin learned of her current location … asked Tarquin to hand her over …

“I asked her the morning of the Tithe – before everything happened,” I said, doing everything I could to cover my tracks. “It was unofficial, and I was hoping to make a more proper proposal at a different time … but she’d said yes.”

“And her saying that she ‘misses you?’” Ianthe asked, not giving me an inch. “Was that simply … speculation?”

“Yes,” I said, without hesitation. “Of course. There’s no doubt in anyone’s mind that she’d miss us.”

At that moment a knock came at my back. I looked over my shoulder, watching as the door cracked open from Tamlin’s command to enter. A short sentry with honey-blonde hair bowed in Tamlin’s presence.

“Lord Tamlin, we’ve received an urgent message from the Summer Court.”

I could’ve sworn my heart stopped. My eyes zeroed in on the letter the sentry had in hand as they passed me by and held it aloft. I highly considered burning it – but that could only make things worse. It was possible the correspondence came from Tarquin, speaking of other matters entirely and acting as a distraction.

The sentry made a silent exit as Tamlin read the letter. Ianthe’s hood shaded her eyes, but I could tell she’d positioned herself to read it over his shoulder. Dread coursed through my veins as a smile touched her full lips.

“This message says Jade is currently visiting the palace in Adriata alongside Rhysand,” Tamlin said. He slowly lowered the letter. That devastating anger which I’d earlier prayed would overtake Tamlin in order to get Jade back now made an appearance at the worst time possible. Tamlin placed his hands on the arms of his chair, raising himself to his full height. He stared me down from across the desk – that visage of a threatening, regal High Lord making an appearance for the first time since the Tithe.

“I’m being asked to confirm if the message I’d released to all the courts about her exile and the attempt she made on my life is true,” Tamlin continued, voice low. His large hands balled into fists. “Tell me, Lucien – when you saw her in Adriata today, what version of events did she tell you concerning what happened between us?”

That letter wasn't from Tarquin; it couldn't have been. Even if the High Lord of Summer’s faith in me was considered variable, he trusted Mitah with his life. No reason existed for him to send a letter asking for verification of Tamlin’s demands as long as Mitah assured I would return with an answer. What the hell was going on? Who had sent that damn letter? And at this point … how the fuck was I supposed to proceed?

I should have told Tamlin the truth. I should have told him the damn truth. Nothing I could say now mattered. Tamlin’s trust in me had been shattered completely.

“Ianthe,” Tamlin said. He turned to the priestess at his side as she offered him a small bow. With little more than a flick of his hand, a sealed letter appeared between his fingers. He stared at it for a moment before it disappeared in a flash of green light. “I’ve sent a correspondence to the outpost we have closest to the Summer Court border. They’ll be able to winnow the message into Tarquin’s hands within the hour. Please inform the sentries to be on alert for the arrival of Summer Court forces transporting a prisoner.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

“Tam,” I said, my heart rate rising as I watched Ianthe slide past me. “Tam – please. I don’t know what happened, but surely you can–”

“Then I’ll tell you,” Tamlin said. He made no move to sit, a sharp alertness growing behind his eyes as he looked out the window into the dark garden. His reflection staring back at me turned my blood to ice.

“I know you love her,” Tamlin said. He turned to face me, no trace of the melancholy he’d been drenched in before. This was Tamlin – High Lord of the Spring Court. Fear still swam behind his gaze, but now he seemed ready to face it. “Jade … there’s something foul inside her. I don’t know what it is, but I think it’s going to eat her alive and put its sights on the rest of us, next.”

Chapter Text

“So.”

This was the first word spoken since our group had entered the spacious sitting area half an hour ago. The floor was so reflective it nearly glowed in the moonlight coming in from the wide windows. Some sort of brownish-purple reeds had been used to weave the lounging furniture topped with plush white cushions scattered about. Tables of cloudy glass peppered the room brandishing decorations of large shells, coral, and vases heavy with dahlia flowers in every color imaginable. The only sound to be heard about the spacious room had been the distant lapping of the shore below. That was, until Rhysand had taken it upon himself to speak.

“Is it safe for me to assume, Cresseida, that everything from today had just been a very thorough act?”

Cresseida sat in a chair to my right. In contrast to my rigid posture, she seemed rather relaxed. I watched her size Rhysand up without an ounce of shame. “It was,” she said, chin held high.

Rhysand shot her a wink from where he was leaning against the wall at the far end of the room. “Well, I enjoyed the show wholeheartedly. If I ask nicely, do you think we could retreat into a closet for an encore?”

I felt Tarquin tense at my side. He sat ramrod straight on the couch, his eyes having never left Rhysand or Amren from where they leaned or sat at the other end of the room. It was a stark contrast to Mitah on my left, who lounged with his arm draped on the cushion above my shoulders and one leg crossed over the other. An obvious divide bisected the room and I could practically feel the tension thrumming in the air from Rhysand’s attempt to cross the threshold.

“Perhaps I would,” Cresseida said. To her credit she didn’t appear as rattled by Rhysand’s remark as her cousin. “But … Well, let’s just say your instrument isn’t my first choice, and on top of that I prefer to play something a little more fine-tuned.”

Mitah’s wide eyes likely reflected my own. Amren had no shame, her bark of amusement echoing throughout the room. Tarquin and Rhysand both seemed equally unamused by the comment.

It’s what you get for goading her and playing the asshole, I thought. I’d reopened my shield the second we’d sat down. I’d waited for Rhysand to say something, anything, about what had been going on … but he’d remained silent.

“What is it you plan on doing, Rhysand?” Tarquin asked, his voice cutting through the air like a cold snap. The clear blue nature of his eyes turned to ice. “I can tell you now – you will not be returning to the Night Court with Jade in tow.”

“I respectfully disagree,” Rhysand quickly countered. He kept his gaze firmly locked on Tarquin as his handsome features framed a dazzling smile. “If Jade wants to live, she’ll be back in my territory by morning.”

Tarquin let out a laugh with no humor behind it. “Do you honestly believe Tamlin would mark her for execution? What I witnessed with my own eyes while under the Mountain makes it hard to believe such an extreme case of animosity exists between Jade and her High Lord. I have my doubts on the validity of the message we received.”

I had fought for Tamlin; bled for him. Nearly died for him. For months. There’d been a time where his life had been the most important thing to me more than anything. When had … that changed?

“I think Tamlin and Jade are like oil and water,” Rhysand said. He picked an invisible speck of dirt from his jacket, flicking it away. “No matter how much you push them together to try to make them coexist … it never quite works. Tamlin is aware of this, along with being able to identify Jade as a serious threat. The soldier in him – the strategist – would know that the most effective way for him to win would be to remove her from the board entirely.”

My temperament flipped on its head as I balled my hands into fists. Tamlin wouldn’t dare. And if he did … if he tried … I’d much sooner remove his head from his shoulders than the other way around. In fact, I would welcome an invitation back to the Spring Court under those circumstances. I would show that damn bastard just who was stronger, who was faster, who was better at killing. I would–

“Perhaps Tamlin would surprise you with his empathy.”

I flinched. I turned to regard Mitah, his languid gaze fixed ahead. “Lord Tamlin isn’t who he once was from even less than a year ago,” he continued. “Jade here put some of his actions into perspective, and I believe he’s made drastic improvements. Could the same be said for you, Lord Rhysand?”

I felt an ache in my chest. With a start, I realized it wasn’t my own. Somehow this feeling had snaked its way through our link against Rhysand’s best intentions. His face was a blank mask … but underneath swam heartbreak. The admiration Rhysand still carried for Mitah after all this time must’ve run far deeper than he’d previously let on. Cassian wasn’t the only one who should’ve been worried over such a fateful reunion.

That false, lazy grin returned to Rhysand’s face. “Well, I can say she’s certainly been a test to my patience. Trouble follows her everywhere she goes, and it seems the Summer Court is no exception.”

Rhysand ignored both the scowl and feeling of irritation I shot in his direction. The fact that he still refused to even look at me left my blood boiling … and my stomach twisting. What the hell had happened for him to continue acting like this? I’d done what he’d asked – reached out to my sister, trained with the members of his court, gone to Stryga’s cottage, and then came here to get myself caught up in this damn mess. What the hell more could he want from me?

“I suppose Jade’s benefits to you must still outweigh the risks,” Mitah said. His tone and the upturn to the corner of his lips kept his message light, although even I could feel a weight in his gaze which was probably doing a commendable job of crushing Rhysand’s spirit. “I’m sure she would make another valuable tool to your arsenal. It looks like you inherited your father’s gift of collecting things which catch your eye and twisting them to fit your desires.”

Rhysand hit Mitah with a grin laced in warning. At least he did externally; internally, that crushing weight in my chest returned.

“Mitah, you can stop,” I said. I pursed my lips in response to him regarding me in a curious manner. “Just … don’t bother with him. He isn’t worth it.”

Mitah hummed. He removed his arm from the cushion behind me, placing it on my knee. “I think we’re overdue for some catching up. Let’s get some fresh air, hmm?”

We didn’t head out either of the doors connecting to a hallway – Varian was standing guard outside and wouldn’t let us, anyway. Instead we slipped out a small door leading to an open balcony which looked out over the vast city far below. As unguarded as it seemed, we’d been told a number of soldiers stood at the ready in case a certain High Lord were to try and escape by air since winnowing through the palace wards wasn't an option. Considering it was Rhysand being talked about, saying the threat was empty was an understatement. What seemingly kept him at bay was knowing he’d have to get through both Tarquin and Mitah to get to me. 

Although, I couldn't see why the hell that mattered; Rhysand had already made it more than clear enough that I didn't have a place in the Night Court. Tamlin wasn't the only High Lord who seemed to hate the sight of me.

The sharp windchill cutting through me like a knife made me wish for more than just a damn sundress. Mitah turned away from the sweeping view, quickly picking up on my discomfort and putting an arm around my shoulders to give me a gentle pat. With it, I felt a barrier go up – the same sort of silencing ward Tamlin had put over us once back at the manor.

“Jade, I need you to tell me the truth.”

Mitah’s demeanor flipped as if he’d been waiting for this moment since he arrived. His youthful appearance always shifted into looking a decade older after the presence of a hard line between his brows and his mouth dipping into a frown. This must’ve been the face Rhysand was more familiar with, and I could understand wholeheartedly why it left him scared shitless.

“Did you really make an attempt at Lord Tamlin’s life?” Mitah asked. His gaze dug into me like a shovel penetrating soft earth. I felt that I had less defense against him dragging information from my mind than I did with even Rhysand. If I tried, I could shut Rhysand out. With Mitah, it was like he already knew the truth and just needed me to confirm it.

“Tamlin attacked me,” I said, fighting to hold his stare.

“First?”

I hesitated. He did, technically. That explosion which had sent me flying back had been the first physical attack we’d made on one another. Even if I had shoved him before that. A few times. And belittled him; insulted him. Mocked his ability to lead his people.

He deserved it. He deserved it. He deserved it. He deserved it.

Tamlin deserves to die.

“I don’t remember,” I said, looking away. I stared out over the ocean as I caught my breath. Something inside me shifted as if waking from a long slumber.

“You’ve always been a terrible liar,” Mitah said. He gripped me by the shoulders, turning me to face him. “Why, Jade? What did you do – what did Lord Tamlin do – to make you go after him with the intention of taking his life?”

“He …” I grit my teeth, holding my chin high. “He deserved it.”

“Why?”

“For what he did!” I shouted, shoving Mitah’s hands away.

“What did he do, Jade?” Mitah said, no trace of anger in his voice.

I backed away, clutching at the material of my dress above my chest as the muscles beneath it grew taut. “I couldn't save them! He took my family away; he took everything! It’s his fault I’m alone! If I don’t kill him, he’ll take even more away! He–!”

Mitah clapped a hand over my mouth. I nearly sunk my teeth into his palm for the transgression. What saved him from losing a finger was a shadow cast by the railing catching my attention, shifting in a manner I didn't understand. I looked back to Mitah’s face in time to note his eyes wandering above me. 

Mitah moved in a blur of movement, grasping me around the waist and flinging both of us over the side of the railing. I caught a glimpse of two crossbow bolts shattering against the stone where we'd once been.

The scene disappeared in an instant as we continued to freefall. I narrowed my eyes against the wind filled with salt spray as I took in the spires rushing past and the rocky shore below growing closer with every hurried breath. Mitah had resealed the sword within my arm, but I couldn’t be sure if I could make it take the shape of anything useful. I may have had no choice than giving it a shot, considering it was either that or dying.

More crossbow bolts whipped past. Where the hell they were coming from, I couldn’t say, but at least Mitah seemed to have had an idea since he’d altered our position to be out of range. He adjusted his grip to hug me tightly to his chest as the sound of crashing waves filled my ears. Mitah had pinned my right arm against him, and I struggled to reach out for my sword. My attempt to summon it was quickly swatted away with a slap to my wrist.

“You bast–!”

The rest of my curse went right back down my throat as our freefall stopped and we shot over the water. I stared at the dark, passing waves, unconvinced that what I was seeing was real for a moment. I slowly turned my head to the side, my brows rising in astonishment.

Logically, it made sense. Rhysand had mentioned before that Mitah was half Illyrian, so like Rhysand, he possessed the ability to summon wings. But these … They looked nothing like the wings on any of the other Illyrians I’d seen so far. They were nearly transparent, white veins filling their expanse like the spreading branches of a birch tree. Their surface was completely smooth and devoid of any talons; the shape of the wings reminded me more of the triangular-like sail of a ship than of a bat’s. I couldn’t use anything short of the word ‘stunning’ to describe them.

“Did any of the ash wood hit you?!”

I flinched, cursing myself for getting distracted. I met Mitah’s concerned expression with a firm shake of my head. “No! You?”

“Just a hit to my pride,” Mitah said. With a beat of his wings, we changed course, sailing along the length of the shoreline. We continued to put distance between ourselves and the palace. “An assassin getting so close without me noticing is a sign of losing my touch in my old age.”

Assassin?!

Rhysand!

I looked over Mitah’s shoulder, staring at the blurred image of the palace I could make out through his wings. Had Rhysand also been …?

“Jade! Where the hell are you?!”

I exhaled sharply in relief.

I’m with Mitah – we’re alright. Are you all okay?

“Fine,” came the quick reply. “All of us except for Varian and Cresseida. They got to Varian outside the door, and Cresseida intercepted someone posing as a messenger from the Spring Court before they could get too close to Tarquin. They’re hurt, but not fatally. We were all slowed down when the bastard doused us in Faebane powder as they made to escape. Unfortunately for them I don’t need magic to crack someone’s skull open with a conch shell.”

Are there more of them?

“Unsure. Most of Tarquin’s forces are unaffected and we’re going to do a sweep of the palace. You’re safe with Mitah, so stay with him for now.”

It looks like a life-or-death situation was all it took for Rhysand to get his head out of his ass and speak to me again. I slumped in equal parts exasperation and reassurance, leaning my head against Mitah’s shoulder as the tension started to drain from my body.

“Rhysand?” Mitah asked, watching me with concern. “Is he alright?”

“Yeah – everyone is fine,” I said, catching myself. “Mostly fine. Rhysand said they all just got hit with something called Faebane, which doesn’t sound too dangerous.”

Mitah hummed. “It isn’t fatal, but it can render us weak and without magic. That sort of poison … I haven’t heard about many instances of it since the war against Hybern.”

My stomach dropped. Hybern? This was Hybern? Was I their target – was it Tarquin, or Rhysand? We’d been visiting the Summer Court for less than a day … What sort of spy network did they have to know where to find us so quickly?

“Tarquin told me that Rhysand was here to speak of an alliance against an upcoming war with Hybern,” Mitah said. He made no move to go back to the palace, circling over the shore in a wide radius. Considering how those assassins had appeared when we’d least expected it, I was certain he wanted to wait until we had a definitive all clear to return.

“What are Rhysand’s real motives?” Mitah asked. He kept his eyes ahead, and across his face I caught something … sad.

“Finding allies to go up against Hybern is his real motive,” I said. I hesitated for only a moment before continuing. “And so is collecting Tarquin’s half of the Book of Breathings. He believes the king of Hybern intends to use the Cauldron to take out the Wall, and that book is the only thing we can think of to stop it.”

Mitah looked at me as if all the salt spray I’d been inhaling had scrambled my brain. “The Book of Breathings? That paperweight?”

I raised my brows. I recalled the Bone Carver referring to it as ‘decorative,’ but this was on another level.

“That thing isn’t written in a language anyone can read,” Mitah said, perplexed. “It won’t do much good aside from flattening a spider. Even if it really is effective against the Cauldron – which you need to circle back around to, by the by.”

By the time I’d finished my retelling of the events relating to Hybern, I was internally cursing whoever the hell provided me with nothing more than a sundress as a clothing option. Mitah’s body heat helped, but he either didn’t possess the ability or the wherewithal to put up a shield against the cold like Rhysand normally would. I hugged myself as tightly as I could in the wake of Mitah flying in circles as he processed the information.

“The place you mentioned,” Mitah said, his voice sounding distant. “Velaris, you said?”

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I’d been so hasty in going over everything which had happened that I’d simply mentioned the townhouse and Velaris in an afterthought. I now wanted more than anything for Mitah not to return to the palace – I’d rather lose a toe or two to the cold than face Rhysand tearing a limb off.

“Yeah, it’s … nice,” I said, deciding that my grave had already been dug, so I might as well lie in it. “There are a bunch of different types of Faeries who live there – not just High Fae. And they have art and music and stuff; I haven’t really taken the time to see much of it. It’s peaceful and sort of reminds me of how the atmosphere is here in Adriata. I know that Rhysand is really proud of it.”

Something gleamed in the back of Mitah’s eye. “Is he, now?”

“I wasn’t … supposed to say anything about it,” I said, wincing. “It’s this big secret that’s been kept for like, four thousand years or something. It’s got a bunch of wards and Rhysand even erased it from people’s memories to keep it from getting discovered. And that’s why … It's why Rhysand keeps going around acting like a shithead. He wants people to think that he’s this evil bastard who loves to kill and torment people so that they stay away. And it works. Even though it works … I think it’s tearing him up inside.”

“It sounds like you two have something in common.”

I raised my eyes, unsure of what Mitah could mean. He sighed and shook his head as he took me in. “You need to go back to the Night Court, Jade. It’s not safe for you to try and return to the Spring Court right now – for you or for Lord Tamlin. Whatever transpired between you two … I need to hear Lord Tamlin’s recounting of events. All of us need some time to sort things through before doing anything rash.”

Mitah’s expression softened as he met my gaze. I swam in that vast expanse of tranquil blue. Perhaps … he’d acquired that centered, relaxed stillness after leaving the Night Court. After he’d discovered that there had been more to his life than killing based on the simple direction of another. The Mitah Rhysand had known had been chained to an Illyrian king as if he’d held no more value than an animal. I had to wonder if Mitah would have been especially hard on Rhysand because he would have seen a younger reflection of himself; a half – an other. Mitah had trained me while I’d been human with far more persistence than any other Fae would have ever done. He may have looked at me and Rhysand through the same lens, working to make us strong enough so we couldn’t be chained down like Mitah had been. 

“Lord Rhysand didn’t take you unwillingly from our court, did he?” Mitah asked, using a tone which conveyed he already knew the answer I would give.

I let out a long sigh. “He … sort of. It was … more to separate Tamlin and I than anything. The thing keeping me from returning to Spring hasn’t been him.”

Mitah nodded. “The correspondences he sent concerning returning you home weren’t a trick at all; they were genuine. Well, now don’t I seem foolish?”

Learning Rhysand had sent multiple requests to send me back wasn't surprising. Even if he’d been helping me … that eagerness to get me out of his court still stung.

“Despite what Lord Rhysand has said this evening,” Mitah said, a nature to his voice which made it seem he had been as far away in his thoughts as I had been. “His actions make it very clear he’s not willing to leave you behind in a dire situation. That sort of attitude … it’s more in line with the youngling I knew. He always looked out for his brothers, his kin, no matter the cost. I think he considers you in that light as well.”

His kin?

Did Rhysand … really? The way he’d been acting recently didn’t support that in the slightest. All I’d felt was like a wall had been going up between us – each instance of him not looking me in the eye and keeping his distance putting up another brick.

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Mitah, I have to go back to Spring. Lucien–”

“Master Lucien would be just as receptive to watching your execution as I would be,” Mitah said. The corner of his mouth tilted up. “If the context isn’t clear – that would be: ‘not at all.’”

“Mitah …”

“Please be patient, Jade,” Mitah said. He squeezed my arm tight in a comforting gesture. “I’m a sap for seeing younglings like you two intertwine in the trappings of love. I’m not quite sure exactly what’s happening … but hopefully things can be sorted out peacefully.”

I deflated against Mitah’s chest. It was going to take everything I had to keep myself together in the face of not knowing when I’d see Lucien again. Being High Fae meant that years, decades, even centuries could go by in that time due to how slowly things here seemed to progress. I didn’t think there was any way I’d make it even a fraction that long.

All I wanted … was to go home. I wanted to stop feeling like a tiny boat set adrift in the vast ocean below. I wanted to be able to close my eyes and stop seeing that thing that was supposedly me. I wanted the scars on my neck to fade, and to be able to experience happiness again. Because the only time I seemed to be truly happy was when I was with Lucien. Everything else … everything was soiled in darkness and shadow.

“Have we been given the all-clear to return?” Mitah asked. It took me a moment for the question to register. He raised his brows as I hit him with an incredulous look.

“Do you think we’d be out here freezing my ass off if Rhysand hadn’t yet reached out to tell me we can come back?” I asked, my eyelids drooping.

Mitah surprised me by throwing back his head with a laugh. He grinned in a playful fashion. “Jade, my starlight – Rhysand doesn’t have use of his magic right now. The only way you can speak to him through this link you two have is if you reach out.”

The way I froze had nothing to do with the temperature. I cursed beneath my breath and reached out with my mind.

Hey; can you hear me?

“By the damn Mother – finally! Where the hell are you?”

I sucked in air through my teeth, closing the connection. The quick nod I have to Mitah was a signal enough for him to start flying back toward the palace.

The Sun had worked its way up and over the hills of Adriata by the time the atmosphere in the palace began to settle.

Seven assassins had been located overall – all of them dead. The last body which had been unceremoniously dragged in by Amren had been tossed into the center of the sunroom we’d all been gathered in the night prior. Even with a chunk of her magic gone, the mangled bits of what had been left of the assassin’s face didn’t leave me questioning what Amren was still capable of.

Those which had been initially captured alive for interrogation had all successfully downed a small vial of liquid in one way or another. After an examination, the palace healer concluded that the liquid had burned through the assassins’ innards faster than their bodies could heal, eventually reaching their hearts and turning them to dust. Searching through the assassins’ clothes of muted grays and browns didn’t yield more vials for inspection. It wasn’t until I held an empty one up to my nose, earning me a disapproving slap from Amren, did something click in my memory.

“It’s concentrate,” I said, forcing out the words between coughs. A simple whiff from the vial left my sinuses on fire. It took a minute for my nostrils to not feel as if they’d been drenched in acid before I could continue. “I used something similar to this to coat weapons when I used to fight Fae as a human. My brother was the one who’d made the solution, but I guess taking ashwood sap and rendering it down isn’t a novel concept.”

Rhysand let out a low hum in thought as he rolled another empty vial between his fingers. “The attackers didn’t coat their weapons in the concentrate – they only used Faebane. If their weapons had been coated in this, there would’ve been a very good chance Adriata would no longer have a prince or a princess. I think this means that Hybern was looking to capture, not kill, their target.”

Rhysand’s eyes slid to me. It was the second time today I’d felt truly ‘seen’ by him, the first being when Mitah and I had returned to the balcony and found Rhysand, Amren, and Tarquin deep in conversation over the corpses of the assassins. Relief had been in all their gazes when they’d turned to regard us; save for Rhysand. He revealed nothing externally or through the mental shield he had up. His violet eyes had only sized me up for a moment before he’d looked away to continue his conversation.

“It sounds like you’re the target of another kidnapping attempt, girl,” Amren said. She gave the corpse at her feet a kick for nothing more than the hell of it. “It must be flattering to feel so desirable.”

I scoffed as I looked away from the corpses. Tarquin had ordered Rhysand, Amren, and I to stay put – erecting a barrier around the sunroom along with the two dozen guards stationed in the hallways and balcony. He and Mitah had gone to check on Varian and Cresseida’s status and get further updates concerning if anyone else suspicious had been apprehended.

“I think those damn ash arrows would be an argument that they very much wanted to kill me,” I said. “If any of those had hit me in a vital spot, I wouldn’t have made it.”

The sensation of being watched caused me to turn my head. I met Rhysand’s gaze, the two of us staring at one another without a trace of emotion before he looked away.

“They assembled themselves too quickly,” Rhysand said. He slid his hands into his pockets, turning to take in the city coming to life with the sunrise. “Either we have someone leaking information, or Tarquin does, and I know it sure as hell isn’t us.”

“My money is on it being the prince or the princess,” Amren said. She sprawled on one of the couches with a stretch which seemed a little too casual considering the situation. “It would explain why the would-be kidnappers didn’t use something deadlier than Faebane – sustaining a minor injury would be an easy way for us to dismiss them from suspicion and have us chasing our tails.”

The thoughtful sound Rhysand made as he began to pace indicated he wasn’t convinced. “I’ve been vaguely acquainted with both Varian and Cresseida since the time of the war. I have little doubt they could be behind this if they believed it to be for the good of the people of the Summer Court. However, I don’t think either would make a move without Tarquin’s blessing. Those two practically raised him and hold him in high regard. And if we’re certain Tarquin isn’t behind this – which I am – then they’re eliminated from all suspicion.”

A puff of air escaped Amren’s nose as she regarded the ceiling with half-closed lids. “I honestly thought it would turn out to be the ‘happy-go-lucky’ one who threw Jade off the balcony … until they came sailing back sometime later. I take it he’s part Illyrian, unless it’s more common than I thought for members of the Summer Court to float around on wings that look like they came from a flying fish.”

Rhysand turned to Amren with a half-smile. "A warning, Amren – the unique nature of Mitah’s wings meant he received a lot of shit from the other warriors. The way he went about earning their respect was to beat every one of them unconscious – sometimes even multiple at once. At the end of the day, you could probably take him down, but I wouldn’t press your luck.”

Amren rolled her eyes. “You’re a High Lord, you know. You could just order me to shut my mouth.”

“But then you wouldn’t learn,” Rhysand said, his smile growing wide. The subject of his teasing regarded him as if he were a misbehaving child.

Our heads turned in tandem at the sound of approaching footsteps. Amren rose from the couch, joining Rhysand and I as we stepped around the corpses and met Tarquin and Mitah as they crossed through the barrier at the far end of the room. The lack of distress on their features caused some of the tension in my gut to uncoil even if my heart still sank. Lucien hadn’t returned any time during the night; whether that was due to Tamlin, or through his own volition … I had no idea.

“The effects of the Faebane appear to have worn off,” Tarquin said. He looked between Rhysand and Amren to confirm, the High Lord nodding in a satisfied manner when they didn’t disagree. “Our cousins should be fully healed and back on their feet by this evening. And as for you three … I’m afraid I’m going to have to request for you to cut your visit short in light of passing events.”

Amren hummed, sizing up Tarquin in a way which would’ve seemed detached if her eyes didn't glow with a haunting inner light. “‘You three,’ is it? And where is it you plan to send Jade, Lord of Summer? To the north … or to the south?”

“To the north,” Tarquin said, no trace of hesitation in his words. “I’d keep her here in Adriata if there wasn't a clear vulnerability in my own defenses. I believe she will be kept safe there. From what I’ve perceived, my outlook of the Night Court may have been incorrect.”

I thanked the Mother Rhysand had closed his mental shield again. If Mitah had told Tarquin about Velaris as I suspected … an ash arrow through the heart would be welcome compared to what Rhysand would do to me.

“We need time to sort through what’s happening,” Tarquin continued. “Both within the Spring Court, and outside Prythian as a whole when it comes to Hybern.”

“I’m hoping we can pick up talks again sooner than later,” Rhysand said, tucking his hands in his pockets. “I believe Hybern has done me the favor of showcasing themselves as a threat worth taking note of.”

“I certainly won’t shy from the opportunity, Lord Rhysand,” Tarquin said. He gifted Rhysand with a cordial nod. To my surprise … Rhysand returned it. This also seemed to come as a pleasant surprise for Tarquin as his expression brightened. “In the meantime, I’ve been informed I have something in my possession which may help you gain a foothold in the upcoming conflict.”

Tarquin produced a narrow, lead box from his sleeve. Even though there was nothing significant at all about it, I could still feel a tingle like goosebumps spread over my skin. I watched Rhysand as he only stared at the box and made no motion to take it.

“Is this …?” Rhysand said, his voice trailing off.

“The Book of Breathings,” Tarquin said. The stunned nature on Rhysand’s face caused his smile to widen. “Mitah has informed me of many things … one of which is that this is something you require to cripple the power of the Cauldron. If I’m being honest, most of what he told me sounded like something out of a tale meant for younglings. But if this threat is real, and you believe you can stop it, then I’m not going to risk jeopardizing my people’s safety.”

Rhysand’s hands slowly curled around the box. He was smart enough to figure out how Mitah, then Tarquin, would have learned of the Cauldron and the plan to disable it. Like I had been all night, I was left guessing his feelings on the matter; whether I'd done something worthy of praise or if I was going to get told off for revealing vital information with consulting anyone else, first. I kept my focus locked on Rhysand as a muscle feathered in his jaw and he raised his head.

“Thank you," Rhysand said. Genuine relief washed through his voice; his eyes. "I’m … I’m grateful that you’re entrusting me with something as important to your people as this.”

Tarquin accepted the thanks with a nod. “It isn’t a problem; considering I’m the only one who can access where it was hidden, no one will notice its absence. And Mitah insisted he could vouch for your character. The people who my cousin has chosen to put his faith in have yet to let me down.”

Tarquin glanced my way. I used every ounce of my will to put on a weak smile. With each passing moment of it becoming more and more clear that I wouldn't be going back to Spring … that Lucien wasn’t coming back … Rage, sorrow, and frustration rolled inside me like a brewing storm. It was as if I’d suddenly found myself in a body where my skin was far too tight.

“That book isn’t the only thing we’re entrusting to you, Lord Rhysand,” Mitah said. A warm nature grew behind his eyes as Rhysand shifted his attention. “Jade’s training will be your responsibility while she’s visiting your court. I hear she’s already begun lessons with Cassian and Azriel – that’s good. They’re fine warriors just as you are, and I’m sure you can help her grow. Just be aware that she’s a fast learner so you’ll have to stay on your toes. Ah!”

Mitah snapped as if a sudden thought struck him. I hadn’t noticed it before … but I’d seen that same mannerism in Rhysand. Small things, like the way Rhysand tilted his head when being coy, or how his tone changed when he was angry, were the same as Mitah’s. Seven years was like the blink of an eye to High Fae, yet somehow those seven years had left enough of an impact on Rhysand to emulate Mitah; to emulate his teacher in more ways than just on the battlefield.

“It’s been a little over five hundred years – but I have the humility to admit I didn’t do something important,” Mitah said. “I never voiced how I felt when you, Cassian, and little Azriel passed the Blood Rite and reached the status of Carynthian. My heart nearly exploded with pride when you three winnowed into camp – broken, bloodied, and only on your feet because you all worked to prop each other up. But the fact that you had appeared at all meant you three had succeeded in scaling Ramiel and touching the monolith.”

Mitah’s resulting smile rivaled the sunrise in its splendor. “All of you had worked to the bone to reach that point – and not one of you ever turned your back on the other, even when I’d tried pitting you against each other to get stronger. It turned out that it was that defiance against me which drove you all to something greater. I don’t care much for the Illyrians or their principals these days … but I suppose if I have to share the space of the top-ranked warriors with anyone … I’m glad it’s you three.”

Rhysand tucked the box into his jacket and slid his hands into his pockets in a swift motion. It did little to hide the fact that he was trembling, but even Amren seemed compelled not to call him out on it.

“I’ll pass that message along,” Rhysand said. His violet eyes roved over Mitah a final time before he stepped to the side to place himself between Amren and I. “Thank you for your hospitality, Tarquin. Here’s to hoping our next visit is far less eventful.”

In a wave of swirling darkness, frigid cold, and a twisting feeling in my chest ... Tarquin and Mitah vanished as we winnowed back to the Night Court.

Chapter Text

“For you.”

I stared at the lead box being offered. My eyes slowly tracked up the black sleeve of Rhysand’s jacket until I met his level expression. We had been back in the Night Court for all of ten seconds, and I countered his keen gaze with a wrinkle to my nose.

“I’m not touching that,” I spat.

“Go on, girl,” Amren said. She sat on the worn green couch with a satisfied sigh, crossing her legs and propping her arms against the backrest without a care in the world. Yesterday she seemed eager to leave Velaris and its chill winter behind; today she basked in the warmth of the fireplace in Rhysand’s townhome and would be hard pressed to leave. After what we all went through in less than a day, I couldn’t blame her. To that end, she couldn't blame me, either, for just wanting to be left alone.

“Open the box and take a look,” Amren said, white teeth gleaming in her sly smile. “There are rumors abound concerning any number of unspeakable things happening to those who open the Book of Breathings. At the end of the day, they are just rumors … until proven otherwise, anyway.”

My eyes snapped back to Rhysand. “Screw that – make Amren open the box.”

“Amren can take a long walk off a short pier,” Rhysand said, staring daggers at his second-in-command. This earned him a playful wink from the subject of his irritation. “I know for a fact we’d never get our hands on the book if Amren tried; she’d either scare it or piss it off enough to leave it locked for eternity.”

I had no interest in wasting my breath explaining to Rhysand that he was talking about the feelings of a fucking book. A scoff escaped me instead.

“I’m not in the mood.” I turned toward the stairs leading to the bedrooms, having every intention to find something small I could crush to dust within my palm. For the sake of getting the damn book, I’d kept the howling vortex inside me compressed down as far as I could get it to go. Now the chords I’d put in place were beginning to snap like a weathered net. I needed to get away from Amren, Rhysand, and … everything.

“I don’t give a shit.”

Rhysand blocked my path, the metal box between us like a barrier. His gaze darkened. “I’m not giving you a choice. Everything around us hinges on this; it’s too important for you to ‘not be in the mood.’”

The chords inside me snapped. I pulled my lips back in a snarl. “Get the hell out of my way. I don’t want to be here. You and this piece of shit city can go fuck yourselves.”

The temperature in the room plummeted despite the fireplace crackling as intensely as ever. Each of the worn books on the shelves, pieces of furniture, and various carvings and other knickknacks scattered about took on a sinister nature as the very light from the fire and windows were choked away. The shadows creeping in the corners and blooming from our silhouettes like bleeding wounds didn't end there - they snaked over Rhysand’s shoulders, shifting in a rhythmic dance as they engulfed him in cold flame. One message repeating itself again and again came through loud and clear:

‘Cut.’

I wasn’t practiced enough to tell if the message was a signal of Rhysand’s feelings or a warning. If it was the former ... good. Rhysand was powerful; here in his own territory he may as well be a god. A hit to his pride was the most effective weapon I had to create a wound that lingered.

But if the feeling I'd picked up was the latter, and he was looking to cut me down … I held my ground and steeled my own gaze. I wouldn't give him the pleasure of yielding; consequences be damned. Whatever type of hurt he was looking to inflict, I dared him to fucking try.

Rhysand’s expression twisted. His face settled into a counter of my own - a sneer. “Do you know the first territory in Prythian that’s going to fall the second the Wall crumbles? Why don’t you give it a guess, love?”

A clamp gripped my heart. It squeezed. The dread coursing through my veins amplified tenfold when a feeling like nails screeching over stone resonated against my mental shield. Rhysand wasn't trying to break through; he knew he didn't have to. His words terrified me enough.

“Ah, I think she’s got it,” Rhysand said. He tilted his head, offering the box with that same sickening grin.

"Rhys."

A warning laced Amren's tone. It went ignored entirely.

“The Spring Court is the first line of defense," Rhysand said. His voice was soft; husky - as if speaking to a lover. I recognized it from Calanmai, then again from his first visit to Tamlin's manor when he'd asked for my name. His tone was sweet, seductive ... and full of no genuine kindness behind it. "It'll be the first territory that’ll get reduced to nothing but mud, bones, and ash if that Wall comes down and Hybern marches north. So, I suggest you stop acting like a spoiled child who’s been doing nothing but leech off the hospitality of this ‘piece of shit city,’ and open the damn box.”

Rhysand’s face twisted into something repulsive; I fought every urge I had to spit in it. He only continued to watch me with that blinding, fake smile which I hadn’t seen directed at me since under the Mountain. I snatched the box from his fingers, looking away before giving him the satisfaction of noticing how much it got to me; how isolated it made me feel.

Fucking prick.

I put my back to the room at large, hands shaking from more than just the magic I could feel crawling over my skin like ants. My ruffled sundress did little to fight against the cold seeping through my bones; I sat on the worn red carpet close enough to the fireplace for cinders to brush my hem. Despite being inches from the twisting flames, I still felt chilled to my core. I shuddered as I dropped the box before me in a less than elegant manner. Firelight danced over the inconspicuous surface in a rhythmic pattern. I watched it with narrowed eyes.

I’ll do this. I’ll deal with this fucking book and the damn Cauldron, then I’ll leave this city. I don’t even give a shit where I go. What’s the point in staying here? I’m not wanted.

A shadow sneaking into my peripheral vision was a clear indication of Rhysand’s dwindling patience. It was more than a little tempting to grab one of the nearby chairs and break his damn kneecaps. A low sound from Amren indicated her own feelings of indignation; who's expense it was aimed at, though, was hard to determine. I clenched my jaw as my fingers brushed the smooth surface of the box. I did everything I could to clear my mind.

“Who are you?” a voice asked. It was obvious the voice was coming from inside my head. What differentiated it from Rhysand was it lacked the air of a pretentious prick.

“Who are you? What are you? Let me smell you; let me see you. Who are you? Who are you? Who are you?”

Of course, the damn book talks. I found myself less than thrilled over the fact as I curled my fingers around the lid to the lead box.

“Should we wait for the others?” Amren asked, voicing a question a little late for the fact.

“Mor’s heading from the Court of Nightmares; Cass is coming from Windhaven,” Rhysand said, a sharp snap lingering in his tone. “Az is south of the Wall and will be here as soon as he can.”

Amren hummed as if this news was satisfactory. “Well, I guess if this goes poorly, at least all of us don’t have to die.”

I curled my fingers around the edge of the lid, straining and hoping that it wasn't going to be the last damn thing I ever do.

Open, I thought.

“Who are you?” the voice – the book – asked. “Will you read me?”

What the hell do you think a book is for? I thought, scowling. I put more effort into prying open the lid. Just open the damn box.

“Say please,” the book replied with a sing-song tone.

I seriously considered throwing the box into the fire. My arms began to shake from the strain of trying to pry the lid even a fraction askew – I used enough force to split a boulder and it still didn’t budge. I muttered a string of curses under my breath.

Please, I thought. 

I’d thrown as much venom behind the word as my mind would allow. A feeling like a shock of electricity pricked my palms and nearly caused me to drop the box. Although the book hadn’t said a word, I had a feeling the jolt of pain had been intentional. I also had the sudden notion that the next time I tried lifting the lid … it would open without issue.

“Like calls to like,” the book said, the sound dreamy and far away as if being spoken across an empty hall. “Unmade and made. Made and unmade. Made and unmade and made. That is the cycle. A curse calls to the cursed. Crown-Cleaver … Creature of three. A blade of front, back, and edge. The edge, forgotten, but still sharp. And horrid. A stain upon this realm; a blot. That is what you are.”

I heard Amren scoff. “Well, that’s a bit harsh.”

The lid to the box had squeaked open, and I’d been halfway to pulling back the hinge entirely when I whipped my head around. “You could hear that?”

Amren’s silver eyes blinked in a languid fashion. “Not what you were saying to the thing – but we could hear the book’s reply, yes. It doesn’t come across as being terribly fond of you, does it, girl?”

I scoffed, returning my attention to the box. “Who gives a shit if a damn book likes me?”

The lid came away to reveal a book crafted from plates forged of a dark metal. The pages were held together by three thick rings made of gold, silver, and bronze. Carved with deep, flawless precision were words in a sweeping script on the cover. It was immediately obvious the script was in a language I was unfamiliar with. Mitah’s description of this book being little more than a ‘paperweight’ appeared to be on the mark.

“Rhysand.”

I looked over my shoulder. Rhysand kept his eyes locked on the book in my hands, not so much as glancing to the side in the face of Amren speaking his name. Concern raced through me as I took in the stunned look overtaking Amren’s normally composed features.

“Did you know?” Amren asked, her quicksilver eyes shifting from Rhysand to the book. She stared at it for some time as if it were an object she’d lost long ago and never expected to find again. “Did you know this book was written in the Leshon Hakodesh; the holy tongue?”

“I suspected,” Rhysand said, his eyes roving over the object in my hands. “I heard rumors about mighty beings who penned the book soon after the Cauldron’s making, then vanished. This all hinged on the sliver of hope that someone who predated this time – someone like you – could read it.”

Amren dared to hit Rhysand with a dirty look before returning her attention back to the book. “You and your damn games; I don’t find them nearly as amusing when I’m on the brunt end of it.”

“Even if you could win a prize?” Rhysand asked. At this, a tender nature touched his features that neither Amren nor I had been expecting. “What’s written in here could be the key to undoing your binding and setting you free. This could be the key to sending you home, Amren.” Rhysand paused, sizing me up from the corner of his eye before looking away. “And if this stops the war, it could be the key to sending you both home.”

Laughable. Tamlin would probably let the entire damn world burn down before allowing me back in Spring. I was already known as the ‘Savior of Prythian’ and he’d still marked me for death. How would this be any different?

I set my jaw, unwilling to acknowledge the feeling rattling in my chest. Instead, I exhaled sharply through my nose before looking at Amren. “So, you just need to teach me to read this thing, right?”

Amren blinked, the substance of my question appearing to knock her out of whatever daze she’d been under. “You? No, girl – this language is beyond something a creature like you could understand. After we retrieve the second half and I can decode what’s within, I may be able to instruct you on the spell needed to bind the Cauldron’s power. That is as far as you’d be able to go.”

“Bullshit!”

The book hit the carpet with a loud thud, Rhysand and Amren flinching as if I’d thrown an exploding canister of poison. I placed my hands on my knees and leaned forward with a furrow to my brow. “You’re already teaching me how to do spells, so just add this one on.”

“You can’t read it,” Amren said, her delicate nostrils flaring. “Don’t make me repeat myself again. This language is –”

“For nearly ten years, reading was all I had,” I said. I held my hand up flat, using my other hand to form a ‘V’ with my fingers and swipe them over my palm as if flipping through the pages of a book. “I couldn’t hear; I couldn’t speak … and so I read. I read scrolls, tablets, and books. I read lips, body language, signs made with hands, and now damn shadows. If there’s one thing I can do with the same amount of confidence as wielding a sword, it’s read. So, don’t you dare sit there and tell me this is something I can’t learn how to do.”

Amren raised an arched brow. “With only one half of the book … The best case scenario is learning a minuscule fraction of the power this book can wield; the worst is that you’ll cause a spell to backfire and obliterate you out of existence, body and soul.”

“Don’t tell me you’re too much of a coward to even try?”

Amren’s smile twisted her features into something vulpine. The couch let out a soft squeak as she moved forward to grip the edge of the cushion beneath her. “Perhaps you can learn, girl. The question is … would it really be wise for me to teach you such terrible, unspeakable things? Can you be trusted with that sort of power … Jade?”

I caught a glimpse of what she meant within her eyes – a taste of power that weaved through the silver fog of her irises like a caged beast. Perhaps it was a glimpse of who Amren really was; what Amren really was. It was nothing short of horrifying and hypnotic.

The sound of someone pounding at the front door caused me to flinch. A clouded, winged figure could be seen through the fogged glass separating the hallway from the foyer.

Rhysand let out a silent curse. “I forgot to adjust the wards so Az could use his shadows to get in; hold on.” With that, Rhysand strode down the hallway. His greeting with Azriel was brief as they turned and approached the sitting room.

At first, I thought the look of pure animosity across Azriel’s handsome features was directed at the book at my side. I wouldn’t blame him – the book certainly wasn’t exuding any sort of aura I’d label as ‘pleasant.’ It took a moment to realize the object which was the subject of Azriel’s displeasure was me.

“What crawled up your ass and died?” I asked, meeting Azriel’s scowl with a sneer.

The corner of Azriel’s mouth twitched as his eyes darkened. He pulled a folded slip of paper from a slit in the side of his armor, holding it out to Rhysand. He didn’t so much as pause in his effort to burn a hole through my head as Rhysand opened the letter and started to read.

“By the damn Mother.”

Now Rhysand was staring at me, although his gaze held far less malice and far more perplexity as if I’d suddenly changed species before his eyes (again). I sat back in apprehension.

“Are you two going to share with the class or just stand there like fools?” Amren asked, her tone reflecting my own annoyance.

Rhysand cleared his throat, tucking his free hand into his pocket. He glanced at his brother before looking back to the letter. “Despite rendering all of Az’s previous spy efforts from the past few months useless … This is good news. We received correspondence from Jade’s sister – Myrin.”

The book of breathings knocked against my heel in an afterthought as I scrambled to my feet. I tried to read anything I could from Rhysand’s expression, fighting to keep my breaths steady as my heart threatened to pound out of my chest. Myrin – it was Myrin. If nothing else, she was alright. The feeling of relief cutting through me was something I didn’t know I needed.

“I guess considering what I’ve witnessed from you, this shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise,” Rhysand continued. He turned the letter around to display a round, golden seal with a symbol that sparked something vague in my memory. The crest stamped in the wax was that of a shield topped with a six-pointed crown bearing four quadrants, each side flanked by a dragon. Even though there was no color to be had other than gold, my mind filled in the blanks:

The dragons … one is black, the other is white. The sword in the upper right part of the shield is red, the horn in the lower left a dark blue, the book above it is silver, and the ash tree in the lower right corner is emerald. This crest, it’s …

“Your sister’s seal indicates she’s a member of the mortal military forces under the authority of the Queens,” Rhysand said. He slowly raised his head, a flash of grim determination passing through his gaze like distant lightning. “We’ve received a personal invitation to the Queens’ palace in a few weeks’ time; not just to meet with Jade’s sister … but to hold an audience with the mortal Queens themselves concerning their efforts toward aiding us in the war against Hybern.”

Chapter Text

‘A few weeks’ before visiting the Queens' palace and seeing my sister turned out to be five. Five damn weeks. The first two moved by in a manner which bordered on maddeningly slow.

I trained with Azriel and Cassian every day, making my way up the ten thousand steps to the House of Wind as something to internally complain about more than anything else. I’d fully committed to being petty and finding any and all reasons to spit on this damned city. It was too loud, too vibrant, and too peaceful. It was like living in a little bubble where the rest of the world didn’t exist and everyone here simply walked around with their heads up their asses. I avoided being out and about the streets of Velaris as much as possible – steering clear of the art district they called the ‘Rainbow’ especially like it carried a plague.

Every moment I was here was torture. Every second I had to pretend my heart wasn't shattering into a million pieces from losing my home – losing everything I cared about made me want to scream. Sometimes I did; standing on the balcony at the House of Wind in the middle of the night and shouting into the darkness, hearing my ragged voice echoing back from the rocky cliff face. More often than not I’d started spending my nights at the sprawling palace – either claiming a bed in a random guest room or even curling up on the cold floor of the practice ring. It wasn’t like I slept more than an hour or two each night before that damn thing from the Ouroboros would wake me up, anyway. I also preferred knowing the entire span of a city existed between Rhysand and I when I’d be in danger of being my most vulnerable.

As the weeks went by, Rhysand and I hardly spoke a word to one another. The day my sister’s letter had arrived had been the last he’d even fully looked at me, even when he’d set himself up with paperwork on the other end of the practice rings while I sparred with Cassian. Whatever comments he had about my progress always came through his brother; it was clear as day Cassian wasn’t a fan of his newfound role of being a messenger, but I had the feeling Rhysand didn’t give him much choice.

Rhysand seemed to have gone to great lengths to alter the wards about the House of Wind simply so he could winnow away the second my training with Cassian wrapped up. I found it as a relief – his presence left my stomach in knots and the air entering my lungs feeling heavy as if I were breathing in a dense fog. A different sort of pain resulted when Rhysand was gone, but that was easy enough to ignore. Especially when my training with Azriel would begin and I’d be offered a decent enough distraction.

Azriel’s hurt pride from me unintentionally undermining his spy efforts left him regarding me like I was a damn roach for the first few days. Eventually he grew a pair and returned to his regular bland self during our training. Considering what had happened to me in Adriata, he had me start on ‘survival’ exercises – using the shadows to evade capture or find a target. It was the sort of game children would play … which became even more frustrating when Azriel would hand my ass to me every time.

Hiding from Azriel not only meant dissolving into the shadows of any nook or cranny I could find in the House of Wind, but willing surrounding shadows to still and not give my hiding spot away. Azriel always found me within minutes – no matter how hard I willed my shape to bend or how nicely I asked the shadows around me to follow my command. The shadows never failed to snitch me out, and I couldn’t get my form to shrink or go much beyond being a clearly Fae-shaped patch of darkness.

On the flip end, finding Azriel was impossible. He held the shadows’ loyalty with a firm grip which meant they never gave up his location. The way he could dissolve into any shadow as small as half his size also left dozens, if not hundreds of places for him to hide. 

My stubborn nature had me searching for hours on end until Azriel would finally reveal himself and give a curt lecture concerning everything I did wrong. On more than one occasion he nearly made my heart give out from fright; during one instance he popped out from the shadows cast by my chair when I’d taken a break. Another time I learned to give any and all cabinets a wide berth from opening one, seeing nothing, then looking back a second later to find a set of hazel eyes digging into me. The smirk across Azriel’s graceful features from scaring the shit out of me was becoming a common occurrence I certainly didn't like.

A far less stressful form of training came in the form of learning spells with Amren. Not to say it was easy; it was a frustrating endeavor, yet one of the more rewarding tasks I’d been set to accomplish.

Spells were a delicate balance between funneling magic and imposing enough will for that magic to do what I wanted. I could carry out a fair number of things using spells written by Amren – transporting objects over long distances, temporarily changing an item’s appearance, creating music from thin air, and producing flashes of light or curls of smoke in a myriad of colors. When it came to spells I had to write for myself … my accomplishments were on a much smaller scale. So far all I could do was slightly alter an object’s shape or summon an item from one end of a room to another. Penning a spell required an even greater control of magic than casting it did; it was like trying to change the course of a river using only a pen and it went about as well as one would expect on most days.

At the very least I had the satisfaction of being smug concerning the Book of Breathings. I hated handling the damned thing that called me a ‘blot’ whenever it brushed my fingers, however I surpassed Amren’s expectations and memorized anything from the book she was able to translate. The language the book was written in was still nothing more than that at the end of the day, even if the sentence structure was different and there were certainly some sounds physically impossible for me to pronounce.

Days ticked by in this pattern until Rhysand suddenly wasn’t present during my morning spar with Cassian. Instead, it was Amren, who looked more than a little annoyed that she’d been dragged out of bed at such an early hour to play babysitter. I was positive she’d fallen asleep the moment she propped herself against the wall of the training room and shut her eyes. So was Cassian, as he took the opportunity to speak as we underwent our warm-up stretches.

“Alright – what the hell is going on?” Cassian asked. We were sitting back-to-back, Cassian leaning his weight against me as I stretched forward. I put on a frown only seen by the tile inches from my nose.

“What?”

“With you and Rhys,” Cassian said, his voice laced with enough irritation to make me think his displeasure had been brewing for some time. “He’s supposed to be handling your training with Lazul just as much as I am, and he’s been acting as if he’ll catch a disease if he gets too close to you. I don’t think I’ve heard you guys even talk to each other in weeks. What happened?”

“Hell if I know,” I said. The weight on my back retreated and I sat up. I let out a deep breath before pushing back and balancing myself between his folded wings as Cassian dipped into his own stretch. “He started acting weird around when we went to the Summer Court, and hasn’t told me shit. Now I think he’s pissed at me and I have no interest in kissing his ass to make him stop acting like less of a child.”

I felt Cassian let out a sigh. “By the Mother … Both of you are too stubborn for your own good. Please, just talk to Rhys.”

“You talk to him.”

“You don’t think I have?” Cassian straightened, shifting his wing so he could hit me with a glare over his shoulder. “Rhys shuts me down every time. He’s … always been like that. I can’t count the number of times I’ve told him he can just talk to us. There’s this idea in his head that he shouldn’t burden us with what’s bothering him – I just know it. The way you two used to speak to each other gave me the impression he opened up to you. I’m not going to lie and say that didn’t bother me at first since he’s known you for a much shorter time than us … but at the end of the day I was simply happy he had someone who knew what was going on behind the walls he put up.”

Cassian and I turned about to face one another. I found it almost comical how religiously he took our warm-up exercises, doing nothing to put them on hold even over the context of our current conversation. We gripped one another’s arms, pulling as we dipped our heads and arched our backs. As much as I wanted to give him shit for his by-the-book attitude for warm-ups and cool-downs … I couldn’t help but admit that it was a comfort. I felt more centered; focused. Cassian had begun pushing himself to reach my level of ruthlessness during our spars – with war on the horizon, I felt there was no point in playing around and fighting at any level as if ours lives weren't on the line. Keeping our heads kept the both of us alive.

“The only reason Rhysand ever confided in me was because I forced my way in,” I said, staring at my crossed legs. My grip on Cassian’s hardened biceps intensified. “He keeps his mental shield up all the time now. I only get little flashes of what he’s feeling when he lets it slip – like when he talked to Mitah.”

I felt some of the tension leave Cassian’s grip. “Rhys told Az and I about that. They both hid it pretty well, but I could tell they were on the verge of tearing up just as I had been.”

“In your opinion,” a voice said from over my shoulder. I felt rather proud of myself for knowing who it belonged to well before they’d reached the practice rings – the shadows cast by my legs having flickered a moment ago.

‘Azriel. Wings. East balcony.’

“You’re early,” Cassian said. He released his hold so he could regard his brother from over my shoulder. A grin broke across his striking features. “Want to take Jade on two-to-one? I think she could use the challenge.”

I scoffed as I rose to my feet. “Handling both of you at once would hardly be a challenge.”

Azriel appeared seriously tempted to make me eat my words. I found that I rather liked doing everything I could to get under his skin to crack his mask of indifference. He was more than smart enough to be aware of it, his growing collection of expressions giving the sense he enjoyed playing the game. 

In a flicker of blue light, the top portion of Azriel’s Illyrian leathers snaked over his muscled torso to disappear into his siphons. The shadows dancing over his collection of scars and the twisting tattoos lining his shoulders shifted as his eyes locked onto mine.

‘Regret.’

I let out a barking laugh. “I doubt it. From what I hear, you never beat Mitah in sparring even once. I could keep you at bay in an afterthought.”

I grinned in the face of Azriel’s eyes narrowing. I’d seen him wield a sword on multiple occasions – knowing he was talented enough to keep up with Cassian for a time. But rarely did he beat Cassian. I’d yet to cross swords with Azriel, although I felt my odds weren’t entirely out of favor. 

Daggers, on the other hand … I’d heard that Azriel was far more skilled with those. Unfortunately for him, daggers had been Mitah’s weapons of choice and I'd been trained thoroughly in the art. Although, there was a good chance everything Azriel knew about daggers had come from Mitah as well. I honestly had no idea who would come out on top if we were to face off in that manner.

“You both know I was kidding about the two-on-one thing, right?” Cassian asked, his eyes darting between us and the growing level of animosity. “I know without a doubt Rhys would kill us.”

“Or me,” Amren said, not bothering to open her eyes. “If any of you do something pigheaded enough to make me move from this spot, I’ll gut you myself.”

Azriel sized me up a final time before turning away. He didn’t need to say a word – the shadows conveyed his feelings enough.

‘You’ll pay for this later.’

Shit. I had a feeling that whatever Azriel was going to come up with for shadowsinging training would leave me banging my head against the wall in frustration. The chuckle he let out as he walked toward the swords along the wall confirmed the shadows had more than willingly informed Azriel of my distress.

Cassian cleared his throat to regain my attention, taking on a hardened nature as he switched to the far more serious tone he used when it was time for training to begin. “We were working on Winter Court magic last time; I think we should start off again with that.”

I placed a hand on my hip, holding off on summoning my sword. “Why? All it does is turn the blade to ice. Then it shatters into pieces and leaves the sword damn useless until I use up a bunch of energy to change it into something else.”

“There has to be more to it than that,” Cassian said, crossing his arms over his bare chest as he began to pace. “I think we’re missing something. You may need to syphon additional magic into the blade for it to keep its shape. If you can do that, we might be able to discover what its true purpose is.”

“Maybe,” I said, lifting my hand with a doubtful sound. “I still think –”

“Upstairs – all of you.”

My eyes immediately snapped to the ceiling. I stared at the red rock for a moment before lowering my gaze and finding all three of my companions had done the same. The sudden appearance of Rhysand’s voice in their heads had left them just as surprised as I had been.

“You heard our High Lord,” Amren said, swinging her legs from the bench. 

My gut twisted. I wondered if Rhysand could feel it – my reluctance to leave this room; to see him. Considering he’d been keeping his shield closed, I doubted it. I made sure to reinforce my own.

Cassian caught my attention with a whistle. He tossed the upper half of my Illyrian leathers in my direction. I caught it as he and his brother summoned the rest of their own armor. Amren walked ahead, her silky black hair bobbing with every assured step. The three of them … Would I still be able to speak to them after I leave? To see them? 

You don’t belong here.

The voice in my head sounded like Rhysand. It wasn’t him, not really, but it didn't have to be. I knew what he was thinking, sure enough.

I pulled my shirt over my head, hardening my features as I followed the others upstairs.

Rhysand and Mor were standing near the table of the war room upon our arrival. Even taking Amren’s taste for extravagant jewelry into consideration, the pair were the ones most luxuriously dressed by a large margin. Today the glittering nature of Mor's gold dress, along with the fine silk jacket and jagged crown of black metal atop Rhysand’s hair, made them appear downright regal. They – or at least Rhysand – was, technically, although he rarely gave off the air of being a haughty monarch.

“You two were at the Court of Nightmares?” Cassian asked, not skipping a beat. His features tightened as he entered the room. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because Keir found waiting until the last minute to inform us of a messenger’s arrival an appropriate form of passive aggression considering the state of his city,” Rhysand said, sounding unamused. “Both Mor and I had to leave at a moment’s notice in order to save face. All of you – sit.”

Cassian and Azriel exchanged a tense look before moving forward. Amren appeared as if she’d tasted something sour as she took a seat to the right of the head of the table. Cassian lowered himself into the seat beside her and I sat beside him, welcoming a wide buffer between Rhysand and I. My eyes followed Azriel as he circled the table to seat himself beside Mor, his eyes never leaving her as she gripped the chair at Rhysand’s side but made no move to lower herself into it. She stared at her reflection in the shining black stone as her features grew taut.

Rhysand settled at the head of the table. He eyed Mor up for a moment before looking away. “In two days, I’m taking most of you to Hewn City. A messenger arrived from Hybern, and they’re looking to make an alliance against the Mortal Realm and the courts of Prythian who would stand in their defense.”

Cassian’s wing knocked against my shoulder as it flared. He and Azriel appeared equally livid as they stared Rhysand down.

“That makes no sense,” Azriel said, the shadows about his shoulders flickering as if he’d caught fire. “Less than a month ago they attacked you and Amren and made an attempt on Jade’s life. It seems clear they view us as an enemy.”

“Yes, and no,” Rhysand said. When he leaned back in his seat he looked … tired; drained. I didn’t recall seeing Rhysand like that since his time under the Mountain. I set my jaw, fighting to keep any sign of worry from showing both inside and out. The bastard didn’t deserve the sympathy.

“It seems Hybern feels that either they should be in control of Jade, or no one,” Rhysand said, keeping his eyes fixed across the room. “They were unsuccessful in taking her by force using the Attor, and failed again when they decided that killing her might be the easier option.”

“Did this messenger say why the hell they’ve been after Jade in the first place?” Cassian asked.

“They didn’t,” Rhysand said, giving Cassian a brief glance. “They claimed they didn't know; I used my daemati abilities to confirm as much. My guess is Hybern is concerned over what, exactly, Amarantha gifted her with when Jade became High Fae. She may possess something they view as a threat to the King, or perhaps even the Cauldron itself.”

Amren hummed, toying with a large teal diamond dangling from a silver chain around her neck. “Jade’s aptitude for spells is unusual; she’s progressing at a faster rate than most. The King could be concerned over what she could accomplish with such abilities, considering how formidable Amarantha was.”

Rhysand nodded. He leaned forward, lacing his fingers over the table. “The King wishes to negotiate. I told the messenger that he’d have to offer something very enticing for me to consider handing Jade over outright. Otherwise, I said I’d be open to the idea of the two of us working together as long as Jade remained in my possession. Mor and I played up the act of Jade being nothing more than a weapon we’ve imprisoned and broken to do as we willed. As far as they know, the revolution in Hewn City was a temporary setback, but Jade is now firmly under my control.”

“And Keir didn’t have anything to say in protest?” Amren asked, lifting her brow.

A muscle feathered in Mor’s jaw. She still hadn’t taken a seat, her grip on the back of her chair causing her knuckles to turn white.

“He had no reason to believe it wasn’t true,” Rhysand said. He brushed his sleeve in a casual manner before continuing. “I told Keir he did me a favor by sending Jade to the Ouroboros. He’s under the impression that I pieced Jade’s mind back together to my liking after she’d faced the mirror. When we arrive at the Court of Nightmares in a few days, Jade will play the part of the ruthless, unfeeling soldier who would snap the neck of anyone I desired without question. We’ll use this as leverage to get into talks with Hybern and figure out what they’re planning, who their allies are, and the exact location of the Cauldron.”

“Hey.”

All eyes at the table immediately turned to me save for Rhysand and Mor’s. I stared Rhysand down until his gaze slowly lifted to meet mine.

“Everyone here has been talking about me like I’m a damn object,” I said, sitting forward in my seat. “What if I don’t want to go to the Court of Nightmares and play the role of your pet? I can’t walk down those streets and pretend I don’t give a shit about what’s happening to the people from the lower levels fighting for their rights. I’m not going to look that bastard Keir in the eye and pretend I’m on his side.”

Rhysand lifted his chin, letting out a heavy exhale. “Luckily for us all, the role you’ll be playing means you don’t have to pretend you like anyone. And before you make any further arguments, remember that you killed the only other source we may have had for information on Hybern’s activities when you slayed the Attor. Not a single person at this table is fond of the front they need to put on when visiting the Court of Nightmares; me especially. But you don’t have a choice in this matter, Jade, if you want us to have any hope in avoiding war.”

“That isn’t fair of you, Rhys.”

Mor finally looked up to regard Cassian with wide eyes as her friend spoke. The general of the Night Court didn’t balk from her gaze or Rhysand’s, sitting straight-backed as he stared his High Lord down.

“Jade isn’t a thing,” Cassian continued, his voice firm. “You can’t force her into doing this if she isn’t up for it.”

“Then what would you have us do, Cass?” Rhysand asked, a mocking nature to his tone. Cassian bristled, the siphons atop his hands flaring red as Rhysand continued.

“If we show up without Jade in tow, everything falls apart. This is the only other lead we have if things don’t work out with acquiring the Queens’ half of the book.”

“Then we figure something else out,” Cassian said, speaking through clenched teeth. “That’s what we do – what we’ve always done. You treating Jade like this … it’s the same way your father ordered Az around during the war. I thought you of all people would recognize how wrong it was to deal with someone as if they were nothing more than a tool.”

‘Cut.’

The shadows around Rhysand conveyed that word again. I glanced at Azriel, attempting to decipher if he had a better understanding of what it meant – if the words had hurt Rhysand, or if Rhysand was looking to inflict hurt himself. I didn’t receive an answer in the form of his facial expressions, although the shadows around Azriel widened as if threatening to swallow him whole.

‘Ache.’

I absorbed the word, sizing Azriel up for a moment before I exhaled sharply and turned my head. “I’ll do it.”

Cassian regarded me with a heavy frown. “Jade, you shouldn’t –”

“All I have to do is be an asshole, right?” I said, staring Rhysand down. “Easy – I already have a great teacher.”

Rhysand placed his palms on the table and rose from his chair. I could make out the small creases in his forehead from where that hideous crown dug into his temple. It seemed painful.

“Then we’re settled,” Rhysand said. He turned toward the door. “We leave in two days.”

Cassian’s demeanor the morning after the tense meeting in the war room was more brutal than I’d ever seen him. The second our warm-up routine wrapped up, he advanced with the savagery of a martax and made a strong play at slicing one of my arms clean off if I didn’t parry at the last minute. I had a feeling everything about his conduct boiled down to Rhysand once again being present to play moderator from across the room. Cassian was baiting – goading him into stepping in and daring to say that we were taking things too far. The battle being waged was more on the psychological front than the physical; our spar resulting in far more cuts and bruises than normal before Rhysand finally gave the order for us to yield. Cassian’s eyes shone with something like defiance toward Rhysand despite his High Lord’s orders being followed. Rhysand never bothered looking in our direction.

Azriel, ironically, was easier on me than he had been since we’d first started our training. Our focus returned to communication – Azriel and I doing our best to correspond with one another through nothing but shadows. We retreated to the House of Wind’s humble library for this exercise, the pair of us sitting quite comfortably in deep crimson armchairs as we faced one another. Azriel exhibited an exemplary level of patience even if piecing together sentences probably made it feel as if he were speaking to a child.

‘You in war. Father to Rhysand. Happened?’

Azriel appeared nothing short of relaxed in the narrow-backed armchair. The Sun at his back shone through the glass in weak beams which illuminated the dust dancing about his tousled dark hair in small shimmers of light. I knew he had to be in an especially kind mood today since he kept his careless posture of one leg crossed over the other as he contemplated my question.

‘I was … to Rhysand’s father.’

He could tell I didn’t understand one of the words, Azriel’s shadows repeating the gesture as he spoke aloud.

“Service.”

‘I was in service to Rhysand’s father. He kept me close as a spy.’

I frowned, shifting in my seat. ‘Rhysand does now.’

Azriel shook his head. ‘No – not like Rhysand. Then, I was alone. My … me.’

My brow furrowing prompted Azriel to speak in tandem with his shadows.

“My brothers are always with me. I have a choice to be with them, just as I had a choice to disown my old family and form a new one, instead.”

This was a surprise. Cassian had told me about how he and Azriel had been bastards and what that meant in Illyrian culture; how they were treated like pests who had to look out for themselves even as children. Azriel had told me before that he didn’t raise himself, however I figured that he’d meant receiving care from Rhysand’s mother like Cassian had. I never got the sense Azriel had a family related by blood.

“What happened to your old family?” I asked.

“Shadows,” Azriel said. I rolled my eyes before trying again.

‘Other family. Happened?’

“I told you this before,” Azriel said, keeping his steady expression. “See if you can understand more of it, this time.”

I sat back in my seat. When the hell had this asshole already told me about his past?

It wasn’t until his shadows started to move that I was struck with a message he’d given me during our first lesson:

‘Dark. Fire. Pain. Dark. Alone. Mother. Dark.’

That was all I could understand last time. Now, the message came across somewhat clearer:

‘I was kept in the dark for … My … brothers … hands on fire. I have never felt greater pain. Even after that, I was … in the dark alone for some time. I was only … my mother once a week. It … until I became a shadowsinger was I … out of the dark.’

Even with missing a chunk of the words, I absorbed the story through context. I couldn’t stop my knee from bouncing simply through how pissed off I was. For Azriel to have received the wounds on his hands in battle was one thing, but for it to have happened to him when he was defenseless … when he was probably still some scared kid …

‘Brothers. Alive now?’

Azriel’s response to my question was to shrug. He was better than I was – I would’ve ripped their faces off the second I’d been strong enough to do so.

‘If I see anyone who looks like you,’ I said, speaking through my hands. ‘I’ll set fire to their dicks.’

The shadows didn’t fail to translate; Azriel attempted to hide his chuckle behind his hand. The stoic expression returned as he composed himself. “The hand gestures don’t count – shadows only.”

‘You. Look like,’ I said, grasping for words. ‘I’ll set fire to their …’

I crossed my arms, watching Azriel in an expectant manner.

“I am not teaching you that word,” Azriel said, sounding unamused.

“You just told me to speak with shadows,” I shot back. “So do your damn job and teach me.”

Azriel’s shadows flickered in a series of movements I missed entirely.

“Cass would probably punch me in the mouth for what I just called you,” Azriel said with a quirk to his lips and a rare sign of something playful behind his hazel eyes. “Just know that it was bad.”

I dipped my head as I laughed. It’d been some time since that’d happened … since I’d last visited Adriata, which was quickly feeling like a lifetime ago. A heavy weight fell in my chest as my laughter died out. A message escaped me in an afterthought:

‘I want to go home.’

I stared at the shadows cast by my legs. Azriel would be able to send his response there … if he had one. When the shadows carried a strong enough emotion or sense of urgency, they were simple enough to understand without Azriel teaching me outright.

‘I’m sorry.’

I slowly absorbed Azriel’s message. Having no want or need for his sympathy did nothing to stop me from taking a shaking breath. I closed my eyes. With every passing day I felt more and more trapped, like I was in a room with no door or windows and the bottom was quickly filling up with water. I was at the point where I’d floated to the ceiling and was gasping for breaths. I just needed to get out. I needed to tear and break and destroy until I had a clear path back home … a clear path back to Lucien and Mitah, a clear path back to …

He has to die for what he’s done.

My purpose. I needed a clear path back to my purpose. I was one thing … I’d always been only one thing. If I completed what I was meant to do, then surely things would align to how they should be.

“Jade?”

I raised my head. Concern was a new emotion for me to witness from Azriel, and he seemed to be laying it on thick as he watched me. I couldn’t help but wonder when we’d suddenly crossed that bridge.

“Shadows,” I said, sitting up. “How do you say my name in shadows? It would probably help if I ever needed to know if you were trying to get my attention.”

Azriel sized me up in a slow fashion. He nodded, continuing with our lesson.

Chapter Text

Boots clicking over black onyx was the only sound among the grand hallway of the castle at the heart of the Court of Nightmares. It had never bothered me before, but today … a heaviness laid over us all, more so than usual from when we had to set foot in this cursed place. Before, my court and I didn’t speak a word to one another because of the act – the parts we needed to play. Today, it was because no one among us wanted to share a word. Not with me, at least.

I should’ve felt far more bitter than I did that my brothers had picked sides … and not my own. Over the past few days Cass only looked at me with resentment, anger, and hurt. Those looks … that pain … it had been a long time coming. I had been ready for it, ready for Cass to jump to Jade’s defense. What I hadn’t expected was for him to have the balls to do it in front of everyone else, or for him to strike so far below the belt by comparing me to my father. It had taken every ounce of my will to keep a straight face during that.

My father.

My father was who I started seeing in the mirror more often than not after I’d returned from the Mountain, so I stopped looking. Even now his visage haunted me in the blurred reflections walking in tandem within the onyx walls at my side - a tall figure brandishing a jagged, black crown which sunk into the wearer's scalp as if a monster had clamped on and threatened to take a bite any minute. My father’s presence surrounded me in this place; suffocated me here. The role I played while within this court was one I’d built from the foundation of how my father used to treat his subjects. I’d been successful in keeping the bile which never failed to rise up my throat well hidden behind smiles laced with a promise of death – smiles just like his had been. It was a similar sort of front I’d put on when dealing with Amarantha.

I set my jaw, willing the quickening pace of my heart to slow. Az’s shadows would alert him to something being off – Cass could probably scent it. To be overtaken with fear here … to have the sort of paralyzing, waking nightmare which liked to creep up on me without warning … no. I wouldn’t allow it. Not with so much at stake – not with my show of indifference being the backbone of the true gravity of this operation. Keeping my composure was crucial for my present company just as much as it was for me.

Az hadn’t looked at me any differently after the meeting a few days past, nor had he addressed me with any change in his inflection than normal. Yesterday he’d submitted reports from his spies and given an update on Jade’s training progress in the same, dry manner as always. Mor seemed to be the only being capable of forcing a break in the stoic mask he’d mastered over the centuries. Or at least she had been, until I’d caught a trace of pity flash through Az’s eyes when he’d regarded Jade at the townhouse this morning. She hadn’t noticed – I was likely the only one who had.

I’d made a specific request this morning, asking Nuala and Cerridwen to dress Jade in Illyrian leather pants with matching boots, finishing the look with a black strip of cloth to hang around her neck and fall just enough to lay flush against her breasts. Her hair had been tied up in a sleek ponytail to allow the sword tattoo marking our bargain to be quite visible between her toned shoulder blades. The outfit was reminiscent of what she had worn while under the Mountain – forceful yet seductive to encourage an audience to lock their eyes on her yet keep a certain distance. The look had been finished with a sword on her hip with a gray strip of leather wrapped around the wooden hilt. The weapon was most certainly not her sword ‘Queen-Splitter’ with the ashwood core, but it never hurt to allow a rumor to burn through the Court of Nightmares like a brushfire that it could have been.

Jade stayed directly on my heels as the massive black doors for the throne room loomed ahead. Cass and Az flanked her on either side, dressed in their full Illyrian armor and brandishing a number of swords and daggers. Mor had been sent ahead to work the crowd, going into the lion’s den alone to make loud comments concerning the sourness of my mood and give empty apologies to the Hybern commanders who had been waiting for over an hour for my arrival. To face these people, to face her vile family after what they’d done, all the while keeping her chin held high … I couldn’t help but admire her bravery.

The doors of the throne room scraping open was my signal to release a wave of dark power with every step. It reverberated through the black onyx at my feet and along the walls, the ceiling. Cass and Az took the initiative to quicken their gate – I caught a glimpse of Az’s gaze looking to Jade, then to me, before turning ahead. Cass didn’t look my way at all.

The point of sending my brothers in first was obvious intimidation. Seven siphons gleamed atop each set of their Illyrian armor – six more than even the most skilled of their brethren. The people of this court may not have given a shit about Illyrians or ‘lesser’ faeries in general; caring or not didn’t mean a damn toward the wave of fear I could already smell reeking from the room ahead. The siphons, the armor, and the taloned wings gave Az and Cass the visage of being demons who’d crawled up straight from Hell. I had no doubt Cass’s lazy smile and Az’s cold, assessing gaze promised a swift death for whomever dared to cross them – indeed, I’d allow it, considering this lot. After trying to sell off Mor as if she were cattle and leave her for dead when she defied their expectations … On top of the heartless nature they’ve exhibited toward the people fighting outside these stone walls for basic rights … they all deserved to burn.

Just as we briefly discussed before our departure this morning, Jade positioned herself at my side. Her lazy gaze forward was haughty – bored. As if this court and everyone in it were beneath her. Which was true, no doubt. 

Her expression didn’t so much as twitch as we entered the throne room. I’d briefly mentioned the layout in the case that it may cause problems. Amarantha had modeled her own grand throne room after the one here, the stone from which the towering columns and grotesque statues were carved from the only major difference. Where Amarantha’s domain had shimmered in false sophistication of creams and pinks, the black onyx coating every inch of this room down to the chandeliers gave a sense of an elegance gained through keeping others down in order to stay afloat. I detested everything about it; my father had embraced it.

I pushed aside the thought. I couldn’t think about this now … about how my eyes lingered on Cass’s back as I stepped into the room of pale, fear-struck faces all in my direction. I couldn’t think about how his words had kept me up the entire night.

‘It’s the same way your father ordered Az around during the war. I thought you of all people would recognize how wrong it was to deal with someone as if they were nothing more than a tool.’

I knew there’d been no point in arguing – Cass could be hardheaded as hell when he wanted to be. He would dismiss me laughing in his face at the notion he’d voiced; Jade certainly wasn’t a tool.

Jade was a warning.

An effective one at that, from the way members of the damn Court of Nightmares cowered under her gaze as they did mine. She was the Crown-Cleaver – the symbol behind the unrest at their doorsteps. All of the bastards present lived too deep within the upper levels of the city to have their homes personally affected … Although as the revolution stretched on and the uprisers only continued to gain steam, there was little doubt whispers weren’t abound concerning the what if of the threat soon appearing at their gates. I’d been given reports of a growing number of vandalism incidents in the near area – walls and roads splashed with a symbol of a broken crown drawn in blood. It was a warning … a threat. A threat that the very female at my side personified for many present.

Other than Jade and my inner circle, only three members gathered in the crowded room dared to keep their eyes on me while everyone with sense kept theirs lowered. I greeted the damn fools as I approached with the sort of smile that carried a warning of me turning their minds to putty on a whim. The delegates from Hybern shifted slightly – Keir didn’t so much as blink. I’d admire the bastard if I didn’t already wish him dead.

The material of Mor’s glittering red dress made a low hiss as she knelt before the dais at her back, soft golden curls cascading over her shoulders as she dipped her head. Behind her was a throne – my throne, as much as I hated the thought – carved of black stone and brandishing a collection of sculpted snakes. I’d heard it described as being intimidating, as if the carved serpents acted as silent reminders of the deadly nature of the monarch whose shoulders they graced. Sitting on the throne never left me feeling empowered; instead, I always felt as if I may be swallowed whole.

Az and Cass followed Mor’s lead, turning toward me and bowing their heads as they got to one knee. The rest of the room followed suit – even Keir and the Hybern commanders after they exchanged terse glances.

When Jade made to kneel, I snapped my fingers as an indication for her to keep walking and stay at my side. Every piece of that had been an act; Jade would never kneel to me, and I would never ask her to. She would stare me in the eye through her last moments even if I were truly the abhorrent Lord of this court; killing her on the spot for the transgression. She was truly that foolish … she was truly that fearless. Jade would only kneel for what she found worth sacrificing her pride for. She was like me in that way; like me in many ways.

I’d ruminated for quite some time after we returned from the Weaver’s cottage in the Middle. After a sleepless night, I found one thing to be clear – that Jade was my equal.

No one else could spit in the face of the damn magic making up this world other than someone who rivaled my power. She required aid from me just as much as I required it from her – which was none at all. 

I’d taken a step back to focus on all the intricacies of this damned war knowing she could look after herself. Worrying over her nightmares and feelings of displacement had been patronizing on my part; Jade’s strength meant she could fight her own battles without my help. Even if the mating bond hasn’t snapped into place, and perhaps never will, I have no intention of considering her as anything ‘lesser’ than myself. A warrior is powerless without a weapon just as a weapon is no more than a decoration without a warrior. We need one another in that regard … until this impending conflict is over. After that, Jade can wander as far away as she wishes – I certainly didn’t have the ability to stop her. I’d been preparing myself for that separation since the message conveyed through my mother's broken ring had made it obvious it would be inevitable.

And who was I to expect Jade to stay at my side; for the two of us to forever step in tandem as we’d enter throne rooms and palaces and even my home in Velaris. That spot had been vacant for hundreds of years until suddenly her gait of true confidence met the mockery which had been my own while under the Mountain. I had regained a piece of myself while watching her – while matching her. I’d remembered that I was more than a slave used for fucking and killing; that I was a damn High Lord. Who the hell was I to mope and cower when a human woman could look the queen of all Prythian in the eye and demand her friend’s release? That was a level of confidence I’d emulated; one I’d learn to hold onto for when I found myself alone again. Because I would be alone again, before too long.

Part of me thought the mating bond could change things. The more rational side of me knew deep down my mating bond snapping into place wouldn't keep her from leaving. Nothing short of the damn Mother could restrain her; keep her at my side. Trying to stay as connected as we once were, encouraging the bond, would only lead to an eternity of me pining for someone who couldn't care less. Jade and I were equals, but not the same. I could never forget that.

“What do you think, Jade Crown-Cleaver?”

My voice echoed through the silent room. Each of my subjects busy wrinkling their fine clothes against the floor kept their heads bowed, although most regarded Jade and myself through hooded lids and heavy lashes. Their gazes were filled with awe, fear, and disgust. It was just as I’d hoped.

“This is a different side of Hewn City than the one you were previously acquainted with,” I continued. I willed my face into a lazy grin tainted with wickedness and lust as I reached out. It took more effort than it should’ve for me to fight back the tremble to my finger as I guided her chin toward me in a move to interrupt her gaze wandering about the room. Jade’s skin felt as cold as steel.

“Will you cut the people here down as you’d once promised?” I asked, sweetness in my tone as if offering Jade a treat. The question earned more than a few flinches in my peripheral vision.

“Do you wish me to, my Lord?” Jade asked, eyes bright. Her plum lips cracked into a wide smile as she gripped the hilt of the sword on her hip. I amplified her aura to radiate throughout the minds of everyone in the room. Two overwhelming emotions saturated their thoughts: One of delight … and one of madness. I ensured that second feeling grated on their minds like a violin being played out of tune. To them, Jade Crown-Cleaver was no longer the radical who laid waste to Amarantha and started a rebellion within their realm. Now she was an animal kept only at bay by the leash I’d wrapped tightly around her neck. One word from me … and she’d be set loose to inflict the sort of rampant, chaotic terror which could only be achieved from a creature which had truly lost all sense of morality and itself.

“We’ll see where the festivities take us.” I smiled in the face of Jade’s show of disappointment. A fair number of wide eyes swiftly returned their attention to the floor as I turned and headed for the throne. Jade stayed at my heels, no doubt regarding the crowd around her with longing as if denying her a bloodbath was a cruel and unusual punishment.

My skin crawled the second I brushed the frigid stone of the black throne. Not so much as a flicker of my discomfort shone through as I sat, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back as if I’d never been more at ease. My smile widened as Jade perched herself on one of the armrests, gazing down from our new vantage point atop the dais as if she were a gargoyle tasked with protecting the throne and whomever was in it at all costs. She and I together … We were terrible, and beautiful, and an embodiment of everything the people gathered here claimed to aspire for yet would never be able to reach.

“Rise.”

The sound of shuffling accompanied everyone present rising to their feet. I calmly assessed their tentative stares before offering a lazy wave. “Go play.”

Nearly everyone gathered jumped at the opportunity to turn their heads and live in blissful ignorance of being under my attention. Music which carried not so much as a whisper of joy drifted through the air. My gaze roved over my inner circle; Mor offered me a haughty smile which I knew veiled a genuine one of support beneath. She and Cass’s jobs were to collect what information they could from the court as tongues grew loose from an overabundance of wine. Gossip carried a value rivaling gold within Hewn City, and by the end of the festivities we hoped to have a collection of rumors in our possession which could be passed on to the rebels to let them know where they could strike these bastards the hardest.

Unlike Mor, Cass’s smile in my direction conveyed no hidden message. The cocky expression was nothing but show – the only hint of true emotion came in the form of a wink he threw in Jade’s direction before turning away. It was a sign of encouragement which simultaneously resulted in relief and irritation on my part. For all the good intentions the gesture carried, Jade didn’t need it.

Az merely offered a solemn nod before dissolving among the shadows of the crowd. He was pulling double duty – starting off with meeting his spies who kept him up to date on the status of the rebellion and how they were fairing. Things had been touch-and-go for a while, but lately the rebellion had been gaining ample ground and was expected to break into the upper levels within the next few weeks. If Az returned with positive news … more than a fair share of the people in this room may be destitute or dead within the month. I wouldn’t mourn a single one.

I shifted my attention to the subjects who would become the second half of Az’s spy duties – the representatives from Hybern. The pair stood behind Keir at the foot of the dais, looking more than a little perturbed that I hadn’t yet acknowledged their presence. The fact that they weren’t making more of a scene probably stemmed from the King himself – orders to flatter and placate me as much as possible to glean a possibility of me parting with Jade in exchange for some hefty sum of gold, weapons, or other items just as enticing. Unfortunately for them, no object in this world could tempt me to accept that offer – not even the Cauldron itself.

“Keir,” I said. The name was the only prompting needed for the steward of Hewn City to step forward with the Hybern commanders in tow. My uncle’s cold demeanor didn’t so much as crack as I laced venom through my smile. Keir was old – much, much older than I was. He’d endured dealing with my father as High Lord before me, and probably thought he’d endure through whichever High Lord were to come after. The agreement binding his family to this city ensured their safety and his position from any direct meddling on my part. At least … until his family no longer held power here, which may be much sooner than Keir’s innate narcissism would allow him to believe.

“Why don’t you introduce our guests?” I asked. I grinned in the face of Keir’s eyes narrowing. It was petty for me to undermine my steward by asking him to do something he was going to anyway; in no way at all did it mean I didn’t enjoy it.

The question also came with the added benefit of causing the Hybern commanders to regard me in distaste. They were well aware I knew their names – their station. We’d even crossed paths more than once during the war albeit not in close range. Truth be told, I wanted an excuse for their names to not taint my lips. I’d allow Keir to address them through his forked tongue, instead.

“I present the niece and nephew of the king of Hybern,” Keir said. He kept his hands behind his back, a pillar of cold indifference as he spoke. “Princess Brannagh and Prince Dagdan, who have arrived to hold an audience under their titles of commanders of Hybern’s forces concerning an alliance with our court.”

I knew quite well why the prince and princess were here – now so did everyone else. This was intentional on Keir’s part. Not a sliver of doubt swam in my mind over whether Keir viewed an alliance with Hybern beneficial. Hybern could be an outside force who would help them with the rebellion; they could be an outside force who’d help them against me. Although it wasn’t guaranteed, generally the title of High Lord shifted to that Lord’s closest living male relative upon their death. In my case, Keir was the person who fit that description. He was smart enough to know that Hybern would manipulate him like a puppet if he were ever to find himself in that position; he simply didn’t give a shit. As long as he had power, that would be all that mattered. And if Keir had power … then Hewn City had power.

And Hybern could provide that backing. Or at least … they would imply it. They wouldn’t hesitate to strike me down if they could, but they weren’t fools enough to fight a battle they’d know they’d lose. It was for that reason the king of Hybern had sent his niece and nephew to stand before me today. All other avenues of capturing or killing Jade had failed, so now they were looking to barter. Hybern was under the impression that I’d been loyal to Amarantha to the very end; that I would hear out an offer made by the allies of my former queen and lover. The King was shrewd enough that I wouldn’t be able to string them along for long. All I needed was enough time to locate the Cauldron.

“Our uncle sends his best wishes,” Brannagh said, her voice gentler than one would expect from a commander of an army. She and her twin shared the same dark eyes, ink-black hair, and pallor to their flawless skin. They reminded me of corpses drawn of blood, their hair combed with oil and eyes replaced with glass in an effort of preservation. The princess and prince of Hybern were conventionally what anyone would say is beautiful with their full lips, arched brows, and straight noses. They’d walked this earth for over a thousand years yet showed no signs of weariness. If their reputations were to be believed, it was their hate and cruelty which kept them spry.

“The King sends ‘best wishes,’ hmm?” I propped my elbow on the armrest of my throne, leaning my head in my hand. “That’s very interesting, since the last time I saw members of his court, they were trying to render me powerless so they could kill my new plaything. I hope the King is offering me something fitting as an apology – your heads, maybe?”

Brannagh smiled; a cruel thing indeed. She had centuries more practice than I did in terms of court politics and all it entailed. I had made my first move, and now she would counter. Dagdan would stand there and do little more than look menacing – a playing piece I had mirrored in Jade who watched the twins with a mask of curiosity veiling her malice.

“I can’t say I know what you mean, my Lord,” Brannagh said, keeping her tone light. “Our uncle never wished harm upon you or the Night Court. It was your … servant who put an end to General Amarantha’s life, and in his distress the King wishes for justice to be served. His ideal desire is to have Jade brought to Hybern to face trial.”

Ah, so that was the bullshit angle they were going with. It was clear their desire for Jade concerned some aspect of her power, or Amarantha’s power, they feared. The king of Hybern never gave two shits about Amarantha further than what she could do to serve him.

I laughed, the corner of Brannagh’s false smile slipping. “Oh? So attempting to skewer Jade through with ash bolts while filling my lungs with Faebane was part of your shitty attempt at an escort? I can tell you now your grave insult in Adriata will not be overlooked.”

Brannagh’s eyes snapped to meet her twin’s. They stayed silent for a moment. I probed into their minds; not enough to give away my presence and know what was being said, but enough to pick up their raw emotions concerning my accusation. And I realized … they truly had no idea what I was talking about. The attack in Adriata hadn't been them at all. But we’d been certain the assassins had come from Hybern – their clothing and weaponry indicated as such. Had someone been posing as Hybern during that attack? Why, and who?

Brannagh’s dark eyes returned to mine. She brought a hand to her chest to convey a false sense of empathy. “I am sorry to hear of whatever transpired to endanger you, my Lord. Please rest assured that we had nothing to do with it. Killing Jade isn’t our intention, only having her face justice for her transgressions against a member of our court.”

Later. I would have to dwell on the new feeling of unease in my gut later. For now, I still had a performance to put on. I chuckled as I slowly shifted my gaze to the side. “Jade, lift your hand.”

Jade did as I asked without hesitation. She looked nothing short of eager as she watched me in anticipation. Her eyes remained locked with mine as I weakly slapped the back of her wrist.

“There you have it – her punishment.” I grasped Jade’s fingers, bringing her hand to my lips for a light kiss as if I were a mother tending to a child’s wound. I kept her hand in mine as I beamed and looked back to the Hybern commanders. “I hope that’s enough to satisfy your king. The problem with Jade here is … there isn’t anything left of her to break. Yes, I could crush her bones and puncture her organs. As fellow daemati, I’m sure you're more than aware of the countless ways I could signal her brain to shoot pain throughout every inch of her body. Unfortunately, the extensive torture I subjected Jade to in order to … adjust her mind to my liking means these actions would do little to make her suffer. Her sole drive is to please me; she’d cut off her own arm without a thought if I willed it. Jade Crown-Cleaver, the warrior who stood tall against Amarantha and my court, is dead. This shell is all that’s left.”

The bond was silent. Even with our shields lowered, I still received nothing. Jade knew more than anyone that every word which had passed through my lips was a lie, albeit a reaction in one thought or another had been expected. Mostly her calling me an ‘asshole’ or perhaps a wave of smugness for us pulling the wool over Hybern’s eyes. But there was nothing. All Jade did was regard me with that same empty smile everyone else saw. I made sure to hide the feelings it evoked behind a wall of darkness.

Brannagh and Dagdan shared a glance, more than likely speaking mind-to-mind to discuss which of the strategies they had prepared they should fall back to.

Do you wish to share with the class?

The prince and princess flinched as my mind brushed against theirs with a soft caress. They may have been old, but I was more gifted. As far as daemati went, I had yet to face anyone capable of countering my skill. Their reactions proved it – this was likely the first time another daemati was able to snake through their mental defenses to convey a message without their permission.

“We … simply did not believe the Crown-Cleaver was so far gone, Lord Rhysand,” Brannagh said. Her cold, dead eyes scanned Jade before looking back to me. “Regardless, it would be thoughtless of us to dismiss our uncle’s desire for justice. We don’t believe wealth is something your territory lacks; clearly, this city alone proves that. But we have heard whispers of an insurgence since we’ve arrived on your shores. If you would require military aid …”

“That may be a discussion best left for another time,” I said. I motioned to the room at large. “This is a party, your highnesses. Eat, drink, fuck – do whatever your heart desires. Rest assured that the Night Court stands strong, and you can feel at ease resting after your long journey before we talk business.”

Brannagh and Dagdan exchanged another look. This wasn’t what they wanted to hear – more likely than not, they’d push for a private meeting to further their bartering efforts. They were desperate … which was good.

“I have entertainment lined up, if our esteemed guests so wish.”

I raised an eyebrow at Keir. I’d expected him to launch into another tirade about the uprising and how he needed more funds, more soldiers, and more of my personal support to crush the rebel’s efforts. I never thought he’d play the role of gracious host – at least not in my presence.

Keir made eye contact with someone across the room and tilted his chin.

“Thank you,” Dagdan said, speaking for the first time as his sister seemed preoccupied tracking the Fae across the room now slipping into a side door. “We appreciate your offer; however, we would prefer to request a private meeting with Lord Rhysand.”

“I’ll set up the council room immediately, if the High Lord so pleases,” Keir said with a stoic nod. “It won’t be long to prepare. In the meantime, I wanted to provide my High Lord with the opportunity for him to show off his new pet’s skill.”

My blood roiled. Hearing Keir address Jade as such made me want to twist his limbs until his bones snapped. Even if it was an act … if Keir were only addressing Jade in a manner prompted by my own behavior … he still had no damn right.

Jade snapped me from my thoughts as she openly laughed. Her voice was high-pitched; grating. Jade had never been a good liar, acting included. There'd been a reason her role here today was to remain mostly silent. Her display made it all the more concerning that her laugh conveyed a sense of malice and madness so ... naturally. I watched every miniscule shift in the defined muscles beneath her golden-brown skin as she leaned forward in her seat, her smile widening as if she were a predator and Keir her next meal. It caused the corner of my steward’s mouth to twitch; perhaps he recalled the last time their paths had crossed. Jade seemed to think so as well.

“Are you going to play with me this time, Keir?” Jade asked, her voice taking on a childish, sing-song tone. She laughed again. “Last time you sent me away – we didn’t get to have any fun.”

Keir didn’t entertain Jade with a response. He only held her crazed stare as two Darkbringers appeared. They escorted a pair of males I didn’t recognize, their clothes torn and seared, bruises on their cheeks flanking broken noses and split lips. I couldn’t mask my expression from darkening as the Darkbringers shoved the males to their knees before the dais.

“I’m sure your highnesses heard recounts of Jade’s trials under the Mountain as I had,” Keir said. He tilted his head in Jade’s direction. “From what I was told, Jade’s duels were a sight to behold. Perhaps she is no longer the swordfighter she once was with her mind now … warped. But I’m sure her skill is still exemplary enough to give us all a demonstration.”

Don’t say a word, I thought, pushing the order through the bond. I sat up in my seat.

“Who are these males?” I asked. I’d been so focused on Keir I hadn’t noticed when the music across the room ceased. My voice echoed throughout the chamber, settling on everyone's shoulders like frost. A few gripped their elbows as if catching a chill.

“Terrorists, my Lord,” Keir said. He watched me with a level sort of expression as if his answer was something I should have expected. “These two have been tried and found guilty of crimes including pillaging and murder. Their punishment is execution, as is the punishment for all found guilty of rising against your rule, my Lord.”

My roiling blood turned to ice. I knew – I knew this. I knew on some level that the people Keir was fighting, my damn people, were not facing a fair fate after being captured. I’d urged Keir to keep them prisoner, to keep them alive even if it was in that cursed dungeon carved within the mountain’s dark caverns. But just as I was able to refuse Keir more soldiers and resources by playing off Hewn City’s autonomy … he was able to do the same when it came to the treatment of rebels captured alive. To dwell on the idea of them all being executed … I had to fight down the urge to turn Keir into a bloody mist and face the magical repercussions which would ensue … even if it meant my own downfall or death.

“Izen.”

The word was so quiet in my mind I almost missed it. My eyes darted to Jade, and I found her staring intently at the male on the left with messy blond hair and ears mutilated as if chunks had been hacked away … or a number of earrings torn out, as I received a sudden flash of an image from Jade that she shared in her unintentional distress. She knew this male – had met him during her time on the lower levels. He'd been employed in some sort of shop and had later been the host of the rebel meeting she'd attended.

I shot a thought through the bond.

Let me handle this.

“So, Keir, let me get this straight.” I leaned my head in my hand, looking the very definition of fed up. “You interrupt my party and drag this filth before me because you want Jade to perform for you like an animal and spill tainted blood across my throne room? Is this some sort of joke?”

Keir kept his composure, only showing a trace of seeming perplexed. “You’re usually so eager to punish those who have committed various transgressions, my Lord, that I figured this would be a welcome offering. I’m sure our guests would also be eager to assess Jade’s abilities in order to determine what price she’s worth.”

“Keep your head.”

It wasn’t Jade’s voice which drifted through my mind … but Mor’s. From the corner of my eye, I could see the hem of her red dress at the edge of the gathered crowd. I had a channel open in my mind for all members of my inner circle in the case of emergencies. I suppose this instance counted, considering how close I’d been to tearing Keir apart for speaking of Jade as if she were a common object. I shouldn’t have been surprised; that was how Keir viewed his own damn daughter. I couldn't imagine how Mor had been able to survive so long in this place with a monster like that.

My eyes darted to the side as Jade got to her feet. I knew better than to snatch her arm as she sauntered forward – I couldn’t make it seem as if she were acting in a manner beyond my control. Considering what we’d discussed this morning, she shouldn’t be taking any actions at all without it seeming like an order. What the hell was she doing?

Jade – stop.

Jade continued down the steps, her slow, steady footfalls accompanying her relaxed gait. She paused at the bottom of the dais, placing a hand on the hilt of her sword and turning her face toward me. Her wide, vacant eyes … that unsettling grin … how much of that was an act?

“Would it please you for me to spill blood, my Lord?” Jade asked, hope resonating in her voice like a child asking for a present. “Keir says it’s the sort of thing you like.”

Jade – make up an excuse; come back to my side.

Once again, my order went ignored. If Jade was planning something … I didn’t know what the hell it was. Was it possible that she was actually going to kill those two males? As a mercy? As commitment to this act and leading on Hybern? … Because she would truly enjoy it?

Jade!

“I’ve witnessed Lord Rhysand commit much worse than a simple execution of prisoners,” Keir said. He was referencing the times when I’d been presented with transgressors who were sincerely vile – murderers and rapists who’d made the mistake of pissing off the wrong noble and being ratted out to face judgment from me personally. They weren’t the worst of the worst within the city – most walked free as long as they didn’t cross anyone with particular sway. But to those I found out about … they did in fact meet their deaths, at the rate befitting the number of victims and their levels of torture. Some died in seconds – one instance I don’t like to linger on took nearly three hours based on the number of females they forced themselves upon.

"A display would be quite welcome indeed,” Brannagh said. Within her broad smile gleamed something that caused a shudder to run down my spine. For a heartbeat it was like looking at Amarantha, as if an element of being raised in Hybern taught them to smile in a manner which saturated their targets with dread.

“It would be welcome for us to see how thoroughly the Crown-Cleaver has been broken,” Dagdan said. His smile matched his sister’s when Jade’s gaze shifted to him. “What manner of things will she do on your behest, we wonder? Acts of torture … depravity … will she strip naked and fuck them if you ask, or perhaps pull out all their teeth? With such an eager subject and so many possibilities … it must be hard to choose.”

Azriel!

We needed a distraction – now. Az’s spy network could cause a disturbance as if rebels were attacking. I could winnow away the prisoners in the commotion and have Hybern be none the wiser. All we had to do was …

Jade, draw things out, I thought, hating that I had to pray she was listening.

Just a few minutes. Play along and run back to my side when a commotion starts. We can get the prisoners out of here and say it was the rebels retrieving their comrades. Tell me you understand.

Jade’s boots clicked in the silence. The prisoners winced as she sauntered past, running her fingers through their hair. I watched her carefree movements as much as my attention would allow while simultaneously relaying orders to Az. He replied that he’d only need a few minutes to gather his people and use his siphons to cause an explosion while his spies pretended to break into the castle. Only a few minutes …

“Jade never fails to surprise me,” I said, the statement entirely true. I followed Jade with my eyes as she strolled toward the twins. “She’s a female of many talents. Let’s hear a few more of your ideas and maybe I’ll allow her to pick her favorite.”

Jade let out a laugh of delight at my suggestion. She stopped before Dagan, reaching out. Both he and his sister appeared hyper aware of her movements as she placed her hand on his shoulder. She slid her fingers over the dark gray, tight-fitting armor above his chest. The twins’ mirrored expressions indicated the touch evoked a mixture of confusion shaded with disgust.

“I like his ideas,” Jade said, her eyes following her hand as she traced invisible shapes over Dagdan’s defined chest. “Can I pick him as my favorite?”

Dagdan’s immediate reaction was to look to his sister. He ignored Jade entirely as if a person dragging their fingers over him didn’t warrant any more attention than a fly. I could tell without entering their minds that Brannagh and Dagdan were weighing – calculating. I didn’t interrupt. If this was Jade’s version of keeping them busy, then so be it. Even if the sight of her running her hand over Dagdan in a flirtatious manner turned my stomach in knots.

Brannagh and Dagdan looking back to Jade in unison indicated the end of their conversation. Dagdan’s face immediately shifted into a grin filled with excitement and lust as if he hadn’t just been regarding Jade as if she were an insect a moment ago. The prince and princess seemed to have settled on an angle which they thought would yield the most favorable results. My fist curling was the only outward indication of my desire to break each of Dagdan’s fingers as he gripped Jade’s hand and gave her wrist a kiss.

“I would be honored to be the favorite of such a mighty warrior,” Dagdan said. He placed his hands on Jade’s hips, sliding up her bare torso to stop just shy of her breasts. His sister was making a somewhat convincing act of watching the display with a grin, but the tilt to her head indicated her attention was solely locked on me. Dagdan’s actions had nothing to do with Jade and everything to do with gauging how much control I really had; how far I would allow boundaries to be pushed. Knowing only a few minutes remained before Az’s distraction … I had nothing to lose.

“Ask her to do whatever you like,” I said, motioning with a shrug and lazy wave. “You can fuck her right here in the middle of the throne room if it pleases you; that’s another form of entertainment we like to provide in the Night Court.”

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer,” Dagdan said, moving his hands upward to fully encompass Jade’s breasts. I fought to keep myself seated; my internal rage mirrored when I caught a hint of Cass’s thoughts. He stood at the edge of the crowd with his arms crossed and a grin on his face which revealed nothing of his desire to bash Dagdan’s face in.

“She can please me after the prisoners are dealt with,” Dagdan said. He pulled Jade to his chest, running a finger down the side of her face then over her lips. “Tell me, Crown-Cleaver – is there a particular way you’re fond of butchering someone?”

Jade’s demented smile widened. She playfully nipped at Dagdan’s finger. “I was taught something new recently that I’ve been wanting to try out.”

Dagdan raised a manicured brow. “Oh? So, she can learn new tricks. And what would that be?”

Jade gave Dagdan’s finger a light kiss. She tangled her fingers in his long hair and leaned in to whisper something in his ear. Even with the dead silence pressing in on us, I couldn't hear a word. Nor could Brannagh, based on the slip of her smile. I didn't catch any of what Jade had been saying at all until I reached deep within our link.

“... One shape to another, your victim you smother. Return to no more than stone as you tighten, and when you take your bearer’s heart with you … the world shall brighten.”

Dagdan pressing Jade to his chest had been his undoing. By the time the glowing text on his armor was visible, neither I nor Brannagh had enough time to react before the spell took effect. 

Dagdan’s breastplate screeched as it twisted and pulled into itself … taking Dagdan along with it. One second, I was at the top of the dais as Dagdan’s scream bounced off the chamber walls. The next, I stood at Jade’s side after winnowing and found myself sprayed in a wave of blood as Dagdan’s torso reduced to the size of a pebble within his breastplate. The marble-sized metallic ball fell to the onyx floor among the thud of Dagdan’s head and limbs. My eyes grew wide in pure terror.

Brannagh emitted a scream which sounded more animal than human; a shudder echoing through the air as if an invisible chord had been severed. She fell to her knees, picking her brother’s head up among the growing pool of blood and repeating Dagdan’s name in a high screech. Her attention didn’t shift until Jade drew her sword.

“You!” Brannagh leapt to her feet, the calves of her armor coated in blood along with a spot near her naval where she’d cradled her brother’s head. A dark, old power reminiscent of the wild magic which ran rampant in the Middle flowed through her. I hadn’t sensed anything like that since the war … and I needed to mist her before finding out how much of a pain in the ass that would be to deal with.

Brannagh’s black eyes grew wide as they locked with mine. Her lips parted … perhaps to beg for her life … when a shuddering ripple through the ground broke my concentration. Jade’s sword clattered to the floor as I held her close and created a shield. The ceiling shook with enough force to knock chunks of stone loose, a chandelier at the opposite side of the hall losing its purchase and breaking free. It fell to a chorus of screams and a thundering crash. I snapped my eyes back to Brannagh … to catch a glimpse of her winnowing away. I grit my teeth with a curse.

Az! I thought, pushing my thoughts through our link.

Dagdan is dead – Brannagh winnowed. Find her if she’s nearby and capture if you can, kill her if you can’t. Our cover is blown so we might as well take her for information.

I ignored the waves of Fae screaming and shoving over one another as they headed toward the inner chambers of the castle. I focused my attention on creating a rolling wave of darkness which filled the room within seconds.

“Everyone take shelter!” I said, shouting over the screams. “If the traitors are among us, I’ll find them!”

I sent thoughts down the link to Mor and Cassian.

Mor – winnow the prisoners to the townhouse; tell your father later I reduced them and their would-be rescuers to mist. Cass – make a show of joining the guards and conducting a search for rebels. Use this as an opportunity to check for areas someone could use to sneak through undetected by the Darkbringers. And find that fucking Hybern princess.

Hazy pinpricks of red signaled Cass’s siphons flaring to life. A gust of air blew over me as he beat his wings and launched himself in the direction of the hallway. The glow of his siphons became swallowed up by the darkness as the two prisoners at my back began to shout. I couldn’t blame them from being startled by Mor’s unexpected touch, their cries cutting off in an instant as she winnowed.

I tightened my grip on Jade’s arm, letting out a long exhale before winnowing us away. Our destination wasn’t the townhouse – no, I needed to stay in the area in case my brothers needed help tracking down Brannagh. And on top of that, Jade and I needed to go somewhere private. We needed to talk.

Chapter Text

Being in Hewn City always had a way of making me lose track of time, my eyes blinking in the face of the midafternoon Sun when Jade and I appeared on the spacious veranda in the Moonstone Palace. I scanned the columns, scattered plants, and sheer curtains drifting lazily in the warm breeze. I sensed no one nearby – it wasn’t as if Brannagh would be able to winnow herself here, anyway. This palace wasn’t as heavily warded as the townhouse or the House of Wind, but it had enough safeguards in place to keep outsiders from winnowing in.

“Alright, Jade, let’s start simple.” I removed my father's crown, tossing it aside to clatter against the stone as I kept my other hand firmly around Jade's forearm. “What the fuck gave you the impression I approved of you murdering one of the damn Hybern commanders?”

Dagdan’s still wet blood gleamed from where it was splattered across Jade’s neck, stomach, and pants. The way it shone in the sunlight reminded me of Mor’s dress of glittering ruby. I looked up to take in Jade regarding me as if I were simple minded.

“You think a monster like that should live?” Jade asked, her voice drenched in contempt.

“Of course not,” I said. It was a relief to see a sharpness had returned behind her gaze, but there was still something … off. “However, if our goal had been to kill Brannagh and Dagdan, I can guarantee you would’ve been made well aware. Do you realize what you’ve just done? Any hope we had of infiltrating Hybern’s war council is gone. Even if we’re able to capture Brannagh and stifle any news of what happened to Dagdan, Hybern is certainly not going to overlook their damn prince and princess going missing. We may as well have just declared war with them outright.”

“That was going to happen anyway!” Jade said. She yanked her arm, baring her teeth when my grip remained firm. “Get your hand off me.”

“You were not given permission to act autonomously on this mission, Jade,” I said, strengthening my grip. “You were to heed my direction – all you had to do was follow my damn orders. Instead, you acted like a wild animal, forcing me to order Az to commit an act which very well may result in a devastating backlash if what he did is considered a breach to my bargain with Keir according to the governing magic. Keir himself may seize the opportunity to do gods-knows what, and then the revolution within Hewn City may grow into a fucking revolution between them and the rest of my territory. Then we have Hybern to deal with on top of that. I just want you to be aware of how thoroughly you fucked us over.”

Jade spat on my jacket. I stared at the moisture snaking its way over my chest in disgust before shoving her away. Jade was quick to recover, standing tall as she hardened her features with a lift to her chin.

“Aren’t you the most powerful High Lord in history?” Jade said, no trace of admiration in the remark. “You can handle whatever that damn bargain tries to throw at you – stop being a simpering coward and just turn Keir and his entire court to mist. I felt the power you were throwing around back there when we made an entrance; you could do it. Considering how strong you are … I don’t know why the fuck you don’t just go to Hybern, kill the King, and take the damn Cauldron for yourself.”

“First of all, that Cauldron is the last thing I want.” I took in the twisted, unnatural nature of Jade’s features. When had they become that way?

“And don’t you think I would’ve stopped Hybern from being a threat on my own if I could?” I continued. Darkness swirled at my fingertips as I fought to contain the howling power within, as if it were eager to rise to Jade’s challenge. “You’ve always been a damn brute, but lately you’ve been allowing your bloodlust to take complete control of your mind. You’re better than that, Jade. You’re not a brainless monster who’s only drive is to kill, so stop acting like it.”

“That’s not what that damn mirror said!” Jade snapped. Her voice dropped to a low growl. “Maybe I finally decided to stop running and just become what the Ouroboros said I am. And a thing like me … I don’t have to listen to your orders. You’re not my damn High Lord.”

“Thank the Mother I’m not,” I spat. “I’ve seen what you did to your High Lord.”

I hadn’t told anyone else what I’d seen of that fight. Aside from the small portion I’d shared with Azriel to determine if he believed Jade to have the shadowsinging ability, I was the only one beside Jade who'd witnessed the altercation in its entirety. How brutal her clash with Tamlin had been … how brutal Jade had been. She’d been closer than what should have ever been possible to killing a High Lord.

That unease had snaked its way into my heart. I’d ignored it, dismissed it. Jade was strong in body and mind – as strong as, if not stronger, than me in some ways. She could weather any storm threatening to break her apart; she could handle losing the Spring Court, losing Tamlin, and losing Lucien. She could handle all those things on her own because I had handled losing everything I held dear on my own. Deep down, I knew we only reached out for one another because of comfort, not because of need. Because …

‘Were you having a nightmare?’

That memory … the one where Jade had brought me out of a nightmare while I’d been under the Mountain. Had I needed her, then? Would I have been able to survive … to continue living under that damn Mountain and not take my own life … if Jade hadn’t arrived again and again in her forms of shadow and flesh to offer a reminder of someone just being there?

Jade grit her teeth, her eyes going wide. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! You’re not Tamlin! I would never hurt you!”

That tone in Jade’s voice. It was so foreign to how it had been that night. The Jade under the Mountain had been so different; the woman and the Fae who had once seemed almost identical were now nowhere near alike. When did that happen? That change had been as sudden as the drop of a stage curtain. Hadn't it? Dagdan, the Attor, Cassian, Mor, Tamlin … Were there changes before I had missed? Were there changes I’d ignored?

“I’ll kill anyone who harms you!” Jade screamed. Shadows ignited like flames over her skin, dousing her in a blanket of pitch black. That same dark fire danced behind her narrowed eyes. “I will kill them and take a damn long time doing it!”

The statement hit me like a blow to the chest. I had done nothing. I had done nothing to stop Jade from going down this path. I’d used her brutality like a tool – a weapon to be wielded. I’d assumed she could handle it and avoid being swallowed up by the darkness as I had. She had offered me a hand when I needed it, but had I done the same? Had I really done anything more than offer a roof over her head? Had I only offered her shelter in exchange for her power, whether I’d stated it specifically or not?

“I don’t need that from you, Jade,” I said. I took long breaths to settle myself – to settle my heart beating so fast within my chest that it may burst. “I don’t need your protection. What I want is … what I need from you is … I just don’t want you to leave. Because you will, Jade. You’ll leave. You’ve seen everything horrible and ugly that I am beneath the surface and that’s something no one has seen before. And deep down … I think I knew if I allowed you to keep falling into this pit you’re now in, that you’d stay because you’d have no choice – because Tamlin and Lucien will have pushed you away because of what you are. I was just that scared of being alone.”

“Fuck you!”

Jade’s voice was cracked, raw. Breaths sawed out of her as if she were drowning. 

“You fucking prick!” She looked nothing short of furious, loose strands of hair falling over her eyes as her chest heaved. “You pretentious piece of shit! You can’t fucking talk about me like that! There … is nothing … wrong with me! I’m not the one in the pit! You are! You always have been! Since before we even met in person, I saw you drowning in that damn pit of despair. Don’t you fucking try to tell me that I have a problem when it’s you!”

Jade made a choking sound meant to be a laugh. Her expression shifted into an ugly sneer. “And do you want to know the best part? You crawling around in there is a joke. Don’t pretend like you understand a single thing about what I’m going through. You have no fucking idea what it’s like to have everything taken from you.”

A hole opened up in my chest. I tried to push it down – to smother it. It was what I’d done for years; centuries. That hole which grew wider every time I’d lost something precious.

“My family,” I said, the words coming out in a weak croak. It was like my body had suddenly forgotten how to breathe and I had to consciously keep air coursing through my lungs. “My parents, and my sister, they –”

“They died,” Jade said, not even an ounce of pity in her voice. “You know what? So did mine. I don’t have parents, I don’t have a brother, and now that I’m a monster, I don’t even have a damned sister. Anywhere I used to call home is gone – I can’t go back across the Wall, and I can’t go back to the Spring Court. Tamlin, Mitah, and … Lucien … they’re gone. I’m not getting them back. But you … you have everything! You have your palaces and your power and your family. They want you; they accept you! You have a place! How the hell can you stand here and bitch about being ‘alone’ when you have them?!”

“Because they’re not you!” I shouted, fighting past my throat tightening up so only a whisper of air could snake through. “No one else … no one else is strong enough to see what I am and not be afraid.”

“That’s fucking bullshit!” Jade screamed, my words only adding fuel to her rage. “You know that’s fucking bullshit! Your brothers would sacrifice themselves for you in a heartbeat! They’re warriors – do you think they would run? Do you actually believe they’re scared of you?”

Jade spoke as if I was small; weak. Nonthreatening. As if it would be considered a joke for anyone to be afraid of me, much less Az and Cass. As far back as I could remember, I’d just assumed they feared me – that everyone feared me. Even Mor and Amren. Amarantha had been the first person outside the Night Court I’d encountered who hadn’t reeked of fear while regarding me. The only Fae in all of Prythian who hadn’t feared me had used her own power to bind me and make me feel as weak as I had everyone else. Amarantha had used that fear to fuel her hate toward me, and give me a punishment that I rightly deserved because of what that fear had driven Tamlin’s father to do; how my family had all ended up dead because of it.

‘That’s bullshit.’

Jade. The message back then was similar to how it was now. Jade had dismissed Amarantha using me as a focus for her revenge. 

I hadn’t been the one at fault. 

Would others have told me this? If I had spoken to Cass or Az about how I’d felt concerning my mother and sister’s deaths, would they have said the same?

Tears began to fall in long tracks down my cheeks. That hole in my chest … I stopped fighting it. I stopped fighting that pit of darkness and pain; that thing that was a part of myself I didn’t want to acknowledge.

“No,” I said, feeling some of the darkness lift from that pit as I spoke. “No … Cass and Az … I don’t think they’d be afraid of me.” I clutched at the front of my jacket, for the first time in my life scrambling to bring my thoughts together. Being in control of my own mind had never been an issue until now. I had never before felt as if I needed to voice something and not know what.

“I’m sorry.” The pit in my chest shrunk. “I’m sorry, Jade. When I look at you, I see … me. And I’ve always thought that I could do everything on my own, that I didn’t need anyone or anything to act as a crutch for my hardships. Because they were my hardships and mine alone. And then you reached out your hand … and you kept reaching out your hand over and over again because you’re good. Just as … just as I am, because we’re equals. So I can also reach out my hand to you. I can also … be good.”

The hole in my chest retreated. Instead, a new feeling hit me like a tidal wave. Warmth washed through my body from the crown of my head to my toes. The chord between us, the thing binding Jade and I together, strummed through my heart like the string of an instrument. Its song was so beautiful it caused more tears to fall. I kept my eyes locked with Jade’s. I watched as her features relaxed, a single tear snaking down her cheek as a sign that she, too, could hear the song.

This was the mating bond. It wasn’t as it’d been described – I didn’t suddenly find myself seeing Jade’s physical form in a new light or my body engulfed in unbridled lust. She was certainly beautiful – she always had been, even if I hadn’t recognized it at first. But now I saw her beauty as my beauty – her strength, her conviction, her morals, her kindness. It was the same thing she’d witnessed when her half of the bond had snapped into place. The problem had arisen when I’d run from it; when a part of me had realized what accepting the mating bond truly meant and couldn’t fathom recognizing that same level of goodness in myself as I saw in Jade. I had never thought myself capable or deserving of such a thing.

The ever-present shadows dancing over my skin twinkled with tiny lights like distant stars. I extended my hand, opening myself both mind and body to Jade. I had lowered my shield to her and intended to keep it that way; not just for Jade, but for the other members of my family as well. As terrified as I was over how they may react – how they may leave – after seeing the true me filled with uncertainty and fear … it was a risk I felt worth taking. I wanted to keep reaching out to others just as Jade had done.

Jade didn’t move an inch as I approached. Her eyes became fixed on my open palm as if she expected something to materialize there. Every urge I had was telling me to take her in my arms and hold her tight … but from now on, I wanted to give Jade a choice. Because up until this point I hadn’t been, and she deserved it.

“You sent me a letter, once.” I smiled as Jade’s wide eyes rose to meet mine. “In that letter you’d written that more than one type of love exists. It implied your love for Tamlin was different from your love for Lucien. I was reminded of the love I have for my people, and now I’m realizing that I never included myself in that equation. I’m sorry, Jade – things would’ve been a lot easier for us if I had realized that sooner. I need help just as much as you need help. I’m not going to deny that anymore.”

Jade … took a step back. The shadows over her skin flickered as she hissed through clenched teeth. “Shut the hell up. I don’t need your fucking help. I’m not horrible, or wicked – Tamlin is. Stop saying there’s something wrong with me!”

I kept my hand raised with grim determination. “I’m not saying there’s something wrong with you. I just want to help you, Jade; like how you helped me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me!”

Something wild and raw swam behind Jade’s eyes. She continued to back away as if I were coming at her with a sword. “You’re weak! You’re fucking weak! I need to protect you! I need to fight for you! That’s my purpose!”

“I’m not your purpose, and you’re not mine.” I didn’t take a step – waiting patiently as Jade reached the edge of the veranda, her shoulder bumping against a column. She reminded me of a stray animal being offered food and wary of any dangers which may manifest from the hand reaching out. Her shaking fingers curled into fists.

“I’m one thing,” Jade said. Her voice was soft, although the rage rang through loud and clear. She stared me down, her chest heaving. “I’ve only ever been one thing.”

The shadows dancing over Jade’s skin suddenly widened. Panic raced through me as I recognized the form of magic.

“Jade!”

Jade stepped back into the shadows. In less than a second, before I could even think to winnow, Jade – my mate – was gone.

Chapter Text

Places, voices, smells, sounds … all of these things whipped by and through and around me at a rate faster than I could process. I curled into the shadows, allowing them to cradle me as we traveled to gods-knows-where. I couldn’t care less where we went as long as it was far. As long as it was quiet. As long as it was away from Rhysand and that feeling which had pounded through my body like a mallet striking a drum.

Out of nowhere I’d been overcome with emotion as if a long-forgotten letter had suddenly received a reply. The relief and the resonance of whatever the hell Rhysand had done had hit me hard enough to nearly knock me from my feet. I’d almost given into it … that feeling of comfort and the overwhelming desire to take Rhysand’s hand. The teeth making up my mental shield had opened slightly – just enough to gauge the sincerity of Rhysand’s words.

‘Let me help you, Jade.’

For Rhysand to help me … It meant there was something wrong. That I was something wrong. It meant he saw that twisted, broken thing from the mirror and looked at me with pity. And I didn’t need his fucking pity. I wasn’t the monster – Tamlin was the monster. He was the horrible, wicked thing consumed by rage and hate. I was … I was …

The darkness disappeared. My back slammed against something cold and soft. Clouds of steam formed around my lips as my chest rose and fell in ragged breaths.

The smell alone indicated I was lying in a pile of pine needles. Overhead I regarded a number of thin trees and their spindly branches stretching into the gray sky heavy with low-hanging clouds and a promise of snow. I didn’t move – remaining sprawled over the forest floor as I waited for my chest to stop feeling as if it may split open.

The only sound was my breathing. The shadows had taken me somewhere quiet as I’d asked – no birds sang, so squirrels scampered between the trees, and there were no scents in the air like a trace of urine to indicate any larger animals came through this place. I was completely alone.

I slowly pushed myself into a sitting position. Goosebumps rose over my bare skin as my heart rate began to slow and my muddled mind started to take in my surroundings. A chill breeze reminded me of the wet blood across my stomach, chest, and neck. I ran my fingertips over the scars lining my neck, they came back as red and gleaming as the day I’d attempted to tear out my own throat. My chest grew tight. I shut that feeling down, shut every feeling down until I stared at the blood on my fingers with a level of detachment as if it were nothing more than paint. I considered wiping the blood away … then left it. The act would be pointless; it wasn’t like there was anyone out here to see me, anyway.

An hour passed. Then two. Maybe five by the time I rose on stiff muscles to my feet. With no clear destination in mind, I started to walk. I shuffled through the forest – my hands growing sticky from sap as I absently brushed the trees as I’d passed. I still picked up no signs of life – I still didn’t care. I wanted to be open, clear, and empty. I didn’t want to feel anything anymore; to be anything anymore. I couldn’t even work up the emotion to feel tired or sad. I just was, which was hard enough.

The trees parted; I found myself facing a lake touched with a trace of curling fog. A ripple formed in the pitch-black water the moment I crossed the pebbly shore and stopped at its edge. I blinked slowly at the ripple as it spread and danced over the small rocks making up the lakeside. A sign of there finally being something in this area other than myself wasn’t enough to deter me from getting to my knees and using the frigid water to wipe the sap from my hands.

I noticed a haze over my skin which hadn’t been there before – as if I was just out of focus. Water dripped from my fingertips as I held my hand up to study the miniscule layer of shadows flickering from an invisible breeze.

What is that?

The shadows sputtered, sending me a message:

‘Like calls to like.’

I was so distracted by the shadows I only noticed the figure staring at me through the gaps in my fingers when they were nearly on top of me.

The creature had moved through the water without a single sound. That feat alone was impressive not only because it outdid my senses, but because the creature had no right to be as stealthy in the water as it had been.

I now found myself staring at a horse, their eyes so cold and dark it made the lake seem inviting by comparison. The horse’s hide was pure white, paired with hooves, a muzzle, and a mane gleaming like black obsidian. The animal was drenched, which was to be expected considering where it had come from, but somehow being wet suited it as if that was how it was meant to be. Just as how this damned horse was meant to be in this lake instead of grazing in a field somewhere. I wasn’t sure what to make of it.

The horse slowly lifted its head … and spoke. Not in a language I understood. Of course not – I didn’t speak horse. Though with every passing word, I had a growing feeling that this thing was no more a horse than I was a quail.

‘You are not supper. A pity – a long while has passed since supper.’

The shadows.

The shadows surrounding me, curling over my skin … They were telling me what this creature was saying. I slowly rose to my feet, eyeing the horse in a wary fashion.

“What the hell are you?”

I had no idea if it could understand me as I’d initially been unable to understand it. Every ounce of my concentration went to speaking through the shadows in tandem with my tongue. Perhaps that would be enough.

‘I am the unwanted – the banished,’ the horse said. It took a step forward, the water rippling about its legs but failing to make a sound. ‘Is that why you are here, vessel of shadows? Are you unwanted like me?’

I kept my eyes locked on the black pools acting as the horse’s eyes. It stopped before me, my neck craning back to hold our stare. The horse was massive; at least a few hands taller than Snowball, with my head barely coming up to the height of its shoulder. If I’d ever encountered someone riding into battle on something like this while I’d still been human, I have no doubt I would’ve shit myself in fear.

“I guess I am,” I said, attempting to take in any form of expression from the horse’s blank features. “I don’t think I’m wanted by anyone.”

The horse placed its head above mine, nostrils flaring as it took a long whiff of my scent. I got a wave of its own – something like algae and rotting meat. My urge to gag remained suppressed as I only stood still and allowed droplets from the horse’s sopping coat to fall over me.

‘You are not as old as I, but are made from the same substance,' the horse said. It passed me by, the creature’s movements finally emitting a sound from the heavy fall of hooves on the rocky shore. The innate grace about it fell away to jerking, awkward movements as it lowered itself with some difficulty. I had to wonder just how long it had been since this thing had made landfall for it to move like that.

‘You are not supper, but you are company, young one,’ the horse said. It finally seemed to settle itself on its side, regaining a trace of elegance as it lifted its broad neck. ‘Sit with me.’

There was more than a good chance whatever the hell this thing really was had a mind to gut me the second I let my guard down … I couldn’t find it in myself to care.

I took a step forward. This thing said that it was banished, unwanted just as I was. I had a feeling I could still be alone while in this creature’s presence, as little as that made sense.

“Do you have a name?” I asked. I sat on the rocky soil, leaning my back against the horse’s stomach as I’d done countless times with Snowball. It was much warmer than I anticipated – about as warm as a real horse would be. For whatever reason I’d expected it to be cold and clammy like the lake it had stepped out of.

‘Once,’ the horse said. With a tilt of its head, I could see my reflection in its glass-like eye. Within it I looked small … insignificant. To this thing, perhaps that’s what I was. I wasn’t even worth the effort of killing for a meal.

‘The Fae and Illyrians used to call me by a name during the time they brought me supper,’ the horse said. Damp hair fell over my shoulder as it shifted. ‘But that was long ago. They stopped bringing me supper after a fashion – they figured out I was no more a god than they; that I did not have the power to control tides or rainfall. I’ve had to hunt for my supper since – further and further must I now roam. Game knows better than to come here. Fae are more careless; Illyrians as well. I tend to catch a few during their rite in the spring. In a few months now … yes, they will return, and it will happen again. My hunger never seizes, albeit Illyrian blood does make it manageable – yes.’

I shifted away from the wet hair causing a chill on my shoulder. My reflection in the horse’s eyes frowned. “Why aren’t you trying to eat me if you’re so hungry, then?”

The horse let out a snort. It was hard to say if the sound was dismissive or a laugh.

‘You are not kelpie as I,’ the horse said. ‘That does not mean you are supper. Supper is them – we are they. We are of these hills and mountains and rivers. Your vessel is new, but the rest of you is not. I would grow ill and die if I were to consume you – you are a poison to this world.’

My stomach dropped. “What does that mean?” I was overtaken by desperation, by a need to get a damn answer. “What does that mean? What am I?!”

‘I cannot tell you, for this I do not know,’ the horse – the kelpie – said. Wet hair flopped as it shook out its mane. ‘I know that you are of similar ilk, but I do not possess the wisdom of what foulness exactly.’

A series of voices rang through my head, memories of other creatures addressing me in a similar manner.

‘Horrible thing … foul thing.’

‘Pity you’re only a box.’

‘A stain upon this realm; a blot. That is what you are.’

The Bone Carver, Stryga, and the Book of Breathings. They had all said that I was different; that I was wrong. So had the Ouroboros when it showed me that revolting monster. I had seen it in Tamlin’s eyes … in Rhysand’s eyes. And now this thing I was leaning against for warmth said I was a poison to everything and everyone around me. What was … even the point of trying?

What would be the point in ever going back? What would be the point in only making things worse for everyone?

“How long have you been … alone?” I asked. How long had it survived without contact? How long could I? How many weeks, months, years, centuries could I last before I’d walk into the lake at my side, expelling all the air from my lungs and letting the darkness take me?

The kelpie exhaled a sharp gust of air in thought. I grit my teeth against the stench of decay.

‘I have not spoken with another for some time. Perhaps ten thousand years; maybe more. I choose not to address those who are supper – it upsets them.’

I blinked at the ground. The statement washed over me for a moment before I slowly looked back to the kelpie. “Why … do you care? They hate you – everyone hates you. You’re unwanted … so why do you care if you make them upset before you kill them?”

‘Because that is cruel,’ the kelpie said. It lifted its head, looking out over the water which probably held just as much life as the surrounding forest. Not a single fish swam in its waters because of the creature beside me. No birds flew overhead, no deer leapt at our backs, no bears slept within caverns. They had all died by the kelpie’s design … yet not because it wished them unwell.

‘I choose not to be cruel,’ the kelpie said. The language it spoke, its dialect, was innately rough like two rocks grinding against one another. By some miracle the kelpie conveyed a sense of something delicate. ‘Cruelty is easy; compassion is not. Not for something like myself. During the time right before the supper stopped, I’d heard of my brothers and how they’d drag their supper under the water and keep them alive to rape and torture their meal before giving them release. I was of that make long ago, then I grew bored. I wanted a challenge – compassion was a challenge. It has kept me entertained when I feed and I must fight the urge in my blood to toy with my supper. It has kept my sanity from dwindling until I am only driven by base desires. That may happen someday, but not now.’

I pulled my knees to my chest, hugging my elbows. My hands began to shake. “Does it help? Does anyone hate you any less?”

‘No.’

I closed my eyes, hot tears forming in my lashes.

‘I have no use for their favor,’ the kelpie continued. ‘I do not show compassion for their sake; I gain nothing from it. Their thoughts are not the ones which can still my mind.’

I felt the kelpie shift behind me. ‘You weep.’

Shame washed over me as I dipped my head. “You scare me.”

This was a sort of fear I’d never faced. It was looking at that monster from the Ouroboros and seeing something different. I was petrified of facing it and realizing that even if it all wasn’t my fault … I had still made the decision to be cruel. I had done nothing to fight the urge to reach into my chest and rip out my own heart. Over and over I had been so insistent that it was Tamlin or Hybern that was ruining my life that I couldn’t fathom I had been doing it all on my own.

Tamlin.

He had been scared. Fear had swam in his green eyes when I’d attacked him, before I’d evoked his rage and aided him in shattering the progress he’d made on handling his temper. I'd been prepared to kill him and not even know why. His life had gone from something I'd once been willing to throw my own away for to meaning nothing; less than nothing. Losing Tamlin ... losing my home ... it was my fault.

'You have more value than just being a warrior, Jade.'

Tamlin had said those words. Never once had he looked at me and only seen one thing. He had insisted that I was allowed to want something more, to be something more than just a warrior - a protector.

'I don’t think that’s the only thing you should use to weigh your self-worth.'

My friend. Tamlin was my friend. The sorrow I'd seen swimming in his eyes when I'd moved to make a fatal blow hadn't been for his life alone.

I slapped a hand over my mouth to smother the wracking sob threatening to overtake me. My fingers began to shake. How many times had I trained with Cassian and nearly killed him because I refused to hold back? How many times had I spoken to Rhysand with cruelty – insulting and belittling him with no remorse? When had I changed from being the type of warrior who only killed out of necessity, to the type who took joy in the fact? Dagdan was as foul as they came … yet I hadn’t killed him out of a sense of justice.

I’d killed him because I thought it would be fun.

Something … is wrong with me.

‘My apologies.’

My head snapped up as the warmth at my back disappeared. Where the kelpie had once been at my side sat a Fae, their skin a creamy white; long, straight black hair falling over their broad shoulders and down to their mid back. Even for a Fae they were unnervingly handsome, with angular eyes, high cheekbones, and sensuous lips. I realized three things when they smiled – first, that all of their teeth ending in fine points didn’t make them a regular Fae. Second, their scent of decay meant my new companion was still the same kelpie I’d been speaking to before. And third – this thing may have had a visually pleasing body of defined, lean muscle, and … other parts which indicated ‘it’ was a ‘he’ … but I wasn’t a fan of it all being on display at once.

‘Does this frighten you less?’ the kelpie asked, trying to catch my eye as I strained to look away. ‘The Illyrians are usually more at ease with the horse, but I remember the Fae preferred this form.’

I raised my hand to the side of my face to shield my eyes. “The horse is fine. Please go back to the horse.”

‘Does it not scare you?’

“No,” I said. I lowered my eyes, taking a deep breath. “You didn’t scare me. I misspoke.”

‘Ah.’

I let out a long exhale in relief when the warmth at my back returned. My shoulders slumped as I lowered my hand. “What I meant was … I’m afraid of myself.”

Black hair grazed my cheek as the kelpie, now thankfully back in the form of a horse, brought his head closer. ‘I do not understand. You cannot fear what you know.’

A weak smile grew on my face to fight the rising urge to expel my guts over the rocky soil. I couldn’t find the strength to raise my eyes. “I don’t think I know myself at all. That’s the problem.”

A wave of hot breath blew over me as the kelpie exhaled before looking away. ‘You act like you are lost – like you are no better than supper. I cannot imagine that form of torture.’

A chuckle escaped me despite myself. I wiped the wetness from my eyes. “Can I give you a name?”

‘It matters not to me.’

“Good,” I said, a lightness filling my chest for the first time in … awhile. “I’m bad with names, so it’s not going to be a great one, anyway. And since you keep saying that I’m like you somehow … I think I’ll call you Kin. It’s like we’re distant relatives or something, right?”

I felt the kelpie’s contemplative hum against my back. ‘Yes,’ he said, sounding thoughtful. ‘You were made as I was. Both alone, both unwanted. Kin I will accept.’

I sat back, leaning my head against Kin’s side. “Can I … sleep, Kin?”

‘We all must,’ Kin said. ‘I will not join you – I have already slept the four months I need for this rotation.’

“You are … really weird.” I closed my eyes. Part of me was well aware this may have all been a part of some trap to let my guard down. Perhaps a dozen more creatures like Kin would rise from the still lake and tear me to shreds for ‘supper’ the second I lost consciousness. Or perhaps … I would be fine. For a change, maybe I’d close my eyes and feel well rested.

I awoke to the sound of footsteps and the sight of a thousand stars. My back lay flat against the rocky shoreline of the lake – Kin gone. The steps I heard belonged to someone wearing shoes and certainly weren’t his. They were loud enough in their approach to make it obvious they wanted to catch my attention. I let out a long sigh before sitting up.

“Are you hurt?”

That voice wasn’t one I’d expected. I rose to my feet and turned to face the figure standing near the tree line. They wore a set of Illyrian leathers with a number of weapons strapped to their sides. Perhaps it was Kin which prompted them to arm themselves to the teeth; perhaps it was me.

“How did you find me out here?” I asked. I hadn’t done a thing to hide my trail after I’d arrived, but I’d gathered that I’d found myself in the center of some forest somewhere within the sprawling Night Court. This in theory should’ve given me the opportunity to stay hidden forever had I wished.

“Az’s shadows.” 

The figure tentatively stepped further into the moonlight, as if prepared for me to pounce. A terse nature racked their tone. “They told him you were somewhere in this area; we’ve all been searching.”

Mor’s blonde hair had been tied back at her nape; she looked far fiercer than I’d witnessed before. In those glittering dresses she was a dagger laced with poison, in the armor she was a battle ax ready to split someone in two. I felt myself on the receiving end of that malice as Mor came to a stop and curled her lips in disgust.

“You never deserved the benefit of the doubt people have given you,” Mor said. She sized me up with a shake to her head. “Have you ever stopped and thought, even for a single moment, how your actions have been affecting Rhys? Did you not notice his pain, or did you just see it and choose to look elsewhere?”

My eyes drifted over Mor’s face. She was so damn beautiful it almost wasn’t fair. And it wasn’t just her body … how she acted, the way she spoke … how she clearly cared and was willing to stand against everyone else in this court who’d shown me leniency despite what I’d done, or didn’t do, when it came to how I treated Rhysand. She’d been the only one to look at me and see the truth … that something was wrong with me, and I’d been allowing that darkness to swallow me whole instead of facing it. Turning my back on that darkness had also meant turning my back on Rhysand; facing his problems would have meant acknowledging my own.

“I noticed Rhysand’s pain,” I said, the words slow on my tongue. “And didn’t care.” 

The rage filling Mor’s eyes was fair – justified.

Something had been off with Rhysand as far back as when we’d stood on that balcony at the Mountain. Our conversation had ended when he’d winnowed away in a flurry of panic and confusion. I didn’t care to delve into it because I figured whatever problems he was having he could take care of himself. When we were free, once Amarantha was dead, our dynamic shifted and he no longer needed me as he once had. Even that time months later when I’d found him within a dream due to a nightmare, he’d dismissed me with a smile and a change in subject. Rhysand was a High Lord, and I was a general of a court that despised his own – we couldn’t be more independent if we tried. Rhysand needing me had been nothing short of unimaginable.

I’d been so blinded by my own rage when we’d crossed the Wall that I’d missed how sad Rhysand had sounded when he’d told me I could stay in the Night Court. I had forgotten about the desperation in his voice and mind when he’d saved me from the Ouroboros and fought to keep himself collected in the face of me falling apart. When offered an opportunity in the Summer Court to look behind Rhysand’s false curtain of arrogance, I hadn’t bothered, simply taking him at face value. When he had pushed me away, I hadn't fought it because it was easier to dismiss him than risk facing my own issues if I helped him face his.

“What you are to Rhys,” Mor said. Her pretty lips parted as she grit her teeth. “I hate it. I hate that the Mother, the gods, whoever – were so cruel as to bind him to you. All you’ve done since you’ve been here is make Rhys suffer. Right now … you have no idea how beside himself with worry he is for you. Rhys would give anything for your happiness. And you’ve taken his kindness … his love … and ignored it. You’ve looked over it as if it didn’t matter to you at all. You are a monster.”

I caught a ripple in the lake from the corner of my eye. The shadows dancing over my skin shifted as I conveyed a message:

‘Not supper.’

“I’m glad it was you who found me,” I said. It was clear I threw Mor off balance. She narrowed her eyes, bringing her hands closer to the weapons at her sides as if expecting an attack.

“No one else would take me where I need to go,” I continued. “The shadows might, since they seem to know where I should be more than I do myself … but I can’t guarantee that. Would you be able to winnow me to the Moonstone Palace?”

Mor’s expression turned grave. She shook her head. “No. Rhys's orders are to take you to Velaris.”

“The Ouroboros isn’t in Velaris.”

Mor went still. Her eyes widened as they roved over me. “The Ouroboros? Why?”

“Because I’m a monster, just like you said.” I lifted my chin, taking a deep enough breath that I felt the blood still caked over my chest crack. “And I need to stop running and face what I am. Whatever it is I am. I don’t want to be the person who sees others suffering and ignores it - enjoys it - because I can’t handle what’s going on in my own head. That mirror might break me – I might not be strong enough to overcome it. But if I don’t try … then I don’t think I’ll ever have a chance to … to get better.”

Mor didn’t seem to know what to make of me. The hands she had hanging at her sides clenched and unclenched as she contemplated my request. Azriel, Cassian, Amren, and especially Rhysand would’ve dismissed me on the spot. They would call me foolish, suicidal, or simply be too scared to allow me to take that sort of risk. Rhysand would possibly let me go if he were to accompany me, but … that wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to do this for myself. I wanted to know that I could handle this on my own, even if I didn’t have to.

“Please, Mor.”

Mor’s lips parted. Her brown eyes roved over my face, and for the first time I spotted something in her gaze that didn’t reflect animosity. It made me feel recognized; like Mor saw past the shadows to pick out the miniscule pieces of what was left of me beneath. Her lips pulling taut indicated what she saw wasn't terribly impressive. Even so ... her pale hand rose, palm up. She locked her gaze with mine and gave me a grim nod.

For the first time in a while, I moved forward with pride in my step.

Chapter Text

I’d never watched a more beautiful sunrise than from the Moonstone Palace. The snow capped mountains in the distance looked like a painting where the artist couldn’t decide whether to depict their majesty in shades of pink, orange, blue, or purple, and had decided to flawlessly blend all colors at once. A strong gust blew drifts of snow free, shards forming clouds of glittering gold before dissipating. I wished more than anything that I could fly through those clouds, grasping for flakes of snow and feeling their cold sting against my palm. I would probably freeze to death within seconds, but damn would I have fun before it happened.

“If there’s one thing this place doesn’t lack, it’s chairs.”

I didn’t turn to face my visitor – I knew I didn’t have to for Rhysand to be aware of the smile on my face. My mental shield had been left wide open and I was certain he could sense how I felt upon his arrival.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Rhysand asked. He joined me at the stone railing at the edge of the veranda, a sheer drop fading into darkness under my dangling feet. He leaned his elbows on the edge, his violet eyes lingering on me before looking ahead. “I should shove you off so you can freefall for a bit and get a taste of what I felt when Mor told me about the Ouroboros.”

I had been aware of every agonizing second which had passed during my time before the Ouroboros. Mor had waited for me at the top of the stairs, her back turned and the color drained from her striking features. But she hadn’t left, nor had she shied from saying she’d retrieve me if she sensed I needed aid.

Mor had sat on those steps for no less than five hours while I’d watched, spoken, and listened to the thing in the mirror. The two of us didn’t share a word at the end of it, her eyes only roving over me for any sign of injury before she’d taken my hand and winnowed me back here. She had offered one final glance containing something tentative before she’d turned away and whisked herself back to Velaris.

“Don’t be upset at Mor about it,” I said, looking to the side. “She just caved in because I was desperate.”

Rhysand continued to look ahead. He made a slow nod. “Mor … I think she knows more about what you’re going through than you realize. That desperation she saw in you when you knew you had to do something completely, and totally idiotic in order to change the hand you felt you’d been dealt … Mor had been in that situation. I’m glad you asked her to help you.”

I studied Rhysand’s expression. He seemed on the edge of exhaustion – more than likely due to him scouring his court through the night. I hadn’t been the only thing he’d been searching for; Brannagh had escaped. Rhysand’s mind and memories were now open to me like a well-worn book, and in flashes of feelings and images I knew that Azriel and his spies had yet to come across the Hybern princess. There was a good chance she’d winnowed herself to the shore and already taken a vessel headed for her home across the sea. I half expected Rhysand to hate me for it; he had every right to. Instead, I found him certainly irritated, but no malice swam through our bond.

“Everything I did down there – in Hewn City,” I said. I lowered my eyes in shame. “I … ruined everything. Killing Dagdan was a mistake; I just let my anger get a hold of me and … I’m sorry, Rhysand. I’m sorry for putting us all more at risk with Hybern and for putting you more at risk with Keir. I should’ve just listened. I was so far up my own ass I couldn’t think straight.”

“This goes both ways, Mouse,” Rhysand said. The statement struck me in a way I couldn’t explain. Rhysand hadn’t called me by my nickname in weeks. I never thought in a thousand years I’d be brought to the edge of tears from hearing him call me some stupid name he knew I hated.

“You were hurting, and I looked the other way,” Rhysand said. He laced his fingers, the violet in his eyes reflected by the mountains in the distance. Even though Rhysand seemed half dead on his feet, it was like a heavy weight had lifted from his back. That look was something bordering on peace; all the voices in his head which had been telling him he wasn’t good enough had finally quieted.

“I did the same,” I said, my voice coming out much softer than I intended. I reached out, hesitated, then placed my hand over his. His warmth, his life, caused my throat to grow tight. All I had cared about was going to battle – not what I was doing it for. “You mean a lot to me, Bat. You’re the closest friend I have, and I shouldn’t treat someone I love in the way that I did. I’m sorry for dismissing your pain.”

Rhysand stared at our hands for a moment. He looked up at me, a familiar grin gracing his dazzling features. “Since when did you become such a sap?”

His smile disappeared the moment I pinched the back of his hand and twisted. I watched Rhysand through heavy lids as he scowled.

You deserve that and you know it.

Rhysand dropped his hand with a scoff. “You’re nothing but a pain in my ass, you know that?” His eyes roved over my face as his expression grew soft. I felt a tentative prod in my mind as if he were testing a body of water before jumping in. “I still love you, Jade, despite all that.”

“Disgusting.”

Rhysand’s sound of frustration was easily dwarfed by my barking laughter echoing off the mountain. Even if the wrinkle to his nose said otherwise … I could tell through our bond he was happy to see me this way – happy to see me laughing again; even if there was some pain behind it.

“Do you think you’re ready to go home?”

My laughter died down. I shifted my position on the ledge, putting my back to the mountains so I could face Rhysand fully. He watched me with a level expression as he waited for my answer.

“I don’t,” I said, holding his gaze. “I don’t think I deserve to have Tamlin forgive me for what I did. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to try. I want to tell Tamlin I’m sorry; to tell him that he’s still my heart even if that no longer means anything to him. Knowing Tamlin … I think I really hurt him, Bat – more than just on the outside. I belittled him, and scared him, and betrayed him. I wouldn’t blame him at all if he didn’t forgive me.”

I felt Rhysand’s presence slink through my mind – searching. He let out a low hum as he withdrew.

“I still don’t understand why you tried to kill him,” Rhysand said. He ran a hand through his tousled hair. “You don’t understand why you tried to kill him.”

“I know.” I dropped my eyes. I’d taken a bath after my time with the Ouroboros, changing into a long, loose lavender skirt and a cropped gray shirt. Even after coming to terms with myself, knowing a monster slumbered within me, I still had no answer. I felt guilty to be up in this palace with the luxury of fine clothes and every amenity imaginable at my fingertips to feel pampered. I had done nothing to earn any of it.

“I don’t think I thanked you for taking me in,” I said. I raised my eyes with a weak smile. “Tamlin … hasn’t been the only one I’ve been a total ass to for no good reason. Thanks for opening your home to me despite that.”

“You’re family; you don’t have to be invited,” Rhysand said, sliding his hands into his pockets. “And don’t worry – I’m still pulling your expenses from your winnings. You’ll be singing a very different tune once those run out.”

I nearly fell backward down the sheer cliff face. “Are you serious? There’s still money from what I won under the Mountain?!”

Rhysand shrugged. “I told you that you were disgustingly rich, didn’t I?”

“How did you get it?”

“That would be a question for Az,” Rhysand said, seeming rather pleased at the skills exhibited by his shadowsinger. I returned his grin, eager to ask my reluctant teacher about it himself.

Rhysand’s smile relaxed as he offered a nod. “Our last encounter with Mitah gave me the impression he’ll agree to a meeting if I send word. I’ll ask him to bring Lucien and meet us at a location within the Night Court that no one outside him, my brothers, and myself know about. I’ll play lookout while you decide on your strategy for approaching Tamlin. And if nothing else … know that I’ll do everything I can to help you and Lucien if you want to run off together into the sunset.”

I was hit with a very clear picture of the sincerity behind Rhysand’s words and the pain that came with it. I hopped to my feet with a sigh.

“You’re so dramatic,” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “Lucien isn’t the only thing in my life, you know. I don’t want to fuck off to gods-knows where and leave behind you and everyone else I care about. Just think of how pissed Amren and Azriel would be if they put all that time and effort into training me for nothing. They’d put their differences aside just to track me down and tear my fingernails out.”

Rhysand’s lazy grin made a reappearance. “Do you think Mitah would join them?”

I scoffed. “Absolutely not. Mitah’s a hopeless romantic – he’d find and dismantle the damn Cauldron itself if he felt it were at any sort of fault for Lucien and I not being together.” I could tell Rhysand felt the pang in my chest by the way the shadows about him shifted. “I just … I’m scared to tell them about what really happened with Tamlin. He’s their friend along with their High Lord. They may not … forgive me for what I did.”

“They will.”

Rhysand put on a reassuring smile. “They both care for you deeply, Jade, so they will. I can’t say how well things will go with Tamlin in the mix … That bridge may take a long, long time to rebuild. And it’ll certainly make things complicated. But you’ll adapt and come through the other end – you always do.”

I returned Rhysand’s smile and the positive outlook that came with it. “So … when is this master plan of yours going into effect?”

“When I hear a response from Mitah – which will hopefully be soon.” Rhysand tapped his temple. “I already sent the order for Az’s spies to meet with a trusted contact in the Summer Court.”

I frowned. “The Summer Court? I thought you said before they were compromised?”

“Somewhere down the chain, yes,” Rhysand said with a shrug. “But my contact is Varian, and I have faith he’ll get ahold of his cousin without others hearing about it.” He watched me for a moment, his smile slipping.

“Jade; what do you think of me?”

I furrowed my brow at the question. “What? What the hell do you mean?”

“When you look at me,” Rhysand said, gesturing to himself with a wave. “Do you … do you see me any differently now than you did before?”

I tilted my head, squinting. My eyes lingered on Rhysand’s posture, the rise and fall of his chest through his tight tunic, and the apprehensive nature behind his gaze. He did look different, but not in a way I could exactly pinpoint. The closest I could decipher was that he reminded me of how he used to look when I’d been human – an almost otherworldly presence about him which left his features teetering on perfection. But that perfection … I didn’t like it. Rhysand being perfect would be like staring at the Sun. I didn't want to be blinded from any of his faults, because his faults were my faults and I needed to see them fully.

“Do you mean … the gray in your hair?” I asked. “That’s new.”

Rhysand went so still it was as if he’d forgotten how to breathe. I could only hold his stare for three heartbeats before I gave myself away with a twitch to the corner of my mouth.

A wave of relief and annoyance washed over me as Rhysand wrinkled his nose. “That wasn’t funny.”

I hummed. “We’ll agree to disagree.”

Rhysand ran a hand through his hair as if he’d be able to tell from touch alone if any strands had drained of color. He didn’t look back to me until he seemed satisfied that he was his usual, absurdly handsome self. I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow in response to him sizing me up in a methodically slow fashion.

“Mouse – would you be alright staying here at the Moonstone Palace?”

I shifted my weight as I mulled the question over. “I … don’t hate it here. I actually prefer this place to the townhouse.” I turned to look out over the veranda. “Velaris … it’s beautiful, and vibrant, but I think it’s too much for me.”

I picked up a wave of understanding. To Rhysand, anywhere with a sky was an open space. For someone like me, I didn’t feel unconfined until I could take in nature untouched by Fae hands. Even with the river and surrounding mountains, Velaris was just too damn big.

“This place would be perfect if Hewn City wasn’t … you know,” I said. I found the size of the city was far less overwhelming to visit, on top of opening up to a view like this. It would be hard-pressed for anything to beat that … if Hewn City was what it could be.

“Bat … is there anything I can do to help them at all?”

A weary smile grew on Rhysand’s face. He closed the distance between us, reaching out to place a gentle hand on my shoulder. “There’s a good chance we’ll have a few days here – so we’ll figure something out. At the very least, I think we can spin the narrative to make it seem as if you were behind the explosion and the prisoners escaping. Painting a picture of you gaining the upper hand against me again wouldn’t hurt the rebels’ morale.”

Rhysand’s expression grew tender as he felt the pang in my chest. “It’s alright, Mouse. I made a choice concerning how I presented myself to the people of Hewn City and now I need to live with it. I’ll gladly play the role of the evil High Lord being hindered again and again by the valiant hero if it means giving those people hope to keep fighting.”

I sighed, shaking my head. “Amren called you a martyr – she’s right.”

“She tends to be once every thousand years or so,” Rhysand said. He shot me a grin, knowing full well that I held his life in his hands since Amren would make his insides his outsides if I were ever to repeat that comment.

“Will Amren be coming by?” I asked, returning the sly smile. “I should probably keep studying the book with her if it’s going to be a few days until we head out.”

Rhysand’s presence in my mind retreated like an ocean wave pulling back from the shore. I caught a glimmer of fear in his violet eyes as his fingers on my shoulder grew tense.

“Bat?” I said, not liking where this may be headed. “Did something happen with the book?”

Rhysand blinked as if waking from a dream. He shook his head. “No – it has nothing to do with the book. We just need some time. You’ll see everyone again in a little while, but for now it’ll be just us here.”

My eyebrows shot up. “You’re … staying here, and not Velaris? Why?”

“Babysitting duty,” Rhysand said. A shimmer of his usual self returned in his coy smile. “I’m also dead tired and don’t feel like spending the energy to go back. I think after yesterday, I earned the right to nap for the rest of the day. Care to join me?”

I studied Rhysand as I matched his relaxed gait toward the stairs. “No – I’m pretty awake. I actually slept alright last night. I felt a lot better after talking to Kin.”

“‘Kin?’” Rhysand said, raising a brow.

"A friend I made while out … there,” I said, gesturing to the territory of the Night Court at large. “He calls all of his food ‘supper,’ which is pretty weird, although maybe that’s normal for their kind. He’s a kelpie who lives out in one of the lakes; I hope I can find it again sometime to visit.”

Rhysand stopped dead. He stared at me as if I’d turned orange. Immediately his presence darted through my mind, pinpointing my memory of speaking to Kin and absorbing the kelpie’s appearance. He silently cursed, withdrawing from my mind as he rubbed his eyes.

“Why am I even surprised that you not only found a murderous creature thought to be extinct, but became friends with it?” Rhysand let out a long exhale before dropping his hand. “I’m too damn tired for this – we’ll talk later.”

After Rhysand had gone to lie down, I wandered into the palace’s little-used training space. Like the practice rings in the House of Wind, the room was semi-circular and much of it lay open to the sunlight and crisp breeze snaking through the mountain range. I found myself standing at the center of the gleaming balcony and embracing the goosebumps lining my skin as I readied myself.

I started with various hand-to-hand training drills. I went through all the motions of my usual warm-up routine before finding myself sidetracked on the final step.

Mind, soul, heart. Align each one and keep them in balance like a stack of stones upon the shore. Remain solid against the crashing surf. For five hundred years we have stood strong – we will stand strong for five hundred more.

I had come to the heartbreaking conclusion during the hours I’d stared into the Ouroboros that I could no longer consider myself a Warrior of Ash. Their central goal was to kill Fae; regaining my place within their clan would mean nothing short of taking my own life. What I was now … I was something both new and old. Strong and weak. Awake and asleep. I was whatever I wished myself to be, which meant that even though I was no longer a member of the clan, I could still incorporate the teachings of my former people into my new life. I wasn’t just one thing, anymore; I was many.

For hours I sat on that balcony and visualized a stone representing each thing I was, each thing I found important, and stacking them atop one another until I’d formed a tower breaking into the heavens. 

Driven, warm, caring … No, not yet. I’ll work on that; I still want to be. What else? Confident, resourceful, curious, generous …

I used every ounce of my concentration to keep that tower steady and balanced. I breathed in and out to match the crashing of the surf washing against the base of the tower; a reminder of the outside world and the things which may work to erode the work I’d put in. I was reminded of how Kin had chosen compassion for himself and himself only. He had his own tower of stones which were pummeled nonstop by a storm made up of every being on this earth calling him a monster. If his tower could stand tall against such a thing, then so could mine.

Rhysand joined me the second day. Walking him through the breathing routine of my clan, urging him to breathe in through his nose, hold the breath in his core, then let it out slowly through his mouth reminded me of a time long past when I’d first been taught it myself. I watched the rise and fall of Rhysand’s broad chest beneath his Illyrian leathers and wondered if the pride I felt in passing on the tradition was something my brother and sister had experienced as well. 

Whether it was the breathing exercises, or something else entirely, I felt as if the tether holding Rhysand and I together had solidified into something solid; unbreakable. That thought lifted my spirits, allowing my link with Rhysand to form a mindscape along a shore consisting of my tower, his, and one we built together. It was made up of things we shared – things we saw in one another: Conviction, strength, kindness, empathy, intelligence, worth. Some stones were hard for Rhysand to place; others were hard for me. Lifting and placing those stones while depending on one another made it much easier.

“I think I should … share something.”

Rhysand looked somewhere over my shoulder. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands without pockets, instead folding them over his broad chest. I studied every movement, waiting, as he continued to stare into the distance in thought.

“I don’t want you to say anything,” Rhysand said, his voice distant. “Not until I’m done. Please.”

I nodded, doing my best to hold at bay my reaction to the roiling anxiety I could feel bubbling up from his end of the link. And I obliged … barely. The next word out of his mouth nearly had me spewing a string of curses.

“Amarantha.”

The way Rhysand proceeded to speak about Amarantha reminded me of Lucien’s recount of when he’d watched helplessly as his former lover was slain by his father. It was almost … detached. As if the Rhysand in the memories of what transpired under the Mountain was an entirely different person than the one before me now. Rhysand spoke of a version of himself who put in the effort to make sure he’d kept Amarantha sexually pleased so he could extract any information from her he could; keeping his court safe. As he spoke of the Rhysand from under the Mountain, the person who’d existed years before I’d even been born, I picked up a taste of something foul I’d felt before.

A deep, twisting hatred that threatened to burn a hole through my gut.

That hatred … wasn’t about her.

A year ago, Rhysand had mentally shared with me the layout of the Mountain before I’d ever set foot within those soulless, echoing halls. With it had come feelings about the people who dwelled there, none of them pleasant, but the worst of all had been a faceless entity representing Amarantha. And that feeling of horrible, twisting hatred … I’d always assumed that’s how Rhysand felt about her. And he had – he did – hate her. Yet that feeling which felt like a hot spike skewering me through as if I’d been put on a spit above a fire … That nauseating hatred was directed toward himself.

Even if I couldn't speak, nothing stopped me from closing the distance and holding Rhysand tight the second his voice cracked. I held on with all my might, fighting back the tremble through my fingers when I felt every single wave of fear, shame, disgust, and hopelessness as Rhysand recounted the worst instances of those fifty years. 

Amarantha had eventually found hairline cracks in Rhysand’s facade. His flippant, carefree nature would slip when she’d asked him to end someone’s life, usually through excruciatingly slow and agonizing means. Then, when Rhysand was suffering the most, she would rape him.

Rhysand’s only method of defense had been to take those dark emotions and push them far down into a pit; a pit which would slowly threaten to swallow him whole if he allowed it. I saw that pit on accident, long ago. If I had gone into it … I would’ve discovered what it had been made of. I would have witnessed every memory of life snuffing out behind terrified eyes, followed by Amarantha’s red smile and girlish laugh as she used nothing more than a vague threat to take him to her bed.

I knew Rhysand didn't want me to see his tears. I only felt them as they snaked down the side of my neck and pooled on the shoulder of my leathers. The part of me which wanted to smash something to pieces was still there … but I suppressed it. Being angry wasn't important; being compassionate was. I accepted Rhysand’s sorrow and embraced it, allowing the feeling to flow between us like a river as he wept and brought to life a feeling of weakness he’d long since tried to mask from the world. We were both weak; both ashamed of what we’d done – who we’d been. I deserved the shame far more than he did, despite his disagreement.

“I feel broken.”

“Then let’s be broken,” I said. 

I closed my eyes, sharing my thoughts with Rhysand of our tower of stones built upon a beach touched with an orange glow as if at sunset. With nothing more than a thought, that tower collapsed; within our minds we now stared down at a pile of mismatched stones. Rebuilding it would be hard, and would take a long time. Each stone would force us to acknowledge what it represented – the good things among the bad.

We’ll have to rebuild a lot, I thought. It’s fucking awful. I’m gonna be pissed when you knock it down, and you get to be pissed when I do it, too. But I guess being broken gives us an excuse to rebuild it together.

And so we did. We rebuilt, and between every stone, we talked. 

Hopeful, kind hearted, brave.

I told Rhysand about my brother and the shame I would never stop carrying with me over his death. 

Passionate, ambitious, courteous. Or … Rhysand more so than I was. He still insisted that the stone should be there.

Rhysand told me about his sister and how he’d taught her to fly; how happy he’d been when she’d taken flight on her own and looked back to hit him with a smile which had melted his heart. 

Considerate, playful, sincere. We both admittedly had to work on the last one.

I told him about my journeys on the Continent, being reminded that I’d said I’d do so months ago and hadn’t followed up. Rhysand’s emotions settled into place along with the stones as I rambled aimlessly about crafting bows, scavenging for food, fighting monsters, and traveling for days at sea. The Moon was far into the sky by the time we finished rebuilding our tower. By the end of it … Rhysand had added another stone all the way at the top.

Forgiving.

Not for Amarantha – no, that bitch could burn in the pits of Hell as far as we were concerned. It was forgiveness for the people we’d once been – the personas we’d put on who we hated. Rhysand was finished with playing the act of the flippant High Lord who smiled in the face of his deepest terrors. I was done with being the warrior who savored violence and a pursuit for power. Now we were just Rhysand and Jade, and that was alright.

Outside of breathing exercises, Rhysand trained me in swordplay. Not in the form of short skirmishes as we’d done at the House of Wind – in a manner of keen awareness of my every movement to pinpoint how I could improve and expand my style. His teaching methods were not unlike Mitah’s – unafraid to be brutally honest or leave me with a number of cuts if that’s what I needed to get a point across. 

The way Rhysand moved during sparring was a marvel. It reminded me of Cassian’s inherent grace with an element of refinement as if he were dancing more so than looking to cause harm. The closest I’d seen to it was the footwork originating from the Autumn Court. Yet unlike Lucien, who moved as if to the tempo of a song only he could hear, Rhysand’s dance had a rhythm and flow which altered with every shift of his opponent. I never had the feeling my sword clashed against his in a manner he didn't orchestrate. Every step I took was one with his guidance. Every breath, every parry, and every counter felt as if I were an actor in a performance he’d choreographed. 

“You better be leagues ahead of Mitah,” I said, cutting Rhysand a glare when we took a break for water. “If he’s been this fucking skilled the whole damn time, then that asshole has been holding out on me.”

Three days had passed since Rhysand and I had been spending time together at the Moonstone Palace. Out of those days, this was the first where Rhysand laughed. I grinned like a fool as his chuckle died down. 

“Don’t blame Mitah for your own underperformance,” Rhysand said. He winked in the face of my smile melting into a grimace of annoyance. “Come on, Mouse – let’s see if I can instruct you enough to be less of an embarrassment to our teacher’s legacy.”

The hours were long and challenging, and more than a little frustrating, but at the end of it I felt refreshed. It was also one of the closest instances I’d felt to having fun with Rhysand in quite some time. He shared stories of training with his brothers while under Mitah’s tutelage, and laughed wholeheartedly when I recounted the time during another form of training when I’d called Azriel a ‘pervert.’ I made Rhysand promise to spar with me again the following day.

And he did, the fourth day passing in a relaxed state until Rhysand went still and I sensed a familiar presence snake through his mind. I failed to hide my nerves or impatience while Rhysand spoke with Azriel. It took what felt to be an agonizingly long time until Rhysand finally returned his full attention to me. He smirked.

“I hope you like the cold, Mouse.”

Chapter Text

I didn’t hate the cold, although adding wind was a new level entirely. And the place I found myself in now was full of it as a near constant roar belted my ears. I shouldn’t have been surprised, considering the word ‘wind’ was in the damn name.

Just as we approached midafternoon, Rhysand winnowed us onto an outcrop close enough to a village that I could pick up the scent of smoke and livestock in the air, yet far enough that it was out of sight behind a sea of scrawny pine trees. I would be spending time in the area while he surveyed the nearby meeting spot; he would return for me when he met up with Mitah and everything was clear. Rhysand disappeared in a wave of shadows, leaving me to climb off the outcrop before awkwardly standing in a clearing hugging myself against the cold. A few minutes went by until a shadow passed overhead. 

Cassian banked in a wide circle, his massive wings blowing back any grass clinging to life through the harsh winter cold. He shot me a crooked grin as he landed, bidding me to match his gait as he headed in the direction of the village.

“These past few days …”

Cassian spoke as the trees thinned and I could make out our destination – a place called Windhaven. The village sat near the top of a short mountain, most of the structures simple tents surrounded by a number of roaring fires emitting trails of dark smoke torn apart by the wind. To the right were a handful of stone structures. Most of them looked like houses, although a few weathered signs also indicated a blacksmith and general store. Far ahead, rocky training rings along the edge of a sheer cliff face sat well equipped with any variety of weapon I could think of. The sight hit me with a sense of nostalgia reminiscent of the larger encampments making up the Warriors of Ash. It took me a moment to register that Cassian was still speaking before I blinked and came back to myself.

“You seem to be feeling … better,” Cassian said, a tentative smile on his face as he walked at my side. “Before, when we were in that cesspool of a court – you looked like shit. No offense.”

Cassian’s nervous chuckle joined my self-assured one. I grinned and shot him a wink which put him at ease. “I looked like shit because I was shit. I’m not gonna say I wasn’t acting like myself; everything back there was me whether I like to admit it or not. But, yes – I’m doing much better now. Thanks for asking.”

Dark hair tickled my cheek as Cassian leaned in, my own hair being braided back allowing his warm breath to roll over my ear. “Don’t tell Rhys – but what you did to Dagdan … Whatever the consequences, that son of a bitch deserved it. I faced him and his sister’s forces in the war – they had no respect for life even when it came to their own soldiers. If there was anyone who deserved to be brutally wiped off the earth in that manner, it was Dagdan.”

Nothing clouded the feeling of sincerity behind Cassian’s hazel eyes. That support, even if it wasn’t something I necessarily wanted considering the circumstances, still felt nice. Cassian knew how to look out for the people under his charge – for his friends. I wanted to be more like that.

“What happened to Dagdan had more to do with me than it had to do with him,” I said, my smile slipping. “That was the problem. I’m not eager to lose myself like that again, Cassian. So if you see me acting like that – being cruel for no reason – call me out on it, alright?”

Cassian leaned back, his smile widening. “From one general to another – you have my word. And feel free to call me ‘Cass’ – less formal.”

I chuckled from how enthused he seemed from the idea. “Sure. And you can call me Jade, since … that’s what I go by to everyone.”

“Save for Rhys calling you ‘Mouse,’” Cassian said, coming to a stop before leaving the outskirts of the village. “I find it funny he calls you that, since the name couldn’t fit you any less. You’re much more like a martax than a mouse.”

I laughed openly at that. Such an outlook wasn’t something I’d ever considered. “I hope only in spirit – I’d hate for someone to say that the way I look, and especially smell, is anything like that of a martax.”

Cassian laughed. “Rest assured, you’re far from it.”

He clapped me on the shoulder and we continued onward. The two of us were dressed in matching sets of Illyrian leathers … which seemed to extend to just about everyone else in the camp as a number of Illyrians milled between the tents, flew overhead, or beat the shit out of one another in the training rings. Each one we passed, even those airborne, locked their eyes onto us. I’d been warned by Rhysand that strolling into a war camp wearing leathers that I’d arguably hadn’t ‘earned’ wouldn’t garner me much favor. He’d only grinned when I’d told him anyone who felt offended could take the issue up with me, personally.

I did a not-so-subtle job of looking for female Illyrians as we passed between the tents. Both Cassian and Azriel had mentioned ‘clipping’ – the act of a female’s wings being mutilated in a manner which robbed them of their ability to fly after they reached adulthood. Curiosity burned over what that looked like – how different the wings of the females seemed compared to that of the males. I would be furious no matter what; having a mental image simply helped.

But I didn’t spot anyone dressed in a manner indicating they weren’t warriors within this clan. There was a good chance the females were hidden inside their tents, either because that’s simply how things went here, or because of Cassian’s presence. From what I’d been told, this visit wasn’t unannounced.

As we entered a gap in the cold rockface between the tents and the training rings, a group of six males dressed identical to Cassian and I approached. Each of them had a siphon on the back of their hand, although the stones appeared small and clouded compared to the ones Cassian wore.

The males were of all various heights and builds but shared the same golden-brown skin and dark hair. It was funny how I still found Cassian to stand out among them – he stood taller, and had the carefree sort of aura of someone who could smash your face in in an afterthought. None of the Illyrians who stopped before us offered as much intimidation, although the eldest among them at the front certainly tried.

“Get out,” the eldest Illyrian – who had the appearance of someone bordering on middle aged, said. It was clear as day he was the leader of this little band, his hand resting lightly on the handle of the sword at his side prompting those at his back to do the same. Their massive wings in shades of black and brown remained tucked in tight against their backs. I recognized it as something Cassian and Azriel did when fighting in close combat. I remained on high alert.

“You were here just last week,” the leader said, a gravely nature to his tone. “The girls are training, so you can take … that.” The male looked at me in disgust before returning his attention to Cassian. “And get the hell out of my camp.”

Ah … His camp. This must have been the warlord, Devlan, who Rhysand had briefly mentioned. He’d commented on the male in distaste, albeit it hadn’t been anything as bad as how he regarded those like Ianthe or Eris.

“If the girls are training, then why aren’t they in the ring?” Cassian asked, crossing his arms. The red siphons on his hands flickered – not as a warning, but as a reminder. I got the sense that Cassian could wipe Devlan and his group from existence without the need for his siphons. It was clear he wanted his host to recall that, as well.

“They train after chores,” Devlan said. He looked at me again. For a heartbeat I thought he might be ogling my body based on the way his eyes roved up and down. The fact that nothing but sharp assessment gleaned behind his dark gaze caused me to reconsider. If anything, he seemed to be taking stock of every nick and scratch I’d acquired in my armor from countless hours of Cassian and I going head-to-head with swords of both magic and non-magic alike.

“I told you this last time, Devlan,” Cassian said, his wings flaring slightly as he took on a menacing tone. “The girls train before chores, not after. I would suggest you get them out here now, before my friend and I decide to cause a scene.”

Devlan held Cassian’s stare. He had balls, I’d give him that. Although he didn’t seem to have enough conviction to deny Cassian – a look over his shoulder and a nod to one of the warriors at his back prompted them to stalk away with a scowl. I had no doubt it was to fetch the Illyrian girls who were supposed to be training … who should have been training from the start.

“It sounds like your warriors are cowards for putting off facing females in the ring.”

Devlan’s head turned in my direction as if he hadn’t been aware until this point I was a creature capable of speech. He inhaled sharply; I watched with a bored expression as he took in my scent. He could smell me all he wanted – that made him no more intimidating than a dog.

Whatever Devlan picked up caused a hard line between his brows. He now seemed uncertain as he sized me up again. Perhaps he, too, could sense that ‘wrongness’ in me which every mythical creature within this land seemed to say I reeked of. For the first time since I’d learned of it, I reveled in the effect it had of leaving my new acquaintance baffled.

“What the hell is this?” Devlan asked. His eyes snapped back to Cassian. “She’s like that thing – Rhysand’s pet with the silver eyes. But she’s …”

Wrong.

Cassian interrupted before Devlan could get the rest of his thought out of his mouth.

“How rude of me,” Cassian said. His grin nearly split his face in two as he gestured to the side. “This is Jade. Or Crown-Cleaver, as some may know her.”

The shift was immediate. Hazel eyes grew wide as Devlan and the males at his back stared me down. I recognized that look – studying a new challenger to determine how strong they were; how you would stack up against them in a fight.

“This is the ‘Crown-Cleaver?’” Devlan asked. Mother only knew what he’d imagined me to look like; clearly I wasn’t it.

“That’s right,” Cassian said. He crossed his arms, the smug look remaining. “You’re looking at the female whose brute strength was all it took to split the former Queen of Prythian in two.”

The Illyrians in the ring behind Devlan’s group paused their training exercise. I heard rough whispers at my back and a decrease in the sound of constant footfalls. We were being given an audience … which I’m sure is what Cassian had hoped for.

“Crown-Cleaver,” Devlan said, the name slow on his tongue. He didn’t recoil from my gaze, nor I his. The two of us would be here until the end of time if he was hoping I’d be the first to look away. No matter what level of strength I held – I have been, and will always be, more stubborn.

“If what I’ve heard of the slaying of the Queen is true …” Devlan said, making it quite clear that he carried a heavy level of doubt on the matter. “… then you did well, for a female.”

I raised my eyebrows. My gaze continued to hold with Devlan’s as I tilted my head. “That is a very impressive compliment. To say that I have done well as a female implies that as a male, you’ve done better. Just how many rulers of an entire continent have you slain, Lord Devlan?”

A tense silence followed. Not so much as a muscle feathered in Devlan’s jaw. As much of an asshole as he was, I couldn’t lie and say I had no respect for his will.

“If you would like, I can give you an opportunity.” I took a step forward, a few of the Illyrians at Devlon’s back drawing their weapons and watching me with grave expressions.

“If you want, you can try to kill the one who killed the Queen of Prythian,” I continued. “As long as you’re not too scared to go up against a female as your other warriors are, that is.”

A shadow fell over Devlan’s features. “I do not fear combatting a female.”

“That so?” I said, taking another step forward. “So, you’re just afraid of fighting me, then?”

‘Don’t touch him, Mouse.’

Rhysand had asked a single thing of me before we left the Moonstone Palace. He’d asked that no matter what – I couldn’t fight Devlan. The warlord of an Illyrian camp being defeated by a female in combat would shame him to the point of his position being stripped entirely. As much as the backward notion pissed the both of us off, Rhysand assured me that Devlan was one of the ‘better’ of the warlords. Apparently, he’d been the only one to agree to training girls to be warriors at all. Even if the wild rage within me still screamed and howled, I kept my breathing steady and knew I had to keep my word.

I shifted my gaze around Devlan’s shoulder. It seemed I finally did something to warrant a reaction; Devlon’s expression from the corner of my eye grew sour. Taking my eyes off him in such a casual manner made it loud and clear I didn’t see him as a threat.

“They seem eager for a fight,” I said, referring to Devlan’s companions at his back. Indeed, all four of the well-built males had drawn longswords from their hips and watched me with intent focus. Two of them strengthened the grip on their handles as I smiled.

“I’ll accept this challenge,” I said, gesturing toward the ring at their back with a lazy wave. “You all can warm up now if you must.”

The warriors’ faces twisted in revulsion. No one had ever regarded me with such a level of disgust – as if I were a steaming mound of cowshit. As much as they’d seemed eager to cut me down if I made a sudden move against Devlan, proposing a spar appeared to have come across as a grave insult.

“I will not permit you to enter our training rings,” Devlan said, wrinkling his nose. "A grown female engaging in combat within them would sour the soil; especially if the female is on her moonblood.”

My eyes roved over the group of warriors before returning to Devlan. “That’s fine – I can beat their asses right here, if you wish.”

It was an obvious taunt, but I’d been told that Illyrians were proud beyond reason. Devlan had the sense to hesitate when I’d challenged him; I still had no doubt he would’ve faced me had I not moved my attention elsewhere. And now each of the four males at his back stared me down as if ready to rip me apart. I allowed their animosity to wash over me as Devlan stood in contemplation.

“I will allow you in the ring,” Devlan said, sounding as if each of the words had to be laboriously pulled from his mouth as if they were teeth. “You will not, however, lay a hand on a single one of our weapons. A ring can be redrawn easier than a sword can be forged.”

If he were expecting a thanks for the offer, he didn’t get one. I crossed my arms. “Yeah, sure. Can we get started? I’m getting bored.”

Devlan let out a small huff before he looked over his shoulder. He made eye contact with each of the four males at his back in turn before addressing me once again.

“These warriors are under my guidance personally and have the worth of an army on their own. Assure me that I will not face the High Lord’s ire if you’re killed or gravely injured.”

I placed a hand on my hip with a scoff. “Trust me – Rhysand isn’t who you should be scared of right now.”

Devlan looked to Cassian. All he got in response was a shit-eating grin.

Cassian and I had spoken at length over the course of past training sessions about the differences and similarities between the Illyrians and the clan I grew up in. The disparity which had struck Cassian the most had been how the Warriors of Ash treated their women – which was no different than the men. Bands of the clan both large and small tended to have an equal mix of sexes, the leaders of which being women more often than not since it was an old custom likely stemming from a similarity to the Queens on the Continent. Cassian had been in awe of this fact, and I’d learned of his desire to shift the Illyrians into a similar mindset … kicking and screaming, if he had to.

Devlan sized Cassian up as the general of the Night Court only smiled like a fool. He looked back to me with a deep frown. “I will allow you to choose your first opponent. I have no doubt they’ll also be your last, no matter which you choose.”

I pursed my lips. “I thought it was obvious – I’ll fight all four of them at once.”

Devlan stiffened as I stepped forward. I thought about shoving him with my shoulder as I passed, but settled on patting his arm instead. That seemed less brutal … and more condescending.

That’s a form of compassion in its own right, no?

Devlan’s warriors backed away from me as if I were diseased. I eyed each of them up in turn as I headed toward the training ring. All but one seemed well into adulthood, the shortest member of the group still towering over me by nearly a head despite being a teenager. That one bared his teeth at me, and I answered with a sweet smile.

The wide training ring marked by deep red chalk over the loose soil had no less than five pairs of combatants who had all paused their sparring to watch our exchange. I almost laughed at the way they shuffled to exit the ring as if being caught within the boundaries while I was in it would cause them bad luck.

“Hey, Cass,” I said, looking over my shoulder. “Since these assholes said their swords are too good for me, can I borrow yours?”

Cassian unhooked the harness of the Illyrian-style blade between his wings. He tossed the sheathed weapon over in a fluid motion. “I was waiting for you to ask.”

I drew the sword from its sheath, setting the harness down just outside the chalk marker. Small clouds of dust lifted beneath my boots as I began to stroll toward the center of the ring while adjusting to the weight of the sword in hand. Illyrian style blades were a well-crafted weapon – meticulous, in fact. Thousands of years had gone into cultivating the right blend of metals, the ideal weight, length, and balance of the blade. I’d learned that there were blacksmiths in Velaris who almost had the technique down, but the blades forged by their hands snapped clean in two when Cassian and Azriel would test their durability in a spar. If I ever desired to have an Illyrian blade forged specifically for me – specifically to my liking – then it would have to be by the hands of an Illyrian blacksmith.

Right now, that seemed about as likely as Devlan getting down on his knees to lick my boots. My chances weren’t made any better through the fact that Devlan was staring me down as if I’d just set the entirety of his village aflame.

“How do you have that?” Devlan said, his head snapping toward Cassian. “Even if you took one of the Kings’ heads to claim it, a blade like that cannot be wielded by a bastard born.” Fury shone behind his dark eyes as Cassian only shrugged.

“What – that?” Cassian said, speaking as if the sword with several siphons inlaid along the handle and lower portion of the blade was a common occurrence. “I didn’t take it from anyone – it was gifted to me from one of my admirers.”

Cassian winked in my direction. I returned the gesture with a grin while trying to ignore the rise in my heart rate. Cassian possessed an effortless sort of charm at a level too much for his own good – for my own good.

Devlan’s eyes tracked over the weapon as I swung it about in a lazy fashion. I’d already warmed up through a number of routines this morning – most of what I was doing now was akin to a performance. I felt like a child showing off a new toy to make my peers envious; it was petty but satisfying.

I eyed up Devlan’s warriors, noting that none of them had made a move to enter the ring. I needed to change that if I wanted the show to go on. “Let’s make this fun,” I said. “Whoever disarms me first gets ownership of this blade.”

Now I had them by the balls. The adolescent male regarded his peers with wide eyes full of hunger; he gripped his sword a little tighter and stepped away from the pack – toward me. The older males exchanged more hardened glances before going after him.

The last of the Illyrians who had been flying overhead landed with dull thuds within the surrounding gathering. The sky was now empty and silent, a contrast to the earth which bore the shuffles and murmurs of an entire village as they all crowded at Devlan’s back. It was debatable whether their warlord even noticed his encampment grinding to a halt as his focus narrowed in on me. I smiled and offered him a nod before turning to face my opponents.

Sliding into a low stance while lifting my sword was the signal the four warriors who faced me seemed to be waiting for. They readied themselves – the adolescent and one of the males held their swords high, the other two low. It was smart; they could strike in tandem from multiple angles and directions and give me no chance to dodge. The strategy would be solid if it weren’t for three issues:

One – thanks to the Illyrian armor I wore, combined with my stubborn nature, I was willing to take a few cuts and bruises to win. Nothing short of losing a limb would dissuade me … and even then, it would have to depend on the limb.

Two – the fact that the adolescent was already bobbing on his feet like a cat ready to pounce indicated he had no interest in coordinating with the others. His motivation to disarm me and claim the sword of kings I had in my grip was far too great. He would no doubt be the foil to their sense of comradery.

And three – I was the Crown-Cleaver, and I had a reputation to uphold.

Like I had surmised, the adolescent shot forward. He slashed down at me with a bellow and our swords met in a clash of steel. I parried the blow, sliding to the side a little too quickly as if my arms had given out and that parry had been the only thing my weak, female muscles could handle. The adolescent did nothing to hide his pure elation as he drew back his sword and lunged forward to skewer me through the gut.

I took a deep breath as I leaned to the side, shifting my weight to my back foot then moving that momentum forward. My sword met the adolescent’s from beneath his own. I pushed up as I continued to exhale, testing my opponent’s core strength. A tempting thought arose to encourage me to change direction and slide my blade along his until I got close enough to slice off his fingers.

Compassion, remember?

With a shout, I shoved up and to the side with enough force to send the adolescent’s blade flying. It spiraled through the air, sunlight flickering off the blade like a dying candle. Onlookers shuffled away as the weapon landed somewhere within the crowd. The adolescent had made the mistake of following its trajectory with a slack-jawed expression instead of keeping his eyes on me.

I sent the adolescent stumbling into his companions with a kick to the gut that knocked the air clean from his lungs. Two of the older warriors scrambled to my right, the other went left. The latter was the one I chose to target as I rushed forward with a diagonal slash. To his credit, the warrior blocked, but like the adolescent he underestimated the strength behind the blow and the sword was nearly torn from his fingers. The rush to regain his grip resulted in an opening to go low. I deepened my crouch with every step I took around my opponent until I was eye level with the backs of his knees. One long, horizontal slash across the ankles left him screaming toward the sky as he collapsed onto his stomach.

Where most humans would yield, an Illyrian would not. Even with the dirt at our feet growing thick from blood, the downed warrior flipped onto his back and swung. He did a commendable job doing two things – swinging his sword in a wide enough arc to make his advancing companions take a step back, and keeping a hold of the handle when I deflected the blow. It was his sword that failed him in the end when the weapon hit the dirt and I stomped on it with enough force for the metal to snap. Nothing now stood between me and skewering the warrior clean through.

Compassion.

Instead, I kicked the warrior in the crotch. I followed up with another to his wing which resulted in a loud cracking sound as I splintered bone. I had successfully knocked enough air out of him that he didn’t make so much as a peep as he curled to the side with a gasp. A final strike with the heel of my hand to the crook in his neck left his eyes growing cloudy; a move Mitah had taught me back when I’d been human which stifled blood flow to the brain and encouraged an opponent to temporarily lose consciousness. 

‘Behind. Left is high, right is low.’

I hadn’t noticed when my shadows decided to join the fray. They flowed and flickered over my armor as I kept my back to the remaining warriors on their feet. I yanked the broken sword from the downed warrior without much trouble, flipping the item in my hand using the cross guard. I threw the broken sword in the same fluid motion as I turned to face my remaining opponents.

I aimed for the warrior coming in low, allowing my shadows to guide the direction of the broken sword. The pommel connected with the warrior’s nose and he jerked to the side with a loud crack and a spray of blood. A broken nose wouldn’t keep him occupied for long; the warrior who’d been coming in high on the left didn’t so much as blink in the face of his companion’s distress as our steel clashed and I pushed him back.

The sound surrounding us and echoing off the cold, dead earth was not unlike being in a blacksmith’s shop. Clang after clang rang through the air as our swords clashed and skid against one another in our dance of death. At the very least I’d say this warrior was skilled, bordering on matching the swordplay of the captain of the Winter Court guard. I found myself enjoying coming at him from a number of angles to find cracks in his defense. At the moment where I’d realized he was favoring his left side, probably due to a previous injury new or old, I received a message:

‘Behind. High.’

I lifted my arms, holding my sword overhead and angling the blade down to protect the back of my neck. My entire body vibrated from the force of the blow – the warrior with the broken nose looking to sneak up on me had been hoping to remove my head from my shoulders in a single, clean cut. The fact that they’d also done so without the sound of approaching footsteps meant he’d used his wings to launch himself forward.

Well, that’s a little unfair.

Having a good idea what I would hit, I ducked and spun on my heel. My horizontal slash met bone, then membrane, and more bone. The immaculate blade I had in hand didn’t lose momentum until the lower portion of the broken-nosed Illyrian’s wing fell to the dirt like a twisted, bloody ribbon hanging on by mere tendons. One would’ve thought I’d severed the appendage from him entirely if the sounds he proceeded to make in agony were to be believed. I’d learned from Cassian such an injury could be healed … over the course of a few months. Enough time, maybe, for the Illyrian to stew over how it felt for the females who had to deal with losing their ability to fly permanently.

The broken-nosed Illyrian fell to the dirt with a heavy thud, his screams hoarse as he retracted his wing in an effort to slow the bleeding. I turned my back to his writhing and returned my full attention to my previous opponent. He was now watching me with an expression of fury mixed with fear, raising his sword in a defensive stance … as he took a step back.

A slow smile spread across my face. I flicked away the blood clinging to the tip of my sword. “If you’re scared, you can drop your weapon and yield. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

That did it. The warrior’s pride glinted behind his gaze like a freshly polished breastplate as he adjusted his grip and rushed forward. I met his blade, curving around it and to the side as I went on the attack myself.

Let’s give Cass a present.

Truth be told, my training with the Night Court general hadn’t yielded much knowledge concerning swordplay I didn’t already know. More often than not it was me who was teaching Cassian something new. This wasn’t to say he wasn’t a skilled opponent; Rhysand was the only person I’d faced who rivaled Cassian’s ability. Beating Cassian in a spar meant I had to use every ounce of my concentration in order to stay one step ahead – slip ups had led to cuts, broken bones, and the tip of my ear having to be reattached. One move in particular had caught me off guard when Cassian had noticed me favoring my right side due to a previous blow he’d landed on my hip.

Just as he’d done for me, I went in against my opponent with a downward slash. The Illyrian warrior met it, the tip of his blade catching my own and pushing it back. I used the momentum to lift my sword overhead, my feigned horizontal slash being parried by a vertical block. It was easy to pretend that the block pushed my hand behind my head and left me exposed entirely. The warrior didn’t balk from the opening and lifted his sword to come down on me with his full weight behind the blow.

Unfortunately for him, he failed to realize that my sword overhead had been by the design of winding up for my own blow. I bent my knees and swung in a downward angle, my sword reaching my opponent’s ribs while his arms were still overhead. I twisted the blade in my grip to strike him with the broad end instead of the edge. Even so, I felt at least one rib crack under the blow. The Illyrian warrior made a choking sound as he stumbled.

The pommel of my sword met the back of the Illyrian’s hand with enough force to splinter his knuckles. His sword dropped to the dirt with a thud, the warrior falling after it as I swept his legs from under him. He gripped his side, breaths sawing out of him in shallow gasps as he nursed what may have been a collapsed lung. I felt a little bad about that, even if the warrior was staring at me as if he’d set me aflame with his gaze if he could.

A low growl caused me to raise a brow and turn to look over my shoulder. The Illyrian adolescent was still standing, a sword in hand made of a ruddy, reddish-brown substance. I hadn’t faced Cassian much with him using the power of his siphons, but I certainly recognized what I was looking at.

I turned to face the adolescent fully, placing my free hand on my hip. “What are you waiting for, kid?”

The Illyrian teenager roared, his wings flaring and sending him airborne in a single mighty beat. I followed his trajectory, unmoving, as he positioned himself overhead. He swooped down a second later like a maddened blue jay protecting a nest. I sidestepped his outstretched weapon at the last second, swapping my sword to one hand so I could raise my fist and utilize the adolescent’s momentum.

I emulated being made of stone as my hand met the adolescent’s jaw. His head bucked back in a spray of blood and bits on broken teeth. He fell to the dirt in a rather spectacular fashion; I was reminded of a displaced tortoise trying to flip itself upright. The sword crafted of Illyrian magic flickered as he got ahold of himself and tried to slash across my legs. I caught his wrist, twisting until I felt something snap and the weak light behind the siphon faded alongside his howl.

The adolescent’s hand flopped against his splayed wing as I tossed his arm aside. I held his crazed stare as he scrambled to get up.

“Stay down.”

The adolescent froze. His eyes grew wide as he read my expression – the promise I held behind it to beat the living shit out of him to the point where he’d be lucky to still have teeth when I was done. It was a bluff; even if it was something I wouldn't have hesitated to do in the past, I didn't want to be that person anymore. The sort of person who inflicted pain for the fun of it. But … the Illyrian adolescent didn't need to know that. All he needed to see was the echo of the time I'd beaten Ivar Vanserra into a quivering pulp, then come to his own conclusions from there.

The adolescent made the first wise decision of this spar when he dropped his gaze, his arms starting to shake. I studied him for a moment to ensure he wasn't attempting to try something underhanded again before I looked up to survey the remainder of the ring. All three of the older warriors were certainly conscious, and looked very unhappy about it, but made no move to rise from the dirt in my direction. I scanned them all with raised brows before moving my focus outside the ring.

Among a sea of faces twisted in shock, hate, and horror, Cassian regarded me as if he’d never seen anything so stunning in his entire life. I tried not to let being flattered in such a manner go to my head too much. I hit Cassian with a smile and one of his own playful winks before turning my attention to the male at his side who couldn’t have been more at odds with Cassian’s expression if he tried.

Devlan didn’t appear afraid, exactly. He watched me with an intent hyperfocus behind his grim expression. Not a single muscle feathered in his clenched jaw, or a twitch graced the hands he had at his sides as I began to approach. Devlan hardly seemed to so much as breathe as I stopped before him. I lifted the sword to rest on my shoulder, placing a hand on my hip as I waited.

“Shadowsinging,” Devlan said, the word falling off his tongue as if it were foreign and he wasn’t quite sure what it meant. The shadow falling over his own features had nothing to do with magic. “That isn’t possible.”

I utilized a favorite response of the only other shadowsinger I knew – a shrug. This didn’t go over well as fury washed Devlan’s features.

A low whistle caught my attention. I met Cassian’s warm expression as he tilted his chin to the side. My eyes followed the direction he indicated to the space making up the adjoining training ring. Within it stood around a dozen Illyrian younglings in roughhewn clothes which didn’t look nearly as sturdy or warm as the leather armor and training garments adorned by the warriors I’d just faced. Their ages seemed to range from around four or five to being on the verge of adulthood. A few defining traits across their faces watching me in fear and awe caused a smile to tug at my cheeks.

“Ah – it’s the girls your warriors all fear,” I said, making sure my voice carried. “Considering how your own students performed earlier, I can see why. If you’ll excuse me.”

I left Devlan’s side without a second glance. Cassian fell in to match my relaxed gait in tandem. Members of the crowd stepped back as we passed.

“I know you’re a paired female, so I apologize for this in advance,” Cassian said, keeping his tone hushed. “But by the Mother if that wasn’t the sexiest damn display I’ve ever seen in my life.”

I chuckled softly to offset the feeling of heat on my cheeks. “I’ll take that as a compliment, but remember your place in line.”

“Noted, my lady,” Cassian said, mocking my ‘fancy taste’ as he’d once called it. I elbowed him in the side before returning his sword. Cassian accepted the item with a wide grin.

Most of the girls flinched or dropped their eyes when I stopped before them. I noted the three who didn’t – the eldest looking of the bunch. I had to guess they were around the same age as the adolescent who I’d just faced. Two of them were close enough in appearance with their sharp, straight noses and thick brows to be sisters, if not twins. They both brandished intricate braids, one adorned over a shoulder and nearly down to the girl’s naval, while the other had her braids pulled tight in a low bun. The third girl, who stood about a half-step closer to me as if acting as a shield, wore her hair short and wild in a spray of soft dark curls. Her hazel eyes bordered more on green, and they held directly with mine as if in defiance. Those eyes roved over me in a tentative fashion as I stepped forward.

A memory flashed through my mind – one of my sister approaching me during the short time we’d spent among a larger encampment of the Warriors of Ash. I had trained back then with a number of other children for the first time. I had still been fairly new to learning the art of combat, and over and over again had found my ass getting handed to me by kids who had been training since they could walk.

“Lift your chin higher,” I said, repeating the words Myrin had once told me. The girl with green eyes stiffened.

“I can see you have the makings to be among the best of them,” I continued. “Make sure they don’t forget it.”

It wasn’t a lie or empty flattery. The girl’s sleeves cropped at her elbows revealed lean muscle and a number of scars. She didn’t look away from me or balk after seeing what I’d done. There was a good chance the males in this camp were going to give her hell even if she kept her mouth shut and didn’t speak a word to me. I still picked up no sense of fear. The two girls at her back seemed more tentative, but never lowered their gaze.

“These three girls have been training the longest,” Cassian said. Nothing veiled the pride shining through his words as if the girls were of his own. He sheathed the sword at his back, crossing his broad arms as he showered his charges with warmth. “The sisters are Veria and Thylia; a year apart, but they look close enough you’d never tell they didn’t come into this world together. Our eldest warrior in training here is Uvyre. Her friends call her ‘Uvie.’”

I hummed, sizing Uvyre up. I had no doubt she’d dwarf me in height someday if she wasn’t through growing just yet. Perhaps that unusual advantage in her build had been what had allowed her to continue training when other girls would, or could, not.

“Position yourselves within the ring for warm up exercises.” My eyes roved over the group of girls at large. “I’ll walk you through Rhysand’s personal routine.”

The girls only continued to stare. I pulled my lips tight in irritation as I glanced at Cassian.

“Anytime you see Jade, consider her as an instructor as you would me,” Cassian said. His voice shifted into the low, familiar tone he took during our own training. “You’ve been given an instruction – fall in formation.”

The younger girls flinched and scurried to their places. Veria, Thylia, and Uvyre gave us longer looks before doing as Cassian ordered. My brow furrowed as I watched the girls form into rows, the older girls spread throughout seemingly at random.

“What the fuck is this?” I said, speaking to Cassian from the side of my mouth. “Half the girls can’t see the front.”

“That’s the point.”

My blood boiled. I could practically feel a mirroring heat radiating from Cassian. It came as no surprise that these bastards would purposely be making training for these children overly tedious. However, Cassian remained silent. He’d made it clear I was the one in charge today.

“Get into a single line, facing me,” I snapped. “There’s more than enough room for all of you – let’s go.”

The girls did as I instructed. I had a few of them swap places to get an even mix of ages and my perceived levels of skill. It would help for younger and less experienced students to be able to observe their counterparts further along in their training. This was how I had been taught, and how I continued to learn through watching the likes of Cassian, Azriel, and Rhysand in the way they carried themselves and moved in the calculated, effortless efficiency of creatures born to be in the air.

“I’m sure you’re all sharp enough to notice I don’t have wings,” I said. I indicated Cassian with my chin. “Your general will follow along and include when your wings should flex along with the rest of your body. We’ll start with breathing, then you’ll mimic my movements. Ask questions if you need to – your High Lord never makes things easy on himself, his warmup routine being no exception.”

“I take offense to that.”

I tilted my head toward the sky with a grin as Rhysand’s voice drifted through my mind.

Can we spare thirty minutes?

“Half that,” Rhysand responded. “Give them the summarized version. Lucien and Mitah only have so much time before they can’t risk being missed at court. But … they had me waiting for a while, so I won’t miss an opportunity to return the snub.”

I fought back the urge to roll my eyes as my full attention returned to the girls. Less fear swam behind their collective gaze, probably from the way Cassian stood beside me with ease. I wondered if this was the first time any of the girls had seen a High Fae aside from Rhysand. I certainly didn’t seem as intimidating as an Illyrian, but I was still different; other. And if they’d ever heard whispers of the ‘Crown-Cleaver’ about camp, me standing before them would be the equivalent of my own training having been overseen by Jurian himself. These girls were stronger than I was, since I could imagine nothing short of falling over in shock if I were in their position.

“One hand on your chest, another on your stomach,” I said. I waited until the girls and Cassian followed my lead. “Head high – back straight. We’ll do a few deep breaths and I want you to pay attention to the difference when using your diaphragm. Alright, in through your nose for three …”

Before I knew it, fifteen minutes had passed, and Cassian grew still as he paused his stretching overhead to look into the middle distance. He turned to me with a firm expression. “Rhys wants me to get a report on the status of Devlan’s forces. He’ll be here in a moment.” The last statement caused me to wrinkle my nose from the oddly disheartening tone. Cassian noted my confusion with a weak smile.

“If you … take a trip,” Cassian said, picking his words carefully considering those who may be listening. “Know that I considered training with you to be an honor.”

I would’ve laughed had the look on his face not been so sincere. Training with me had been nothing short of a horror considering how I’d allowed my raw emotions to take hold and expelled more than a fair share of pent-up feelings in Cassian’s direction. A few of his fingers needing to be reattached by a skilled healer had proved that enough. I had marked it up as a miracle that he hadn’t considered me insane especially after what happened with Dagdan in Hewn City.

And like his brother, Cassian was assuming I’d abandon every responsibility in my life to run away and live blissfully with Lucien in a remote cabin by the sea or something equally as stupid. They both seemed to have it in their heads that they didn’t matter – that everything I built was something I could easily just toss away for love. At my lowest … perhaps I would have. When I’d last seen Lucien and we’d been separated again at Adriata, I had certainly wished for it. Yet I wouldn’t have been satisfied in a life like that for long. Being in love with Lucien was just one thing, and I wanted to be many things. I was many things, including being a monster, a warrior, and a friend.

“I wonder if you got the dramatics from Rhysand, or if it was the other way around,” I said, flashing Cassian a wicked grin. “I’ll see you sooner than later. For the time being you’re one of the few who can still offer me a challenge. I need to keep my favorite sparring partner close.”

The dour nature around Cassian melted away. He stepped forward, leaning into to whisper as he passed me by.

“I’m always up for a challenge in more ways than one, my lady. All you ever have to do is ask.”

The husky nature to his tone sent a tingle down my spine. His form of flirting was at a different level than Rhysand’s – something harder for me to shake off as playful banter. Perhaps putting some distance between Cassian and myself for the time being would be for the better.

The moment Cassian took to the sky with a beat of his wings, a dark shape sliced open the air along the edge of the cliff. Rhysand emerged in a whirl of shadows and twinkling stars. It was a dramatic entrance which I had a feeling had everything to do with the gathered company. Most of the adults present watched Rhysand with narrowed eyes. The children, including a group of boys gathered at the edge of the ring who’d been studying the warmup routine Cassian and I had been conducting, stared in wide-eyed awe.

“You three,” I said. I made eye contact with Veria, Thylia, and Uvyre in turn. “Repeat the routine whenever you can – make sure the younger ones know it. Ask Cassian if you’d like to learn more movements. He’s also aware of my own warmup exercises and can teach you those as well.” My gaze settled on Uvyre and those piercing green eyes. “Don’t forget what I said earlier.”

You have the makings to be among the best of them. Make sure they don’t forget it.

I turned without another word and headed across the ring. The crowd thinned as I approached the edge of the cliff. Soon it was only Rhysand and I in the near vicinity as I took in his smell of citrus and salt spray among the crisp mountain air.

“I appreciate you following my request to not fight Devlan,” Rhysand said, flashing a grin. “So, who’s blood is on your leathers?”

“Who knows?” I said with a shrug. “One of the four who hopefully now have more sense.”

No barrier stood in the way of the shadow which snaked through my mind, poking and prodding more at my feelings surrounding the memories of my spar with the Illyrians than the actions themselves. There’d been no blinding rage or intent to permanently maim or kill. I had only wanted to give them a lesson using a language they surely understood. It would be an uphill battle, but I liked to think I’d taken that first step for the good of the Illyrians … and for the good of myself. Instructing those girls even for a few minutes had offered me far greater satisfaction than taking down the group of males had.

Rhysand chuckled. “Considering this sort of upheaval, I can only thank the gods the camp is still standing.”

“For now.” I took Rhysand’s offered hand. “We’ll see what happens when I ask Cassian later for updates on how the girls and their training is going.”

Rhysand appeared giddy over the idea of the ire I’d placed on Devlan’s shoulders. “Oh, I have a feeling our dear warlord will be treading very carefully from now on where the girls are concerned. I don’t believe he wants an excuse for you to make frequent visits.”

I shared a smirk with Rhysand as we winnowed. Having our connection back to how it was felt something like a massive weight lifting from my shoulders. I didn’t have to bear every worry and dark thought on my own, nor did he. That constant howling vortex of pressure and anxiety which threatened to consume Rhysand whole lost steam against my own thoughts.

‘You are good. You are trying. You are helping. You are good.’

They were the same words he said back to me when I had broken down the second day of our seclusion and cried my eyes out over the gravity of what I had done to Tamlin. How I had tried to kill a person I held dear for no good reason I could justify. How since coming to the Night Court all I had done was pit members of Rhysand’s family against one another and take steps to make an upcoming conflict with Hybern more difficult. I had cried and cried and cried while Rhysand had held me tight and repeated those words.

‘You are good. You are trying. You are helping. You are good.’

They weren’t true – not yet. They were things I’d have to work hard to make true no matter what.

Chapter Text

Even though Rhysand had previously said we were staying within the territory of the Night Court, the air now felt considerably warmer and wetter than Windhaven. We had winnowed to a forest with a number of trees with trunks the length of a horse and tall enough to cast a green tint to the light trickling down in small patches. Ferns, moss, and boulders peppered the forest floor covered in a thick layer of reddish pine needles. Leaning on one of these boulders was Mitah, a thoughtful expression on his features. He didn’t move an inch as we locked eyes.

“Mitah knows about what happened when you and Tamlin fought. I showed it to him; all of it.”

My heart stopped. I didn’t register that Rhysand was still holding my hand until he gave it a squeeze. The action caused enough of my senses to return for me to set my jaw and take a deep breath.

“It was my fault.”

To utter those words, to admit them to someone who wasn't Rhysand … to someone who wasn't as familiar as the back of my own hand … left my chest feeling as if it were splintering apart. 

“It was my fault.”

The words were softer now; I couldn't speak above a whisper. One tear broke free, then another. I didn’t bother wiping them away as my chest heaved. “It was my fault, Mitah. I hurt Tamlin. He didn’t … he didn’t deserve what happened. I don’t know why … I still don’t know why … But I had wanted to hurt him; to kill him. And I don’t … know what to do.”

Mitah closed his eyes. He stood as still as the stone at his back. Slowly, he opened them again, strands of dark hair which had come free from his braid brushing his cheek as he shook his head.

“You can’t return to the Spring Court, Jade.”

The finality in Mitah’s words struck with the force of a hammer leaving an imprint in hot metal. I had prepared myself for this possibility … but I had figured the words would have come later from Tamlin’s mouth, not sooner from Mitah’s. My friend, and my partner who stood by my side to lead the armed forces of my home court, now regarded me as if I were a stranger.

“I am loyal to my court and to my High Lord,” Mitah said. He straightened, lines forming over his smooth features. No longer was there any indication of the lighthearted comrade I knew. Before me was a hardened general – someone who had seen war, hardship … and betrayal.

“We will not speak again like this in an unofficial manner,” Mitah said with the brevity of an official reading a document. “The order labeling you as a traitor to the Spring Court because of your attempted assassination of the High Lord is legitimate. I am already betraying my High Lord’s trust by meeting you now and not making an attempt to take you under my custody.”

I took a shaking breath to steady myself. “I don’t think I should go without punishment for what I’ve done,” I said, clenching my free hand into a fist as I held fast onto Rhysand with the other. “But … I think I can help in this upcoming war. Whatever consequences are to be met after that … I’ll face them.”

I could feel Rhysand tense as Mitah took slow steps forward. I wondered how many years, how many centuries, would it take for the High Lord of the Night Court to not be afraid of his former tutor. The Mitah he knew was a far cry from the one I did … However, looking upon the general of the Spring Court now with his stone-faced expression caused a chilling sensation to trace down my spine.

“Swear to me.”

Mitah held out his hand, his gaze of ice blue digging into me. “Swear on the name of Jade Crown-Cleaver that you will henceforth take no such action to harm Lord Tamlin or the Spring Court.”

A bargain – a promise. A call upon both magic old and new to bind those involved. Breaking this promise would have me facing a backlash which could do anything from crippling me to taking my life altogether. Something as serious as this nature … I had no doubt the worst could be expected.

I let go of Rhysand’s hand. Within my mind I could feel his presence writhing as if he was using every ounce of his will to remain silent. I was making a fool’s bargain – something broad and undefined in a manner which could bite me in the ass from the smallest misstep. However … I was willing for it to become a part of who I wanted to be.

A jolt of pain ran through me not unlike the time Amarantha had struck me with her magic. It happened the second my fingers brushed Mitah’s, knowing he could feel it as well as he pulled back. The magic … this bargain … it had been rejected. I couldn’t explain how or why I knew this, but it rang through my bones with as much truth as the Sun residing in the sky. Panic washed over me as I watched Mitah’s expression shift into a heartbreaking visage of grief.

“No, Mitah,” I said. I reached out again, Mitah taking a step back. “Please! I didn’t do that on purpose! I won’t hurt Tamlin! I don’t want to anymore! I’ll make that promise; that bargain. Try again, please!”

Rhysand placed a hand on my shoulder. His steadying presence revealed that I was trembling like a dead leaf clinging to a branch. Through our link I could tell he’d also picked up what had happened and was just as shocked over it as I was. And even though I knew full well his distaste for Tamlin … I also felt his sorrow on my behalf.

“I’ll make the bargain,” Rhysand said. Violet eyes met those of crushing blue as he held Mitah’s stare. “I can’t say why it won’t work for Jade, but it should work for me. As of right now I’m declaring Jade an official member of the Night Court. As her High Lord, I will make the promise that she will not take any actions which would harm Tamlin or the Spring Court. If she breaks that promise, it will be me who suffers the consequences.”

Rhysand offered his hand. He didn’t falter as Mitah slowly looked him over. In a few tentative steps, Mitah came forward and met Rhysand’s grasp. Through my bond with Rhysand I felt something click into place like a lock. In a weak shimmer of light, a band of dark blue ink appeared over the bronze skin of Mitah’s bicep. Closer inspection revealed the band to be made up of a line of eight-pointed stars.

A shift within my mind indicated that Rhysand and Mitah were sharing a silent conversation. Both of them kept grave expressions throughout the exchange. After a fashion, Mitah nodded and their hands fell apart.

“Master Lucien is waiting upstream,” Mitah said, addressing no one in particular as he indicated a small river to the north. He turned away. “Know that he hasn’t been shown as I have, but he has been told of the events which transpired when Lord Tamlin was attacked. I only urge that the truth of the matter be addressed so he can make his own decisions on how to shape his future … including what I have scented to be true.”

Scented?

I frowned, uncertain of what Mitah could mean. My time to ponder on the matter was cut short as Rhysand waved me off.

“Go on, Mouse,” he said. “Mitah and I … it seems he wants to discuss an issue I thought we’d already taken a damn long time to address. Find me when you’re ready.”

I felt unsteady on my feet. I gave Rhysand and Mitah a final glance over my shoulder before beginning to walk. Each passing step felt as if the ground may give out beneath me. I hugged myself against the cold.

Will I … see Mitah again?

I didn’t push the thought through the bond – I knew Rhysand wouldn’t be able to give a definitive answer either way. And even if I did see Mitah again, our interactions would never be the same. I had lost my friend - my teacher - and suddenly understood with full clarity what it had been like for Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel to feel the same; how they had lived with the idea of Mitah either being dead or hating their existence for hundreds of years. Was that what I had to look forward to? Being despised by the people I once loved over the course of centuries; millennia? How did anyone handle that?

I narrowed my focus, willing my breaths to even as I continued to walk up the bank of a moss-laden stream. Centering myself was key, even if the sound of rushing water made me picture the pine boxes dripping with blood from Rhysand’s dream. The world which had once seemed so huge was now collapsing within itself, trying to squeeze into those boxes and leaving me nowhere to escape. Even if I was now a true member of the Night Court, it didn’t stop me from feeling displaced. All I wanted was to feel like I truly belong somewhere – to feel at home.

I stepped around a large boulder and spotted a flash of fiery red in the distance. My heart leapt into my throat as I took in Lucien sitting on a large rock, his chin leaning in his hand as he appeared to watch the water in contemplation. His fighting leathers in shades of brown and green were nowhere near as elegantly designed as the Illyrian style I bore, but it made his appearance no less regal. My habit of calling him a ‘prince’ wasn’t simply due to teasing – in my mind Lucien truly was the very picture of someone with royalty running through his veins. He was beautiful both inside and out – kind, loyal, and virtuous. And after today …

I roughly wiped the tears from my cheeks as I continued my approach. Lucien spotted me soon after, rising from his seat and heading toward me at a swift gait. It was my own that faltered as we got close enough to speak. I didn’t so much as dare to raise my hands out of fear of spooking Lucien as if he were a wild animal.

Warmth washed over me as Lucien wrapped me in a tight embrace. A gasp of relief I hadn’t realized I’d been holding in for weeks escaped my lips. I clung to Lucien for dear life as he gently stroked my hair.

“Thank the Cauldron you’re alright,” Lucien said. He pulled away just enough to kiss my forehead before holding me close again. “Thank the Cauldron and the Mother and whatever else damn thing is up there. Every waking moment I’ve been terrified over what the hell that bastard has been doing to you. I still can’t figure out what damn game he’s playing asking me to meet you like this.”

I pulled away with some reluctance. The fury behind Lucien’s eye was nearly palpable. I slowly studied his handsome features pulled taut in barely contained rage.

“Why … aren’t you mad at me?” I said, dreading the answer I may receive. “For what I did to … what I did to Tamlin?”

Pity broke through the anger as Lucien cupped the side of my face. “That wasn’t you, Jade – that was the hold that bastard High Lord of the Night Court has over you. I tried telling Tam that … I tried telling him that so many damn times and he won’t listen. I tried to make him see how obvious it was that you would never act that way. You love Tam like family, and you would never try to kill him. You would …”

My tears tracking over Lucien’s fingers caused him to pause. His metallic eye clicked as it narrowed and he took in an expression reflecting my heart feeling as if it were shattering into pieces.

“Jade?”

“It wasn’t Rhysand,” I said, speaking as steadily as I could between gasps. “It wasn’t Rhysand, Lucien. It was me. It was by my will alone that I tried to kill Tamlin that day. Rhysand is the only reason I didn’t.”

Lucien reached up to cup my cheeks. I could tell he was fighting a losing battle to keep a smile on his face. “No, Jade – you shouldn’t believe that. You are good, remember? You fought tooth and nail to free Tamlin from Amarantha because he’s your heart – your family. I know that you would never try to hurt him.”

I lowered my head, unable to hold his gaze. “That’s wrong, Lucien. I’m wrong. I don’t know why … but the day of the Tithe, I genuinely wanted to kill Tamlin. I provoked him and pushed him until he defended himself and gave me justification to let the anger engulfing me take over. I was the monster. My sword would’ve gone straight through his neck had Mor not –”

“Jade, stop! This is just –!”

“It’s not Rhysand!” I shouted. Shadows which worked to suck in all the light around me flared over my body. They caused Lucien to take an unsteady step back.

“Something is wrong with me, Lucien,” I said, trying not to choke on the words. “I tried to kill Tamlin, then I killed the Attor and Dagdan all because as soon as I was given an opportunity to take someone’s life, I did it because I enjoyed it. And I finally realized that all this time when I’ve been blaming others for my actions it was all just me. These scars on my neck … I caused them myself. I was so horrified of what my true self in the Ouroboros looked like that it nearly drove me insane. I’m finally coming to terms with it; realizing that I now have to consciously fight against my nature to be horrible and choose to be compassionate instead. I want to get better … and I want to tell Tamlin I’m sorry. But now I think I’ll never get the chance.”

Lucien slowly shook his head. Coming to terms with the denial he’d been keeping himself submerged in for weeks surely wasn’t easy. “Jade, you would never –”

“I’m not the same person as I was under the Mountain, Lucien,” I said. I reached out to him, hesitated, then pulled my arm back. “I’m no longer human, or a Warrior of Ash. The only thing I can say for sure is that I am me, and no one else. Rhysand isn’t pulling the strings of my mind. He’s the only reason I have a mind after the first time I saw the Ouroboros. I consider him a friend, but I’d still cut off his dick and crush it under a millstone if he ever tried to influence my thoughts.”

Lucien’s eyes grew wide. A myriad of emotions crossed his features as he studied me. I could only wait on bated breath as his expression began to crumble.

“Jade,” Lucien said, my name slow on his tongue. “If you’re telling me the truth … you realize what this means; what I have to admit you are.”

“An attempted murderer of a High Lord,” I said, feeling there was no point in softening the blow. “Of your High Lord. Mitah has … already told me he considers me as such. Today may be the last day I ever speak to him.”

The color drained from Lucien’s face. “Why, Jade? If it had nothing to do with Rhysand, then why in Cauldron’s name would you try to kill Tam?”

“I’m not … sure,” I said, hugging myself as if catching a sudden chill. “I was just … consumed by this coiling rage and I couldn’t hold back. Even now there’s something inside me that just wants to rip Tamlin to pieces. He makes me angry sometimes, and frustrated, but I don’t hate him. I still love Tamlin and I want him to be happy. I’m trying to come to terms with all the things I am … it’s just terrifying.”

So was speaking the notion aloud. It wasn’t as scary with Rhysand because his struggles were so similar to my own. But revealing this to someone who didn’t know what it was like feeling like a stranger in their own head … even if it was Lucien, who I loved with every piece of who I was. For the first time since I was a child, I wanted nothing more than to run away and hide.

Lucien didn’t speak. The pause stretched on and on, my heart sinking further and further. I could barely find the courage to look up when he made a long inhale.

“You said something, once,” Lucien said, anguish behind his eye. It reminded me so much of the sadness that used to live there every time I looked at him; it was like a blow to the gut.

“You said that one day, you and Tamlin may kill one another.” Lucien ran his shaking fingers through his hair. “I don’t want to believe it. Obviously, I don’t. But if you insist that those actions were you, Jade, then I will. I’ll believe you about that, and I’ll also believe that you have remorse for what you’ve done and that you want to make things right.”

My heart stopped. Lucien’s expression was so level I couldn’t decipher the thoughts behind his words. Did he forgive me … or was he encouraging me to seek forgiveness? Was his idea of making things right to turn myself in to the Spring Court and beg for Tamlin’s mercy? Was it … to face the assumed punishment of execution?

Lucien’s features relaxed as if he could read my thoughts. He reached out, taking my hand in his own and giving it a squeeze. “I … I can’t lose you, Jade. After I lost Jesminda, I promised myself I would never again lose the female I loved if I ever found myself fortunate enough to love again. And despite you saying you’re not the same person as you once were under the Mountain – that isn’t true. You’re her, plus everything you are now, the good and the bad. And I’m sorry that I saw you suffering and poured all of my focus into thinking it was an issue I could solve by getting Rhysand out of the picture instead of helping you. I won’t do that again, and I sure as hell won’t leave you.”

I let out a gasping sob. Lucien pulled me to him, holding me tight as I cried into his tunic. “It’s alright, Jade. We’ll figure something out. Shh, it’s alright.”

I opened my eyes against the warm material of his tunic. “What about the Spring Court? Tamlin isn’t going to let me come back.”

“No … he won’t.”

I felt Lucien’s throat bob. A sinking feeling grew in my chest. It threatened to rip me apart, but I had to voice the thought on my mind.

“You’ll lose your home,” I said, pulling away. I looked up into those eyes of gold and russet, both of them perfect works of art. I fought the urge to run my fingers down his cheek. “I can’t ask you to leave; I can’t ask you to turn your back on Tamlin.”

Lucien looked away, staring at the forest floor as he set his jaw. He was probably thinking of a way to justify his actions – both to me and for himself. Tamlin was the closest thing to a true brother Lucien had ever had. They were friends who’d had each other’s backs for centuries and kept one another sane during the horrors of Amarantha’s reign. Tamlin was Lucien’s heart just as much as he was mine; the very thought of severing that bond had me in pieces.

“He may not forgive you, Lucien,” I said. I plowed on before I could lose my conviction. “Please … go back to Spring. Don’t leave Tamlin alone in that house. He needs you.”

“And you don’t?”

I whipped my head up, heart racing. “Of course, I do! Every day I spend without seeing or speaking to you is like I’m constantly fighting to keep myself from falling apart. Nothing else – no one else – gives me the same peace of mind as you do. I’m lucky that I have people here who also care about me … But as much as they help me, they don’t drive the darkness away like you do. With you, something just comes over me that feels certain.”

Lucien’s lids grew heavy. He brought his face to mine, our noses brushing together as we shared breath. His lips found my own in a chaste kiss. I followed up with another, our lips meeting again for longer this time as we opened our mouths and leaned into one another. I tangled my fingers in his hair as he did mine and our tongues met with all the longing of us having not been able to take our fill of one another in weeks. My pining and yearning for the male in my arms had stretched across the entire length of Prythian and I wanted more than anything to take this moment and stretch it on for eternity.

“I’m not leaving you, Jade.” Lucien pulled back just enough to speak the words, his heaving breaths heavy over my cheek. “I don’t know where we’ll go; perhaps Helion will give us refuge in the Day Court if I can argue our case. We can even head for the Continent if we must. All I know is that I’m not letting you go again.”

I pulled back, washed in equal parts relief and guilt. I hated how damn happy I was hearing that he’d stay. Yet once again, I would be hurting Tamlin to help myself.

“We can stay here,” I said, tucking a stray strand of red hair behind Lucien’s ear. “Rhysand will let us stay in the Night Court – he’s already told me he’ll give you amnesty if you want.”

Lucien’s grip on my hands tightened. His expression grew grim as his eyes roved over me. “Jade … what is Rhysand’s interest in you? For him to help you so much; to offer you refuge and save you like you said. I have a hard time believing he’d do all of that for nothing.”

I caught movement over Lucien’s shoulder the second I opened my mouth. No – it wasn’t over Lucien’s shoulder. It was on Lucien’s shoulder as the shadow cast by his jaw flickered.

‘Down.’

I yanked Lucien to the forest floor. An object shot overhead, lodging itself between two large rocks in the riverbank. We stared in shock, the tension in Lucien’s arm letting me know he knew what it was the second I did.

Ash arrow.

“Get to cover!” Lucien shouted. The two of us sprinted toward the closest set of trees, three arrows planting themselves in the ground where we’d once been. We pressed ourselves against the tree trunks and caught our breath.

“Are you armed?” Lucien asked. He leaned marginally around the trunk, the sound of his metallic eye whirring as he combed the tree canopy. The angle of the arrows indicated they’d come from above; the archers likely took the opportunity of us being distracted to get into position.

“When am I not?” With a flick of my wrist, my sword with the blue-wrapped hilt appeared in my palm. I tried to push down the pang of remembering it had originally been gifted to me by Mitah.

Mitah!

I scrambled to reach out through the bond. Rhysand!

Rhysand’s presence in my mind immediately grew alert.

“What? What is it?”

Someone starting trouble, I thought, watching Lucien intently as he worked to find the position of the archers. They have ash arrows. You and Mitah take cover and stay on high alert.

An intense feeling of alarm washed through the bond. I had to fight back my senses being overwhelmed by it.

“I’ll get to you – keep yourself in a safe position.”

I grit my teeth, shaking my head even though I knew Rhysand couldn’t see it.

No. If we find these bastards, I’m taking them down – alive. I’ve fucked up enough opportunities for us to get information and I’m not going to miss out on another.

I pushed away Rhysand’s wave of irritation as Lucien cursed. He wasn’t looking into the trees, but staring intently at one of the arrows lodged in the ground nearby.

“What is it?” I asked.

“The feathers on the arrows,” Lucien said, a seething nature to his tone. “It’s from a pheasant in the Autumn Court. If this is them now … and again back in Adriata … Fuck. This is all my fault. The bastards have a trace on my magic; of course they would, my family certainly has enough random objects I instilled with magic for one purpose or another to use as a source for a trace. They’d know where to look for you anytime I’d step outside the Spring Court’s barrier. Cauldron boil and fry me …”

Another volley of arrows erupted from the trees. An indication that the archers had adjusted positions became obvious based on an arrow missing its mark in Lucien’s chest when it bounced off the broad side of my sword. Lucien shot me a glance of gratitude before increasing his grip on his own short sword.

“You ready to run?” I asked. I swung my sword out in a low arc, feeling the blade thrum in response to the nearby rushing water.

“On your mark,” Lucien said, his eyes darting about the trees.

“Now!”

I swung my sword up, the stream erupting in a wall of water tall enough to engulf the low branches of the massive trees. Whether the water was successful in sweeping away any assailants, I wouldn’t know, since Lucien and I ran through the trees in a blur. We only slowed when Lucien indicated a cluster of boulders ahead which provided cover on all sides save for one. I slid into the opening, Lucien on my heels until an arrow sent him staggering to the side.

“Lucien!”

All thoughts of my own self preservation fell from my mind as I gripped Lucien’s tunic and yanked him toward the boulders. An ash arrow lodging itself in my shoulder hardly registered as I pulled him to safety.

Lucien sat up with a wince. An ash arrow had pierced the back of his left hand, so deep it nearly broke through the skin of his palm. A string of curses paired with a grunt escaped him as I yanked the arrow free and tossed it aside.

Lucien’s face twisted from the difficulty, but a weak glow from his opposite hand indicated he still had enough control of his magic to heal. His fingers were shaking violently by the time the trickle of blood stopped, indicating the arrow’s effects for at least the next few minutes were already well underway.

“Jade,” Lucien said, speaking my name through heavy breaths. “Your shoulder.”

“It can wait.” My sword shifted to a dagger at my will. “Stay here.”

I pulled the arrow out of my shoulder with a grunt. Blood immediately began to flow into the armpit of my armor and down the side. Enough pain shot through my right arm to encourage me to transfer my weapon to the left. I kept the sword in the shape of a dagger, knowing that would make it easier for me to use as leverage for climbing trees.

“Jade – what are you doing?” Lucien asked, eyeing me as I shifted into a crouch.

“I’m going up and there and turning those archers into Fae-sized dolls by breaking all their limbs,” I said, gritting my teeth as my eyes darted about the canopy. “What I really want to do is slit their throats and leave their corpses for whatever creatures stalk these woods, but I’m trying to be compassionate.”

Lucien made a face. “I wouldn’t call breaking their limbs compa–”

The light suddenly dimmed as if the sky had decided to skip sunset entirely and plunge itself into twilight. Lucien and I tensed, flinching when a scream echoed through the trees.

The screams grew into a chorus as something – two somethings – swooped overhead. I caught a glimpse of a transparent set of wings with a branching structure of white veins, and another similar to a bat’s and large enough to nearly block out any remaining light entirely.

“Is that … Mitah?” Lucien asked, dumbstruck. It hit me that this had to have been the first time Lucien had witnessed Mitah using his wings. No time was allowed for me to explain; a familiar presence landed beside me in a strong gust of pine needles and the scent of salt spray.

“Where are you hurt?!”

Rhysand was bordering on frantic. I had never seen him exhibiting a level of such sheer panic as he zeroed in on my arm. “Why haven’t you done anything for the wound? I could smell you a mile away – you’re bleeding all over the damn place! Hold still, you idiot.”

My attempt to pull out of Rhysand’s grasp and argue that I was fine fell away as a faint light glowed over his fingers. The pain in my shoulder receded, although the increasingly sluggish sensation in my limbs remained. I met Rhysand’s worried stare with a nod in thanks before looking back to the trees. “Are there more of them?”

The trees had gone silent. With a wave of his hand, Rhysand called back the darkness, and the forest slowly returned to the light of midafternoon. Only a few seconds passed before the sound of a high-pitched and sweet birdsong cut through the air. I recognized it immediately as Mitah’s ‘all clear’ signal. So did Rhysand, based on the way the tension left his shoulders.

“Cauldron only knows how the hell they found us out here,” Rhysand said, eyeing the trees. “I was certain a place like this would be secure – the Illyrians don’t bother with this area until the salmon migrate through in a few months.”

I followed Rhysand’s gaze, frowning in thought. “Well, Lucien said earlier that –”

As if I’d said a magic word, Rhysand’s gaze snapped forward. I looked to Lucien, worried that it had something to do with his wound … and found him staring at Rhysand and I with his features twisted in devastation.

“What … is this?” Lucien said, his voice hardly a whisper. “You … can’t really be …”

Rhysand stood and backed away. I caught a wave of anguish and shame coming through our link. What the hell was going on?

“He’s not going to hurt us,” I said, eyeing Rhysand over my shoulder before turning back to Lucien. “Like I said, Rhysand will allow us to live within his court. You don’t have to be afraid of him.”

Lucien used the rock at his back to help push himself to his feet. I followed suit, trying not to wince as sharp pain shot through my shoulder.

“Don’t look at her like that.”

Lucien had spoken to Rhysand. My eyes darted between the two; Rhysand, amazingly, had done as Lucien asked and dropped his gaze to the forest floor. When I looked back to Lucien, he appeared on the verge of being somewhere between furious and bursting into tears. An anxious feeling turned in my gut as I tried to determine what was happening.

“Jade.”

I locked onto Lucien’s stare. A pallor had fallen over his golden skin which I wasn’t sure had anything to do with the wound in his hand.

“Everything you said to me, about how you felt,” Lucien said, his voice breaking. “About … about how you wanted to stay with me, and that you felt certain about me … was that all an act?”

I couldn’t fight the urge for my mouth to drop open. What the hell was Lucien saying?

“What?” I said, dumbstruck. “Why the hell would that have been an act? Why the fuck would I lie to you about something like that?”

“Because you and Rhysand …” Lucien’s voice trailed off. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “You two are mates.”

My eyes went wide. This had to have been some sort of joke. Surely it would be. Who in their right mind would think Rhysand and I are mates?

“With … Rhysand?” I said, my lips pulling back over my teeth in a grimace. “Why the hell would you say that?”

“Because he could scent it.”

I regarded Rhysand from over my shoulder. He kept his distance, keeping his violet eyes averted. “I’m sorry, Jade. I wasn’t thinking straight when you were injured. Getting close enough to you … alerts others of the scent.”

“What scent?” I said, utterly lost. “What the hell does a damn smell have to do with any of this?!”

“It signifies the mating bond,” Lucien said. His voice trembled; his agitation palpable in the form of the dried leaves about his feet turning black and curling in on themselves as if they’d been tossed into an invisible fire. I’d never seen him like this before. Fear struck my heart. Not for me, but … for him.

“When mates who have accepted the bond are close enough to one another, they emit a scent,” Lucien continued. “You two … you two have that scent.”

Watching Lucien’s expression crumble was like someone pulling my innards from my gut. My eyes darted back to Rhysand. “Well obviously that isn’t the case. Tell him that.”

Rhysand closed his eyes … remaining silent. My heart sank.

“That … doesn’t make sense,” I said, my heart beating at a higher rate than when ash arrows had flown overhead. “How the hell does that make sense?! We can’t be mates! I think I would know if we were!”

Rhysand slowly opened his eyes. He looked back to me, and it wasn’t just his expression that conveyed his sorrow. I felt it wash over me … through the link; through our bond.

‘I’ll be fine,’ Rhysand had said. It had been the first day I’d found myself in the Moonstone Palace and I’d overheard him speaking with Mor. None of that conversation had made sense, but now …

‘I can tell that her half of the bond is there when I’m in her head, although it’s like she simply passes it over without a second thought. It goes against every other instance I’ve heard.’

“You accepted your half of the mating bond, first,” Rhysand said, his voice hollow. “I think it happened when I helped you escape Amarantha’s control. I realized during our conversation on the balcony that the unusual shift I felt between our link wasn’t our bargain at all … but the mating bond.”

Rhysand had winnowed away from me back then in a wave of nothing short of pure distress. He’d never returned to the Mountain to give me an explanation, nor had I followed up on it since I didn’t speak to him again for nearly two months.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

I glanced back at Lucien. Pure, unfiltered hatred burned in his eye. He bared his teeth at Rhysand. “How can that be? Are you saying that all this time, ever since Jade had returned from the Mountain, she’s been your mate?!”

Rhysand slowly nodded. “Yes. In all honesty, I didn’t know what the hell to do about it. She had accepted me as a mate, yet had – and still has – absolutely no interest in taking me as a lover. That’s never happened to anyone before. I even had my damn librarians in the Night Court library search for a single instance in written history where someone who had accepted the bond still chose to love another. There were plenty of instances where mates fell out of love, but none where they didn’t fall in love in the first place unless that bond had been rejected outright.”

The shadow over Lucien’s features remained. It reminded me of when Rhysand had first shown up to the manor while Tamlin and Lucien had been under the effects of Amarantha’s curse. Lucien had nearly thrown his life away trying to defend me from Rhysand; I worried he may make a similar decision, now.

“You were near her in the Spring Court, then again in Adriata.” Lucien’s mechanical eye narrowed. “No one smelled the bond on you then.”

“Because I hadn’t accepted it, then,” Rhysand said. He turned his head as if to look at me, second guessing himself and keeping his eyes lowered. “My half of the bond didn’t click into place until five days ago.”

Five days ago … had it really only been five days since the Court of Nightmares; since I’d spoken to Kin? Was that what had happened when I’d been arguing with Rhysand and all of a sudden a wave had flowed through our link like sinking into a warm bath? Was this bond the reason I felt the link between our minds to be so seamless that sometimes it was like we shared the same brain? Was it how we had been able to build our towers of mental stone and work to balance one another out? How he reminded me of compassion, and I reminded him of self-worth? Was that … possible?

“You wouldn’t … let anyone come near while we were at the palace,” I said, my mind piecing things together. Realization hit me like a blow to the gut. “You didn’t get anywhere near Cassian when you dropped me off at Windhaven. And later, you were standing away from all the other Illyrians. The only person you were close to around me was … Mitah.”

Rhysand lifted his eyes. I followed his gaze up into the trees until I spotted Mitah sitting on a wide branch. His expression was grave as he met Rhysand’s stare.

“Mitah was going to winnow with you two wherever you decided to go,” Rhysand said, studying his former teacher. “Then, with Jade and I separated, he was going to tell you two about the bond. I figured it would be easier for Lucien to dismiss it if Jade were given the chance to further demonstrate how our bond is a far cry from what we know.”

I found Lucien examining me. He hadn’t regarded me with such heavy suspicion since I had first been brought to the manor as a human. I squeezed my hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

“Everything … since the Mountain …” Lucien said. I could practically see his heart splintering to pieces with every word. I stepped forward … Lucien took a step back.

“I asked you if you were in love with him,” Lucien continued. “You were always so insistent on defending his character. Even after hearing about everything he’s done; what he did to Tam and how he rules over that demented ‘Court of Nightmares’ … you really do … love him.”

Wetness lined my lashes, my heart fluttering in panic. I shook my head in sawing gasps. “No! I don’t … I don’t love him in the same way I love you. Loving Rhysand is like loving … myself. It’s like he’s a part of me, but he doesn’t make me whole. You do that! You’re my soul, Lucien. I never gave a shit about whether we were mates, and I still don’t, now.”

Lucien shook his head with a grim expression. “That doesn’t matter, Jade. You accepted the bond. How you feel now is one way, but in the future … Ultimately, it’s always better for a Fae to be with their mate. That’s what everyone says; how things are supposed to be. ”

Every word was like taking an ash arrow to the chest, my energy draining from me entirely.

“Lucien!” My scream bounced off the trees. I gripped the front of my fighting leathers, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. It was like I was back on the side of that damned hill during the night of the Summer Solstice, reeling after Lucien had poured his heart out to me but then told me it would be better if I loved another, instead.

“You told me I was supposed to be with Tamlin!” I screamed, my voice breaking. “You told me that, and I still chose to fall in love with you! And now you’re telling me I’m supposed to be with someone else! I’m not going to listen! I’m going to do whatever the hell I want as I always have! And what I want, more than anything in this world, is to be with you!”

A tear escaped Lucien’s eye. He grit his teeth, frustration seeping through him as if he’d burn the damn bond to ash if he could. “This is different, Jade. The mating bond is forever. Nothing short of death will release you from it, and even then, you’ll always feel an empty hole in that space in your heart which used to be filled. And I’m … I’m not your equal.”

“Don’t give a bullshit excuse like that,” Rhysand said.

I caught the whispers of rage which Rhysand was doing a commendable job of keeping contained. His face darkened to match Lucien’s level of distaste. “Jade loves you aggressively. I’ve never felt anyone love anything so deeply. You have something precious most of us could only dream of; don’t throw it away as if it’s nothing. Just, please … don’t cause Jade that level of pain.”

Lucien continued to regard Rhysand as if he were a worm crawling in the mud. A spark flashed behind his eye in warning. “What are you trying to do? Make me admit how much I love Jade; admit that she means everything to me and how you being her mate is going to rip that all away?!”

The shadows over Rhysand’s shoulders flickered. Our link wasn’t needed to sense his fury like a tang of iron on my tongue. Lucien shifted as if to take a step back, second guessed himself, and took a step forward.

“Jade has accepted you,” Lucien said. A waver snaked its way through the firmness of his voice. “Your job is to cherish her above all else; to make her feel happy … and loved. A mate is supposed to … love their equal with everything they are. If you’re saying you can’t, if you think even for a moment that you –”

“Don’t finish that thought, Lucien,” Rhysand said. 

Lucien’s features twisted in rage. “Don’t speak to me as if you give a shit about my life. If I wish to invoke a blood duel–”

“Then what?” Rhysand snapped, his voice striking the air like the crack of a whip. “You know what that means; how we’d be bound by magic to fight until one of us is dead. On one end, Jade would lose her mate – forever suffering from that void in her heart you mentioned before. On the other, she would witness the person she loves more than anything die horribly. I won’t do that to her – and neither should you.”

My heart pounded in my ears as fear coursed through my veins. I could break up a fight between the two – I had no doubt of that. But if some damned magical bond was involved …

“Stop it,” I said, taking a step forward. “If either of you even spits at the other I’ll beat the shit out of you myself.”

Rhysand held Lucien’s stare for a long while. I could tell through our link that they weren’t speaking to one another mind to mind … however some other form of communication was taking place. Rhysand’s fury wavered in the face of Lucien’s grim determination.

“You’re smart, Lucien,” Rhysand said after a moment. He indicated me with a tilt to his chin. “Take in what you see – I’m encouraging you to stay with Jade; hell, I’d even support you two running off together to gods-knows where. That goes against everything we’ve ever been told about the mating bond. By all rights, the moment I accepted the bond, I should’ve felt the urge to tear off the heads of any males who so much as looked at her. You’re here, Mitah’s here, and Jade and I were previously in a camp full of Illyrian warriors. As much as I want to turn you into a bloody mist at this moment, it has nothing to do with me feeling like I have any sort of ‘claim’ over Jade. She’s free to interact with, love, and fuck anyone she so pleases – I will never, ever consider myself entitled to have any control over her actions.”

Lucien’s expression shifted. I was reminded of the night of the party Tamlin had thrown to celebrate Ianthe’s return to the Spring Court. Before I’d even been aware that the female I’d spotted Lucien speaking to was Ianthe herself, I’d watched his face morph into one of uncertainty from her words.

‘Surely that would be a match better suited between her and Lord Tamlin, no? A High Lord and the savior of Prythian? I think it would be more befitting of her station …’

“You’re good enough,” I said, my voice hardly a whisper. It was still loud enough to be heard as Rhysand and Lucien turned to regard me. I kept my gaze firmly locked with Lucien’s as I took a deep breath. “You’re good enough, Lucien. You’ve always been good enough; more than enough.”

Lucien drank in my features. The way his lip curled up slightly at the corner of his mouth, just enough to shift the scar on his cheek … How a shadow passed behind his russet eye … I could tell he didn’t believe what I had said.

No. I wasn’t going to let this happen. Not again – Lucien wasn’t going to leave me again insisting that he wasn’t good enough – that he wasn’t right for me because first some magical curse and now some magical bond was telling us we shouldn’t be together. Fuck that. My life may have been a mess, but it was still my life, and I was the one who had a say first and foremost who was in it.

“If I’m ever going to be stupidly, madly in love with someone, it’ll be you!” I shouted the words even as my chest felt as if it were caving into itself. “If I’m ever going to marry anyone, it will be you! You hold the key to my soul, Lucien, and nothing will change that for as long as I live.”

Lucien watched me for a long moment … as if committing my likeness to memory. As if all I would ever be in the future, after the months, years, decades, and centuries go by … would be a memory. I had half a mind to scream and drop to my knees among the ferns and pine needles. Lucien was the only person on this earth who had ever succeeded in making me feel truly powerless.

“If I hold the key,” Lucien said, his voice soft; gentle. Kind. I couldn’t fight back a sob.

“Then I’ll give the key back,” he continued, never taking his eyes from mine. “You can … you can hold onto mine. I don’t believe there’s anyone else I will ever meet who I would want to have it. Be well, Jade.”

I rushed forward; I wasn’t fast enough. Lucien winnowed away. I stared at the space he had been, my breaths growing short as an increasing ache squeezed the air from my lungs. I was strong; I was so, so strong. Then why … Why wasn’t I able to keep hold of the thing I loved the most?

“Breathe.”

I squeezed my eyes closed, clenching my jaw with enough force to cause pain to radiate through my teeth.

Get out of my head!

Without having to close my mental shield, all traces of another presence within my mind withdrew. The sting of betrayal was a pinprick compared to the gaping wound which was my heartbreak. That still didn’t mean I could ignore what Rhysand had done any less, no matter his intentions.

“Jade.”

The unexpected voice made me tear my eyes open and spin on my heel. Standing before me was Mitah, his gaze of cerulean blue examining me as if seeing me for the first time. That disdain, that aloofness which had been about him before … dissipated.

“I still see some of her in you,” Mitah said. He hesitated, then took a step forward. I soon found myself wrapped in an unexpected embrace.

“I still see that brave, foolish woman who went under the Mountain to save Lord Tamlin’s life,” Mitah said, holding me close. “There is … a good chance we may never cross paths again; not as friends, or allies. Even if I’m ordered to kill you, my starlight, know that in my heart I will remember who you once were. Become strong enough so if our swords cross, I’ll be the one felled by your blade. Nothing would make me prouder.”

In a cold rush of air, Mitah was gone. The last thread making up the ties holding me to the Spring Court had been severed. The finality strummed through the air as if it were a truth in the magic making up the world itself.

In every aspect I had, without a doubt, lost the home I loved and everyone in it.

Chapter Text

I’m out of my depth. I’m so far out of my depth I may as well be at the bottom of the Sidra.

This was my first time seeing Jade in four days; since the day we’d met in Windhaven. She hadn’t entered the training hall since. At least not in the daylight. I’d been able to pick up weak traces of her scent in the mornings – violets and the air before a storm. What she’d been doing in the dead of night, I didn’t know. I had a feeling Az did, but any questions concerning what he heard from the shadows painting the House of Wind I kept in the back of my throat. During meals, training, and even walking the halls, Az wore an expression as if the food in his stomach had turned sour. According to him, the shadows about the house were practically screaming and their messages were anything but agreeable.

I had been pleasantly surprised when Rhys returned to the townhouse four days prior with Jade in tow. Despite her assurances, I, like nearly the rest of the court, had been under the impression she was going to run off with the Spring Court emissary – Lucien – and we’d be lucky to ever see her again. Amren had been outwardly pissed over the idea, grumbling about Jade being a ‘waste of time’ instead of simply admitting that she’d miss her newfound apprentice. On the other hand, I hadn't been one to talk. I'd played off the concept of Jade sweeping through our lives like a passing storm with little more than a shrug and vague well wishes. I hadn't mentioned that the first thing I'd done after Mor had whisked me back to Velaris was put the sword Jade had gifted me into a closet, with no intention of looking upon it again for ... a while. At least not until the memories of her ethereal swordplay and contagious laughter didn't blanket my mind like freshly fallen snow.

I had been in the middle of telling Amren, Az, and Mor about Jade’s spar in Windhaven when Rhys and Jade had winnowed into the sitting room in a gust of cold air. Well, not just a gust of cold air. Even when Jade had immediately turned and walked out the front door, we’d all still scented it. Something that made my stomach drop like a stone … then made me feel like a complete jackass immediately after.

Rhys and Jade were mates.

I shouldn’t have been half as surprised by that as I was. Mates were equals – able to perfectly match one another in every way. If there was any female in the world capable of standing beside Rhys and shining just as brightly, it was Jade.

And I was a traitor. I was a damned traitor for being anything but over the Moon for Rhys finding something so precious. What sort of brother was I to stand there as if I’d been struck dumb and only stare at Rhys instead of immediately extending my congratulations? How could I have been so far up my own ass that it took me a heartbeat longer than Mor and Amren to tell that something was wrong? Because something was wrong. The way Rhys had watched Jade when she’d left the townhouse hadn’t been filled with the devoted sort of love anyone would expect from a newly mated male. Every step Jade had taken away from him made him seem less. I had never seen my brother so small, a clouded reflection of his true self; not even from when he’d returned from under the Mountain.

And Rhys and I were on alright terms again; at least I hoped. Before telling me that Jade and I would be meeting at Windhaven, he had said I’d been right about him treating her like more of a tool than a person. In theory, it should have been satisfying seeing Rhys dip his head like a youngling who’d been scolded. In practice … watching my brother tear himself up over the very idea of being the unfeeling, calculating son of a bitch his father once was made me regret making the comparison. Rhys wasn’t anything like his father; Rhys had a heart.

Jade had also seemed better when I saw her at Windhaven. The innate arrogance about her had remained even if she’d kept her chin a little lower and held some part of herself back. I used to be able to practically smell the metallic tang of Jade’s bloodlust if I got close enough. Yet no longer was she like a demigod sent to this earth with no other purpose than to wreak destruction. It looked like that had all come to a head when she killed Dagdan in a manner befitting that bastard’s behavior. The brutality behind it had even turned my stomach, yet I couldn’t find it in my heart not to support Jade’s decision. Because in the end, she hadn’t succumbed to anyone’s will and had made that decision for herself. It wasn’t like I could be one to judge; I’d done worse in the past, plus some.

Jade had also made the decision for herself to reach out to Az and I to resume training again. Despite her having taken up residence in a room a level below where our rooms resided, Jade had been like a ghost haunting the House of Wind. Her lingering scent had been the only thing I’d pick up in the halls, the practice ring, and occasionally the dining room. I had to wonder if she’d finally mastered blending into shadow with how skillfully she was able to avoid seeing anyone else entirely.

Entering the training room to find Jade staring into nothing was … concerning. She stood to the side of the practice rings gazing at the wall with an expression conveying she wasn’t absorbing any of it. The set of Illyrian leathers hugging every curve of her was new – I had to wonder how many duplicates Rhys had commissioned. If he had any inclination for how likely Jade was to need a change in gear due to her reckless nature … I had little doubt a corner of the armory had been dedicated just to hold her backup leathers.

I couldn’t stop my mouth from sinking into a frown. Seeing Jade so still was more than a little off-putting; so were the shadows creeping over her skin. The shadows themselves weren’t unusual in any sense – I was the odd one out among my brothers for being the only one to not have a constant ebb and flow of them trailing in my wake at all times. What made these shadows different from what I’d seen before was that somehow, without even making a sound, they were loud. The shadows flowing over every part of Jade’s profile flickered and jerked as if being cast by a sputtering fire. Looking at her for too long nearly made my eyes hurt.

“Cass.”

I nearly sent Az flying with a snap of my wing. He’d appeared at my side out of fucking nowhere. I couldn’t count how many times I’d told him not to do that.

“Mother's tits!" I snapped. "You scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry.” Az didn’t bother with trying to sound remorseful. I could tell he had already moved on to his next line of thought when his hazel eyes left mine and he looked across the room. He stood with his hands behind his back, watching Jade as her lashes fluttered and a semblance of presence returned to her striking features. “Jade and I were having a conversation and I lost track of time. I cut it short since I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

I frowned, looking between Jade and Az. “Conversation? I thought you two had to see each other to talk through the shadows.”

Az shook his head. “No – not anymore. I was in the kitchen downstairs while we were speaking. Our messages seemed to come across without issue. We’ll be working on further distances in the future.”

I slowly nodded. Az was acting like Az, but Jade continued to stand in silence as she watched us with eyes still conveying a level of detachment. I cleared my throat, trying to cut the tension. “So … what did you two talk about?”

Az’s eyes shifted to the side. The two of them shared a look which flew over my head entirely. My brother made an indifferent shrug before walking past me.

“I’ll see you at dinner tonight, Cass.”

I let out a grunt in the face of Az brushing me off. I watched him go in his familiar, precise gait before turning back to Jade. She still hadn’t moved; the playful, proud demeanor from only a few days past now seemingly a distant memory. It left a bad taste in my mouth.

“Let’s get into warmup,” I said, gesturing toward the center of the ring. “I was thinking about coming up with a new routine for the older girls back at Windhaven. I want to pinpoint stretch, breathing, and footwork routines which we consider the most critical and encourage them to practice on their own as much as they can. Uvie is lucky to have supportive parents and the time, but the sisters are tasked with looking after younger siblings, and a longer routine isn’t feasible for them.”

As I had hoped … a spark shone behind Jade’s dark blue eyes like the first star in the night’s sky. I had to fight back the urge to grin like an idiot as I took my place facing her just outside the ring. Seeing a piece of that female who I’d watched effortlessly take down four Illyrian warriors at once was a welcome sight.

“Are we getting started with your routine, or mine?” I asked, tilting my head from side-to-side until I felt a pop in my neck.

“Yours.”

The response had been quick. Too quick. I dwelled on the fact for a moment before my eyes went wide and I felt like a total piece of shit.

“Alright – mine it is,” I said. I placed my hands overhead, reaching for the ceiling. “Alright, stretch for ten. One, two, three …”

Way to go, jackass.

The first section of Jade’s warmup routine included footwork placement from the Autumn Court. I had no doubt in my mind she’d learned it from that emissary Lucien, and probably pictured the hours the two of them had spent together perfecting her stances. I may have still been in the dark over how the hell she’d been able to love another while being mated with Rhys, but it didn’t mean I felt no empathy for Jade. When Rhys had conveyed to Az and I what had happened during the meeting with Mitah and Lucien, he’d said that even now, when they were an entire city apart, Rhys could still feel Jade’s heartbreak as vividly as if it were his own. I had always been envious of the emotional connection mates seemed to share with one another … until now.

I’ve had enough of my own heartbreak. I couldn’t imagine having to deal with anyone else’s.

“So.”

I lifted my eyes from the floor. Jade and I had continued to stretch in various positions, the silence only broken by my curt commands to flow into the following step of my routine. Currently we were in a plank position – our rigid forms supported by nothing more than our toes and our forearms resting on the cool stone; Jade’s curled fingers inches from my own. She kept her head lowered, the thick dark hair atop her crown tucked into a tight braid hanging over her shoulder.

It had become a competition over the past few weeks – as many things had during our training – to see who could hold the plank position the longest. Often, we both clocked in at over half an hour, although it was always up in the air over which between us felt the most stubborn on any given day. Perhaps today I would be the victor for not letting go of a notion which by all rights should leave my mouth shut.

“I … heard about what happened with Lucien and Prince Mitah,” I said, deciding that beating around the bush wouldn’t help anybody. “You don’t have to, but if you ever want to talk about it, I’ll be here to listen.”

Jade didn’t move a muscle. Even as the silence stretched on and we surpassed twenty minutes holding our positions … she remained still as stone. I tightened my fists, evening my breaths against the clenching in my core which was equal parts soreness and unease. Perhaps Jade would win after all.

Something hit the floor with a quiet plop. I blinked, taking a moment to figure out what it had been until my eyes landed on the stone directly beneath Jade. The position of the miniscule drop of moisture indicated what it was even before my gaze drifted up to see the silver lining Jade’s thick lashes.

“Sorry, Cass.”

The utter defeat in her voice nearly split my chest in two. Jade sounding so disheartened wasn’t anything I thought she was even capable of.

“There’s nothing for you to be sorry for,” I said. My tone was more … raw than I intended to show. I cleared my throat. “After what I saw the other day, I’d be surprised if you still couldn’t kick my ass while crying enough to fill the Sidra. If you need to cry – cry. Or scream, or punch, or whatever the hell you need to do. All I ask is that you try to leave me alive by the end of it.”

Jade let out a long exhale. Even if she was the first one to break from the plank position as she dropped her knees, I still had the sense I’d lost. Her movements as she straightened into a kneeling position were so smooth it was as if she could’ve stayed in a plank all day and not be bothered. On my end, I felt as if a hot coal was making a valiant attempt at burning its way through my stomach. 

I had half a mind to huff in equal parts frustration and admiration as I mirrored her position. What stilled my thoughts was the look on Jade’s face … and the realization that she’d been in as much discomfort as I had been, choosing to push her limits as a distraction from her thoughts. 

Countless times I’d found myself in situations where I’d overexerted myself for that purpose; using bleeding knuckles or a burning sensation in my lungs as tools to shift my focus. That had been the only method I had to cope when I’d been at my worst – when Rhys had been trapped under that fucking Mountain. For fifty years I spent hours taking out my frustration on wooden dummies, boulders, and even Az. Az and I used to beat the shit out of each other, finishing our spars with black eyes and bruised lips then just … sitting against the wall, staring into nothing. Never in my life had I felt so weak, so useless. My brother had suffered decades of torture while I’d had access to all the comforts and safety Velaris had to offer. Even now, that guilt still lingered. I had to stop myself from panicking if I didn’t know Rhys’s location or how long it had been since the last anyone saw him. I had to constantly remind myself he was safe.

And we had Jade to thank for that. Jade had been the reason Rhys’s voice appeared in my mind one day after decades of silence. She had been the reason Az had rushed us across the city using his shadows, finding our brother standing on the roof of his townhouse. Rhys had been pale, and thin, yet he’d still glowed looking out over the city of Velaris; his home. After hugging and crying and calling Rhys a damn idiot countless times … I’d asked Rhys how he’d managed to get free. Rhys’s eyes had lit up, sparkling brighter than anything stored at the Palace of Thread and Jewels.

‘I’ll tell you the tale of how a mouse slayed a queen.’

As I’d told Jade before, I never pictured her as anything like a mouse. I didn't have to worry about making a mistake and having a damn mouse skewer me clean through. No, Jade had a far greater presence than that. Or … she usually did. Now, she kept her gaze averted, seeming almost demure in nature as she gently wiped at the wetness around her eyes. My fingers twitched; I smothered the urge to reach out and do it for her. In this state she seemed so delicate, like a candle which needed to be guarded against an icy wind. My chest tightened.

“It would be a lot easier if I could hate Lucien,” Jade said. Her shoulders rose and fell in a long sigh. She wiped her eyes again, leaving pink splotches behind. “As hard as I try, I can’t. I know he doesn’t want to hurt me. He believes that what he’s doing is the right thing. The rules of this world say me being with my mate is what would make me the happiest … and Lucien doesn’t want to stand in the way of that. I’m really … frustrated. This would all be a lot easier if I could just scream, get drunk off my ass, and curse his name. But every time I try to get angry, it’s like there’s a lid on my heart that won’t let the emotions flow over.”

I drummed my fingers on my knees, gauging how far I should go before I might be overstepping.

Fuck it.

“I can see where he’s coming from,” I said. This statement caused Jade to shift her gaze to meet mine. Even if her chin only tilted up to get a better look at me and had nothing to do with a reflection of her current state of self-confidence … Jade still commanded attention. She was like Rhys, and – even if neither of them would ever admit it – Mor. Everything, even if just for a heartbeat, would stop the moment she made her presence known. Most of the time that was simply her strolling into a room. Even beside the greatest High Lord Prythian has ever known, or in the company of whatever the hell Amren was, Jade stood tall. At this moment an unseen force kept my eyes glued to her as Jade’s expression grew somber.

“Even if I can understand where his intentions lie,” I continued, crossing my arms. “I don’t agree with how he handled it. It sounds like you made it clear you didn’t support the decision to end your relationship. He completely dismissed your input and acted as if his opinion on what was best for the both of you was the only thing that mattered. And even if he’s right; even if the two of you would be doomed to fail because of the bond … it didn’t seem right to go down without a fight.”

Jade’s hardened features relaxed. I made an effort to keep a firm expression as she studied me for a moment before speaking.

“I think Lucien is used to losing,” Jade said, her voice soft. “That’s why he didn’t fight against the bond; he assumed he wasn’t good enough to win. He looks at Rhysand and thinks that he has no worth compared to him. He never said it to me out loud, but I know deep down it bothers him to have lost his title as a Prince and depend on Tamlin’s charity to feel any sort of purpose. I think it’s why he tries so hard to be a good emissary; to represent the Spring Court and help its prosperity as if he’d been born there. Lucien just wants … to feel like he matters.”

“And he fails to see that he matters to you.” I met Jade’s nod in concurrence with a smile that I hoped came across as reassuring. That blanket of sorrow around her was, very slowly, starting to lift. One of the first things I’d ever learned when Rhys had tasked me with leading others was to listen. Jade may have been different from every female I knew, but she was still a person. And listening meant just as much to her as it did anyone else.

Jade’s expression shifted. She tucked a loose strand of wavy hair behind her ear and began to fidget as if suddenly aware of her surroundings. The twisting, flickering shadows over her skin shrunk down to a dark haze.

“I feel kinda like an ass,” Jade said, shooting me a nervous smile. “I’m the one who asked you to train, and I’m just …”

I picked up as Jade’s voice trailed off. “Don’t worry about it. Considering what you’re going through, you’re holding yourself together well. My breakups have always left me in a moody enough mess to leave me picking fights with anyone I see, blackout drunk, or both at once.”

Jade’s watery chuckle enticed a smile to creep up my cheeks. The air in the room felt a bit fresher as she tilted her head with a raise to her brow.

“Oh? Who’s over here breaking poor Cass’s heart? Do I need to splinter someone’s kneecaps?”

It became Jade’s turn to grin as I laughed. I shifted into a more comfortable position – training could wait for a moment. I’d also be hard pressed to find an excuse not to bask in the current warmth of Jade’s smile.

“Well … I’ve seen a few females here and there over the past few years,” I said with an absent wave. “The last one who really broke my heart was back during the war. Her name was Tanwyn – gods, would we get into trouble. She was wild, and bold, and fun. You remind me of her.”

The last statement immediately left me wishing I could swallow my words back down. I didn’t have the ability to alter time, so I hoped plowing on would gloss over any implications. “She, uh … She led a charge into the Gollian Mountains during the war. That was the last time I saw her – the mountain pass claimed her along with most of her unit.”

Jade’s lips slowly parted. “Damn … way to make me feel like a total dipshit.”

A jolt of panic caused me to flinch. “Hey, hold on! That’s not what I meant! Just because your former lover didn’t die, doesn’t mean you can’t feel upset! I’m not trying to undermine your pain!”

To my surprise, Jade put on a queasy smile. She shifted in her seat like an anxious youngling. “Um … sorry. I was just messing with you. I think I’ve let Rhysand rub off on me too much.”

I couldn’t help but agree. Not that Rhys had too much influence over Jade – but that they were certainly similar. If Rhys shone like the stars, then Jade glowed like the Moon. Their confidence seemed near effortless even if beneath the surface they were riddled with doubt. And they both cared about their responsibilities – about the members of the inner circle – a lot more than they let on. Amren had mentioned how Jade had denounced this court and everyone in it after returning to Velaris with the Book of Breathings. I knew that statement couldn’t have been the truth even before Amren had given her own doubts. If Jade was like Rhys, then she’d consider us important and worth fighting for no matter what. The fact that she was here, speaking to me now after requesting to go back to training, proved my point.

“You know.” I ignored the sudden appearance of a small ache in my chest of … jealousy? Envy? Who the fuck knows. “Of all the males out there, Rhys is far from the worst to get as a mate. He’s a much better High Lord than his prick of a father used to be – Rhys actually gives a shit. We may not always see eye-to-eye, but I can never say Rhys hasn’t had my back. And I’ve never seen him act unkind toward anyone who hadn’t done anything to lose his respect. On top of everything … I can tell he really cares about you. He was planning to let you go wherever you wanted – as far away as you wanted – because it would’ve made you happy. Not a lot of males would do that, much less one who’s mated.”

Jade let out an exasperated sigh. It would be a lie to say it didn’t ease the tension in my chest a little.

“This doesn’t have to do with Rhysand,” she said. A flippant wave signaled her changing her stance on the matter. “Okay, it does – sort of. I don’t have a problem with Rhysand; he’s the closest friend I have, and I know he didn’t choose to be my mate just as I didn't choose to be his. I just don’t want to be told by even some all-knowing magic that he’s who I’m ‘destined’ to be with or something stupid like that. Especially when the love I feel for him isn’t anything like how I feel for Lucien.”

I hummed in contemplation, debating how much I actually wanted to know the answer to the question on my mind. “So, you and Rhys aren’t like that … at all? Even though he’s your mate, you have no interest in, you know …”

“Fucking him?” Jade said, her lids drooping. I’d been trying to be delicate with how I worded things around her considering her state … which seemed completely unnecessary.

“No,” Jade said, her tone flat. “He’s an asshole on his best days; I’ll pass.”

The statement was so unexpected I couldn’t stop myself from throwing my head back with a laugh. “Mother’s fucking tits! I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard words like that come out of a female’s mouth when talking about Rhys. How the hell are you two mates?”

“I’d also love the answer to that question,” Jade said, a familiar tone to her voice returning. “If you ever run into the asshat in charge of that sort of thing, let me know.”

“So you can splinter their kneecaps?” I asked, leaning in to hit Jade with a wink.

“Oh, much worse,” Jade said. She placed her hands on her knees, pushing herself to her feet. “Okay, enough sitting on our asses and feeling sorry for me. Where did you want to start with building a routine for the Illyrian girls?”

“Well …” I stood, looking down at Jade with a grin. That female from Windhaven had returned; the same one I’d met a few weeks ago who didn’t so much as blink from the idea of me breaking her arm if it meant she’d have a chance to win against me in a spar. She was the same female who wore a warrior’s tattoo on her back for luck and glory, which by every right she’d earned without question. Jade encouraged me to push myself to new limits each passing day. I never considered anyone out there like that existed.

“I’ve been doing some reading – both for your training development and the girls,’” I continued, trying to keep my excitement at a level reasonable for a male of my age. “I think going through the steps of the eight-pointed star for swordplay would be ideal, plus another exercise I found.”

I pulled a ribbon from my pocket, the silky white material drifting gently in the breeze coming from the balcony. The way Jade wrinkled her nose as it fluttered against her cheek nearly had me laughing again. “This is an old training exercise from the Valkyrie – a group of female warriors from around five hundred years ago. Watching you … reminds me of them quite a bit; so do the girls at Windhaven. This particular exercise is supposed to showcase a warrior’s readiness for advancement to a higher level of sword mastery. If you can cut the ribbon – you pass.”

Jade’s eyes darted between my own and the ribbon. She crossed her arms and furrowed her brow. “I don’t know what kind of warriors these people were if that’s really all you have to do. Are you sure that’s it?”

“That’s it,” I said. A quick trip resulted in two sheathed training swords in hand, one harness buckling to my back and down the length of my spine while Jade did the same with her own weapon. I backed up a few steps to put a reasonable distance between us which had more to do with utility than choice.

“Watch closely.”

I balled up the ribbon and tossed it toward the ceiling. It unfurled as it fell – the material so light any slight breeze altered its shape and the direction of its trajectory. Slicing it in a single, fluid motion would be a challenge; by nature the ribbon would do everything in its power not to be cut as it shifted away from the blade due to airflow. Everything from my timing, angle, stance, grip, and strength had to balance in just the right way to get the results I wanted.

The sword on my back came free from its sheath and swung in a wide arc in a movement that was as natural to me as breathing. The ribbon fluttered, falling to the floor a second later like a dried leaf riding a fall breeze. Well, two dried leaves, since the ribbon had a clean slice directly through the middle. I shot it a smirk before lifting my gaze.

“Let’s see if you can get a result as refined.” I sheathed my sword, knowing full well the effect it would have on my training partner. I grinned as Jade’s expression fell into just as much shadow as her outline. She reached for the blade on her back. I prompted her to pause as I lifted my free hand while I had the other dig for another ribbon in my pocket. “Start from a ready stance like I did – no shortcuts.”

I found myself shaking my head when Jade rolled her eyes in a manner that reminded me so much of Rhys it was uncanny. The new ribbon from my pocket received an extra flourish so I could take in the satisfaction of her gaze following it like a cat with a toy. I closed the ribbon within my palm, lowering my fist and readying myself for the toss. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Crown-Cleaver.”

Jade’s sword sang through the air as if it were the wind itself the second the ribbon sailed upward. Her swing was so soon I nearly brushed her blade with the tips of my fingers. It wouldn’t be the first time Jade had made a commendable effort of estranging me from an appendage or two.

As the ribbon fell, Jade swung a second time in an upward slash, moving her arm in tandem with a step to the side so she could make a third cut in a reverse motion. The white pieces fluttering to the stone floor a second later were little more than confetti. I couldn’t help but find myself irritated that she'd done a task most sword fighters would find impossible so effortlessly. No wonder her equal was a damn High Lord.

“Showoff,” I said, doing nothing to hide my ire as I stared at the … six bits of ribbon without a single fray in sight. By the damn Cauldron … I’d be hard pressed not to follow any female capable of doing that to the ends of the earth.

“Have you tried this thing they like to call ‘getting better?’” Jade asked. A hint of that playful smile I’d seen at Windhaven returned; I did everything in my power to ignore the stirring feeling deep in my core it evoked. This was for a number of reasons which would easily match the length of my wingspan. The first and foremost being Jade’s current emotional state. The second being my brother’s … and him in general. A lot of the reasons tracing back to me pushing down certain feelings toward Jade had to do with Rhys.

“You know, actually,” I said, drawing the sword from my back. Jade picked up the signal as she matched my casual gait toward the center of the ring. A sharp nature bloomed in those eyes which were the same color as the clear night sky in Velaris.

“I actually haven’t tried getting better – can you believe it?” I adjusted my grip on the sword, tucking my wings in close. I knew Jade wasn’t out for blood like she had been before, but an Illyrian could never be too careful. “What do you think about the Crown-Cleaver teaching me a trick or two?”

A clang rang through the air as I met Jade’s downward slash with a horizontal block. We grinned as steel clashed and we danced about one another in a routine only the two of us could share.

Chapter Text

“You know …”

I strode between the wide glass doors attached to the main balcony at the House of Wind. The crisp night air snaking its way through the wards caused goosebumps to rise over the skin unprotected by my fresh set of Illyrian leathers.

“When I asked you to meet me here,” I continued. “I kinda meant inside. You’ve been out here for a while.”

Moonlight – or starlight, considering how the nights were here – gleamed off the strands of Rhysand’s raven hair as he turned away from the cityscape to face me. His lax posture paired with his hands being in his pockets conveyed him being at ease. The strained nature behind his smile and his eyes doing nothing to reflect the glittering sky at his back contradicted the concept. He was putting on a show, and I had a feeling he was far more a member of the audience than I was.

I placed my hands on my hips, slowing my gait to take on a casual nature which I hoped would put him at ease. “I learned something new today – there’s an entire damn library beneath our feet I didn’t know about. Why didn’t anyone tell me about it before?”

Rhysand blinked, clearly not expecting the random topic. A heartbeat passed of him taking me in before his smile grew more tentative than forced. “Do you want the bullshit answer, or the honest one?”

I reached Rhysand’s side, finding a spot between the small, flickering lanterns to rest my elbows on the railing. The intricately carved patterns in the red stone meant I more than likely painted a pretty picture; in reality, the stone jutting against my forearms hurt like hell. I shot it a scowl for good measure before changing my position to lean my lower back against it instead. Rhysand’s demeanor shifted into something more familiar by the time I crossed my arms and regarded him with a grin.

“I think I can handle both, don’t you?” I said.

Rhysand’s smile did a commendable job of outshining the stars. “Fair enough. Bullshit answer – I was waiting for the right moment to make a grand reveal that would leave you impressed beyond words. The genuine answer is that you’re loud, you’ll break something, and you’d scare the shit out of the librarians.”

My jaw dropped from the sheer indignation. “That may be a bit too honest.”

I felt the effect of Rhysand’s laughter through my mind as much as I did with my ears. I basked in the warmth of residual joy as he settled himself. That feeling was a far cry from everything I’d experienced for the past few days. And as someone had told me … I hadn’t been as alone in those feelings as I’d thought.

“Here.”

I fished a small object from my pocket. It felt warm in my palm from where it had been nestled against my side. Rhysand eyed the bundle of deep blue cloth for a moment before accepting it in a tentative manner. His violet eyes grew wide enough to reflect the nearby lantern when he adjusted the cloth to reveal what was within; they immediately darted to me.

“Why give me this?” Rhysand asked. I didn’t need any sort of bond to know he asked on the off chance that I’d given him this particular item out of sheer ignorance if nothing else. It was insulting … even if I could hardly blame him for it.

“I was told the female is supposed to give the male food if they accept the mating bond.” I gestured to the chunk of hard cheese in Rhysand’s palm with a tilt to my chin. “Although, you’re the one who gave me cheese first as the shittiest birthday present I ever received.”

I found it amusing that my comment still pricked Rhysand like a thorn even though his gift had been given in jest. His pride truly had no bounds.

“I only … partially intended for it to be associated with the bond,” Rhysand said. He at least had the decency to sound guilty about trying to slide a ritual attached to a bond which linked us forever under my nose. The effect of my crossed arms and raised brow caused him to wince. “It was an … experiment. You’d already accepted your side, so I was curious what would happen if I committed an act usually signifying the mating bond being sealed. I wondered if it would be a catalyst for it clicking into place for me.”

“Maybe it would have,” I said, doing nothing to sound anything but condescending. “But then instead of giving me something nice, you gave me cheese. A fancy dish like a cake or a spiced blood stew may have done it if you’d actually tried to get me food that I liked.”

Rhysand stared at the piece of cheese in his palm with a contemplative expression. “But then … that would’ve ruined the joke.”

“My birthday didn’t have to be a joke.”

“After you threatened to gut me if I didn’t get you something …” Rhysand said, a light shining behind his eyes that had nothing to do with the lanterns. “… then yes, it did.”

A sharp exhale through my nose described my displeasure. A stubborn nature the two of us shared led to a longer standoff than should be warranted. I rolled my eyes. “Are you accepting the damn cheese, or not?”

I felt … uncertainty through the link. Looking through Rhysand’s mind wasn’t necessary for me to know what it was about.

“I don’t want to end up like your parents, or Tamlin’s parents,” I said, keeping my gaze averted. I flinched as I realized the very common factor said parents shared. “I’m not talking about the ‘dead’ part, although I don’t want that, either. What I mean is that I don’t want to end up hating you, Rhysand. Ever. I need you to be my anchor so I don’t drift away again and become something … horrible. I know that’s a lot of responsibility; I also want to be there to return the favor and remind you that you’re worthy of being loved, and that no one around you thinks it’s a burden.”

I stared at the red tile beneath my feet as I waited for Rhysand to speak. The anxious nature through his mind hit me like a drop of dye in a bucket of water, slowly spreading and saturating in a manner which altered the state of my own certainty. Lately, I felt as if I’d been nothing but at the mercy of one male’s feelings or another.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the mating bond sooner,” he said.

I lifted my head to take in Rhysand’s impossibly handsome features etched with worry. His looks, his emotions … he was, and had always been, so much of something. Too much, sometimes. I wasn’t one to talk; I was loud during the times he had the sense to be silent. I was rough where he was smooth, and he was sly where I was straightforward. It was funny that I still felt so similar to someone who couldn’t be any more different.

“I understand why you didn’t say anything,” I said. “Thanks for trying to help me … even if it didn’t work.” I scanned him from head to toe, taking in the dip to his shoulders and tilt of his mouth. “You know … After I stopped having those dreams about the ‘me’ in the Ouroboros … I started recalling dreams I used to have before, back when I was young. I don’t know why, but … After I lost my hearing, I had dreams where I was flying; a lot. And the wings I had looked like yours – like a bat. I think that was where I got the idea to name my dog.”

The lines over Rhysand’s face slowly melted away. The corner of his mouth quirked up. "A few years before we met … I also had dreams I couldn’t explain. They were short – mostly flashes of landscapes I didn’t recognize. One I remembered the most clearly was a hand with slender, calloused fingers holding up a sword.” Rhysand lifted his own hand as if reaching for something only he could see. “Those fingers wrapped around the hilt of the sword as if it were second nature; like they had learned to properly grip it before even learning how to use a fork. And I felt … joy. Such pure, unrestricted joy. And I could tell that sword was a gift from someone very important. I also knew that the sword was made of ash … and meant for killing things like me.”

Rhysand lowered his hand, hesitating for a moment before putting it in his pocket. “I started searching for you, after that; the female who was my mate and yet somehow wielded a weapon used for killing Fae. Nothing left me happier than that idea – it meant you were going to swoop in and save me from my fate like a hero in a storybook rescuing a princess trapped in a tower. It was all the hope I had.”

I positioned myself next to Rhysand. I urged him to meet my gaze with a bump of my shoulder. “You must’ve been really disappointed when you met me.”

A smile cracked Rhysand’s brooding appearance despite himself. He chuckled. “Oh, you have no idea. When I saw you – a human – at Calanmai, and you confirmed that you were the one from my dreams, I figured I was fucked. At the very least I thought I could spare you from Amarantha by scaring you enough to run away. But then, like the damn fool you are, you stayed. And I ended up rescuing you from being vermin for the rest of your pathetic life. By that point I had completely dismissed the notion of you being my mate; fate wouldn’t saddle me with someone so dimwitted.”

“Well, fuck you, too.”

Rhysand chuckled. His violet eyes roved over my face as if taking in every facet. It was funny, because I couldn’t possibly imagine anything new he was seeing there. Considering all we’d been through, Rhysand knew me inside and out; even down to the ugliest parts I didn’t want to think about. He saw all those things … and still cared.

“You’ve done so much for me, Jade,” Rhysand said. He lifted his hand, toying with the piece of cheese as a streak of melancholy marred his features which were just shy of perfect. “The fact that I didn’t come out from under the Mountain a broken mess was because of you. Looking back, there were a few times having you by my side in that horrible place was actually fun. You were the only one who ever looked at me as if I was worth something.” The cheese in his palm disappeared, likely to whatever pocket dimension he used to hold items. According to what I’d heard, he was supposed to have eaten it. On the other hand, I hadn’t taken a single bite of the food he’d given me either, so I figured that made things even. Not how they were supposed to be, according to tradition … but even.

“And all I’ve done is let you down,” Rhysand said, staring at his now empty palm. “I haven’t been able to save you from your demons like you have mine. You had to pull yourself out of that hole … and now all I can do is stand by and watch as your heart breaks into pieces over losing the one you love. And trust me – if I thought it would help, I’d winnow to the Spring Court and drag Lucien here by the hair if I had to. I’ve been racking my brain over trying to think of anything I can do to help you; to make you feel less broken. In the end, I’ve come up with nothing. I’m the most powerful High Lord in known history, but when it comes to you … I’m powerless.”

I couldn’t stop myself from letting out a barking laugh. The wave of hurt from Rhysand prompted me to pat his arm in reassurance. “I’m not laughing at you. I just think it’s funny you say you have no power over me. I’ve learned about this mating bond, and from what I’ve been told, we’re very far from normal. But that doesn’t mean we don’t need each other. After the past few weeks, I’m now certain that any path I walk from here on out will need to be one aligned with yours.” I tried to hit Rhysand with the type of smile he’d let out when his guard was down; where he shined with an inner light as if he’d swallowed all the stars in the sky. “So, are you going to accept that stupid piece of cheese as my way of telling you that I’m happy you’re the one magic – or fate, or whatever – has stuck me with, or not?”

To both of our surprise, a tear bloomed in the corner of Rhysand’s eye. I felt like a total asshat as he wiped it away and cleared his throat. Had he really thought … that I was going to abandon him?

“What about Lucien?” Rhysand asked. I could tell he was having trouble holding my gaze. “What does that mean in regard to him?”

I tilted my head, hardening my expression. “This … doesn’t have to do with him. When I had a conversation about the mating bond and learned what it all means … how it works in relation to magic … I kinda figured that in the end, the two of us are the only ones who really matter when it comes to it. And I learned that accepting the bond didn’t mean I had to force myself to fall madly in love with you, get married, and become the Lady of the Night Court or whatever. I could accept it on my terms, which means that I want to keep our bond and continue to support one another the best we can. My soul still belongs to Lucien, but my mind is part of yours. I’ve come to admit that and embrace it, because I can be many things, not just one.”

Rhysand smiled at me with more pride than I felt I deserved. He turned to fully face me, slowly leaning forward until his forehead rested against mine. It was like the time he’d come to rescue me from myself when Amarantha had twisted me into something I wasn’t … or perhaps, she had only awoken the true me sleeping within. Rhysand had reminded me that I was more than just a warrior – more than just one thing. I was also good, kind, and thoughtful. I was like him.

“I don’t want anyone to ever look at you and think of you as only my mate,” Rhysand said, closing his eyes. “You are so much more than that, Jade. You’re the most resilient person I know, and I would’ve crumbled if I didn’t have you to help keep me standing. I want everyone to see that – to see you shining even brighter than me. I’ll help you do that, Jade, if you promise to keep lending me your strength.”

“You always make things so dramatic,” I said. I slid my arms under his and gave him a tight squeeze around the middle. “I think I’ve said about a thousand times that I’ll never leave you behind, so just believe me for a change, okay?”

“Alright, Mouse.”

I grinned, my smile dissipating as Rhysand moved in a blur and lifted me into his arms. I barely had the time to fling my arms to anchor myself around his neck by the time he’d materialized his wings and shot us into the air. I closed my eyes against the blast of frigid wind, only opening them again when Rhysand leveled off and we began to glide over the cityscape which was arguably far more alive at night than it was during the day.

“I’m joining everyone for dinner tonight,” Rhysand said, knowing any further explanation was unnecessary since I knew exactly who he meant. He banked to the right as we began passing over the outer limits of the city and met a sea of glittering buildings below. “I think they would all be happy if you joined us.”

I considered the idea for a moment; an attempt to push down my thoughts with good food, drink, and company. I slowly shook my head as my smile slipped. “No, but thanks. I think I want to go back to the townhouse, get into bed, and cry.” I pushed back against Rhysand’s protest in my mind. “My heart is still broken – cut me some slack. I didn’t get the whole ‘becoming deeply enraptured’ effect of the mating bond which would’ve made things easier.”

Rhysand tilted his head. I looked up to see his charming grin. “Oh? One look at my devilishly handsome features doesn’t leave you weak in the knees?”

“No,” I said, returning the glittering smile. “All I get is a pain in my ass.”

Rhysand huffed in feigned offense. We began to descend as we reached the heart of Velaris – the district known as the Rainbow. Figures in thick coats milled through the streets, the sound of laughter and the smell of grilled meat filling the air. It was … nice. Even if I felt somewhat displaced here, I still regret saying anything bad about it before.

“Out of curiosity,” Rhysand said, curving around a clock tower. “You said you spoke to someone about the mating bond. Who?”

“Azriel.”

I jolted in Rhysand’s arms as he faltered. My protest over the bumpy ride fell away as I caught Rhysand staring at me in shock.

“Az?!”

“Yes?” I said, wondering what the hell warranted this sort of reaction. “He’s a spymaster – I figured he’d know about it if I asked.”

Which he had. Azriel had a quiet stillness which meant he’d taken in every word, every movement, every change in pitch, and wrung the truth from me like water from a damp cloth. He had helped me figure out that I could still be a part of the mating bond and not have to conform to what everyone expected it to be. I had felt a lot better about the whole thing after talking to him and borrowing some of his reassurance.

“I … suppose,” Rhysand said, still sounding wary. “I just never figured Az would be the one anyone would seek out for relationship advice.”

I raised my brows. “Really; why? Him and Mor seem fine.”

This time we nearly flew headfirst into the side of an apartment building. I clutched my arms around Rhysand’s neck like a vice. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“You think Az and Mor are together?!” Rhysand said, ignoring my protest entirely as he rose above the buildings. He began to fly in a circle, clearly feeling that our new topic of conversation required his full attention. “Did he tell you that?”

“I mean … no,” I said, feeling a creeping sensation of doubt rising up. “They just … seem like it. They’re always near each other, and Mor gives me nasty looks if I even glance at Azriel when she’s around. And the shadows around Azriel change when Mor is nearby. It’s like they shrink, sort of. Like he doesn’t need them around as much when she’s there.”

Rhysand dropped his gaze. He stared at my arm and my own haze of shadow which now seemed to be ever present over the Illyrian leathers. The shadows weren’t as noticeable as they had been earlier in the day before my talk with Cassian had helped to settle my thoughts. Yet they were still present. Perhaps Azriel wasn’t the only one who’s shadows betrayed more feelings than desired.

“Az … has had a thing for Mor for a while,” Rhysand said, his eyes returning to mine. They shone like amethysts in the reflection of Velaris’s twinkling nightlife. It was nice being able to look into them again and feel like I could make sense of what was happening beneath.

“But as far as I know, Mor hasn’t returned Az’s feelings,” Rhysand continued. “That’s as much as I’m willing to say without infringing too much on their personal affairs. I just wanted you to know so you don’t say or do anything to embarrass yourself … if you haven’t already.”

My eyes grew wide as my stomach dropped. “Wait … I thought I could talk to him about the mating bond because he was in a relationship himself. I even … asked him some questions about how he would feel if he or Mor found their mate. Oh … oh fuck. He never said anything. Why didn’t he say anything?! I probably came off like a total jackass who was taunting him! No wonder he wanted to continue our training by speaking to me through shadows from a different room … Cauldron boil and fry me …”

Rhysand threw back his head and roared with laughter. I would’ve decked him in the nose if I wasn’t certain the fall would result in me facing a quick death. All I could do was scowl as Rhysand beat his wings and started our journey again.

“Sorry, Mouse,” he said, tears gleaming in his eyes. “I’m not taking you back to the townhouse. You’re coming with me to dinner because I know I’d regret it for the rest of my life if I’m not there to witness the look on your face when you see Az again.”

I cursed and began to squirm as Rhysand’s glide brought us level with the rooftops. If I timed it right, I could survive the fall with little injury. It was a risk I was willing to take if it meant I’d gain a head start concerning hiding from Azriel for the rest of my immortal life.

“Az … has been chasing something for a very, very long time.”

My squirming came to a stop. I looked up at Rhysand, confused over the sudden somber tone in his voice. “What?”

I picked up a shift in Rhysand’s heartbeat as it started to quicken. He kept his eyes ahead as his fingers tightened around my arm. “There’s been a feeling in the back of my mind I’ve been holding onto since under the Mountain; when you said you weren’t afraid of me, and it hit me that you really were one of my people. I think that feeling is similar to what Az has been harboring all this time. Part of me doesn’t want to let go of that feeling and the hope that comes with it. On the other hand, I don’t want it to end up breaking apart what we’ve put so much effort into building together. So, I’m letting you go, Mouse.”

My jaw went slack. “Huh?”

Rhysand glanced down, his features kissed by the glow of street lamps. Somehow, he seemed … lighter; more at ease. “Maybe someday you’ll look at me and see something new; maybe you won’t. If I keep sheltering that feeling and nothing comes of it, it’ll just turn into resentment. I need to let go … both figuratively and literally.”

“Wha-?”

Rhysand opened his arms … and I fell. Cold air rushed at my back, strands of hair whipping across my vision as I regarded Rhysand’s silhouette against a night sky that he, somehow, outshone. I found that I was crying … for what reason, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t have a lot of time to think about it as I twisted in the air, finding myself hurtling toward the mirror image of the stars at my back.

I met the Sidra with a loud crash. The air escaped my lungs in a flurry of bubbles that stretched and warped the endless number of lights floating overhead. I stayed in the cold, dark water for a moment – I could hear whispers of the shadows here, the things that kept themselves deep within the depths and had no desire to do otherwise.

‘Journey. Home. Rebirth. Joy.’

Perhaps the shadows were more aware of the lives of the people milling above the water than the rest of us were. The irony of things that never even graced the surface knowing more than we did caused more bubbles to escape my mouth in a laugh.

I resurfaced, sweeping back my hair and taking in a long breath. After a sputtering cough which helped get any lingering water out of my lungs, I became aware of voices. I treaded water in a slow circle to turn around.

“Did you just drop her?!”

“I did,” Rhysand said. He was sitting on the edge of a short stone wall lining the Sidra, regarding Cassian in a languid manner. It seemed he’d timed it so we’d cross paths with his court in a manner which would make it more than a little difficult for me to make a hasty exit.

“What the fuck, Rhys?!” Cassian said, gesturing to me as I bobbed in the river like a barrel. Azriel stepped up behind Cassian at that moment to look into the water. I got the sense that we may have actually run into the group after dinner considering the somewhat unenergetic nature to Azriel’s shadows suggested he’d had at least one too many drinks to feel that he could properly make sense of what, exactly, he was looking at.

Rhysand shrugged in the face of Cassian’s outrage. “I recalled that I’ve made the threat to drop her a number of times, but never followed through. I have no desire to be known as the sort of High Lord who operates on empty threats.”

Amren and Mor appeared beside Azriel as Cassian began tearing into Rhys with a barrage of curses which caused even me to purse my lips. A shallow line between Mor’s brows was the extent of her concern, which was still a great deal more than I’d ever received before. Amren grinned as if finding me soaking wet in the middle of winter was the funniest thing she’d seen in a while. No one made a move to actually help me out of the water until Azriel sighed and began making his way down the steps.

‘Swim over,’ his shadows said. He knelt beside the river, reaching out his hand. Neither Rhysand nor Cassian seemed to notice as the former continued to goad his brother into a frenzy.

‘Are you hurt?’

I smiled, kicking my legs and heading in his direction. ‘No. I’m fine. Are you angry with me?’

Azriel’s hand withdrew slightly as he sat up with a quizzical frown. ‘Angry? Why?’

‘Just checking.’

I clasped Azriel’s hand, the blue siphon peeking from the sleeve of his deep green tunic emitting a weak glow. With a simple tug and a splash, I was up and out of the water. I offered Azriel a grateful smile before a shock of cold air caused my smile to shift into a wince.

“And here I was afraid it was going to be a dull evening,” Amren said. She motioned for me to come closer with a lazy wave. “Come here, girl. I don’t know what the hell you did to deserve a dunk in the Sidra, but I’d be remiss not to dry you off as payment for the entertainment.”

Azriel strengthened his grip on my hand, warmth radiating through my palm. It wasn’t much, but I still appreciated the gesture. I shivered again and followed his lead as we walked up the riverbank.

“Be careful, Az,” Rhysand called at our backs. “She’ll bite.”

I flipped Rhysand off without turning around. A shift in the corner of my eye had me meeting Azriel’s sideways glance. I studied the flicker of the shadows on his shoulders.

‘Are things alright between you and Rhys?’

I smiled, nodding. ‘Yes – I think so. Our bond isn’t –’ I frowned, failing to find the word for ‘normal.’ I continued with a shrug. ‘It isn’t routine, but that’s alright.’

Azriel returned my nod. His eyes drifted ahead, landing on Mor as we crested the steps and made our way to the sidewalk. My eyes darted between the two as they regarded one another in silence … Azriel making no move to let go of my hand. I had no idea what the hell was happening between them, but I wanted no part of it. The warmth from Azriel’s siphon withdrew as I slid out of his grip.

“Alright, let’s go,” Amren said. Her gloved hand gave me a pat on the back to urge me into a walk. “It’ll take me a minute to work out the spell so that I end up drying you and not having you go up in flames. There’s a bar nearby where we can get you out of the cold in the meantime. By the look of things, I don’t think Azriel would mind buying you a drink.”

I shot Amren a look which wordlessly conveyed my question concerning if she was trying to get me killed. I’d barely gotten to the point where Mor tolerated me, and I wasn’t eager to push my luck. The glimmer behind Amren’s silver eyes of coiling smoke conveyed she understood my sentiment … and didn’t care because she found poking the bear to be hilarious.

“If this is how you’re going to be,” I mumbled, looking away with a huff. “I’d rather chance freezing to death.”

Amren gave my back a pat which was equal parts comforting and condescending. She guided us toward a building with windows that spilled light and laughter into the surrounding darkness. The sound of guitar and the low, sweet voice of a female cut through the air to the rhythm of an uplifting tune. I had to admit … even with freezing my tits off and leaving puddles in my wake, the atmosphere was nicer than if I’d found myself holed away back at the townhouse. Amren leaned toward me as if she could hear my thoughts.

“It’s nice to have you out here with us,” she said. “Even if I can tell you didn’t come by your own volition.”

I looked down, regarding the shadows clinging to my damp skin. They were still there, but … I didn’t mind them so much. Being here with this family I’ve slowly gotten to know, even if I felt far from being a part of it … really was nice.

Chapter Text

The weeks leading up to our visit to the Queens’ palace contracted themselves by passing in a lethargic blur. I kept myself as busy as possible, doing everything I could to minimize my time alone with my thoughts. Hours passed in the blink of an eye until suddenly I found myself at the townhouse taking a bath, sitting in bed, or trying to drift off to sleep. Then the hole in my chest which I’d struggled to fill over the course of the day with banter and sightseeing and pushing myself physically would bottom out and I’d be left as devastated as I had been in that damn forest. I cried into the lavender-scented suds of a warm bath, the pages of a storybook, and my pillow. Again and again this pattern would repeat. Again and again the nights were the longest stretches of time imaginable since I can't escape thoughts of Lucien even in my sleep. 

I also can’t shake the constant feeling of guilt for how often Rhysand nudges my mind or sends a note asking if I’m alright and if I want company. He mentioned before it didn’t bother him, although it was certainly starting to bother me with how much I continued to feel … broken. Like a burden. The worst part was that I wasn’t sure when I’d feel better, and I especially wasn’t sure if I’d want to. Being better meant forgetting Lucien and moving on. It could take years, or decades, perhaps even a century or two, but it would eventually happen. I hated the thought.

I threw myself into my various forms of training as much as possible. Together Amren and I had worked out roughly a quarter of the content in the Book of Breathings, albeit the bits and pieces still weren’t enough for us to discern anything useful. Otherwise, I continued to learn various spells along with how to break and build wards. The latter was mostly based on a rune system of an entirely different language known as the ‘ancient’ one of the Fae. When or where it had come from, no one seemed to know, but Amren (and to my surprise, Rhysand) knew enough of it to get me started on detecting, building, and breaking wards. At the very least, tomes on the ancient language along with various other spell books provided a decent enough distraction to keep myself busy leafing through the pages of ancient texts deep into the night.

When I’d grow tired of learning about wards or how to cast spells such as muting sound or opening locked doors, I’d switch to ‘The Dance of Battle,’ a book Cassian had lent me concerning the conduct of warfare. The book was filled with retellings of various skirmishes and instructions on how to form alliances, keep up morale, and discern where to place soldiers on various terrain in times of war. This book was far more interesting. Too much so, since I accidently sent Cassian into shock after writing notes and questions throughout the pages to bring up with him later. A sheepish trip to Amren’s apartment resulted in a chiding before I gained a lesson in how to cast a spell which pulled ink from paper like a puddle drying in the Sun. Cassian laughed later that evening as I put the repaired book in his hands. He said he’d get me my own copy; his white-knuckled grip on the worn leather binding conveyed he certainly wasn't lending his version back to me anytime soon.

To Devlan’s displeasure, I visited Windhaven with Cassian and sometimes Rhysand in tow during their scheduled rounds. I made a point asking every time if there were any other warriors who wished to challenge me, my face practically splitting in two from the resulting grin when Devlan would convey that no one had come forward. Until someone finally did come forward on our last trip before leaving for the Continent – the eldest of the female warriors in training, Uvyre.

I showed Uvyre no mercy. I swung Cassian’s sword one-handed, disarming her in two or three strikes. I then instructed her to pick up her sword, and we went again as I pointed out inaccuracies to her stance and swings. Uvyre – or Uvie, as she asked I call her – learned quickly. She’d absorbed most of the training plan Cassian and I had devised and corrected any imperfections after a handful of pointers. My favorite part about Uvie was that she talked back, calling me out on not countering her strikes in the same polished manner as I preached. She didn’t seem happy when I told her that she, too, could make her own rules after killing a Queen. Her pout made me throw back my head in laughter before I invited the rest of the girls to join us in the ring for a round of practice spars.

Whether Cassian was aware that I knew or not, his relentless training routine did a commendable job keeping me distracted and sometimes exhausted enough to collapse into a dreamless sleep without pause. He’d mentioned his own heartbreak before, so it wasn't without question that perhaps he was familiar with what I needed in order to continue functioning; or at least pretend like I did. My favorite distraction he’d devised was our new habit of ending our trips to Windhaven with a spar for the sole purpose of showing off. 

I couldn’t speak for myself, but Cassian moved with an innate confidence and grace during our bouts which was nothing short of mesmerizing. I hadn’t taken the time to notice it before when I’d been practically blinded by bloodlust during past spars. I nearly pitied myself for it; even if I had the option of my eyes not being on him at all times to make sure I wasn’t sliced to pieces, my gaze would still be stuck to him anyway from awe of his sheer elegance. He was the majesty of the mountains, ravines, and wild, churning sky brought to life; the sword of kings he had in hand paled in comparison. What was an object forged for kings in contrast to a creature who stood above them? Cassian’s daily improvement easily put him on a level rivaling my own, forcing me to concentrate and push myself to keep from slipping behind.

At the end of the day, who won and who lost our spars wasn’t really important – what mattered was the entire village of Windhaven grinding to a halt to watch our bouts. Even Devlan couldn’t help but stand at the edge of the ring with crossed arms and narrowed eyes as Cassian and I twisted and spun in a dance of clashing steel.

During one particular match, Cassian threw me off balance, his follow up strike to my sword threatening to send the weapon flying. I managed to clasp the hilt between my middle and ring finger, swinging it around just enough to swap the weapon to my other hand. Cassian hadn’t been expecting the save, his chest wide open for me to slash him in a manner which would be fatal had it not been for his armor. 

Cassian allowed the hit to sink in for a moment before a grin lit up his striking features. He consented to the winning blow without hesitation and conceded his loss. The second he dipped his head, murmurs came from the onlookers of … approval. It wasn’t much, but it was the first time any of the warriors of Windhaven acknowledged one of my wins in a remotely positive manner. Cassian and I returned to the House of Wind a short time later to talk Azriel’s ears off with a giddy retelling of the story. Azriel didn't seem half as amused as we were, but still humored us with a slight tilt to the corner of his mouth showing his approval.

Azriel and I now had the ability through shadowsinging to communicate over the length of nearly a quarter of Velaris. While Azriel’s messages were near instantaneous, mine traveled at a lethargic pace as if the words themselves slowed them down, having not yet worked out how to bend space around my shadows as he had. Despite any self-frustration over my limitation, Azriel’s positive reaction gave the impression he was still pleased to simply have someone else to use this skill with. 

I also began to see more of Azriel’s dry sense of humor as he relaxed his stern nature. I couldn’t decide whether I liked it or not as I became the butt of just as many snide comments as Cassian or Rhysand. One in particular about how there were ferrets who had longer attention spans than I did caused me to bristle.

“The first thing I’ll do when I get good enough to control becoming a shadow …” I said, grinning in the face of Azriel’s raised eyebrow. “... is sneak into your room and smother you with a pillow.”

Azriel hummed. “Well, considering your current pace, it’s nice to know I still have a few hundred years left until you’re able to progress to that point.” He only lifted the corner of his mouth slightly in the face of me telling him to go fuck himself. Azriel and Amren were, by a large margin, the only two members of the court who didn't treat me any differently since my meeting with Lucien. Even damn Mor offered me a few curt words in sympathy. All I got from Azriel and Amren were them remaining patient through my constant fuck ups in my training.

As the weeks passed by, much of Rhysand’s time was spent with him busy being – well – a High Lord.

Between countless meetings, paperwork, and whatever else was necessary to run an entire damn territory, Rhysand still made the effort to spend time in my presence. I was grateful he ensured we could train, meditate, or simply sit in silence at the townhouse as I leafed through spell books and he did paperwork … or passed out cold. The mating bond existing in its full effect made being in the direct presence of each other comforting; like a cool towel on a fevered brow. Rhysand seemed more relaxed in general and unburdened by the constant fears which used to tumble through his mind. On my end, being around Rhysand quieted my intrusive thoughts and allowed me to borrow some of his logic – my temperament staying in check so I could assess a situation with cool calculation and not be driven by pure emotion before coming to a conclusion.

Rhysand also began to open up and be more expressive with his thoughts and emotions. Or so I thought. What I learned was that Rhysand had always been that way but until now held himself back out of fear of revealing too much and leaving himself vulnerable. 

“You need to start censoring yourself a little,” I said over breakfast one morning. I felt more than a little like an ass when Rhysand proceeded to look at me like a damn kicked puppy. However, I was certainly justified. What felt like no less than a thousand thoughts tumbled through his mind on a near constant basis about his duties as a High Lord, the war, Velaris, worries about me, some upcoming holiday called ‘Starfall,’ Hewn City, all the other courts, his inner circle, the Cauldron, more worries about me, the Book of Breathings, and fine stationery. A lot about fine stationery. Too much about fine stationery.

I told Rhysand that he could always talk to me about anything and everything, and I would help him with any of his burdens where I could, but what I couldn’t deal with was being pummeled with thoughts over who should cater this Starfall thing, and how he should structure his meeting schedule on a daily basis. We decided to start and end each day with mind-stilling exercises from my clan … and that there were still some things between the two of us that were best left private. Mostly the boring shit … and my heartbreak, which I felt was a little unfair for Rhysand to have to deal with despite him claiming not to mind. I minded having to deal with it, so it was a given he should as well.

Rhysand took up his place of where he should have been all along working through the various techniques I’d been able to master with Lazul. I had the sword’s transformation aspect down fairly well – any weapon I wished, from shields to swords to spears, would form in my palm in an afterthought. We found that the shape, size, and intricacy affected how draining the effect was – a dagger was far easier and faster for me to manifest than a seven-foot glaive. In the heat of battle, keeping that in mind could be the difference between life and death.

True to its original nature, we found I could will Lazul to be sharp enough to cut through solid rock if brought into contact with water. I could also control nearby collections of it to a lesser extent, making small waves crash into an object of my choosing (such as an unsuspecting Azriel while Rhysand acted as a distraction; we both paid for that later). Rhysand said it was possible I might be able to summon water from nothing, albeit any trials in that matter failed. It was the same for fire, in which I needed to create a spark if I wanted to practice manipulating the element over the blade.

I found in a spectacular fashion that I wasn’t yet as adept at controlling fire as I could water. One of Cassian’s rope ladders went up in a column of flames when I accidentally caused a lantern to burst. Rhysand, like the asshat he was, only hit me with a glittering smile as I gaped at the blackened shreds; apparently the cost would be added to my tab.

Of the other courts’ magic, Winter was still the only one which had any sort of result, even though all it seemed to do was turn the blade into an ice shard which shattered on its own accord. Oddly, the individual pieces after it had been broken were as hard and sharp as the steel it once was. The problem was they did nothing but lay in a useless pile until I willed Lazul to take the shape of another style of weapon. Even Rhysand had to consent he had no idea how to proceed after trying various strategies for a few days straight.

Rhysand called a number of meetings over the weeks as it took a few discussions to determine who should accompany us to the Queens’ palace. Mor’s skills in diplomacy and her having been personally acquainted with the Queens who founded the monarchy made her an obvious choice. That all changed about a week before we were to depart, the uprising in the Court of Nightmares reaching a major turning point as the rebels breached the uppermost level of Hewn City.

Mor’s father, Keir, now took the matter far more seriously and encouraged new heights of heartless brutality in his Darkbringers. As terrifying and authoritative as Keir was, he still paled in comparison to Cassian when it came to being a general. Mainly, he lacked empathy. 

If Keir possessed even an ounce of decency, he may have noticed his new orders were extreme enough to turn many of his soldiers against him. Even the Darkbringers had issues following through with orders to slaughter their neighbors, friends, family, and anyone even suspected of helping the rebels, without any form of mercy. It got to a point where the presence of someone who knew the intricacies of how to transfer information through the court without notice was critical; collecting reports from the Darkbringers who’d swapped loyalties and handing them off to the rebels so they could stay one step ahead of Keir. Even if Mor and I still weren’t on speaking terms, I couldn’t help but admire her resolve to play such a dangerous role as a spy in that hellhole. Part of her act would be pretending to fight on the frontlines with her father, and I didn’t need Rhysand’s internal waves of displeasure and worry to harbor some of that on my own.

In the end, we decided to continue with our settled course of action minus Mor. Amren was to stay in Velaris to keep watch over the city … and because Rhysand was certain she’d unsettle the Queens enough to make negotiations difficult. Amren countered this, but was overruled by everyone at the table, earning me a dirty look when I also concurred that one look from her would send most humans running.

Cassian and Azriel would be joining us, the former leading a glamoured group of trusted Illyrian soldiers to camp on the outskirts of the city of Gasca. Cassian was outwardly salty over not being able to see the interior of the palace, but someone had to be the backup in case of an emergency, and it certainly wasn’t going to be Azriel.

Azriel was borderline obsessive in his insistence to accompany Rhysand and I to see the Queens. It was obvious it had nothing to do with the Queens themselves and everything to do with getting inside the palace which had eluded him and his network of spies for months. Rhysand and I wordlessly conferred that telling him ‘no’ would more than likely result in Azriel finding some way or another to trail us in anyway, so he took on the role of the official escort.

We set out for the Continent four days before our scheduled meeting with the Queens. A group of nine Illyrian warriors met us on the wide balcony of the Moonstone Palace, and I did my best to make their acquaintance and commit their names and faces to memory while fighting down the bile rising in my throat. Even the sight of a breathtaking snow-capped mountain range as we soared overhead on a crisp, clear morning did little to fight my mounting nerves. I didn't dread returning to human territory – far from it – but what was waiting for me there … what may not be waiting for me there … that unknown gnawed at my gut.

Considering the shit Rhysand had pulled by dropping me in the Sidra, Cassian insisted on carrying me against his toned chest as we flew over Prythian and the eastern sea. Every now and then Rhysand would winnow our entire party further and further east, using only a portion of his overall power to ensure he had enough to take us back to the Night Court in case of an emergency. 

Cassian didn’t need to be a daemati to pick up my nerves. He began to speak in a manner as if musing to himself over how a small island we passed reminded him of a monster he’d once faced; a blue, clawed creature known as Annis which had a penchant for tearing females to shreds for her meals.

“One of the few times I thought I was really, truly going to die was when I faced Annis,” Cassian said. He kept his hazel eyes on the horizon, a wistful nature to his gaze I didn't see often. His fingers drummed over my arm as if lost in thought. “The scar on my chest is all that’s left of it, but that monster had nearly shredded through me, digging for my heart as if she were a boar going after roots. I swear to the Mother I felt her iron claws raking against my ribcage by the time Az intervened. She’s now locked away in that Cauldron-forsaken prison, one of many foul creatures like her I’ve had the displeasure of putting there.”

“Like what?”

Cassian’s eyes met mine. His warm smile helped to fight the chill in the air. “I can tell you about the worst of the worst, if you think you can handle it, Crown-Cleaver.”

My eyes narrowing had more behind it than simply fighting my hair whipping around my face. Cassian was a pretty decent bullshitter, I’d give him that, but I’d spent plenty of time in the presence of the best. Rhysand being one, but Mitah … He could convince Kallias the Winter Court was a sweltering desert and persuade a water wraith into fasting. My former teacher … my former friend … allowed me to see past Cassian’s false smile to the somewhat haunted trace beneath.

“It must have been something,” I said, hugging myself a little tighter. “As much as I'm dying from curiosity … You know I find the stories about you and your brothers being idiots just as amusing as the gory ones, right?”

I felt Cassian’s low chuckle resonate through his chest. He sighed. “Eh, well … I guess talking about it helps some. It’s one of the ways I’ve learned to live with the shit lurking in the back of my mind. One of the things living back there is Lanthys.”

I raised my brows, prompting Cassian to do the same. “Have you heard of him?” he asked.

“Lanthys is like … an old god or something, isn’t it?” I said, dredging up memories from ancient tomes I’d come across at the Spring Court. “I read a book once which was debatable whether it was history or a bunch of tales for kids. Lanthys was some god or something that appeared like a stormcloud and ripped Fae apart in the blink of an eye.”

Cassian shook his head. “Not quite. Lanthys did prefer to take a form like swirling mist, but the way he killed his victims was never slow. That bastard preferred filling their lungs with water and making them drown on dry land. Sometimes he would slice flesh away little by little to see how far he could go until his victim died of blood loss or ended their own lives from the pain. Lanthys … isn’t a being who possesses mercy. He can't tell you the difference between right and wrong. Hell, he’d never consider another being as anything but prey. That’s how detached and twisted his mind is.”

I blinked. “Are you telling me you fought this thing?”

“See this?” Cassian lifted his chin with a tilt to his head. I spotted a small line of raised, pink flesh just below his ear. “Lanthys may not be a god, but his strength isn’t far behind. I learned pretty quick I couldn't beat him in combat or magic. This scar is a reminder of that.” 

Cassian lowered his head, offering a faint smile. “I ended up using his arrogance against him. I said some pretty words about how formidable he was and used his inflated ego to taunt him into trapping himself in a mirror bound with ash wood.”

“How the fuck did you do that?” I asked. I hadn't felt more entranced by a story since I’d been a kid listening to my brother weave tales of dragons or the exploits of the great hero Jurian. The fact that Cassian had fought, and lived, against the sort of monster that most people would assume was fabricated because of how otherworldly it sounded was nothing short of astonishing.

Cassian’s smile grew more genuine. “I bet that bastard the mirror would contain him – and he bet it wouldn't. Luckily for us all, he was wrong. At least for a while. He eventually found a way out of the mirror, but not until after I’d dumped his miserable self into the Prison.”

I couldn't stop myself from laughing. Cassian lifted his eyebrows, grinning at me with a shrug. I had half a mind to think he was making the entire story up. That was more than a strong possibility; it was clear he was doing his best to distract me from less pleasant thoughts. Yet even if the entire story was bullshit, at least it was interesting enough for me not to care.

“So in this story that clearly didn't happen,” I said. I smirked in the face of Cassian’s expression shifting in offense. “Where did this mirror of extreme convenience come from?”

Cassian’s detailed explanation concerning the mirror’s origin stemming from Cesere and how Rhysand, then him, had found it in their possession was enough to convince me the story with Lanthys was real after all. Admittedly I gave Cassian the impression that I still had doubts for far too long until he figured it out. After that, his stories grew less serious and more light-hearted. I learned that he held the record for the most wins in an annual snowball fight he and his brothers held over the past few hundred years around the Winter Solstice. My teasing over how proud he should really be over the fact earned me a playful scoff before the conversation shifted to Cassian describing the reactions he and Azriel had to seeing Velaris for the first time. Even a hint of how much money they put on Rhysand’s tab for food alone had my eyes growing wide. 

The sky tracked over the solid blue horizon in this manner, Cassian chatting idly while I grew more tired as fatigue set in. I found myself relaxed enough to be nodding off in his warm, strong embrace by the time darkness fell.

I blinked in a weary fashion when I awoke to Cassian whispering my name in my ear. The sound of his husky voice so close paired with the breath tickling my neck startled me enough to forget where I was. I shoved against his chest with all my might and jolted from his arms.

Well, shit.

I froze as I found myself free-falling toward dark, crashing waves. The second I decided that getting into a diving position might be my best chance of not splattering against the water …  Azriel swooped in, knocking the air from my lungs from the force of him catching me to save my ass from a watery grave. 

Cassian’s surge of apologies to me, and a far more furious Rhysand, was followed by a rebuttal of his offer to carry me again. Azriel informed Cassian that he’d take over the task since clearly neither he nor Rhysand could be trusted. I knew Azriel well enough now to discern this was the sort of humor he found amusing; I didn’t have the heart to fight him on it. All I could do was try to push away the memory of the fluttering feeling in my gut which had quickly been followed by a wave of shame. I had more than enough reason to put distance between Cassian and myself for the time being.

It turned out the reason Cassian had made to wake me in the first place was because we reached the Continent. Twinkling lights steadily grew larger over the eastern horizon as we approached. With a barking order from Rhysand, the Illyrians flew into formation and we winnowed; our location now directly above the harbor of the vast, sprawling trade city I knew well, and the largest landmark closest to where I grew up – Bharat.

Five years had passed since I’d last seen the city. The number of ships in the thriving port had certainly expanded; Rhysand admitted it outdid even Adriata in terms of the variety of ships and the bustling nature of the deckhands loading and unloading cargo ranging from produce, textiles, furniture, spices, and even animals such as oxen and a gaggle of ostriches. The latter caused Azriel’s indifferent mask to slip into one of wonder and had me smiling like a fool as I pointed out various sights such as the towering auction house, horse-racing track, and a vast greenhouse which had been under construction when I’d last seen it and now boasted countless trees and flowers I’d hope to someday get a better look at in the full light of day.

We landed on the rocky outskirts of Bharat, the Illyrian warriors who hadn’t been burdened with carrying me unloading gear packs filled with bedrolls and other equipment we’d need to spend the night. Rhysand stood beside me on an outcrop overlooking the city for as long as he could hold out before laying down and being out cold within seconds. I couldn’t blame him – Rhysand had winnowed us nearly halfway across the world. There were times when his title of the most powerful High Lord in Prythian’s history came into play, and this was certainly one of them.

Cassian, Azriel, and I stayed up a bit longer, eating rations as I prattled on about the city sprawling below us which had once been like a second home.

I learned that this was the first time Cassian had seen a major human city, and he absorbed every word as I spoke of pearl divers, bandits, and nobles who moved about the streets in palanquins carried by six servants or more. Azriel seemed less outwardly interested, having been through the mortal lands before, although I had a sense he never took the opportunity to take in the sights through a lens of amusement and not just a collection of intel for spying purposes. To that end, I told him about traditions and festivals which held little value beyond pure entertainment. He grew pale from the concept of eating bull testicles to gain strength, and appeared confused over the idea that burning a three-story tall puppet would do anything to ward off bad luck. I went to sleep that night with a smile on my face thinking about the reverence dancing in Cassian and Azriel’s hazel eyes as they’d beheld a place I still found myself very much holding dear.

We broke camp and left the area of Bharat in the late morning of the second day. Rhysand glamoured our party to appear as nothing more noteworthy than a pack of geese as we took to the skies. We flew over the mountain range of the orphanage where I’d been raised, along with the area where I’d led Tazar and Myrin to a group of bandits and witnessed them commit a slaughter with practiced hands like artists wielding a brush. That had been the first time I’d met my family … the nostalgia causing my chest to grow tight.

We still hadn’t passed through the entirety of the mountain range by the time we made camp at nightfall. I knew little about this particular area other than the fact that we needed to stay on the lookout for birds known as rocs; creatures which looked like golden eagles but were roughly the height of Rhysand’s townhome back in Velaris. Despite my assurances that a roc sighting was highly unlikely, the Illyrians who were old enough to remember a time when their people had once tried domesticating said creatures stayed hypervigilant. According to Cassian, saying the events surrounding the Illyrians’ attempts during that time were ‘fruitless’ was an understatement. ‘Massacre’ seemed to be a more appropriate term for how things went according to our current company of jittery warriors.

Our third day of travel had us traversing over a vast forest of gnarled trees brandishing pockets of swampland and dotted with more settlements than I last remembered. After the forest, the landscape shifted to rolling plains of grass and the occasional herd of livestock before giving way to an unforgiving desert. Rhysand putting up a shield was the only thing between us and being blinded by sand as gusts kicked up and created swirling vortexes of glittering gold across the landscape. Cassian commented on the land’s beauty with its towering rock formations and deep ravines, but wondered how humans were able to cross it with no discernable places to stop for water or foraging. I told him that unless a human was well prepared, the answer to how they were able to cross the area known as the Black Land Desert without perishing was that … they didn’t.

If someone had told me the Black Land Desert was made up of more bone than sand I wouldn’t have been surprised in the slightest. Especially since the area used to belong to some Faery queen who butchered her human slaves in the thousands. Stories spoke of the Queen of the Black Lands being overthrown in a slave uprising, her blood creating tracks in the sand and forming the trenches for the river delta which subdivided the great city of Gasca. As much as I thought that part about her blood and the river was bullshit, I knew the story of said queen had to have some merit considering the current Queens’ palace was built from the foundation of her own.

We arrived on the outskirts of Gasca in the afternoon of the third day. Tomorrow we’d be heading into the city proper. For now the remainder of the day was spent waiting for Cassian and Rhysand to comb the area of rolling hills and return with orders on where to relocate to make camp. We moved to a suitable spot after a few hours, setting everything up in anticipation of staying at least a day or two. The Queens may have been receptive enough to invite us here, but that was no real reflection of how talks would go. Rhysand had a hard cutoff of a week at most; we prayed the Queens could be swayed to join our side against Hybern in a fraction of that time in the face of looming danger. That burden of bringing the Queens around would be squarely on Rhysand’s shoulders, and to a lesser extent, my own. I may not have been half as eloquent as Rhysand, but I had been human once, and could understand their doubts and fear.

My stomach tied itself in knots over the idea of what, and who I was going to face as we arose and began readying ourselves on the morning of the fourth day. I did my best to stay hopeful. If we could just convince the Queens to hand over their half of the Book of Breathings as we had with the Summer Court, then all would be well. All we had to do was stay confident and present the best sides of the most powerful High Lord Prythian had to offer, along with the warrior who had been a human just as they were when she’d succeeded in freeing a nation from a tyrant.

All we could do was be ourselves – the real Rhysand and Jade. All we had to do was this … and pray to the Mother it would be enough.

Chapter Text

Gasca had me laughing at Rhysand’s opinion that Velaris was a ‘lively’ city. If Velaris was lively, then Gasca was pure energy itself. Walking the streets of one of the largest cities on the Continent meant having to dip and weave through the crowd like a branch in a flowing river if one ever wanted to get anywhere on time. This was probably why the culture of the city had evolved to the expectation that everyone was to arrive at least an hour or so after an agreed-on meeting time. Both Rhysand and Azriel had shot me glares from beneath the hoods of their dark cloaks to convey that this was certainly not what we were going to do when it came to arriving at the palace. I had agreed … before leading them through the streets on a detour which wouldn’t leave us late, exactly, but arriving a bit closer to the scheduled time than planned.

The city of Gasca had been built over a river delta, their structures of tan and red stone clustered onto islands of varying size all interconnected by a series of wide, flat stone bridges. Each of the six largest, ‘main’ bridges represented different guardians of the city as a reflection of the Queens. Sculptures lined the intricately carved metal banisters in the forms of dragons, phoenixes, rocs, martax, pegasi, and towering sea serpents. Small boats ferrying citizens from one end of Gasca to the other passed beneath our feet as we crossed the ‘pegasi’ bridge which gave us a view of a crowded marketplace lined with colorful glass lanterns to the north. To the south, ocean waves crashed against a tall cliff in the distance where the palace was located. We were still technically heading in that direction, even if a quick stop became involved.

We passed by a series of multistory buildings with a number of intricate iron doorways and carvings of trees laden with oranges. A spark of excitement coursed through me as I recalled what laid around the corner. I ignored Rhysand’s questioning nudge in my mind over what the hell I was getting myself so worked up about, only shooting him a smile over my shoulder before tugging my hood back into place and dashing forward. My heart skipped a beat as we took a right and entered the largest city square I’d seen anywhere, Prythian included.

Towering within the center of Gasca’s main square of their financial district was the Black Land Battering Ram. The ancient siege weapon was over fifteen feet high, sitting even further up from the ground from where it hung chained to the wheeled, metal cart which had once been used to transport it to the gates of the palace during the time the evil Queen of the Black Land had ruled from the throne within. The length of the ram spanned at least seven horses and came to a head with a crown of black steel fashioned to look like a snarling martax. Whatever magical wards the Queen had put around her palace to keep her slaves in line had done nothing against this magnificent work of human ingenuity. I joined the gathered crowd of admirers and marveled at the battering ram now with just as much awe as I once had as a child.

“As much as I hate to spoil your fun,” Rhysand said, leaning over my shoulder. “We should get going. You have my word we’ll be back to see your treasured landmark before leaving the city; I wouldn’t want to pass up an opportunity to watch you grinning like an idiot over something so phallic shaped again.”

The smile immediately fell from my face as I met his wicked grin. “Why do you have to ruin this for me?”

Rhysand only hit me with a wink before urging me into a walk. We continued on our journey without issue, the glamour Rhysand having previously put in place giving the impression of us being no different from any of the other citizens or travelers throughout the streets. Every now and then we’d catch a lingering gaze; either someone attuned enough to tell something was off, or a few wide eyes taking in Rhysand before frantically musing with their companions over where the hell someone who looked like him had come from. Rhysand never failed to smile from ear-to-ear while I fought to keep my eyes from rolling to the back of my head. Thankfully, exasperation was my largest issue as we moved through the winding roads lined with brightly colored mosaics, shouting food vendors, and musicians accenting their lively songs with gleeful shouts as their nimble fingers tracked along guitars and mandolins. 

Our quick pace only slowed when we joined a line leading to a small port which would take visitors directly to the palace via ferry. We didn't wait for long before Rhysand was prompted to produce our written invitation. He handed the letter over to one of the half dozen guards milling about, all of them dressed in the same striped yellow and red vests with short capes hanging over one shoulder.  

Something about the invitation caused the guard’s brows to rise under the brim of his wide green hat. He exchanged a few whispered remarks with his companions armed with glaives, unknowing that we heard the nature of his suspicion entirely. The three of us plastered on placating smiles when the guard returned and directed us to a long, skinny boat large enough to seat six and adorned with a golden figurehead brandishing the Queens’ coat of arms.

The driver of our boat joined us after we were seated, standing at our backs and pushing the boat away from shore using a single, long oar to propel us into the gentle waters. From my seat I could clearly see a handful of the guards at the dock hop onto horses and quickly outpace the languid nature of our boat. I shared a raised brow with Rhysand in their wake, wondering what sort of reception we should expect. The invitation didn’t state anything explicitly about who, or what, we were. This was probably the only reason the guards acted with suspicion instead of unfiltered fear, and the oarsman at our backs looked overhead in a languid fashion instead of diving head-first into the water to swim away.

Whatever was coming wasn't going to be soon. The boat moved through the narrow delta at a pace no faster than an easy jog. Immediately I could tell this was testing on Azriel’s patience. His eyes continued to dart to the driver as if glares could power the speed in which the shallow boat glided through the water. A silent message from Rhysand put an end to that, although the shadows I could catch creeping from under Azriel’s cloak spoke volumes on his displeasure … and nerves. I had to wonder if I was the only person capable of picking up on these subtle messages which Azriel normally did a commendable job of keeping hidden. He’d had no reason to bother keeping his shadows in check; until very recently they spoke in a language only the two of them had shared. It was hard to say if he was distracted enough to be unaware of me reading him like an open book or if he simply didn't give a shit. Compared to all the feelings I’d previously unloaded on him, a hint of nerves on his part was nothing.

Our boat rounded a corner, the city at our backs falling away to well tended pathways and swaying grass. My companions and I grew still at the sight of a pair of gigantic, intricate metal gates blocking the river. The gates brandished depictions of peacocks mid flight, the swirling metal making up their tail feathers laden with tall candles speared on spikes which likely made an impressive sight after sunset. The gates slowly parted, a tingle running over my skin as we passed through. Without a doubt it was magic. The wards here were both similar to what I felt at the House of Wind and completely unfamiliar. I shook off a sudden chill as my attention returned to my surroundings.

Ahead of us sprawled the Queens’ palace, tan brick stacked into square towers of various heights in straight lines spanning to the left and right as far as the eye could see. The majesty of the palace confirmed without a doubt that it had originally been designed by Fae hands, sweeping archways and pillars carved with depictions of fish and repeating geometric patterns catching my eye in all directions. We glided past gardens sectioned in criss crossing paths lined with flowering hedges, palm trees, and gazebos stocked with plush sitting furniture and bowls of fruit. Saying the palace was ‘opulent’ would be a severe understatement.

Half a dozen men and women dressed in the same yellow and red uniform as we’d seen from the guards earlier were waiting as our boat reached shore. Two men in long, rich blue jackets inclined their heads in greeting and offered to take our cloaks as we exited to the small dock. More likely than not they were the servants who’d drawn the short sticks when it came to who would greet our party. Their hands trembled as they held them aloft as if afraid we’d cut them off for any minor misstep.

“Thank you, you’re too kind,” Rhysand said. He shrugged off our glamour in the same sweeping motion of removing his cloak. The servants now seemed too busy gaping to be terrified.

Rhysand’s formal wear was the same as always – a black suit tailored to his trim physique lined with silver thread along the hems in swirling patterns of crescents and constellations. Atop his dark hair sat a crown I admired in its simplicity – a black circlet with a repeating pattern of raven feathers. The look was simultaneously effortless and resplendent. Paired with his aura of blinking pinpricks of light, Rhysand appeared the very definition of night itself.

Azriel wore a new set of Illyrian leathers, the black scales of the material hugging his defined chest and shimmering like snakeskin in the sunlight. He was unarmed, a request made of the Queens for their safety. Albeit a sword secured to Azriel’s back or his favorite dagger, Truth-Teller, strapped to his side wasn’t necessary in order for him to be a threat. Even strangers recognized the fact as everyone in his vicinity took a hefty step back from the sudden appearance of his wings. Azriel seemed indifferent to their unease, watching the humans through half-closed lids as he handed over his cloak and awaited further instruction.

The servants were quick to give us short bows after gathering our cloaks and their senses. Rhysand offered me his elbow, and we began to walk down a long path leading to the front entrance of the palace proper.

I’d been indifferent of how I was to dress for the occasion, allowing Rhysand to decide what was best seeing as all things fashionable were far beyond my grasp. He’d chosen a gown of silver, having previously declared it to be ‘my color,’ with a low plunging neckline and a cluster of thin feathers over the slender shoulder straps to give me a more commanding silhouette. The gown was made of glittering silver fabric which was entirely sheer save for the stitching over my breasts, torso, and the length dropping between my legs. Even if my legs felt mostly exposed, at the very least I had some assurance I wouldn’t flash my unmentionables to a collection of foreign monarchs if I was hit with an unlucky breeze.

I’d braided my hair back that morning in a low bun, the most polished look I had the skill to muster. Nuala and Cerridwen had packed a pair of silver combs in the shape of feathered wings, each comb now tucked behind my ears. I had insisted on a replacement accessory when they’d originally offered a golden diadem of a swirling pattern laced with diamonds. Something so opulent, so regal, felt foreign to me. The very idea of wearing a crown and the responsibilities which came with it left my stomach in knots.

Massive stone doors lined with golden, coiling ivy creaked open atop a short set of stairs ahead. A group of around a dozen people emerged, most of them dressed in a similar manner to the guards we’d seen before save for their uniforms now being red with blue accents and the capes draping over one shoulder a pitch-black material with gold stitching. At the head of the group two women wore no such finery – their brown leather armor, high boots, and gleaming breastplates showing far more practicality in the face of actual combat.

My heart jolted to a stop alongside my feet. The hand I had wrapped around Rhysand’s elbow fell limply to my side. Him and everything else in the world melted away at the sight of the woman striding at the head of the group with her chin held high. The wisps of straight black hair escaping her braid gleamed like silk, her dark eyes glittering like diamonds. Scars crossed over her face as if it were a map leading to the aftermath of felled men and monsters alike. She was tall and stocky, a foreboding presence even if I had over an inch on her in height. This woman was commanding and terrifying.

She was also so beautiful I couldn’t hold back the tears falling down my cheeks.

The woman held up a hand, the group at her back coming to a stop. The girl she had at her side, who could be no older than her late teens or so, gripped the handle of her sword and darted her eyes between us with a heavy level of suspicion. My unsteady step forward caused her features to darken as she partially drew her weapon.

“Hold, Feyre.”

The woman didn’t have to give the girl so much as a backward glance for her command to be obeyed. The girl – Feyre – straightened, vitriol churning behind her blue-gray eyes as her hands curled into fists at her sides.

I took another slow step forward, toward the woman and her voice which offered a memory of comfort from a time long ago. I hadn’t heard that voice since I was a child – before I’d lost my hearing and I’d had to learn to understand the thoughts and feelings conveyed to me through the shapes of lips and hand gestures. This woman had stayed by my side all the while, back when I’d nearly given up all hope on moving forward and becoming the sort of warrior to make her proud. She never left me even when I had become a burden.

The woman kept her eyes locked on me as I approached. She didn’t reveal a shred of emotion. Her gaze absorbed my features which were softer and more elegant than what she would remember. Dark eyes traveling down took in my bronze arms and legs of lean muscle. If she were looking for any signs of scars or marks she’d find familiar … there would be none. All I had now were the twisting white tracks of skin around my neck which I no longer felt the need to hide. Said scars earned a moment of her attention before the woman fixated on my face. 

She raised her hands in a slow manner as if I were a creature waiting to pounce. Her pointer finger drew a circle around her face as she kept her eyes locked with mine. She then formed an ‘X’ with her fingers in front of her chest before bringing them apart to point in opposite directions.

‘You look different,’ she signed.

I choked back a sob. Tears clouded my vision as I rapidly blinked and raised my own hands.

‘Yes, I’m now many things instead of one,' I signed. 'Of all the things I am, I am still your sister.’

I let the gesture sink in, allowing my hands with their thumbs and pointer fingers extended to rest on top of one another for a moment.

Sister. You are my sister.

I dropped my hands, taking a shuddering breath. “I missed you so much, Myrin.”

Myrin’s eyes went wide. She lifted a hand over her mouth, a tremor to her fingers the first sign of her stoic demeanor breaking. It seemed that despite herself … A shred of silver lined her lashes before a single tear broke free.

“You can … hear again?” she croaked.

I nodded, offering Myrin a watery smile. Myrin, my sister, who regarded me now with a look I had only held out a small sliver of hope for that I’d ever be able to see again. It was a look that conveyed she still saw me as her sister … that she still loved me as much as I loved her.

“Jade!”

Myren darted forward and I met her open arms with my own. We held one another close, giving no shits about how we fell to our knees and cried like children in the presence of both Fae and representatives of the Queens alike. We had found one another again … Across the Wall, across the ocean, across the Continent.

‘Go … Jade. Live on for me.’

I had done as Myrin had bidden me to do. A year had passed since the day when I’d last seen her; knee deep in snow and standing before a High Lord of Prythian with no trace of fear in her eyes. After crossing the Wall, after becoming Fae, I never imagined I’d be able to hold her in my arms like this again. There was the war, and the Queens, and Hybern … But in this moment, my sister was all that mattered.

Chapter Text

If my life were a tapestry, it would have no rhyme or reason. Each section would be a different patch made from cloths of varying size, color, and material. No clear picture or imagery would come to mind if it were hung on a wall for display. I was many things, and my life always went against tradition.

I was an orphan who should have died, and instead became a warrior.

I had been born as a woman, which meant I had to work ten times harder than a man to match, then surpass, their strength.

I had lost my hearing due to good intentions gone awry, then got it back for the same reason.

I had found, then lost, love with someone who by all rights I never should have known. I now found myself surrounded by people I’d call friends who I never should have known.

And despite being born a human, I was now Fae. I was the mortal enemy to the human realm and currently taking part in two contradictions:

The first was that I strode into a room of vaulted ceilings, sandstone columns, and skinny windows at least five times my height. Even if the tall bench which stretched nearly the length of the gigantic room reminded me more of a courthouse than a receiving hall, I still stood within the throne room of the palace of the Continent’s six queens. Such a thing was unimaginable; the likelihood of a Feary treading over the polished tile beneath my feet within the past five hundred years was next to none. The looks of disdain on the faces of the queens staring down at me, along with the two dozen or so guards standing at attention along the walls, proved it.

The second contradiction was that, by my new nature, I was a natural enemy to these people. To the Warriors of Ash especially, who had been taught from the very moment they became a part of the clan to have nothing but hate for Faeries in their hearts. And yet, as I came to a stop before the bench, holding the Queens’ stares with my own, my hand remained tightly clasped with Myrin’s. My sister hadn’t deemed to let go of me as we’d exited the gardens and made our way here, nor had I her. We both needed the reassurance that finding each other again wasn’t going to result in an immediate separation. Perhaps it made me seem juvenile, clinging to my older sister as if I were a child at her knee still sucking my thumb. I couldn’t find it in myself to care.

“Well met.”

It was the youngest queen, Demetra, who spoke first. I wasn’t surprised; she or the eldest queen, Suma, were generally of the two who I recalled reading the most about in the transcripts of the monarchy’s addresses to the people of the Continent.

Queen Demetra may have been young, but she was well-spoken and considered fair and just in the eyes of her subjects. This was due in part to her appearance – even by Fae standards Demetra was a beauty. Golden curls framed her face like a lion’s mane, her brown eyes bright and her full lips curling slightly upward in the corners like a cat’s. I’d heard people speak about her as if Demetra were one of them – like the woman who’d spent her entire life looking down from a tower had somehow earned the golden skin and spattering of freckles she wore as if she’d worked in the fields. A merchant in a bar who’d had no qualms over hitting a deaf person had decked me in the eye after I’d laughed and handed him a note saying that pretending Demetra was anything but a pampered princess wouldn’t get him any closer to ever bedding her. Myrin had said I’d earned the hit for being an asshole; she’d been right.

To Demetra’s left sat Suma, the eldest queen and the one who most considered the wisest because of her sheer proximity to death. My feelings toward her were a toss up between whether she was crafty, intelligent, and manipulative … or a complete fool. If she was the former, she played her hand well – using her shining silver hair and the wrinkles tracked across her dark skin as conveyors that she knew of what she spoke of when it came to treaties, policies, and taxes. Most of her speeches I’d read had simply been her stating the obvious and encouraging her subjects to look elsewhere instead of solving real issues at hand. From what I had gathered, Queen Suma just liked to hear herself talk.

“My court and I extend our wholehearted gratitude for your generous hospitality,” Rhysand said. He dipped his head, Azriel and I followed suit. This earned me a raised brow from Myrin, who was probably wondering when the hell I’d learned any manners. I gifted her with a side glance and a smirk.

“Your presence was highly encouraged,” Suma said. Her cold eyes slid from Rhysand to land on the hand I still had tightly clasped with Myrin’s. “Our section commander here insisted on it.”

Section Commander?

I looked at Myrin with a start. She was a damn commander? That was one of the higher positions in the mortal land’s armed forces. How the hell had she been able to climb to such a rank within barely a year?

“You can’t blame me, my queen,” Myrin said. She kept her chin up, eyes bright. Pride flowed through me like a coursing river as she continued. “I wanted to verify if my sister was truly alive, and you all couldn’t decide on a suitable meeting place outside the palace, so this seemed like the most obvious choice, no?”

Myrin was … chiding a queen. Suma’s piercing gaze through narrowed lids didn’t cause her to so much as flinch. She only continued to watch the elderly queen with a half-smile. The subject of my sister's attention placed her hands in the lap of her flowing blue gown and lifted her nose with a huff.

“For our Myrin’s sake,” a new voice said. “We’re glad you are alive, Jade.”

My eyes drifted to the two queens seated on Demetra’s right. They both had at least a decade or so on the youngest queen, but were still nowhere near Suma’s age. One of them, Brunhilde, had pale skin and hair so light it skewed toward more white than blonde. As if to counter her pale features, she wore a black robe and a dark enough expression to match it. I expected no less from one of the ‘twin dragons’ of the mortal realm. She, along with her counterpart, Ezhil, commanded the mortal armies of the eastern and western ends of the Continent. This was my first time seeing Brunhilde, but it wasn’t my first time seeing the queen to her right, and the one who had spoken.

Queen Ezhil hit me with the polite sort of smile one would never expect from royalty … or someone regarding a mortal enemy. That smile alone had me considering Ezhil fairer in appearance than Demetra – her dark skin shining as if it had been polished, accenting eyes of a deep gray which were like open windows to her empathetic nature. Those eyes, along with her affinity for dressing in all-white gowns accented with long gloves of the same color, were the two things I remembered the most about Ezhil.

I had happened to see her once around ten years ago when Myrin and I had found ourselves crossing paths with a larger collection of our clansmen. For whatever reason, Queen Ezhil had deemed it necessary for her to meet with the Warriors of Ash herself to reaffirm their willingness to act within the sanction of the crowns. I’d heard that it was a meeting that took place every year or so as more of a ceremonial purpose if nothing else. A code of honor generally kept members of the Warriors of Ash within the parameters of what the laws of the Continent considered just. And the times it didn’t … the twin dragons had a penchant for looking the other way when kidnappers, murderers, and rapists were slaughtered instead of being handed over to face trial.

And just as Queen Ezhil turned a blind eye to such things, she now seemed to ignore the fact that she should be regarding me as filth. Much to the displeasure of her counterpart – and wife – Brunhilde, Ezhil seemed to share in Myrin’s happiness of our reunion. I couldn’t help myself from returning a smile which I hoped conveyed just as much warmth.

“I, too, am glad to be alive, Queen Ezhil,” I said, offering a nod. “It means that I was given the chance to return to these lands and see them again. I may no longer be human, but that does not mean I treasure my former home no less.”

Ezhil sat up a little straighter, looking down on me with a tentative hope her partner didn’t seem to share in the slightest. Even when Ezhil reached out to clasp Brunhilde’s hand, her wife’s expression didn’t relinquish a drop of her contained suspicion. I couldn’t blame her. Less than two years past I had harbored just as much, if not more, animosity toward the Fae than most. The very castle the Queens resided in was a reminder of a history where their people had been enslaved and treated with no more care than livestock. Not exhibiting such contempt was an unusual mindset.

“We had heard rumor of your … situation,” Suma said, sizing me up with a flicker of her curled lashes. She pursed her full lips in a manner which gave me an indication of how she had earned many of her wrinkles. “Even we have been regaled with the tail of Jade Crown-Cleaver, however outlandish the story may sound. Looking at you indicates the story may have more facts based on it than I once believed.”

“Jade’s tale is indeed a harrowing one,” Rhysand said, his eyes roving over the gathered queens. “It’s a story I witnessed in part and would be glad to help Jade share with you all if you wish. However, before we get started, I must ask if we should wait for the last queen to join us.”

My eyes slid past Demetra and Suma to land on the fifth queen seated, Briallyn. I knew little about Queen Briallyn aside from her being one of the younger queens like Demetra. Her grandmother had once been in her position, supposedly sharing the same identifying traits of delicate, creamy skin, straight black hair, and eyes like glittering cuts of obsidian. Briallyn had moved into the station of queen after her grandmother’s death – all I recalled about the fifth queen was that her duties mostly aligned with agriculture and merchant services. One would never guess she dealt with such dull affairs by looking at her. Briallyn sat with every ounce of regality befitting her title and general good looks.

The space at the end of the table next to Briallyn sat empty. It would normally be filled by Vassa, the queen associated with trade and the affairs happening in the human lands bordering the Fae lands on both continents. Like Briallyn, I didn’t know much about her either beyond a whisper of when she supposedly made the journey across the sea to inspect the Northern Territory near the Wall. Whether that trip had actually happened or if it had all just been a rumor was beyond my knowledge. Either way, Rhysand and I hoped she’d be one of the queens who would be the most likely to lend us her support. If Vassa knew anything about the human land across the sea and the threat to their well-being presented by an imminent attack from Hybern, she’d know that immediate action was vital.

“I’m afraid Queen Vassa has fallen ill,” Suma said. Demetra and Briallyn showed no reaction from the words. Neither did Ezhil or Brunhilde … although I could have sworn the tension in their clasped hands grew a little tighter. Whatever this illness was … perhaps it was more serious than Suma’s dismissive tone let on.

“Her condition is contagious, so she has been confined to her own wing of the castle,” Suma continued, not skipping a beat. She gifted Rhysand with a listless wave. “You may make your case, High Lord. Your letter to our commander spoke of an urgent threat we should be made aware of.”

I prickled at just how … casual Suma sounded. Unconcerned; unworried. Indeed, the faces of the other queens save for Ezhil also showed little in terms of distress. I would’ve thought a meeting between Fae and human leaders for the first time in hundreds of years would be much more cause for alarm. Why did they all seem so unsurprised?

“The members of my court and I have traveled here under good faith,” Rhysand said, his violet eyes never leaving Suma’s. “War is coming, and we would like to inform you of the forthcoming threat and open up a dialogue concerning the formation of an alliance.”

Suma raised a dark brow flecked with gray. “You speak as if we do not know of an impending war, High Lord. We have been preparing for it for some time now.”

Well, that was news to me. Rhysand gleaned as much from my mind, passing the information on to Azriel who loomed a few feet at our backs. Azriel’s spies had previously been sent out to do reconnaissance on the human forces to see where they stood. The answer we’d received had indicated the human armies had been steadily increasing, although not enough to convey a sense of urgency. As far as we’d gathered, not a single soldier from the Continent had yet to set foot upon the human territory bordering Prythian, either. 

What the hell was this old bitch on about?

“I see,” Rhysand said. I could feel him picking his words carefully, working out who among the queens he should single out. It had already been decided that he wasn’t going to make an attempt to dig into anyone’s minds. I had no qualms about the morality of it – these women served the people in mind, body, and soul; their thoughts being on full display was trivial. The problem came with the possibility of triggering some sort of trap while in this palace Azriel had affectionately named a ‘death trap’ for Fae. To that end, we had to use more conventional means at our disposal to collect information.

Suma was the obvious choice for Rhysand to pursue on this matter since she seemed to be acting as the mouthpiece of the Queens. However, I nudged his thoughts in a different direction. Rhysand absorbed my input and sent an acknowledgement through our bond before his attention shifted to the left.

“I’m afraid my court is unaware of most happenings within your lands,” Rhysand said, the lie sliding through his teeth without so much as a waver as his violet eyes locked on to Ezhil and Brunhilde. “Perhaps I may have missed a gathering of your forces within the region of your territory south of Prythian’s Wall. Our sources taking stock of Hybern’s movements indicate this is where they’re most likely to strike first.”

Brunhilde met Rhysand’s stare with a wall of ice. It was cold enough to send even a shiver down my spine. “We have not sent soldiers to that land,” she said.

“Because?”

“It is not … practical,” Ezhil said. Her ring glinted as she held Brunhilde’s hand a little tighter. Her lip trembled. Was she implying …?

“Do you not intend to give them aid?” Rhysand asked. His voice was as level as ever, but beneath the surface his temper flared. The humans living south of the Wall meant little to him on a personal level; that didn’t mean he could stomach the thought of their rulers – those charged with looking out for them – leaving them to die.

A muscle worked in Ezhil’s neck as she set her jaw. Her wife remained stone-faced and silent at her side, pale lips taut.

“War is war – as I’m sure you’re old enough to know,” Suma said. The way she eyed Rhysand indicated she wasn’t pleased he’d deemed it necessary to shift his focus away from her. The insult sketched across her weathered face more than a little reminded me of Lord Devlan and his hurt pride.

“If that is where the enemy is set to strike first,” Suma continued, lifting her chin. “Then you and the other High Lords best prepare yourself to defend them, Lord Rhysand. After what your people have done to our own, it is only fair that Fae blood be spilt in their defense, no?”

The first thing I did after my initial wave of shock was to look at Myrin. My sister appeared nothing short of furious … yet she remained silent. She didn’t speak out against Suma or this ridiculous notion that the humans bordering Prythian would have to depend upon a race they despised for their survival. The two of us had lived and fought alongside those people for years; they would rather gut themselves with a blunt dagger than willfully ally with the Fae. Gaining their trust in such a short time even if it was for their own defense would be impossible.

“I agree with your assessment, Queen Suma,” Rhysand said, his tone relaying nothing of the vitriol coiling beneath. “The Fae of Prythian do owe it to our neighbors to come to their defense. However, that seems unfeasible without aid from your forces on the Continent. I’m sure we can be successful in crushing Hybern’s intentions to enslave the human race once again if we work together.”

Suma’s response to the suggestion was to laugh. I had to check myself with how hard I was squeezing Myrin’s hand to ensure I didn’t break something. How could a Queen consider the death of her people and laugh?

“You should know,” Suma said, her tone nothing short of condescending. “Most of us had to be swayed quite vigorously to even entertain the idea of inviting your ilk here, Lord Rhysand. The heavy wards instilled within the very stone of this palace to stifle Fae magic is the only reason we even feel safe being in your presence. How much do you believe we would truly consider the notion of allying ourselves with the lord of the Night Court? To share trust; to save lives? To think we haven’t heard of you … haven’t heard of the subjects you slaughter for sport and the cruel, twisted nature of your court. Why in the name of whatever gods you worship would you possibly think we would join our forces with someone who has a reputation of shattering the minds of anyone who displeases him without a second thought?”

“You have nothing but hearsay to go off concerning Rhysand’s reputation,” I said, fighting a losing battle of keeping my tone steady. Rhysand did a commendable job hiding it on the surface; I still felt the bitter sting of his hurt. It turned my stomach sour. “I’m telling you he can be trusted. He helped me under the Mountain – back when I was a human and every day was a question of whether I would be alive by nightfall. I won’t lie and say he was entirely selfless and had nothing to gain from aiding me when it came to removing Amarantha from power. What I will say is that he showed kindness when he didn’t have to – and reminded me of who I was and what I was fighting for when I lost my way. I’ve always thought it was unfair that I was the only one referred to as the ‘Hero of Prythian.’ Rhysand deserves that title just as much as I do. Believe me when I say that he stands for what’s right.”

I met Rhysand’s gaze when he looked to the side. The corner of his mouth tilted up in a smile which nearly melted my heart from the sincerity. Even if I felt it was completely unnecessary for him to feel so damn grateful for me just speaking the truth … I couldn’t lie and say I didn’t appreciate the gesture.

Suma let out a huff. She raised her brows when we turned back to her. “You have no proof to back up your claims, even if that was quite the eloquent speech from someone who’s reputation gave the impression of being nothing more than a mindless brute.”

Rhysand’s temperament flipped. A muscle feathered in his jaw as he grit his teeth. He was fighting the losing battle of a rebuttal when a voice arose from my opposite side.

“You can’t talk about my sister like that.”

I gave Myrin’s hand a squeeze, keeping my eyes firmly locked on Suma. The queen looked about ready to strip my sister of her rank at best, and order her execution at worst. I opened my mouth before she had time to think too much on the matter.

“Are you aware of my reputation?” I asked.

Queen Suma’s displeasure was nearly palpable as her keen eyes shifted to me. Her lip curled. “And what of it?”

“Did you hear about what I did?” I said, lifting my chin. “Were you told how I split the Queen of Prythian in two?”

The guards lining the walls placed their hands upon the hilts of their broad swords. Even Briallyn, who’d seemed the most detached of the queens during our exchange, tensed alongside her peers. It took a moment for Suma to work up the courage to speak.

“Do you dare to threaten us? Are you trying to use your title as ‘Crown-Clever’ as a means of intimidation?”

“No, I’m not,” I said, scoffing at the notion. “I’m using my title as a reminder that I saved all of your asses alongside the people of Prythian. Amarantha wasn’t satisfied with the power she’d had at her disposal – she’d planned to topple the Wall and cleave herself a path of death all the way to the southern shore. And she wouldn’t have stopped there; Amarantha had told me herself that she’d wished for the complete dominance of the Fae over humans once again. And if I hadn’t been the one to stop her, there’s a good chance you’d be lucky to still have the clothes on your backs, much less your lives.”

“Oh?” Demetra lifted her head, brushing her golden curls back over her shoulder. “Is that so? It seems you’re demanding that we be grateful to you for saving us from a hypothetical situation. You believe we humans would be so weak as to be overrun by the former Queen of Prythian without much issue. If you’re looking for us to show you gratitude, then I’m afraid we must disappoint you.”

“I don’t want, or need, your thanks,” I said, gritting my teeth. “What I’m trying to say is that if you need proof that Rhysand is good, then I am that proof. When I was transformed into a Faery, Amarantha intended to use me as a weapon to help her wipe humans off the map. My mind had been twisted and broken enough to make me believe I should turn my back on the people I’d sworn to protect. And it was Rhysand who brought me back – who saved me first so that I could save everyone. Even now, he’s the one keeping me on the right path when I try to stray. I am the greatest weapon in this upcoming war, and I don’t think any of you can justify dismissing my opinion over who can be trusted.”

Demetra didn’t appear impressed by my words in the slightest. “And it’s your word we should trust? A former mercenary, a current Fae, and a complete stranger to this court?”

“Wholeheartedly,” Myrin said. She formed her free hand into a fist, tapping it against her forehead, lips, then chest. Mind, soul, heart – the three symbols marking her as a Warrior of Ash. “My sister's life is sworn to the protection of our kind. If she says she speaks true, then she does.”

Suma’s regal nature slipped as her lips pulled back at the indignation. “Your opinion isn’t necessary here, Commander.”

“You have no say over that,” Myrin said, eyes narrowing. “I speak for the Warriors of Ash, and we are allies who have been promised a voice in your court. Attempting to silence me goes back on the terms of our agreement; is that what you want?”

I stared at Myrin in horror. How the fuck was she able to get away with speaking like this without being arrested or executed?

“What you’re feeling right now,” Rhysand’s voice said in my mind, wrapping around my thoughts like a warm, velvety cloth. “This is a great representation of how I always felt when you’d speak to Amarantha. Each time I was certain I was about to witness you dying horribly because you couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut.”

You’re not helping.

“Going back on the terms isn’t our intention,” Queen Ezhil piped in. She shot Suma a glance filled with apprehension. “I would like to motion for us to reconvene on the matter at hand concerning an alliance with the Night Court tomorrow.”

Queen Suma didn’t appear as anything even bordering on pleased from the suggestion. The way she was looking at Ezhil was almost as if this had been the first time the ‘White Dragon’ had addressed her ever. I was certain the suggestion was going to be rejected immediately until the person sitting to Suma’s left spoke.

“Seconded.”

Briallyn looked entirely unphased in the face of Suma’s ire. She waved her hand in a dismissive manner. “We’re getting nowhere with this – let’s speak of it again tomorrow. Let’s give the High Lord a moment to contemplate what he has to offer us for our cooperation.”

Briallyn seemed to be under the impression that we were making a trade deal as opposed to talks of an alliance in the face of a damn invasion. Her eyes had rarely landed on me over the course of the meeting even when I’d been speaking, instead fixing onto Rhysand or the area over my shoulder where I knew Azriel stood. Currently her attention was centered on Rhysand as a coy smile graced her mouth. The way she was looking at him from that high bench … It reminded me of similar looks given by Amarantha. The feeling like an icicle driving through my gut indicated Rhysand felt the same.

Use your ‘court politics’ bullshit to tell Briallyn she can get fucked, I thought.

Warmth washed through the bond. The smile Rhysand hit Briallyn with caused her cheeks to grow pink from the sheer beauty. She basked in the glow of his radiant expression that had nothing to do with her in the slightest.

“Your generosity knows no bounds,” Rhysand said. He dipped his head in a shallow bow. “The fact that you would open your home to Fae leaves me honored. My court and I will gladly accept your offer of lodging so that we may resume this discussion tomorrow after we’ve been well rested.”

Queen Suma appeared as if she were attempting to swallow a piece of cactus. She lifted her chin in a manner trying to mask her discomfort. “We do no less for any who come to pay us homage within these walls. However, be aware that our trust in your court, Lord Rhysand, only stretches so far – you will have liberty to roam within reason and must be accompanied by your assigned escort at all times. The use of magic within these walls is also prohibited.”

“The wards on your palace have conveyed as much,” Rhysand said. Indeed, even someone as inept in the subject as myself had been able to tell that certain aspects attached to my latent level of magic had been dampened. My senses didn’t stretch nearly as far, and the shadows over my skin had retreated to being nearly nonexistent. Rhysand and Azriel looked about the same, the darkness whispering over their shoulders only a fraction less lively than usual. But I could tell when Rhysand and I spoke mind-to-mind that it was taking him more effort than usual, and that it was possible his daemati powers wouldn’t work far beyond us being within sight of one another.

“We’ll send for you in the morning.”

The Queens rose from their seats, offering lingering glances before turning away and heading for a door at their backs. A number of the guards detaching from the walls and coming forward prompted us to turn on our heels and make our way back the way we came. I shared a quick glance with Azriel, who’s facial expression conveyed little beyond stone-faced boredom. His shadows communicated a different message:

‘Pay attention to the layout. Memorize the face of each guard. The shadows here are weak; listen closely for any information they may have.’

Waiting at the back of the throne room were a number of more guards along with the girl, Feyre, who’d accompanied my sister earlier. A frown pinched her pretty features as her eyes danced over our group and she fell into step behind Myrin and I. Myrin didn’t say a word as we continued to walk down a hall lined with tropical flowers and tile mosaics in bright splashes of color. After descending a wide set of steps, the hall opened up on the left to a large courtyard and a number of people in fine dress sitting under parasols among trees and water features. They all fell silent as we passed, watching unabashedly as we strolled in a carefree manner.

“This way.”

The hallway continued to a new wing straight ahead, but Myrin tugged my hand to the right. She paused her step to look over her shoulder. “Jade is with me. The rest of you will be staying in the east wing.”

I turned to lock eyes with Rhysand. He kept his expression neutral. The only thing offered to Myrin was a shrug. “Of course – she’s your family," he said. "We’ll reconvene over dinner, perhaps?”

The look on Myrin’s face conveyed wholeheartedly she’d been expecting some sort of pushback. She eyed Rhysand up in a dubious manner before turning her back and yanking my arm. “Sure.”

Are you sure?

"At the risk of you biting my head off over it," Rhysand's voice said in my mind. "I entered your sister's thoughts briefly before we stepped into the palace. She has no intentions of hurting you." Rhysand’s thoughts grew softer as I continued down one hall while he and Azriel headed down another. “Try to check in with Az or I if you can. And I know it will be hard, but don’t do anything stupid.”

The last statement caused me to smirk. I found Myrin watching me, the smile falling from my face from the intensity of her stare. Her hand gripped mine a little tighter as we turned a corner and headed down another flight of stairs.

“Let’s get you changed,” Myrin said, something dark lacing her tone. “That ugly dress doesn’t suit you at all.”

Chapter Text

My sister’s quarters within the Queens’ palace were nothing shy of massive. The main living area was circular, a large ornate rug at the center and a skylight overhead illuminating weapons, armor, and riding gear stacked on top of one another or organized within a number of sturdy shelves. One open threshold gave a glimpse of a dining area with an oak table long enough to seat eight, and another looked like a sitting room with floor-to-ceiling bookcases. A closer look revealed this room also had a small skylight, an easel with a half-finished landscape painting sitting directly within the beams of sunlight. Myrin had never been one for the arts, and this gave me the notion that Feyre must also reside here since that painting certainly wasn’t done by Myrin’s hand. My notion was supported by Feyre planting herself in the threshold, watching silently as Myrin and I passed.

“Come on,” Myrin said, leading me to a back room and shutting the door. “You’re taller than you were, but I should still have something that will fit you.”

The brown riding pants Myrin offered were indeed a bit short, but the riding boots covering my calves hid the fact without issue. I sat on the edge of her bed in nothing but the pants and my chest wrap as I watched her dig through a number of drawers. Her room was simply decorated and not entirely large, albeit there was an elegant looking washroom directly attached. I had a feeling these lodgings were similar to others of her rank within the military. The idea of Myrin being stable somewhere was … odd.

“How did you end up a commander in the military?” I asked, my eyes tracking something in a dark blue, thick material being tossed on the floor in a quiet thump. “You never seemed to give a shit about stuff like that.”

“It was a title I was given after we came to an agreement with the Queens,” Myrin said, keeping her back turned as she continued to rummage. “The Warriors of Ash are now an official branch of the military. However, that agreement can be broken if the Queens choose to cross a line they shouldn’t.”

My eyes widened, realization dawning on me. “Myrin … Are you … Are you the head of the entire clan?”

“I am. Here.” Myrin tossed a bundle of sage green cloth over my lap. “This is a dress shirt I never wear. Put that on – they wouldn’t be alright with me having you in anything too much like hide armor, anyway.”

“Mother’s tits,” I mumbled, having stolen Cassian’s favorite phrase to express the revelation Myrian had simply shrugged off. My thoughts grew sidetracked as I shook out the long-sleeved shirt to get a better look. I frowned at the ruffles. “I can understand why they don’t want the armor. They’re scared of us Fae – that’s easy to tell. But is this really all you have?”

Myrin grew still. I met her stare with a frown. “What?”

“You’re not one of them,” Myrin said. The way her eyes wandered gave me a good idea of her studying the tattoo on my back. She clenched her fist.

“Yeah – I am,” I said. I slid myself into the shirt, choosing to bunch the sleeves up at my elbows. “The ears kinda give it away.”

“This isn’t funny, Jade.”

My eyes narrowed. I sized Myrin up before offering my hand. She took it without hesitation, the bed rocking slightly as she took a seat at my side. Her hand was shaking – from anger, fear, or relief, I couldn’t be sure.

“I’m not a human anymore, Myrin.”

“Jade –”

“I’m not,” I said, squeezing her fingers to emphasize the word. I exhaled sharply, leaning to the side until my temple rested against hers. Her scent was both familiar and foreign – she smelled better, that was for certain. Gone was the trace of wolf pelts, old leather, and heavy sweat. All that was left was something like the air before a storm and steel polish. The polish was new, but the other smell brought back memories so old I nearly teared up. Memories of Myrin teaching me how to use a crossbow, taking a bite from a naga to save me, and sitting at my side just like this when we’d watch our brother from across a campfire as he’d weave tales of terrible monsters and brave warriors … brave warriors that he had said we would be, someday.

“I can’t go back,” I said, my voice soft. I placed my other hand over the tremble to Myrin’s fingers. “Sometimes, I wish I could. What I am now is something I’m still struggling to handle. Being Fae … having magic … it’s all so different. The thing is … what I am makes it so I can protect more people – both humans and the Fae. I always thought I was just one thing, but as it turns out, I’m many. I can be a protector, and a friend, and maybe even try to make something of myself and the world around me.”

Myrin enveloped me in an embrace. I felt wetness lining her cheeks as she held me close. “What that bitch did to you, Jade … it wasn’t fair. You have no idea how damn proud I was when I heard that you split her down the middle.”

I stroked Myrin’s hair, a soft smile growing on my face. “I did it with the sword you gave me, you know – the ashwood one.”

Myrin gave a watery chuckle. She clapped me on the back – a sign of one warrior congratulating another on a successful kill. “Of course, you did. You’ve always been strong; I had no doubt you were still out there when that bastard High Lord of Spring took you. I knocked the teeth out of anyone who said you were dead when I told them of my plan to come rescue you. And then I learned that you’d killed a damn Fae queen. Only my fucking sister could pull off something like that as a human. Whatever you say, you sure as hell aren’t one of them. One of them couldn’t do that. Only you – a true Warrior of Ash.”

My shoulders fell. “I don’t think I really count as that, anymore. It kind of goes against the creed.”

“Fuck that,” Myrin said, causing my shoulders to flinch. “I’m the damn creed now, and I say you’re still a member of our clan. Anyone who argues otherwise can do so with my sword down their throat.”

I chuckled. “I forgot how scary you are.”

Is this what Rhysand always has to deal with when it comes to me? Probably.

“You’ll meet the clan heads I appointed when they gather here,” Myrin said. She pulled away, wiping the tears from her scarred features in a rough fashion. She drank me in and squeezed my hands tight. “I can’t believe this is real. I never dreamed I’d see you again like this – so soon, and here at home instead halfway across the world in some magical fucking forest or something. You’re real, Jade. It’s like … it’s almost as if Tazar came back.”

The smile slid from my face. I dipped my head, staring at our knees brushing and focusing on how natural it felt to have Myrin at my side again – as if I’d never left. As if everything that had happened in Prythian had just been a dream and I could go back to my life wandering the Continent with my sister and Bat at my side.

Bat.

No … the one who I called ‘Bat’ now was a very, very different companion from the one I had in my previous life. There was no going back, only forward. And that meant unloading a burden I’d been carrying for over ten years in front of the one person it truly mattered to.

“Can I tell you about what happened when Tazar died?” I asked, not daring to lift my head. A soft touch on my chin prompted me to look up as Myrin’s eyes met mine.

“Of course,” Myrin said, tears already lining her lashes again. “We can honor him together.”

I recounted that day in the Whispering Valley where I had gone in, Tazar coming after me … only for one of us to return. Myrin listened in silence as I described how our brother had sacrificed himself to save me so that his sisters could be reunited. I told her of Tazar’s final words:

‘Be good, Jade. I love you.’

Myrin smiled at that. She let out a long breath. “I think Tazar knew that if he found you, there was a good chance you wouldn’t be returning together. He tried to come back, too … I know he did … but the last thing he said to me was, ‘Look out for each other. No matter what drives you apart, I know you two will always find your way back to our family. Through love, all is possible.’”

I laughed, tasting salt from the tear running down my cheek. “That’s so … He was a damn mercenary – Tazar had no right saying such sentimental bullshit like that.”

“I know,” Myrin said, her voice breaking. “I know.”

My sister and I clung to one another in silence for some time. I knew that I had to go back to Prythian. I knew that. The thought of leaving Myrin, though … of our family being torn apart again … left my stomach in knots.

A quiet knock came at the door. Myrin gave me a final squeeze before rising from the bed. When the living area came into view with Feyre standing in the foreground, our eyes locked for a moment. She seemed … pensive. Not as much hostility filled the girl’s gaze as it had before. I had to wonder if she’d been eavesdropping on our conversation – not like Myrin and I were making any effort not to be overheard, anyway.

“Oh, right – dinner,” Myrin said. Her irritation escaped her in a groan. “Getting ready is too much of a hassle – let’s just send a message to that High Lord saying we’ll be staying here, instead. The cooks will bring us something.”

Knowing Rhysand, this would result in him sweet-talking his way into inviting himself over and knocking directly on Myrin’s door.  I figured that would come across as less than appreciated.

“Wash up – we’re going,” I said, getting to my feet. “Don’t whine about it like a little bitch. I know Bat isn’t around anymore, but that doesn’t mean it’s a mantle you need to take up.”

Feyre’s blue-gray eyes darted between us as they grew wide. There was a good chance she’d never heard anyone speaking to my sister like that. Considering how downright terrifying Myrin could be, it was more than possible.

“Asshole,” Myrin mumbled. She clapped me on the shoulder in passing as she headed for the washroom. I watched her go with a grin stuck to my face. When the door closed behind her with a soft click, I turned around to find Feyre staring at the silver dress laying atop Myrin’s bed. The garment was currently being treated with the same level of grace as a discarded blanket.

“Nice, right?” I said, following her line of sight. “My friend has good taste in that stuff – I know Myrin doesn’t like it, but the material is actually pretty comfortable. You wanna see it?”

“No; I don’t.”

This was the first time I’d heard Feyre speak. Her voice was firmer than I expected for someone who looked so delicate. She had girlish features; wavy golden-brown hair tied back in a braid and a smattering of freckles across her cheeks. Her manner of dress and proximity to my sister indicated she was also a member of the Warriors of Ash. I wondered if she’d come with my sister to the palace or had met her here in Gasca after my sister had become a commander.

“Is that your painting?” I asked, looking over Feyre’s shoulder into the living area. “You live here with my sister too, right?”

Feyre tilted her head, second guessed herself, then decided against taking her eyes off me. She was shrewd, which was a good skill for a warrior to have to keep themselves alive. Even with her chin lowered and shoulders somewhat hunched, I got the picture that her slim frame held more muscle hidden behind her combat leathers than met the eye. If she’d known Myrin for long, that certainly had to have been the case. So would learning how to fight and not back down from even something like me.

“Yes,” Feyre said. Her eyes flickered in a manner which gave me the impression that she was trying to figure out how much she should say. “I also live here … with my sister.”

I raised my brows. I’d honestly assumed Feyre was Myrin’s lover, but I suppose that wasn’t the case. Even if members of the Warriors of Ash considered themselves ‘brothers’ and ‘sisters,’ the term was never used in conversation when referring to another adherent of the clan who you shared a bedroll with. This obviously meant Feyre’s relationship with my sister was similar to my own; that they’d chosen to be family.

“I guess that means I’m not the youngest sibling, anymore,” I said. I strode past Feyre, the girl backing up to give me a wide berth as I entered the circular living area. The sunlight coming down through the skylight prompted me to stop at the center of the room and relish the warmth. I placed my hands on my hips as I turned around. “Where are you from? Here?”

Feyre pursed her full lips. It was a surprise that someone so pretty had found themselves attached to a group of mercenaries. Most women who looked like Feyre wouldn’t have a hard time finding some noble or another to whisk them away to a life of pampered luxury. My curiosity only grew as I watched her fidget, then realized that I’d noticed her fidget, and adjusted her posture.

“How do we know you are who you claim to be?” Feyre asked. I was taken aback by the question. She was under the impression I may be a trick; a fabrication to let my sister’s guard down. It was a fair assessment.

“There’s no foolproof way to tell, I suppose,” I said. I shrugged. “I guess … do you know the story behind the mark on Myrin’s right ankle?”

The gleam in Feyre’s narrowed eyes told me she did. I grinned. “That’s when I bit her for breaking my crossbow and lying to Tazar so I’d take the blame. Our brother waited until we were done kicking the shit out of each other before unloading his chores on us for the day so he could fix the crossbow. I was so pissed having to walk three miles with a swollen eye to get water I didn't speak to Myrin for almost a week.”

Apprehension swam in Feyre’s gaze. Her expression hardened. “That’s not what she told me.”

I frowned. Then … “Ah, shit.” My eyes wandered to the panel over Feyre’s shoulder in thought. Small flowers had been painted there in shades of purple and pink. I wondered where they came from; they were a nice touch.

“No … I bit her on the ankle from when we got in a fight over me liking the pair of winter gloves she got more than my own, and her refusing to switch. I bit her on the shoulder from the time with the crossbow.”

The guarded nature about Feyre thawed slightly. The scent of fear retracted to something I’d picked up before.

“Are you from the Northern Territory?” I asked, watching as Feyre leaned back in trepidation. “You mostly smell like paint, but also like amber – like the trees from up there.”

Feyre didn't answer for a moment as she sized me up again. “Yes,” she finally said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “My family and I were living near the Wall. Myrin came by one night, asking to stay by the fire until sunrise in exchange for some of her food. We were … my family needed it, so I kept watch through the night. She told me about how she’d been searching for holes in the Wall. She told me about you.”

The genial smile I’d put on slowly seeped from my face. “When was this?”

“Around a year ago,” Feyre said. 

The words caused my heart to sink. That meant that Myrin had shaken off the false memories Tamlin had given her almost immediately. The first thing she’d done before even leaving the area was to try and find a way back to me.

“I offered to help Myrin search around the Wall in exchange for more food,” Feyre said. She seemed more at ease than she had before – less nervous. It probably helped that I’d purposely put some distance between us. Perhaps speaking to me in a casual manner like this also helped her to see me as something beyond just being Fae. I know that the same had happened to me with Alis when I had first arrived in Prythian.

“We never found anything.”

Myrin emerged from her room, wearing an outfit of riding pants, tall boots, and a thick combat shirt nearly identical to what she’d worn before. Actually …

“Put on a new shirt,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “I can smell you from here.”

“It’s clean!” Myrin said, gesturing to herself. “I haven’t even practiced in it today.”

“I don’t give a shit,” I said, throwing up my hands. “Put on a new shirt! You live in a damn palace, for Mother’s sake! You must have shirts!”

“Having shirts isn’t the issue,” Myrin said, flinging her shirt off and tossing it on the floor. Her tapestry of scars rippled over the thick chords of muscle visible around her chest wrap. She huffed. “You sound just like Tazar – he always had a stick up his ass about us washing our clothes all the damn time.”

“Yeah – because we were disgusting,” I said, crossing my arms. “That’s why you had fleas a few times.”

“Only once!” Myrin shouted, retreating to her room. “I only had fucking fleas once!”

I looked at Feyre, meeting her bewildered expression. The shake to my head indicated that Myrin had, in fact, had fleas more than once. More often than my dog had fleas, to be honest.

To both our surprise, Feyre chuckled. It was a clear, uninhibited sound that made me smile. Things must have been bad for this girl if she’d been living near the Wall. Seeing as she was now residing in a palace meant things must’ve turned around.

“If you’ve been dealing with that for the past year,” I said, tilting my chin toward Myrin’s bedroom. “Then sorry.”

Feyre shook her head. She looked toward Myrin’s doorway, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “It’s been … something. But Myrin really is kind. She gave my family gold as payment for taking her in for a few days – enough for them to purchase a nice house here in the city and live comfortably. She didn’t want anything in exchange. Even so, I told her I’d help her however I could to get her sister back. To get you back.”

That was right … Tamlin had given Myrin money. A lot of money under the guise of it being some reward put out by a nobleman for killing Andras. If the glamour had worn off, she’d probably figured out pretty quick where the money had really come from. I could picture her not wanting to touch a cent. At the very least I was glad she put it to some use instead of doing something dramatic like throwing it into a riverbed.

“Has she been training you?” I asked. Feyre nodded. She tensed as I casually approached. Her eyes grew wide as I slowly lifted my palm. “Can I see your hand? This isn’t a trick or anything – promise.”

A tingle ran over my skin. Oh … right. It was easy for me to forget that my promises were bound by magic. I’d seemed to do a decent job of steering pretty clear of those, which may or may not have been a good thing.

Feyre’s eyes left mine for a moment as Myrin stepped into the room with a huff. My sister was now in a clean gray tunic and mumbled something to herself about a hairbrush. The relaxed atmosphere seemed to give Feyre the courage to lift her hand. I gently turned it over to study her fingers.

“You’re an archer,” I said, looking over the calluses. “Just like Myrin. I’m alright at it, although my aim was never anywhere near as good as hers.”

“You can tell?” Feyre asked. She seemed interested as I pointed out that the placement and thickness of her calluses indicated where she pulled back a string or gripped a sword handle. Our conversation morphed into her telling me that her ability with a sword wasn’t at a level most would call ‘proficient,’ but she was among one of the best archers when she’d tested her skills among other members of the clan. I was able to glean that she and Myrin had traveled all over the human territories, Myrin lighting a fire under the other clansmen and encouraging them to unite against the Fae … against Prythian. I knew my sister had said she’d been planning on finding a way to bring me back … but this was far beyond what I’d imagined.

“Stop clucking like hens – let’s go,” Myrin said, gesturing over her shoulder with a wave. “I want to get this over with.”

Chapter Text

“I like the ruffles.”

Shut the fuck up.

Rhysand smiled into his wine from across the table. He seemed to find his comment on my shirt a hell of a lot more amusing than I did. At least someone seemed to be enjoying themselves.

The outrageously long table in a room oozing opulence (gold adorning more objects than what could possibly make sense) only had five people seated at the center. Myrin was to my right, Feyre beside her; Rhysand and Azriel sat on the other side of the table in a not-so-subtle divide. Enough food had been set between us to feed a small army. That fact alone led us to the conclusion that the food hadn’t been tampered with since the amount of poison the Queens would have to use to put on a display like this would kill an elephant. The sheer decadence may have had something to do with the Queens having something to prove to a High Lord.

“I feel like Queen Suma would do this out of spite.” Rhysand made a small slice in his steak as his voice rang through my mind. He took a bite, chewing in a manner which didn’t reveal at all that the food tasted like shit. “Or maybe Briallyn in an attempt to impress me. I have a feeling that she’ll try slipping into my bedchamber tonight.”

I rolled my eyes, taking a bite of sliced melon. Fruit seemed to be the most palatable object out of everything offered since it was sort of impossible to mess that up. It was annoying how no one had warned me that food prepared by humans would taste different (worse. Much worse) now that I was Fae. Perhaps it went the other way as well – the food I was used to in the Night Court could be seasoned in a way that would make the average human gag.

You think a little too highly of yourself, I thought, raising a brow. Briallyn probably has standards you don’t meet.

“Such as?”

Not being a mortal enemy, for one. And maybe she’s not into the snarky, brooding type.

Rhysand scoffed, earning him a questioning side glance from Azriel.

“I’m everyone’s type, thank you,” he responded, a cutting edge to his tone.

Are you really, though?

“You’re insufferable.”

It’s what you get for calling my shirt ugly.

“Can you just –”

Metal rang against porcelain as Myrin placed her utensils down in a dramatic fashion. She’d spoken hardly a word since taking a seat, only glancing between Rhysand and Azriel with narrowed eyes. The remaining wine in her glass disappeared with a tilt of her head before she looked at me.

“You keep staring at the High Lord, so I’m gonna assume he’s the one you’re fucking,” Myrin said.

The bite of pear I’d just taken inhibited me from protesting with my voice. Instead, I placed my fork down and pointed between Rhysand and myself.

‘Him and me?’ I signed. ‘No. He’s my friend and that’s it.’

Myrin turned in her seat, raising her own hands. ‘Don’t lie to me.’

‘I’m not lying!’

‘Then is it the other one?’ Myrin gestured to Azriel. ‘I remember you always used to talk about having dreams where you were flying. Some of those had to have been sex dreams.’

Azriel, who’d already been looking highly uncomfortable sitting in a chair not designed for Illyrians, now seemed about ready to melt into the shadows on the floor. Despite him staring very pointedly across the room, I knew without a doubt that his shadows had been translating everything my sister and I had been saying. I swallowed and let out a soft curse.

“He can understand us, Myrin,” I said, wiping pear juice from my lip. “It’s … complicated, but Azriel knows what our gestures mean.”

Myrin lowered her hands, glancing between Azriel and I. “Oh … You taught him? So, the winged one is who you’re fucking.”

“Neither!” I said, sweeping my thumb under my chin before tapping my middle and index fingers together. “I’m sleeping with neither of them! By the Mother, Myrin …”

“You keep saying that,” Myrin said, brow furrowing. “‘By the Mother.’ What is that?”

“An explicative,” Rhysand said. He continued to eat in a carefree manner. On the inside he was laughing at me hysterically. “The Mother is an old deity from Fae lore. Mostly her name is invoked for offense, or when one sister is frustrated over being embarrassed by the other.”

I sighed, rubbing my eyes. “You’re not helping.”

“I disagree,” Rhysand said, taking another bite of steak.

I felt the tension rising in the air as Myrin eyed up Rhysand. She crossed her arms, leaning back in her seat. “Everything I’ve heard about you, High Lord, is that you’re a piece of shit. I know my sister says otherwise, but I haven’t seen much else from you to back any of that up. If you’re not taking Jade as a lover, then what is it that you’re getting out of having her around?”

Rhysand set down his utensils in a relaxed manner. He took an indifferent sip of wine. “Jade is many things. She’s my emissary to the human realm and aids in training my forces. Jade has been able to connect with a group of my own citizens that I had overlooked in my incompetence. Having her around keeps me on my toes and pushes me to new heights. And most importantly, she’s my friend.”

The last statement caused a warm wave to flow through the bond. I smiled as Rhysand toasted me with his glass before helping himself to another drink.

“I heard you two worked closely together against Amarantha,” Myrin said, drumming her fingers on the table. “You paraded Jade around like a pet – having her fight your battles and taking her by force to your chambers every night.”

I looked at Myrin with a start. Where the fuck had she heard that? And why only mention it now?

“You’ve heard a lot of things,” Rhysand said. He set down his glass, hitting Myrin with a level expression. “I can assure you not all of them are what truly transpired. I can’t help but wonder who has been passing along messages concerning what occurred under the Mountain.”

Myrin didn’t budge an inch. “No idea. All I know is what the Queens told me.”

“And you believe shit like that?” I asked, crossing my arms. “You know me, Myrin. If he had tried to force me into fighting anyone or fucking him against my will, I would’ve died before letting that happen. Rhysand can be a dipshit, but he isn’t a monster.”

“You’re certainly doing a resounding job defending my character,” Rhysand’s voice rang in my mind. I ignored the blatant sarcasm as I continued to stare my sister down.

Myrin sized me up with a grunt. She turned to Rhysand. “I heard you and Jade have a bargain symbolized by that thing on her back. What the hell is it for?”

Considering I was now taking up residence in the Night Court, the tattoo on my back didn’t mean much. I couldn’t lie and say it hadn’t grown on me despite having no real purpose anymore. Especially after I’d found out what the sword image had been based on.

Rhysand seamlessly followed my line of thought. “At this point, our bargain is basically void. The symbol on her back is more of a statement for luck and glory on the battlefield than anything else. Az and I have something similar, as do all warriors in my culture who complete the Blood Rite. Jade hasn’t taken part in the trial herself; this doesn’t mean she couldn’t thoroughly subdue each one of the warlords who have done so without issue.”

Sometimes I forgot how gifted Rhysand was with manipulating people. He was steering the topic of conversation to something Myrin would take interest in – the Illyrian warriors whose lifestyle overlapped with the Warriors of Ash. Not in all ways, but enough for common ground to be found. I watched some of the apprehension in Myrin’s gaze shift to a glimmer of curiosity.

“What’s this ‘Blood Rite?’” she asked.

“There’s a portion of my land considered sacred – the forest surrounding an ancient mountain,” Rhysand explained. He grinned with the full knowledge of telling a good story. The way his violet eyes sparkled was the very definition of 'enchanting.' The Warriors of Ash had been brought up to be wary of Fae exhibiting a disarming trick such as this to lure victims over the Wall. All of those warnings seemed to be doing fuck all in the face of Myrin, and even Feyre, appearing enraptured.

“Thousands of years ago, a war was waged on that mountain between our ancestors and an enemy hoard," Rhysand continued, the lights within his aura of darkness twinkling as he gestured. "One of the Fae warriors, Enalius, defended a key pass scaling the mountainside – driving the enemy back on his own for three days. As the legend goes, Enalius dragged himself up that very pass with his guts sliding through the dirt, only allowing himself to die when he reached the onyx stone at the top of the mountain. In honor of his bravery, our warriors are ranked based not only on if they survive the Blood Rite, but if they’re also able to make the treacherous climb to reach the mountain peak.”

I’d received a brief explanation of the Blood Rite from Cassian, but I hadn’t been told the history behind it before. I never imagined hearing the tale would resonate with me so much. Rhysand had kept the details brief, and yet somehow I could clearly picture the hoard of invaders clad in dark armor. I could smell the iron-like tang of blood in the air. Shouts and screams echoed behind the clang of metal meeting metal. When I lifted my head, instead of a gilded ceiling, I took in a sky at twilight, three stars shining brightly overhead. This was the view from atop the mountain Ramiel; the view one could only see if they made it up the mountain’s treacherous terrain to the peak. 

Was I seeing this because Rhysand had seen it? Why?

“So, they just climb a mountain?” Myrin asked, sounding unimpressed.

I blinked, returning to myself. From across the table both Rhysand and Azriel regarded me in a questioning manner. I sat back in my seat, apprehensive. Rhysand was clearly the one who sent me that vision, so why the hell were the two of them looking at me like that?

“Are you alright?” Rhysand’s voice said within my mind. “You closed your shield for a second; why?”

I frowned, unsure of how to answer.

I just got caught up in your story. Don’t worry about it.

Rhysand seemed tentative, giving me a final once over before looking back to Myrin. “Scaling the mountain is part of it,” he continued, realigning his train of thought. “First, they have to make it to the mountain by surviving the elements without using magic or being able to fly. They’re given no food, weapons, or even water. Then there are the things actively trying to kill them – ancient creatures roaming the forest who can tear a Fae apart with little trouble. Not to mention all the other warriors, who are also likely to stab you in the back for your resources or to better their chances of making it to the mountain.”

I wondered if I should be worried over how easy of a time Rhysand was having winning Myrin over. He had absolutely no need to get into her head to know that teaching her about the Blood Rite would leave her enraptured. She seemed to be putting effort to contain herself to make sure she didn’t seem too interested in the topic.

“So you’ve done it?” Feyre asked, speaking for the first time since we’d sat down. I gave her props for not shying away from Rhysand’s gaze when his violet eyes slid to hers. “The Blood Rite?”

Rhysand put on the type of smile which oozed effortless charm. The effect caused a pink hue to touch Feyre’s cheeks.

“I have – so has Az,” Rhysand said, gesturing to his brother. “We not only reached the sacred mountain, but made it to the top. Only a handful of warriors have attained that status over the centuries. I have more than a few scars to show for it in places that aren't apparent at first … if you would like to join me in private to see.”

Feyre’s eyes widened before quickly growing murky. She may have been little more than a girl, but she was smart enough to know when she was being toyed with.

See? I thought, pushing the thought through the bond. Humans have standards.

“None of you are fun.” Rhysand shot Feyre a wink for good measure before sitting back in his seat.

Myrin sized Rhysand up with a hum before looking at me. “Well, I get it now. These Fae are pretty enough, but you’re not with either of them because they’re not your type.”

The lax nature about Rhysand flipped. He rested his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers and leaning forward to place his chin atop his hands as if he were a curious schoolchild. “Interesting. And what would Jade’s ‘type’ be, exactly?”

Fucking busybody.

Rhysand didn't respond, only continuing to smile at Myrin in an expectant fashion. I didn’t like where this conversation could be headed. However good Rhysand was at manipulating other people, he utterly failed to ever keep himself in my good graces for long. He pretended to ignore the mental image I was sending of beating him senseless with a leg of mutton.

“She's into the … prim sort of men,” Myrin said. She was returning Rhysand’s smile, Cauldron damn her. Shit – was this all still a part of Rhysand making a play at winning Myrin over? If so, why the hell did it have to be at my expense?

“Jade probably fucked her way across half the noblemen on the Continent,” Myrin continued, returning to the roast chicken which had been growing cold from neglect on her plate. She ate with the air of someone who wasn’t about to have her face shoved into a bowl of roasted squash.

“You’re making me sound like a damn rake,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “And you’re one to talk – I came back to that apartment we had in Bharat one time to find three strangers crammed into bed with you.”

“It was both of our beds,” Myrin said, waving her fork. “I had to push them together so we all would fit.”

I swore under my breath. The fact that even Azriel was regarding me with a grin meant this was a conversation that was assuredly going to make it back to the rest of the inner circle. I’d have to flee the damn Night Court if I ever wanted to live it down.

“You know you could have been the wife of a duke,” Myrin said, raising her brow. “That one from the far east? I’ll never forget that letter he sent you; some poem about being ‘deflowered in the flower shop.’”

“That was over seven years ago!” I hissed, fighting to ignore Feyre giggling into her hand and Rhysand nearly vibrating in his seat for how hard he was fighting to keep himself outwardly composed and look the part of a High Lord. 

“And he wasn’t even a duke! He was the brother of one!”

“And his brother died from poison,” Myrin explained, taking a sip of wine. “So now, he’s a duke.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh – great. So I could have been the wife of the man who poisoned his brother for the title? What a romantic notion.”

“Only the best for my little sister,” Myrin said, shooting me a wink. She finished her second glass of wine and stood from her seat. “Alright – let’s retire. The Queens will probably keep you waiting until tomorrow afternoon, although it wouldn’t hurt to be well rested.”

I made a point of not looking anyone in the eye as we exited the dining hall. Even a few of the guards who’d been lining the walls smirked when I glanced their way. I had a feeling all of their gazes were drilling into my back as we filled the hallway. It wasn’t until Myrin and Feyre broke off to head toward their quarters did I feel the need to regard anything other than my companions' feet.

“Where are you going?” Myrin asked, furrowing her brow. “You’re with us – come on.”

I fought the ingrained urge to do as my older sister ordered. Instead of taking a step forward, I put on a weak smile. “I’ll see you in the morning. I need to go over with Rhysand what we’re going to speak to the Queens about tomorrow.”

“Do it later,” Myrin said. All lightheartedness was gone. Grim determination sketched over her features. “You two can talk over breakfast. Come on, Jade.”

A sense of unease snaked its way through the bond. I took a deep breath and opened my mouth.

“As I mentioned, Jade is a member of my court,” Rhysand said. Something almost predatory laced his smile. “She’s my emissary and a key member in our discussions. I would humbly request, Commander, that you consent to her staying in my presence in alignment with our true purpose here.”

Myrin didn’t so much as blink in the face of Rhysand’s genial expression. Her lips pulled taut, stretching the scars lining her face. With a start, I realized that she outranked every one of the guards in our presence. If she were to order them to separate me from Rhysand and Azriel …

“We’ll meet you for breakfast,” Feyre said. She turned to Myrin, determination in her blue-gray eyes. “Won't we? We’ll meet them again for breakfast before they see the Queens.”

Myrin glanced at Feyre. She held the young woman’s stare for a moment before consenting with a slow nod. A final, assessing glance danced over Rhysand and myself before Myrin stalked off without another word. I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

“She loves you.”

Rhysand offered me his elbow as we began to walk. I took it, fighting down the squirming feeling in my gut which was a mixture of sadness and guilt.

I know. I just … I’m not sure what’s going to happen when we have to leave.

“You wouldn’t consider staying?”

I looked at Rhysand with a raised brow. The question had been entirely genuine.

You would want me to stay?

“Of course not. But I’m not going to dictate how you live your life. If by some miracle I were reunited with my sister again, I wouldn’t want to leave her side. The choice is yours, Jade, and I’ll support whatever you choose.”

I hit Rhysand with a half-smile.

“Also, if you stayed …” Rhysand continued. “You would have another chance at marrying that duke.”

My smile vanished in tandem with Rhysand’s face breaking into a wicked grin.

Chapter Text

More than one guard raised an eyebrow at me as I strode past. The Queens had been generous enough to provide a nightgown of a fashion popular among noblewomen – a shapeless white sheet that made me look like I should be accenting a quilt. It was hard to say whether it was my dress, the way my hair stuck out in all directions, or my destination which caused the judgemental looks. Either way I raised an eyebrow right back at the guard closest to Rhysand’s door as I knocked. The man’s eyes darted forward the moment the door opened.

“I see you couldn’t contain yourself,” Rhysand purred. He gestured toward the spacious sitting area behind him with a wave. “After pining for me all night, you’ve finally –”

I slammed the door at my back. My eyes narrowed as I crossed my arms and waited.

“Looks like I wasn't the only one who didn't sleep well,” Rhysand said, the teasing nature about him shifting as he sized me up.

“As if any of us could’ve been expected to,” Azriel said, leaning beside a bookcase in the corner. It was the part of the room casting the most shadows from the colorful lanterns hanging overhead. After trying through part of the night, I was certain the number of messages he could pick up through the shadows here wasn't much more than what I could. Which was to say … not a lot.

Each of us had been given our own quarters spaced throughout a long hallway on the southern end of the palace. Azriel and I had spent some time here in the sitting area of Rhysand’s room the night prior while we’d spoken at length about the upcoming meeting. When it came time for us to retire, no less than ten guards escorted us to our doors.

During the night, Rhysand couldn’t reach Azriel, but I could still faintly hear his thoughts through the bond. Azriel and I had better luck with communicating through shadows even if the messages took us longer than usual. The distance they could travel also appeared to have a further range than Rhysand’s daemati abilities; Azriel’s guess was that since the shadows were almost living things themselves, they weren’t as restricted by the palace’s wards. I had laughed when I could tell simply by the shadow’s movements as they’d conveyed that message that Azriel had been smug over the fact.

Sleep last night had been unsteady since I’d jolted awake at the sound of each guard rotation in the hallway. A handful of times footfalls that didn’t come paired with the clinking of armor had passed by. Of those that stopped, one had hovered outside Rhysand’s door before retreating. Another, heavier one had lingered outside my own for only a moment. I was hard pressed to sleep at all after that even though the remainder of the night passed without incident.

“Can you please do something about this?” I asked, gesturing to myself. “It smells funny.”

As weird as it sounded, Rhysand was my wardrobe. He at least pitied my state enough not to make a snide remark as he raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

I looked down and discovered Rhysand desired to showcase a very unified front for the Night Court today. The deep blue bodice of the gown I found myself in was separated from a long, flowing black skirt by a string of stars in silver thread. I ran my fingers over clusters of more embroidered stars and diamonds running the length of the plunging neckline. Around my shoulders, a sheer cape of a dark blue material with a similar pattern to emulate the night sky fasted over my collarbone using a pair of twin crescent moons clasped back-to-back. 

I later commented on the dress’s utter extravagance as I stood at a mirror to once again braid my hair into a low bun and slide in the combs of silver wings. Rhysand replied that today we needed to demand attention.

And attention is something we certainly earned. Myrin stopped dead in her tracks when she spotted Rhysand and I walking arm-in-arm to breakfast. Her features remained pinched throughout the meal; her answers to any of my questions about how she slept or what her plans were for the day were returned in a curt, clipped manner. I thanked the Mother for Feyre, who leapt in to fill the silence with a vague itinerary they had planned. One such item was reading lessons; I never would’ve guessed speaking to someone as vivacious as Feyre that her circumstances growing up had been so bad that she’d never been taught. I switched seats without hesitation so I could sit beside her and use pieces of fruit to spell out words such as ‘grump,’ ‘whine,’ and ‘tantrum,’ as Myrin continued to scowl.

Myrin and Feyre didn’t accompany us for the meeting with the Queens today. We stood on our own as Rhsand and I laid out more detailed plans for the war – how we would defend the Northern Territory’s shores against Hybern, which of the Fae countries located here on the Continent were the most likely to join Hybern’s side, and most importantly – how we required the Queens’ half of the Book of Breathings in order to cripple the Cauldron and prevent the Wall from falling altogether.

Queen Suma, dressed today in a flowing gown of emerald green, laughed openly at the request.

“We have protected that half of the book for over five hundred years,” Suma said. She coughed, clearing her throat before continuing with a humorous grin. “And you two truly believe we’ll hand it over all because you said please?”

“Then name your price.” I stepped forward, holding Suma’s stare. Today only she and Demetra were engaging us in conversation. Brunhilde and Briallyn sat in silence; Ezhil supposedly had other matters to attend to. Rhysand and I had known that explanation had been bullshit the second it had escaped Suma’s mouth. It was safe to say that the ‘black dragon,’ Queen Brunhilde, looked as if she’d bitten into something sour concerning her wife’s absence. Queen Ezhil was being silenced; it wasn’t a far stretch to imagine something similar happened to Queen Vassa. 

I fucking hated court politics.

“Price?” Suma said. She laughed again, indicating the throne room and the extravagant palace which cradled it. “Even for those hailing from Prythian, surely what you have witnessed around you is a fine enough example that we do not want for wealth.”

“We don’t mean coin – not directly, anyway,” Rhysand said. He waved his hand in a manner Queen Suma had done; unlike her, he wasn’t gesturing to the lavish tapestries, gilded archways, or the ornate water features throughout the lush gardens. Instead, Rhysand gestured to the guards standing at attention along the walls. “When Jade and I said we wanted to broker peace – we mean everything that comes with it. Trade – a sharing of resources. The Night Court alone bears a plethora of fine artisans crafting everything from clothes, jewelry, ships, and even cuisine. Imagine the ports of Bharat filled with Prythian ships offering your people textiles, farming techniques, books, and livestock of the likes they’d never seen. Your citizens may have some hesitation at first, but just as you have opened up your home to us, sooner than later they will warm to an alliance with Prythian when they see no harm will come of it.”

A lie. Well, sort of. What Rhysand – and most likely the Queens – knew he really meant was when the traders on the Continent would realize just how much money they could make dealing in Fae goods. The concept was taboo, which would deter some, but not all. And the likes who generally relished in the concept of the forbidden were the bastards who had enough money to make it so that nothing was off limits.

‘People tend to speak two languages,’ Rhysand had told me once, back under the Mountain when he’d revealed that he’d bet on me – had me bet on myself – to beat Amarantha’s first task. I recalled him holding up a finger as an impish grin had graced his handsome features.

‘One language which is very effective is fear. Another language which is even more effective, in my opinion, is wealth – whether that be in the physical or knowledgeable form.’

“Our people are more alike than you may think,” Rhysand said, tucking his hands behind his back. His violet eyes shifted between Suma and Demetra. Both queens bore masks displaying heavy levels of doubt. But that was all they were – masks. Demetra’s eyes shone with a fierce nature befitting her reputation of a ‘lioness.’ And within Suma’s eyes shone hunger. Rhysand was finally speaking in a language she understood. Giving Suma a pile of gold was worthless; giving her the means to be the gracious queen beloved by all for bringing prosperity to the region was a different story entirely.

“Just like you, we Fae fall ill,” Rhysand continued. He slowly paced back and forth like a large cat growing restless behind a set of bars. “Surely, we possess knowledge of medicine which would be beneficial. Jade told me of a common ailment among children which results in their deaths after an extended time of them being unable to expel liquid pooling within their lungs. Our young also suffered from something similar until around three hundred years ago when an alchemist in the Dawn Court discovered a certain herb’s extract makes the ailment far more manageable and less deadly. Unlike what you may think, we have plenty of problems we’ve needed to find solutions for over the years which can’t be solved through magic. If we come together both for this war and everything after, I think you’ll find that we can bridge the gap between our peoples and build a better world for everyone.”

I let out the breath I’d been holding. It was now time to hope and pray that what Rhysand had said had been enough. If the Queens still didn’t believe him, believe that Rhysand was good and someone to be trusted, then this would all be for nothing. As much as I wanted that stupid book, I wanted an alliance between the humans and Fae of Prythian more. If our nightmare came true and the Wall really fell … at the very least it would be better to face Hybern with a united force than a divided one.

“As eloquently as you put all that, Lord Rhysand,” Queen Suma said, instilling a regal tone. “In what manner are we to believe that the Night Court – along with the other courts of Prythian, for that matter – would honor your pledges and send ships to our shores full of trading goods … and not armed soldiers lying in wait to kill us all?”

"A contract.” I stepped forward, keeping my chin high as I stopped beside Rhysand. “No matter where we are in the world – how far we are from the northern side of the Wall – you know that we Fae are bound by our bargains – our promises. The Night Court would be willing to form such a contract of trade and a promise of goodwill in exchange for loaning us the Book of Breathings and agreeing to ally with our forces against any invasion Hybern would make upon the shores of human territory.”

Queen Demetra raised a manicured brow at this. “Only of our territory? Not yours?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “What you said before – about the Fae paying penance for their mistreatment of humans in the past – we wouldn’t ask you to defend a land which once enslaved and killed your ancestors. We will come to your aid as amends and will not ask of you to do anything other than defend your own people – whether they be here or the Northern Territory.”

The corner of Queen Demetra’s mouth quirked up. “If these are lies you are telling, then they are pretty ones, I’ll give you that.” She glanced at Suma, her elder gifting her with a shallow nod. It seemed to be all the go-ahead she needed – Demetra didn’t give Briallyn nor Brunhilde so much as a glance. The other two Queens may have both been watching our exchange in silence, yet there was a world of difference in how that stillness settled around them. A sliver of life only sparked behind Briallyn’s bored gaze when Rhysand happened to glance in her direction. Brunhilde, on the other hand, absorbed every word and gesture with an intense focus as if she were committing even the number of breaths we took to memory. Whether this was information she was taking in to relay to Ezhil, or for another purpose, was hard to say.

“We will agree to the formation of a contract,” Queen Demetra said. Her grip on her armrests intensified, her knuckles turning white. Warm brown eyes lingered on Rhysand before drifting to me. Her blue satin gown rose and fell in a deep breath. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow morning, you two will be summoned for the formation of the contract. We will see you then.”

Queen Brunhilde … dropped her gaze. Her pale lips grew tight. It was the first and only sign of emotion she’d shown this entire meeting. I was used to it being her wife who wore her heart on her sleeve; I wasn't sure what to think of this. Her face soon returned to an icy exterior as if she were a death mask from the Winter Court. Black material from the hem of her gown hissed as she rose from her seat and turned toward the door behind her.

The remaining Queens didn’t pay us much mind. Briallyn attached herself to Suma’s side and they disappeared together after Brunhilde. Demetra’s gate was a little slower, but her golden curls continued to bounce in a steady fashion as she retreated. Rhysand and I studied the queens for as long as we were able before the guards began to close in.

I took Rhysand’s offered elbow and we made our exit. Azriel met us where he’d been waiting at the back of the room, matching our gate as we entered the massive receiving hall connecting to the hallway. The only sound as we navigated through the halls was the clanging of our guard’s armor. No shared whispers or a semblance of a smile graced our features. No one said a word at all, internal or otherwise, until we entered Rhysand’s quarters and the guards closed the door behind us.

“Something is off,” Azriel said. He took his place among the shadows, his hazel eyes tracking Rhysand as his brother began to pace. “They agreed to everything far too easily.”

“I’m aware,” Rhysand said, his tone weighed down with concern. “I’m dreading what it is they’re going to ask us for. We must have something they want – badly.”

“Like what?” I asked, crossing my arms as I tracked Rhysand. “They said they don’t want money, so what else is there?”

“Plenty,” Rhysand said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “My first guess is weaponry. I don’t have a problem with it – what I have a problem with is if they recall enough from our history to ask for things that are specific.”

“Specific?” I asked, feeling lost entirely. “You guys don’t have anything like that, do you? They used to spook us with stories of stuff like that when I was a kid, but they were just fairy tales.”

“‘Fairy tale?’” Rhysand came to a stop, furrowing his brow. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Uh …” I suddenly felt self-conscious as Rhysand and Azriel’s gaze bore into me. “It means … ‘not real.’ Like, a story that you make up, because the Fae … lie.”

“I thought humans believed we didn’t lie?” Azriel said, his shadows shifting to reinforce his confusion.

“Only the ones up north,” I said, waving at nothing in particular. “I think shit got muddled since that’s where all the Children of the Blessed ended up. Here on the Continent, it’s – ‘never believe a thing from the mouth of a Faery.’ Up there, it’s – ‘they never lie and can be kept away by iron and runes.’ It’s all just a bunch of bullshit.”

“These stories you mentioned,” Rhysand said. “You said there are ones about specific weapons. What are they about?”

I shrugged, trying to dredge up memories which seemed like a lifetime ago. “I think … mostly outlandish stuff that can’t be real. I remember stories about a sword made of starlight or something dumb like that. Oh! And the Dread Trove. Although I don’t know if those really count as weapons? They’re just … ‘things.’”

Rhysand and Azriel flinched as if my words came paired with pokers to the ass. I pulled my lips back in trepidation. “Don’t tell me that shit is real?”

“How the hell do you know about that?” Azriel asked. The look on his face paired with his shadows gesticulating in alarm would make anyone think I’d stumbled upon some grave secret. “I didn’t even … I forgot the Dread Trove existed until you mentioned it just now. And not just ‘misremembered’ … it was like it had been erased from my mind.”

It was quickly getting to the point where I felt I may need to take a seat before falling over from confusion. What the fuck was he talking about?

“The Dread Trove only lets people know about it when it wants to let people know about it,” Rhysand said, rubbing his eyes. “And the same can be said for me – I forgot it existed entirely until you just mentioned it. And in all honesty, Jade – you are the absolute last person I would ever want anywhere near any of those things. Forget Hybern – we would all be doomed.”

“Hey,” I said, offended. The fact that Azriel was looking pensive over the statement didn’t help. “What the fuck? All I did was tell you something that we used to hear stories about when I was a kid, and now you’re saying I’d burn the whole damn world down or something.”

“Because you would,” Rhysand said, peering up at me from over his fingers. “Know that I’m saying this from a place of love – if you had the power of even one of those three objects, all hell would break loose.”

I closed my hands into fists, clenching my teeth. “I have been making an effort to be … compassionate. I’m not some damn animal.”

Rhysand’s gaze immediately softened. I felt an apologetic brush through my mind followed by a twang of guilt. He nodded, sweeping an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve and taking a deep breath. “Yes, you’re right, Mouse. You have been. I apologize – I think if you encountered any of those objects, you’d recognize the horrors they could release and not use them against anyone.”

“I still think she would play the harp,” Azriel said. He shrugged when Rhysand shot him a glare. “Not out of something malicious – she would just want to see what it does.”

Azriel wasn’t wrong. I’d heard of the Dread Trove – the mask, the harp, and the crown – but no one seemed to agree on what any of them actually did. Supposedly the Faeries had used the objects to wage great wars in the past – some rumors even claimed they were around during the one five hundred years ago, although my companions’ current reactions indicated that couldn’t have been true.

“So these things are actually real weapons?” I asked, looking between the two. “What do they do? And where are they?”

“What they do is up for debate,” Azriel said. The shadows around him settled along with his thoughts. “And where they are is unknown to anyone – thank the Mother.”

I wandered over to a small red couch and took a seat in a rustle of skirts. “Are you worried the Queens are going to ask you for the Dread Trove?”

“Well, now I am,” Rhysand said, taking a seat at my side. He ran a hand through his raven black hair with a weary sound. “If you were told the story as a child, obviously it means there are humans out there who know about it; the Queens could almost certainly be included. Obviously we can't deliver, but they may have a hard time taking ‘no’ for an answer. And if they recall anything from the war … they might ask for the Veritas, or spell books from our library.” 

I leaned back with a frown. “A spell book? What the hell would they do with that?”

“A spell doesn’t always draw magic from the wielder,” Rhysand explained. Worry snaked its way through the bond. “It can draw from latent magic in an environment. And this place … ironically, the wards keeping us from using magic are full of magic. If the Queens figure that out and learn to harness it … Mother save us.”

I reached out, giving Rhysand’s hand a squeeze. I smiled in the face of his anxious expression. “If the Queens are our allies, then I don’t think we have to worry so much. And if they do ask for a spell book … we give them a stupid one that makes the buttons on their shirts disappear, or changes the color of their silverware or something.”

A short laugh escaped Rhysand despite himself. “That’s crafty – you’re beginning to think like a Fae.”

“I’m just an asshole,” I said, hitting him with a wink. “And I think between the two of us tomorrow, we’ll figure out how to put together an agreement that won’t fuck us over too much. Then we can get that damn book and …”

Say goodbye to my sister. My mouth suddenly felt dry. We would go back to the Night Court, which was home, but still didn’t feel like it. Even if Velaris was beginning to grow on me … it was like I was an orchid replanted on a mountaintop. I wasn’t meant to be there.

Rhysand gave my hand a light squeeze. The gesture and the way the corner of his mouth quirked up reminded me that whatever I was feeling … I didn’t have to process it alone. The two of us being mates meant something, even if it wasn’t like every other instance out there. Rhysand would help me find my place – the corner of this world I could nestle into and feel like I had a purpose. No matter what I did or where I went, I knew with certainty Rhysand wouldn’t be out of reach. We had found one another despite being divided by a magical wall, a tyrant, and every commendable attempt we made to sabotage ourselves. As long as we believed in ourselves as much as we believed in one another, we had a shot at preventing this war.

Chapter Text

A letter arrived asking me, and me alone, to meet Myrin in her quarters for dinner. I expected something of the sort considering how she’d acted this morning. I knew she was upset; I was upset. I didn’t like the idea of leaving her either. My only hope now lies with negotiations going well with the Queens, and the possibility of Myrin and I being able to act as allies in this upcoming conflict. There would be reasons for us to meet regularly – to train and share information concerning our forces. Perhaps if Fae and humans alike witnessed our positive interactions it would help to mend the divide. 

If we didn’t get into a fight. 

Which … we used to do; often. If anyone ever thought I was bullheaded, they’d never gone toe-to-toe with Myrin.

I decided to remain in the dress I’d worn during my meeting with the Queens, leaving the cape behind in my quarters but adding my bracers from the Winter Court as a slight edge. To any unsuspecting eye, they’d look like ornate cuff bracelets. Myrin wouldn’t be fooled – she’d know what they were and what me wearing a form of armor would imply. I didn’t care; this was part of playing the game of ‘court politics’ – learning to fight without lifting a finger. I already knew Myrin was going to be hard-pressed to listen to why I needed to go back to Prythian. Dressed in an ornate outfit which reminded me of Rhysand (someone who carried far more charisma than myself) would help my confidence.

At least that had been the plan. Uncertainty swam in my gut when I left behind the guards at my back and crossed the threshold into Myrin's quarters. A tingle ran over my skin the moment I stepped into the room; the threshold had been warded. The how and why of Myrin being able to pull something like that off immediately put me on edge.

Feyre met me at the door, the young woman wearing pants and a blouse which seemed just as worn as her smile. She quickly excused herself before I could ask her about the surrounding buzz of magic, shutting the door to her quarters behind her with a whiff of paint in her wake. I would have to be a fool to think she was already comfortable being in my presence. Even so … something was off.

Myrin called out to me from the dining room. I took a cautious step forward. The smell of paints shifted to an unfamiliar scent of something like sandalwood and earth. I immediately went on high alert; Myrin wasn't alone.

When I entered the dining room, I found Myrin standing at the other end with a glass goblet in hand filled nearly to the brim. Beside her was a man who seemed in his late twenties, possibly early thirties. He was tall, with the sort of caramel skin, brown eyes, and dark hair common for men in this region of the Continent. A pattern like flowers and twisting smoke lined his black tunic, stitched in golds fading to burnt orange. That, and the golden-brown sash tied around his waist, gave me an impression this man was a fan of fine tastes. It was interesting to see Myrin had someone like him as a guest; it was interesting to see Myrin had a guest at all considering her previous mood. 

Perhaps I’d been reading too far into how she had acted before? The way Myrin regarded me with a grin stuck to her face made me think I must have been.

The man’s sharp features nearly glowed as he took me in. He placed his drink on the long dining table between us and made his way across the room without hesitation. This was the first time a human aside from Myrin gave me such a positive first reaction since I’d been here. I had no idea what I’d done to deserve it.

“It feels like a century has passed since I’ve been waiting to see you,” the man said. He sounded breathless, as if the sight of me stole the very air from his lungs. I almost took a step back from his radiant expression; who the hell was this man?

Myrin picked up on my puzzlement. “Come on, Jade – you can’t tell me you don’t recognize who this is.”

I honestly didn’t. The man’s build gave the sense of him being a warrior or a soldier of some sort, so it was possible he was from our clan or among other mercenaries we’d crossed paths with over the years. However, this man’s full lips, high cheekbones, and wavy, shoulder-length hair made him stand out. He looked like damned royalty, and I certainly would have remembered seeing him around. If I’d been approached by someone who looked as he did during my time before crossing the Wall, I had little doubt the two of us would’ve been thoroughly acquainted from multiple positions by sunrise.

“It is my honor to see you again, Jade Crown-Cleaver,” the man said. He dipped his head, reaching out to lightly grasp my fingers. 

The second our hands brushed, a light shone through me as if I’d been carrying around a dormant candle and this man had offered a match. I froze, having trouble piecing together what the hell was happening as the man placed a tender kiss on the back of my hand.

“I have you to thank for my freedom from Amarantha’s grasp,” he said, a genuine nature to his tone. “You are without a doubt the greatest warrior I’ve witnessed in battle; myself included.”

The man straightened, a coy smile on his lips. “That also includes the beauty and fluidity in which you fight – if I had been gifted with lungs during my time under the Mountain, you would have left me breathless.”

My inner musing on what the hell this guy could possibly be talking about fell away. I stared into his eyes – brown flecked with amber as if lit by an inner fire. My heartbeat suddenly rose as I realized just who the hell this man was … and that we had seen one another before; many times. Although this was the first time we’d spoken. The first time he had been able to speak to me.

I bunched the material of my skirt in a nervous fashion. I didn’t know what to do. This was … Jurian. 

Even if I had ‘technically’ seen him before … an eye inlaid in a ring was far different than a full man of flesh and blood. I’d heard stories of his feats and bravery since almost as far back as I could remember. He was the entire reason the Warriors of Ash existed. We evoked his name for the courage to face foes many would consider unbeatable. He had held strong up until his final breath in the battle five hundred years past, up until …

Amarantha.

A scene rushed back to me; sitting in Amarantha’s chambers while we’d spoken of our families and Jurian’s betrayal of her sister. I had learned that Jurian wasn’t as noble as I had thought; even if his butchering of Clythia had been for the sake of collecting information to help the side supporting the humans win the war. And Jurian … he’d been there when I’d spoken to Amarantha about Tazar – how my brother had died because I’d been a stubborn, idiotic child. We were strangers, yet knew far more about one another’s true natures than we should have.

“You may be the figurehead of our clan …” Myrin said. She gestured toward the table with a wave of her drink as an indication for us to sit. “... But you’re going to have to get more liquor into both of us if you want to continue holding my sister’s hand.”

Jurian slowly took his hand from mine. The gesture felt strained, as if something naturally existed which wanted us to stay connected. I flexed my fingers to work away the lingering tingle.

Our gazes held … and a wave of realization hit me. I nearly tripped over my skirt in my scramble to back away.

“How the fuck are you here?!” My alarm rose exponentially. This was Jurian … who had been revived by Hybern. If he was here, that meant …

“Jade, calm down!” Myrin said. She stepped forward with a scowl. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“It’s because she knows why I’m alive – how I have a body again,” Jurian said. He slowly lifted his hands, palms out. “I’m on your side, Jade. Myrin, myself, the Queens … The plan from the very beginning has been to betray Hybern.”

“‘Plan?’” I looked between Myrin and Jurian, feeling dazed. “What fucking plan?”

Myrin's eyes darted to Jurian. “You could have mentioned before that Jade knew about Hybern bringing you back – I would have warned her.”

“I didn’t know that she knew,” Jurian said. He sized me up, assessing me with more keenness than he had before. “It must have been Azriel. He was good at collecting information back then … I can only imagine how accomplished he is now.”

Rhysand!

My mind reaching out was like trying to strike a punch in a dream. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t muster up the energy. I encountered the same result when I glanced at the shadow cast by the table and attempted to send a message to Azriel. When I spoke to the shadows, no acknowledgement returned.

“There was a reason this meeting was supposed to wait until later,” Myrin said. She pulled out a seat at the head of the table, sitting down with a heavy sigh. “Now Jade won’t listen to a damn thing we have to say.”

Jurian studied me closely. After spending five hundred years being able to do nothing but that, I was sure he was able to take me apart in his head piece-by-piece. With that thought I felt … pity. For five centuries he had been trapped without any means to escape – chained to the monster who’d killed a countless number of his comrades and vowed to wipe his people clean from the face of the earth. And now he’d been brought back by Hybern as a tool for another monster to do the same. And yet, he …

“Why are there wards around these quarters?” I asked, keeping my eyes locked with Jurian’s. “I know that’s what that feeling was when I came in here. Tell me why you don’t want me communicating with Rhysand or Azriel. You know them, don’t you?”

Jurian’s expression fell. Guilt washed over his features as he lowered his hands to his sides. He slowly shook his head. “I do. We’re not on the best terms. I was … unkind to them during our last encounter. I said things I shouldn’t have; acted in ways which now bring me shame. If they were to see me now, they’d disregard anything I’d have to say without a second thought.”

“Bullshit.”

I slowly began moving toward the door, keeping Jurian in my sights. “If you knew them – then you know that’s bullshit. Any petty reason you have to be mad at each other means nothing considering what’s at stake. You saw what Rhysand did under the Mountain to keep his people safe. You know he would do anything if it meant keeping them from harm.”

Jurian looked at me with a disheartening nature as if he were a child being scolded. Even if his words were genuine, something still wasn’t adding up.

“I told him there had to be wards if he wanted to see you.”

My head snapped toward Myrin. She had crossed one leg over the other, idly swirling the liquor in her glass. “Jurian wasn’t supposed to see you until after negotiations were settled,” she said, leaning her head into her hand. “After nipping at my heels like a lovesick puppy, I told him I could arrange a meeting with you if it didn’t get out to anyone else. I activated some of the shielding runes this palace has built into it before you arrived. I hate all the magic bullshit, but it was the only way I could be sure you two could meet without it coming back to bite me in the ass.”

I looked back to Jurian, furrowing my brow. “But … Why me? If you have important information, that should be something you pass along to Rhysand.”

Jurian cleared his throat. He straightened his dress shirt to fix any wrinkles to his appearance. “Like I said, I think things between Rhys and I would go poorly. And … it was you who I wanted to see. I’ve been wanting to extend my gratitude toward you ever since I’ve been able. I also wanted to see how you’ve been faring since being under the Mountain. I’m glad you look healthy; content.”

I glanced at the door before looking back to Jurian. The fondness in his smile … it was undeserved, but it wasn’t a lie. I never would have guessed I’d made that big of an impression on him. Perhaps like Rhysand, I’d been the first person he’d encountered while under that damned Mountain he simply didn’t hate. Being human at the time also meant I was probably the first of our kind he’d laid his eye on in half a millennia.

“Sit down, both of you,” Myrin said. She took a sip from her glass. “You’re making me feel like the odd one out.”

Jurian motioned toward the table. I hesitated for a moment before following his direction and lowering myself in the seat he pulled out at Myrin's side. Much to my surprise, Jurian occupied the chair on my other side as if sitting so close to me was perfectly natural. I eyed him up in a wary fashion as Myrin slid Jurian’s drink over before grabbing an empty glass and filling it from a tall brown bottle at her side. The drink let out a dull clink as Myrin placed it before me. I slowly gripped the glass, running my fingers over the bumps and ridges of the inlaid design without making a move to take a sip.

“I … told your sister about the Mountain,” Jurian said. He glanced at Myrin from over my shoulder with a tentative smile. “About the duels, the trials, when you went to speak alone with Amarantha, and how you killed her – all of it. I’m sure it was all something you would have rather conveyed to her personally, but we couldn’t be sure when you two would be reunited. It came as a surprise, but I couldn’t say I was totally shocked to find that your sister was the one who had united the Warriors of Ash and now speaks as their clan head. I would expect no less from someone related to such a resplendent creature as yourself.”

I turned toward the head of the table to see Myrin grinning like a madman. She had never been the type to have a high response to praise – ‘empty words,’ she’d called it. However, Jurian must have been a rare exception. The fact that she went through the trouble of carrying out his request to meet with me in secret was a sign enough of her admiration.

“You said before there was some ‘plan’ to double-cross Hybern,” I said. I looked between the two as their faces grew somber. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Those Hybern bastards reached out a few months back – using him.” Myrin gestured to Jurian with her glass. “They claim it’s Prythian who’s looking to destroy the Wall and take over the human realms again. The king of Hybern has promised the Queens he’ll help them crush Prythian before this can happen. The idea is we’re supposed to get Prythian’s guard down, then strike.”

My fingers dug into my armrests. Wood snapped beneath my palms before I could check myself.

“Don’t break my shit,” Myrin said, refilling her glass. “And calm your tits – that isn’t going to happen. We were never planning on allying ourselves with any Fae bastards. The Queens are waiting for an opportune time to stab that damn king in the back.”

My grip on my armrests loosened. “They are? But how?”

Myrin shrugged. “They don’t tell me a lot about that. All I know is that he has the means to cause an opening in the Wall large enough for our armies to get through. He plans on gathering in the Northern Territory and marching up from there.”

“Starting at the Spring Court?” I said, my blood turning cold. “But their forces …”

They couldn’t hold out. For a while, maybe, but not on their own. They would need aid – probably from all the courts if the entirety of Hybern’s forces were coming into play. Not to mention the human armies, and –

“The other Fae territories bordering the Continent,” I said. My eyes moved to Jurian. “Are they also allying with Hybern?”

Jurian drummed his fingers along the table. “Yes … and no. Thankfully, these territories are at least ‘comfortable’ where they are. They didn’t face as much hardship since their economies didn’t rely as heavily on human slavery as Hybern’s did. The King is working hard in negotiations to win them over.”

This was good news. It meant we still had a chance to intercept or stop negotiations between Hybern and the other territories all together. We may even get them to join our side if we’re lucky.

“What else can you tell us about Hybern?” I asked, holding Jurian’s stern expression.

Jurian’s shoulders dipped. He took a sip from his drink. “I’m not … at liberty to say – yet. Like your sister said, I’m not supposed to have seen you until after tomorrow’s negotiations. You’re meant to be filled in on everything, then.”

“Then fill me in on everything now,” I said. I picked up my drink, giving it a sniff before taking a sip.

“You insult me,” Myrin said, watching me over the brim of her glass.

“I almost got bitten in the ass for not checking for poison,” I said, shooting her a glare. “You in part have something to do with that, so don’t give me any shit for making it a new force of habit.”

Myrin rolled her eyes. A soft chuckle indicated Jurian found our banter amusing.

“I’m not going to say any more on the matter of Hybern tonight,” Jurian said. He fiddled with his glass, leaning toward me with a gleam to his eye. “I must give my compliments to whomever is your tailor. The material is like the night sky itself – it’s exquisite. May I?”

Jurian ran his fingers over my shoulder, brushing aside my hair in the process. That same, thrumming feeling like a string being plucked echoed from his fingertips. Even if I wouldn't label the sensation as entirely unpleasant, I still fought back the urge to snatch his wrist and break it in three places.

“If you want to remain in possession of that hand,” Myrin said, a warning lacing in her tone. “I suggest you keep it to yourself, Lord Jurian.”

“My apologies – I got carried away,” Jurian said. His smile was disarming – much like Rhysand and Cassian’s when they were putting on a show. I may have fallen for it if it wasn’t something I recognized.

“When I watched you under the Mountain, I thought you were the protective one,” Jurian said. He tilted his head to speak into my ear. “But you come off like a kitten compared to your lioness of a sister. I must say I prefer the sound of purring to a deafening roar.”

A reflection that I may have changed more than I thought was that I was able to keep my composure while Myrin openly laughed. She leveled Jurian with a knowing grin. “I don’t think you get it. I told you to take your hand off her because she’d rip it clean off. Nothing about what I said came from a sign of concern for my sister’s already much tainted virtue.”

I hit Myrin with a flat look that caused her to chuckle into her drink. With a scoff I grabbed my own, taking another sip of the liquor which was a spiced specialty of the region and tasted much smoother than anything I ever would’ve pictured my sister enjoying by a long shot.

“You still remind me so much of how you were when I first saw you,” Jurian said. He leaned back in his seat, his eyes taking long enough studying my face to cause heat to rise in my cheeks. “Fierce; resplendent. You have no idea how shocked I was when you first arrived to the Mountain and spoke my name as if you knew me. And then, in front of Amarantha, you dared to do this.”

Jurian curled his hand into a fist. He tapped it against his brow, lips, then chest. The amber in his eyes flashed alongside his smile as he chuckled. “I thought she would slaughter you then and there. If anyone existed who Amarantha had hated nearly as much as the humans, it had been the Valkyrie warriors. That sign plagued her dreams from the number of times she witnessed it on the battlefield prior to her armies being butchered. It’s a pity the Valkyrie had been so few in number; they were selective, rightfully so, however their forces were eventually shattered due to Hybern’s sheer volume. Their loss had been a tremendous one that still remains fresh in my mind.”

The Valkyrie. Cassian had touched on them briefly; an army of all female warriors who rivaled the Illyrians in their might. But …

“This,” I said, tapping my forehead, lips, then chest in a repeat of Jurian’s previous gesture. “That’s your symbol – the one embodying the creed of our clan.”

“Your sister kindly informed me as such,” Jurian said, gesturing over my shoulder. “It certainly cleared things up; Amarantha would’ve reacted if there’d been rumors of the Valkyrie attempting a revival during her rule. Even such rumors from the human lands would’ve garnered her attention. To find it was actually from a clan following myself – that there was a clan following myself – using it as a symbol certainly came as a surprise. Not an unpleasant one – the Valkyrian methods are admirable and unworthy of being forgotten. Your clan trains their children in combat in a similar manner to the training they undertook with their own younglings. I noticed many of the faction leaders skew toward being female yet still regard everyone with the same level of respect as did the Valkyrie. It should be them you all spend your time admiring, if I’m being honest.”

My sister’s barking laugh caused me to flinch. I looked over my shoulder as she finished her glass and struck Jurian with a devilish grin. “Now I know you don’t mean that, Lord Jurian,” she said. “You take no shortage of pleasure from being praised and fawned over among our clansmen. I’ve certainly witnessed you enjoying the full range of such attention in a number of ways.”

Myrin’s wink met Jurian’s form going stiff. I stifled a smirk as his eyes darted back to mine. Jurian was expressive, possibly more so than he wanted. Perhaps certain things about schooling one’s features had to be relearned after going without them for so long.

“The form of attention I’ve received hasn’t been … that,” Jurian said, an imploring nature to his tone. “When it comes to matters of the heart … the object of my infatuation has already been quite settled.”

Jurian leaned closer, looking down at me with a smile that radiated affection. The raw, open nature of it caused a tingle to run the length of my spine.

“Myrin tells me you have no … intimate forms of attachment to either Azriel or Rhys,” Jurian said. He placed his hand on the table near my own, close enough they nearly brushed. “Is that right? I’d be shocked to hear at least Rhys wasn’t interested. Any man – or male – with eyes would be taken in by your beauty. The way you wield a sword, how you spoke to a demon like Amarantha with no fear … I can’t imagine how he wouldn’t be deeply enraptured.”

‘My perpetually stunning lover of both wrath and loveliness beyond compare.’

Lucien … he had told me once that witnessing how I’d held my own under the Mountain had only amplified his love for me. As horrible as that time had been … as much as we all had suffered … I wanted to go back. I wanted to go back to when Lucien’s love seemed unconditional when he’d breathed fresh air into me every time my hope had wavered. He hadn’t been the only supporter I had, but he had been the only one who never once lost faith in me passing the first task and all those thereafter.

Lucien was the person who made me want to do better – to be better. Even when I'd been human and could be crushed underfoot like an insect by any Fae, he'd told me I could make a difference if I just kept trying. In his eyes, I had room to grow and change and become who I wanted to be. Perhaps I had failed by not regarding him in the same manner. To me, he was perfect how he was; Lucien didn’t need to achieve anything nearly as great as the status of a High Lord for me to be anything but enamored by his wit and charm. All I wanted was to bask in that light which burned away the darkness inside me. I would give almost anything to have that feeling back.

A light brush to my hand brought me back to myself. I looked into Jurian’s eyes which shone with something like pity; like understanding. Had he also loved someone who he’d lost? If he had, they would be long dead now. I felt an odd sense of solidarity with the man sitting beside me as I absorbed how we were broken in the same way – in love with someone who we would never get back.

“You’re lovely from any angle, Jade, but I much prefer when your chin is held high,” Jurian said. He set down his glass, rising to his feet. “Since the amount of time I have here is drawing to a close, I’m going to retire. Would I be amiss for asking you to join me as far as the threshold?”

I glanced at Myrin. The shit-eating grin on her face caused my cheeks to grow warm. I stood from my seat, keeping my eyes averted as I crossed the room into the living area. Jurian joined my side and we took the short stroll to the door. The notion was a bit foolish, but I did feel sort of bad for viewing him like an enemy before.

“I know your sister didn’t drink nearly enough to give me her blessing,” Jurian said. He held out his palm. “But if I may take your hand again for just a moment, I would be most grateful.”

Warmth radiated from my palm as if it had already been enveloped in his. Jurian was handsome, well spoken, and elegant. He was also Jurian – the damn hero depicted in tapestries and the subject of more songs and folktales than I could count. And when we touched … it was like there was a connection there I couldn’t explain. It was exciting, and …

Terrifying. I could take his hand; whisper into his ear to not let go and allow him to lead me to where his chambers resided. I could pretend that his mouth on mine was Lucien’s, living in a fantasy for a few hours of fucking and laying beside someone who still loved me. Maybe on another day, during another time, I would be that weak. It wasn’t today.

I curled my hands into fists as a deep fissure formed in my chest. I could no longer see Jurian standing before me. All I could see was Lucien and his russet eye washed in heartbreak.

“Um … no,” I said. I took a small step back. “I don’t … want to do that.”

Jurian nodded as if he understood perfectly. He gifted me with a kind smile. “Then I’ll offer you a more chaste gesture in parting, Jade Crown-Cleaver – along with a sincere message that if there’s anything you need at all … I’m yours, body and soul, and shall fulfill any request you make of me.”

I blinked. My blatant refusal had done nothing to dissuade him. Jurian was a creature of confidence, I’d give him that. I cleared my throat in a way that surely made me appear as flustered as I felt.

“Well, if I can make any request,” I said, letting out a chuckle as a means to cut the tension. “Then I suppose if you do have some sway here and can help me get that damn book we came for in the first place, I’d be grateful for it.”

Jurian looked nearly as delighted as if I had agreed to crawl between his sheets. He gifted me with a wink. “Consider it done – I’ll pull some strings and make sure that book reaches your hands. And know that if you’re ever so inclined, I’m a light sleeper and wouldn’t mind a late-night visitor if there’s anything else I can do to ease any of your tension. Otherwise, I’ll be sure to find you tomorrow.”

Jurian hit me with a charming smile rivaling Rhysand’s. I stared at the door as he made his exit, willing my heartrate to go down with a few deep breaths. Tonight was certainly not going in the direction I expected.

“You really have changed,” Myrin's voice said, drifting from across the room. “The younger you would’ve fucked a man who sweettalked you like that in the blink of an eye.”

I let out a sigh of exasperation. “I have higher standards than just some nice words, you know.”

“You’re with someone, aren’t you?”

I paused toward the middle of the living room, lowering my eyes. The intricate rug beneath my slippers hissed from the hem of my gown as I shifted my weight. My throat grew tight. “No. I’m not.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

I closed my eyes. I hadn’t told Myrin about Lucien – I couldn’t. What was I supposed to say? That I was heartbroken? That I was weak enough to let the same person shatter my heart again and again and yet want nothing more than to have him back? That the two of us weren’t together all because of some magical bond that I couldn’t disavow since it was important to me in a different way? How could I explain any of that?

“Are you happy, Jade?”

I raised my head. Myrin leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. She kept her expression blank as she waited for an answer, the moonlight streaming from the window above gleaming off her sleek hair. It reminded me of when a puka had arrived at Tamlin’s manor and tried to lure me in as an easy meal. It had taken Myrin's form, and I had known at once it had been a fake because the way it had regarded me had been all wrong. The fake didn’t have a hint of Myrin's keen nature; her assuredness. That was something no one in this world could mimic.

“No,” I said, voice soft. I wiped my eye to catch a tear before it fell. “No, I’m not happy. But I’m unhappy because of things that I’ve done – mistakes I’ve made. I want to get better. Then maybe once I do, I can allow myself that luxury.”

“Let me help you,” Myrin said. Her soft smile clenched at my chest. “Stay, Jade. I’ll help you however I can. You’re my sister, and I would do anything if it meant you being happy again. You know this.”

I returned Myrin's smile with a watery one of my own. And then … I shook my head. “I have to go back to Prythian. I promise you that I will do everything in my power to stay in touch and visit when I can. Rhysand can send messages over long distances, and soon I might be able to travel sort of like winnowing all on my own. It won’t be like before, Myrin – we’ll stay connected no matter what.”

A shadow draped itself over Myrin's features. Her lips pulled back in a frown. “Jade, tell me the truth – it’s him, isn’t it? The High Lord? The reason you refused Jurian’s bed is because you want to return to his. I don’t know why you keep lying to me about it.”

“Because I’m not, Myrin.” I clasped my hands, lifting my chin. “There’s more than one type of love. And Rhysand … I do love him very much. He’s a part of me, and what’s going to help me get better and not hate the thing I’ve become. I need him, just as I need to return to Prythian and find where I’m supposed to be – what I’m supposed to do. I think I’m supposed to … build something; change something. I’m not sure what, yet.”

Myrin's eyes slowly roved over me. She pushed herself from the threshold, taking slow steps forward. I fell into her embrace when she clasped me tight.

“I’ll do what I need to for you to be happy,” Myrian said. She gave me a final squeeze before pulling away and taking my hand. “Come on – I have some sleep clothes here. My bed is large enough to sleep ten, much less two.”

I nodded, allowing her to lead the way. If negotiations went well tomorrow, then there was a good chance I’d be headed back to Prythian by sunset. At the very least I could spend a single night sleeping at my sister’s side as we’d done nearly every night since I’d been small. I remembered times when we’d huddle together in the winter, Tazar tucking a number of blankets around and under us until I’d felt like a caterpillar wrapped in a cocoon. Years later, Myrin would hold my hand so that I'd know someone was there when I’d wake up in a panic unable to hear a sound. Not soon after that we’d often slept with Bat sprawled between us, our heads rising and falling from my dog’s breaths as we’d snuggled into warm fur.

It hurt to accept the fact that the time where we would always be together had ended. Even as little as a year ago I would’ve figured we would die at one another’s sides – either from battle or old age, whichever took us first. The concept of living my life while willingly choosing to do so without her support was a frightening thought. Yet … it felt like it was something I needed to do. I was many things, now, not just Myrin's sister.

But tonight, as we changed into night clothes and fell asleep holding one another as we once had, I could allow myself to be only that.

Chapter Text

Despite the dress being ‘ugly,’ Myrin had the silver gown I’d arrived in laundered and hung up in a closet. She had risen earlier that morning with the message of some duties to attend to and a promise to be back shortly. I took the opportunity to wash up and change into the gown – leaving behind the star-patterned dress from yesterday but making sure to add the bracers. I ran my fingers over their cool, smooth surface with a sigh before settling into styling my hair. Today Rhysand and I faced our most important battle yet; I could only hope I was prepared for it.

Looking as polished and prepared as someone like me could muster, I stepped into the receiving room. A slight pressure and tingling sensation over my skin caused me to frown. I knew what I was feeling were the wards from last night. Although, they seemed amplified. My eyes darted to the door and I strode forward as fast as I was able with the restrictions of my dress.

Pain as if my fingers pricked a cactus ran through me the moment I touched the door. I took a step back, staring at the innocent looking slab of wood. Panic rose in my gut. 

What the hell is happening?

“Jade?”

I looked over my shoulder. My eyes landed on Feyre, who seemed to be second guessing calling out my name. She was dressed in her leather armor and breastplate. A bow and a quiver of arrows hung from her shoulders. What reason did she have to be armed?

“What the hell is happening?” I asked. Feyre took a step back when I turned on my heel and stormed in her direction. I was scaring her; I didn’t care. My need for answers was more important than her emotional state. “Why is this door warded shut? Where’s Myrin?”

To her credit, Feyre held my gaze. She took a deep breath through her nose, steadying the rapid rise and fall of her chest. I could smell the terror seeping from her as if she were a doe caught by a wolf.

“Last night, before you arrived,” Feyre said, a waver snaking through her resolve. “Lord Jurian and Myrin were having a conversation about today. He was convincing her that the plan would still work if you were to go back to his quarters with him. He said something about the High Lord before Myrin stopped him. I thought it may have been nothing, but since you can’t open the door … I think something is happening that Myrin doesn’t want you involved in.”

What?

I looked back to the door. Myrin was keeping me here? Why? Was this a strategy to have Rhysand go to the meeting with the Queens alone? Why the fuck would Myrin even care about that?

“Fuck.”

I returned to the door, gritting my teeth through the pain as I ran my hands over the surface. Sensing the magic was easy – being able to do anything to control it was the problem.

“Can you do anything about this?” I asked, banging my fist against the door. “Damn – this shit is like a stone wall …”

Soft footfalls behind me indicated Feyre moving closer.

“Are you going to hurt her?”

I nearly laughed at the question. “Fuck yeah – I am. If Myrin trapped me in here on purpose, I’m kicking her ass. Just like how she’d kick my fucking ass if I tried to screw her over like this. That’s just the way we are.”

The soft footfalls came closer. Feyre stopped at my side, studying me. I tried to look back at her without directing too much ire in her direction. This wasn’t her fault. This was all Myrin and whatever bullshit games she was trying to play because she thought she ‘knew’ better than I did.

Feyre reached into her pocket. She produced a small, gray tile with a blue gemstone at the center. She tapped the gemstone to the door, and in the blink of an eye, the buzzing magic which had been heavy in the air dissipated like fog in a breeze. I eyed Feyre in a quizzical manner; she’d been able to do that this whole time?

“Myrin doesn’t know I have this,” Feyre said. She tucked the tile back into her pocket. “This is a backup for if the rune she has breaks. I found it one day, and … grabbed it this morning.”

Feyre's shoulders slumped. No matter how anyone was to look at it, she was betraying Myrin's trust. She was also doing so for the sake of someone like me who was practically a stranger. It seemed Myrin had a penchant for attracting siblings just as brazen as she was.

“Thank you.” I placed a hand on Feyre's shoulder, putting on a genuine smile. “I’m not actually going to hurt Myrin. She’s just … she likes to think she knows what’s best.”

The weak smile I received in return let me know that Feyre knew exactly what I was talking about. I gave her a pat on the back and opened the door. I hardly took two steps before freezing in place. The hallway was full of guards, which was to be expected, but each one of them was sprawled in various positions on the floor.

Feyre let out a soft gasp. She drew a dagger from her hip, turning her head to look down the hall. “All these guards … are they …?”

“They’re not dead – I know that.” A limp hand flopped to the side as I shifted one of their arms away with my foot. “I can hear all of them breathing. Someone knocked them out.”

Feyre glanced at me. I raised a brow in response. “Not me – Azriel couldn’t do this, either. Rhysand could, but he wouldn’t just put all these guards under and leave without a reason. Come on; keep your eyes open and stay behind me.”

I reached down to pick up a broadsword from one of the guards. The last thing I needed was to round a corner and be accused of causing this mess in front of Myrin's quarters, but I wasn’t left with a lot of other options. I also wasn’t entirely sure if I could summon enough magic to use Lazul if I was caught in a bind. Although being caught in a bind seemed more and more likely as Feyre and I rounded a corner to come across more unconscious guards.

I tried reaching out to Rhysand or Azriel as we silently made our way down the halls of the palace’s lower level. I didn’t receive a single response in the form of a flickering shadow or a voice in my head. Nothing in the vicinity even moved until we approached the stairwell leading to the main landing. It was here I put a hand up, urging Feyre to back around a corner as we ducked out of view of whoever came down the stairs.

By the sound of it, the figure was alone. I focused on their breathing, footsteps, and scent. That last part sparked a sense of familiarity and I knit my brow. After a few more tentative steps echoing off the wall, I gave Feyre a signal to stay put as I stepped into the open.

The queen who’s path I cut off took an unsteady step back. The hem of her black cloak picked up trace amounts of dust as she steadied herself. I stared deep into pale blue eyes … and Queen Brunhilde stared right back.

“What the fuck is going on?” I asked, my voice bouncing off the silent walls.

Brunhilde let out a soft tsk as her lips twisted. “Quiet, fool! Come – you’re leaving the castle. Now.”

Brunhilde eyed the sword I had in hand with a wary nature. I noted her unease, leaning the weapon against the nearest wall. “Leaving? What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about keeping you alive and away from Hybern,” Brunhilde said. She clutched the front of her cloak with a pale hand as if the very mention of that wicked place racked her with a chill. “Suma and her guards have already slain the High Lord. If you don’t follow me, you’ll soon be taken to Hybern as a captive or become just as dead as he is. We don’t have time to waste.”

She’s wrong.

I knew Brunhilde was wrong as surely as I knew the sky was above us and the earth below. That chord inside me connecting to Rhysand was harder than ever to detect, but it hadn’t disappeared. Rhysand wasn’t dead. That didn’t mean I could rule out the factor of him being near it.

I grabbed the broadsword. “Where is Rhysand?”

“I told you. He –”

“If I have to ask you again, I won’t do it nicely,” I said, raising the sword. “Where is Rhysand?”

Brunhilde grit her teeth. “He had been taken to the throne room. I can’t attest if what is left of him is still there.”

I swept past Brunhilde. The fabric of my dress tore in loud rips up the length of my thighs as I ascended the stairs. The sound of footfalls indicated both Brunhilde and Feyre jogging in my wake.

“Jade,” Brunhilde hissed, a snap to her tone. “You need to come with me! With the High Lord and your guard dead, you’re the only one left who can go back to Prythian. You need to –”

Brunhilde’s voice cut off at the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps and clanking metal echoing through the wide hallway of the main landing. I raised my sword, moving to the side until I stood firmly between the origin of the sound and the women at my back.

From around the far corner emerged a dozen guards. Six at the front of the group raised spears, the remainder at the back lifting crossbows. A close inspection wasn’t needed for me to know that both the spears and the arrow bolts had been crafted using ashwood.

“Stand down!” Brunhilde barked, her voice suddenly taking on a tone befitting the ‘Black Dragon’ – a head commander of the human forces. Enough authority flowed through her voice to make me second guess lowering my own sword.

“You are in the presence of your queen!” Brunhilde snapped, the words cold as ice. “How dare you direct a weapon in my direction!”

“My apologies, Queen Brunhilde.”

Around the corner emerged another figure. I narrowed my eyes from the glint of intricate bronze-plated armor gleaming like scales atop a crimson undershirt. The figure casually draped their hand on the hilt of the gilded sword at their hip as their relaxed gait came to a halt.

Jurian smiled, a vulpine-like expression morphing his handsome features into something sinister. My lips parted slightly as my sword lowered by a fraction.

“It looks like you’ve taken hostages as a negotiating chip, Crown-Cleaver,” Jurian said, a haughty nature to his manner of speech I hadn't heard before. “Clever – but I’m under strict orders from the King to bring you to him no matter the cost, and I have no intention of refusing him. Rhysand and Azriel will die, and you will be his prize.”

I shook my head, disbelief washing over me. “What the hell are you saying?! You and Myrin said that you wouldn’t be going to war with Prythian!”

“We lied,” Jurian said. He leaned against an intricate tapestry, fiddling with something small in hand. “The plan has always been to betray Hybern, yes, but not until after we’ve waged war on Prythian and leveled their courts to dust. And as per the agreement the Queens have made to have the King aid in this endeavor, you’ll be coming with me back to Hybern. Your sister is blissfully unaware of that part.”

A jolt ran through me. Mustering up my magic was hard – nearly impossible – but I drew upon every last bit I could to will a spark of life into my arm. With a flash of light, Lazul appeared in the form of a longsword, my fingers clasping the blue leather hilt. The guards tensed as I raised both my swords in a defensive stance.

Jurien chuckled. He shot me the sort of smile one gives an unruly toddler. “Careful, Crown-Cleaver. The restrictions of the wards in this place are doing much more than just keeping your magic at bay. It affects your senses – your strength. Going up against a dozen guards plus myself would be more than you can handle.”

I took a step forward, keeping my swords held high. “Get the hell out of my way.”

Jurian’s eyes sparked in delight. “There she is – that warrior from under the Mountain. One look from you, and I come undone. As will anyone who consumed the sleeping drought triggered by a rune resonating within these walls.”

The item Jurian had been toying with glinted as he held it up to the light. It looked like a small stone playing piece for some sort of game. Within the center was a purple and white gemstone, shining with its own inner light. Whatever it was looked similar to what Feyre had used to undo the wards keeping us held inside Myrin's room.

“You see,” Jurian continued, rolling the object – the rune – between his fingers. “Said sleeping drought was mixed in with the alcohol we shared last night.”

I frowned, studying Jurian intently. If that was the case, then … no. I would’ve sensed something off. I checked for poison specifically. Had I really missed it?

Jurian placed the rune against the castle wall, the light within the stone growing to a blinding level as a high-pitched hum cut through the air. The guards at Jurian’s back froze, their weapons falling to the floor in a clammer of clattering metal as their fingers went limp. Their mouths hung slack, eyes rolling to the backs of their heads as their knees gave out and they collapsed.

“Well, it was supposed to be,” Jurian continued. “Oddly enough, the sleeping drought somehow wound up in the guard’s water rations this morning.”

Jurian tossed the rune aside, the now dull object clattering against the floor. He lifted the corner of his mouth in the face of my dumbfounded expression. “My sincerest apologies - I needed a story saying you redirected the rune's effects so I can deny any involvement with your escape. Its looks like my gamble hoping Feyre overheard enough to help you get through those wards paid off as well. I took out as many guards as I could, but I think this squadron here was the last of them to partake from the barrel I chose. If we’re lucky, you shouldn’t face much trouble getting to where Queen Ezhil has a carriage waiting to get you out of the palace. I assume you have someone – probably Cassian – waiting outside the wards. Find him and get the hell back to Prythian.”

I lowered the swords I had in hand. There was no way for me to know for sure if Jurian was telling the truth or if this was all a part of some elaborate trick. I didn’t have the time to peel back the layers and find out; I had to trust my gut.

“Queen Brunhilde said Rhysand is in the throne room,” I said. “Where’s Azriel?”

Jurian set his jaw with a shake to his head. “I would hope neither of them are anywhere near the throne room. I recalled from the war how Azriel used to communicate through shadow; I did the best I could to send him a message. If any of them made it, hopefully he and Rhys had enough forewarning to fight or slip out of the palace unnoticed. I apologize; I was hoping to get you alone last night to pass on a warning.”

The way Jurian had been acting last night … he had pursued me relentlessly in an eager attempt to invite me to his bed even after I’d made it clear his advances weren’t welcome. Had that all really been a ploy to get me alone to reveal what he knew? Which meant …

“Does Myrin know about this?” I asked, a feeling like a fissure forming in my chest. “Attacking Rhysand and Azriel … was she a part of this?”

The look on Jurian’s face was all the answer I needed to my question. He had begged to see me in private in the hopes of luring me away from Myrin, who would’ve set things against Rhysand and Azriel into motion had she known their hand had been revealed. All this time, he’d been trying to help me. All this time … my sister hadn’t been.

No, that can’t be right. Myrin wouldn’t –

“Jade!”

I turned, regarding Queen Brunhilde as panic overtook her features. “There’s no guarantee the High Lord is still alive,” she hissed. “We only have so much time – we need to go now before Suma and Briallyn send the entire force of the palace guards down on our heads!”

I studied Brunhilde’s face, her pale blonde hair falling over her eyes from beneath her hood. She looked … human. More so than she had earlier in the throne room where she’d appeared aloof as if any and all the affairs of her people bored her. Was this who Brunhilde really was? Was the silent, opinionless statue from before the act she felt the need to play to survive?

My eyes drifted to land behind Brunhilde’s shoulder. I locked gazes with Feyre and the grim determination there.

“Please get Queen Brunhilde to safety,” I said. I held the hilt of the broadsword out to Feyre, wanting her to have something a little more formidable than a simple dagger.

Feyre accepted the broadsword, her arm dipping slightly from the weight. Even so, the way she adjusted her grip indicated she’d learned some familiarity about the weapon. She was a Warrior of Ash, after all – holding a sword would become as second nature as breathing to her soon enough.

“Be careful, sister,” I said.

Feyre looked up with a start. She stared with wide eyes as I formed my hand into a fist, tapping my forehead, mouth, then chest. Her lips formed into a fine line, watching me intently for a heartbeat … before she sheathed her dagger and returned the symbol of our clan.

I turned on my heel, taking long strides toward the pile of sleeping guards at Jurian’s back. “And what is it you plan on doing during all this?”

“Anything you wish,” Jurian said, not skipping a beat. “Say the word – and I’ll follow your command.”

Suspicion roiled in my gut … but my list of potential allies to aid me in fighting my way to the throne room was nonexistent. 

“Then you’re with me,” I said, not breaking my stride. “I’m not leaving this damn place without my people. I hope you live up to your reputation as our clan’s greatest warrior.”

Jurian drew the sword sheathed at his hip. He hopped over the downed guards, doing a commendable job keeping up with me as I picked up my pace.

“I could ask for nothing more than to fight beside you, Jade. You saved me under the Mountain; I’m eternally in your debt.”

I felt like the ‘eternally’ part was a bit much, but I could stomach the dramatics in exchange for another sword at my side. Azriel had previously guessed at least fifty guards roamed the halls, possibly more. A few dozen being unconscious behind us eased some of my worry … although not enough. Even if Rhysand and Azriel were strong and could hold out on their own, this place was still considered a ‘death trap’ for Fae. I was more wary of the walls surrounding us at this point than the humans within it.

“Jade.”

I waited until cresting the landing of another flight of stairs before looking back at Jurian. He reached into the collar of his leather armor beneath his breastplate, pulling out a small object tied around his neck. “Here. This –”

I whipped my head around from the sound of a shout. We now stood in an open hallway lining a small courtyard peppered with short, flowering hedges. From the thresholds on all sides of the courtyard I watched guards stream into the shaded walkway. At least thirty of them regarded Jurian and I with malice as they raised their swords and crossbows. Considering the weakened state this damned palace left me in … a single hit from an ashwood bolt would do me in. I cursed under my breath as I eyed the columns along the walkways as my only means of cover.

“Catch what I’m about to throw at you as if your life depends on it,” Jurian said, his voice hushed. “Because it damn near does.”

Jurian rushed toward the closest cluster of guards with a shout. In his wake he tore a small object from around his neck and tossed it behind him. The guards were distracted enough to make no move against me as I snatched the object from the air. It turned out to be another rune, a green stone shining brightly in its center. The second it hit my palm … I felt lighter.

This thing …

I felt as if a door had been unlocked. I may not have been brimming with magic like most of my peers in Prythian, but I could still feel the difference when my dulled senses heightened and Lazul felt ten times lighter in my hand. A lack of restrictions was a very good thing for me … and a very bad thing for everyone else.

Inhale. Evaluate. Exhale.

Cover from crossbow bolts would be at my back – behind a wide column to the left. I needed to clear that space to act as a stronghold.

I spun on my heel and stormed the wall of guards at my back. In a flash of light, Lazul’s shape shifted, the leather-wrapped handle fitting snug into my palm as it took the shape of a bowstaff. With a horizontal slash, I disarmed two guards with a single swing, swept the legs out from a third, then ducked beneath the strike of a fourth. Brute strength allowed me to split a spear clean in two when I rose with my staff slicing the air overhead.

Compassion.

I bashed a guard across the face with the butt end of the staff. He would lose a few teeth, but he would live. So would his companions who fell victim to strikes along their hands, joints, calves, and an unlucky few who suffered broken fingers. A handful of guards went down without so much as grazing my weapon; whether they would count themselves lucky or not depended on their feelings toward being thrown into a wall or a strike to a particular nerve that cut the blood flow from their brain and rendered them unconscious.

My hearing returning to normal alerted me to the click of crossbow triggers. I kicked my legs out, falling hard on my stomach as a volley of bolts flew overhead. There’d been a handful of guards from the nearby group still standing after my assault; they weren’t anymore. A flash of guilt panged in my chest as I watched arrows sprout from their eyes and throats before they fell in bleeding heaps.

I slid to the side, making sure I was completely hidden behind a column. Here I would have a few seconds of peace.

Inhale. Exhale. Think.

Rhysand!

No answer came to my call. I grit my teeth, my eyes darting to the shadows cast by the column.

‘Azriel!’

If my message were to get to him at all, it would be slow. So would be anything coming back to me, unless the shadows had been holding on to something all this time I hadn’t been able to sense until now. This may have been the case as I caught a slight flicker.

‘Escape.’

“Yeah – no shit,” I mumbled.

‘Throne room,’ I said, staring intently at the shadows. ‘Rhysand is in trouble.’

I raised my head, looking to the side. My focus returned to Jurian in time to see him pierce his sword through a guard’s shoulder and pull back the weapon with a spattering of blood. The guard fell, leaving Jurian standing alone behind a column mirroring my own. He wouldn’t be for long – the guards who’d been on the other end of the courtyard were advancing along the outlying paths. They knew we didn’t have anything long range and were taking advantage of the fact. The next volley of arrows would be from a position where I could get away with bolting through the threshold leading toward the throne room. Jurian, though … he was too far to make it.

My eyes meeting his own alerted me to the fact that Jurian had also figured this out. His expression turned grave as I got to my feet.

“Go,” Jurian said, looking back to the guards as they raised their reloaded crossbows. “I’ll –”

“Shut up,” I said, lifting my staff. “I’m not leaving you here. Get ready.”

Jurian was a near stranger who risked his life to help me. I cursed my damn code of honor telling me that abandoning him would go against everything I stood for, even if it was probably the smarter decision.

I honestly had no idea what the hell I was going to do. My movements were fast enough that I could probably dodge the ash bolts headed toward anything critical. By sheer numbers, though, I would at least have to handle a few hits. I had to get to Jurian before that happened – the ashwood would slow me down significantly and leave me unable to reach him in time if I waited too long. What I needed was a way to take out those damn archers, but I had to make do with what I had.

“Stay low!” I shouted, rushing into the open. I willed my weapon to change into something to keep the arrows off me. I imagined a shield forming in my palm; one large enough for me to lift overhead and keep Jurian and I both covered. That was what I envisioned to take care of the arrows; what I wanted.

Instead, cold air rushed up my arm as Lazul returned to the shape of a longsword. The blade immediately frosted over and turned to pure, clear ice. I stared in horror … as it shattered.

Are you fucking kidding me?!

An overzealous guard pulled the trigger before his companions. An arrow flew straight toward me, the steel tip gleaming in the morning sun as it passed under one overhang toward another. The thing was positioned to pierce itself straight through my skull. I lifted the only defense left I had, the arrow striking the ice bracer on my left arm with a din like a struck bell.

The handle of my sword vibrated to match the pitch of the bracer. I felt a thrum of magic as if I were a conduit the two weapons were using to speak to one another. The ice magic inlaid in my bracers from the Winter Court understood the language of the pieces of my sword scattered at my feet.

Like calls to like.

Following a direction from some form of magic which I felt was greater than myself, I swung the hilt of my sword forward at the same moment the rest of the archers let their bolts fly.

The ice shards once scattered around my feet flew through the air, meeting the volley of arrows in an explosion of splinters and glittering snow. The resulting cloud left most of the guards standing in slack-jawed disbelief. I swept my arm to the side with the fervor of a conductor facing an orchestra.

The shards jolted to life from where they’d fallen in the grass and shrubs, rushing along the edges of the courtyard like a swarm of lotuses. They knocked the crossbows from the guards’ grips and pierced small holes straight through their hands, arms, and legs. Jurian dropped to the ground as they flew overhead, the shards bending around me in a rush of frigid air before circling toward the guards on the other end of the courtyard. Half of them ran – disappearing down passageways with a series of shouts. Those who stood their ground clamored for any semblance of order as their arrows and broadswords failed to bash the shards from the air. They met a similar fate to their companions lying across the courtyard – knocked prone and bleeding from several wounds leaving them unable to hold a weapon.

I exhaled sharply, my breath coming out in a cloud of steam as if the sweltering heat around me had flipped. Frost clung to my lashes as I blinked in rapid succession. Whatever I’d been acting as a conduit for left my skin prickling and joints stiff like I’d been on the verge of catching frostbite. Ice cracked along my tongue as I coughed, and for lack of a better word … I felt like absolute shit.

“Are you alright?”

I must have looked as bad as I felt based on the way Jurian studied me as he jogged to my side. He reached out to place his knuckles against my cheek. Both of us winced as it felt like I’d been tapped by a hot cattle brand.

“By the Mother – you’re freezing,” Jurian said, withdrawing. “You look like a corpse. What the hell was that?”

“No fucking idea,” I said. I turned back toward where the shards had fallen. A few steadying breaths left me quieting the thrumming still resonating between my bracers and the sword. With far more effort than I’d ever had to use before … my sword reformed itself to its base appearance. It only being a shortsword wasn’t ideal, however I received no response when I tried to will it into another shape.

“Do you need a moment?” Jurian asked. His eyes swept over the courtyard, on alert for any of the groaning soldiers who may still be capable of being a threat.

“We don’t have a moment,” I said, willing my aching body into motion. “Come on.”

We danced around the downed guards and flew down another long hallway. I grit my teeth against the feeling like a thousand needles were piercing my feet with every step. Only a single flight of stairs remained until we would reach the receiving room connected to the throne room. Fighting those guards had taken up too much time. If anything had happened to Rhysand …

A heavy, suffocating feeling fell over me the second I stepped off the stairs. I struggled to catch my breath as I took in the massive doors to the throne room across the wide hall. Standing in the middle of the receiving room, blocking my path to the doors, were a collection of around a dozen swordsmen and women wearing mismatched sets of armor indicating they weren’t a part of the palace guard. Front and center among their group was Myrin.

My sister’s eyes grew wide as she took me in. She scanned me from head to toe, lingering on my ripped gown and the pale nature still clinging to my skin. The sword she had in hand lowered as she took a step forward.

“Who the fucks side are you on?!” Myrin roared, directing her ire at Jurian. The fact that the greatest warrior known to humanity’s history flinched at my side was a testament to Myrin's menacing presence.

“Jade was supposed to stay warded in my quarters!” Myrin barked, her rough tone echoing from the high ceiling. “And you’re the one who let her out, allowing her to be injured?! I don’t give a shit who you are – I’ll slice you to fucking pieces for putting my sister in danger!”

I moved to speak, Jurian holding up his hand.

“Listen!” Jurian said, his voice clear; firm. The sort of tone used by someone accustomed to commanding an army consisting of more faces than he could see. “Hybern was planning on taking Jade. The Queens had agreed to handing her over. They lied to you, Myrin – allying with Hybern is only going to lead to the deaths and enslavement of our people. We need Prythian on our side – let Jade through to Rhys.”

Myrin bristled. She bared her teeth as her voice escaped in a hiss. “It looks like that piece of shit got to you as well. That damn High Lord has the ability to control people’s minds, just like the Queens said. He’s making you believe these lies so he can keep Jade. I can tell he’s forcing my sister to go back – to leave her people; to leave me.”

Myrin's gaze turned to me. For the first time in my life, those eyes which always looked so beautiful held no trace of love. Only pure, fervent hate remained.

“I won’t let him take you,” Myrin spat. “I killed that bastard, just like how the rest of those damn Prythian monsters will die, for even daring to try and keep you on the other side of the Wall!”

My blood turned cold. The suffocating feeling around me grew stronger. I now knew what it was – it was my link with Rhysand; the mating bond. Rhysand was on the other side of the door. He was dying.

“What did you do?” I asked, hardly able to force the words out. A tear burned down the length of my cheek against the chill still clinging to my skin. “What did you do, Myrin?!”

Myrin motioned to the group of people at her back – to her warriors standing tall. “I did what our clan was made to do. I drove an ash sword straight through that piece of filth’s gut so he could never control anyone again. His hold on you will wear off soon; don’t worry about that. You’re not going anywhere, Jade. I’ll keep you safe.”

My chest felt like it was caving in. Myrin loved me; I know she did. She loved me with all her heart … but didn’t believe I was a warrior capable of standing on my own. All this time, she’d thought I needed to be rescued. In her eyes I never changed from the little girl who lost her hearing and needed her big sister to help her get back on her feet. 

I was that little girl who did something stupid to get her brother killed and needed to be looked after. 

I was the little girl who became a damsel in distress when I was kidnapped by one High Lord of Prythian then turned into a puppet of another. 

She hadn’t told me to fight, when I’d been taken. She’d just told me to live. To live long enough and wait for her to come for me. Because even after I slayed a damn queen and returned over the Wall of my own accord … I still needed to be looked after.

“Get to Rhys.”

I looked to the side, almost having forgotten that Jurian was there. A steadfast nature fell over him as he held my gaze. “I’ll handle Myrin. I won’t kill her; I promise you that.”

I took a deep breath, forcing my breathing to grow steady. A small nod was all I could muster to give Jurian in thanks. I turned, lowering myself slightly as I slid into a readying stance.

The warriors at Myrin's back raised their weapons. She caught the movement in her peripheral vision, her appearance growing feral as her eyes widened and her lips pulled back in a grimace.